The next day, the entire school was drowning in rumors. It all started when students stopped in front of the hourglasses tracking house points, wondering if there'd been some mistake. How could both Slytherin and Gryffindor have lost fifty and a hundred points, respectively, in a single night? Soon, speculation gave way to a concrete story: the Potter twins—those siblings everyone had watched with curiosity since their arrival—were responsible for the disaster, along with a few other first-years.
For Harry, the shift was brutal. Just days ago, he'd been hailed as a hero for his performance on the Quidditch team. Now, Gryffindors glared at him in the corridors, whispering behind his back, some even shooting him outright scornful looks. The sting was worse knowing the House Cup was within reach, and the points he'd lost had put Gryffindor in an almost impossible position to recover.
Hermione wasn't faring any better. Though she lacked Harry's fame, she'd always been the model student. Losing so many points at once made her a sudden target for criticism and sidelong glances.
At dinner in the Great Hall, Helena barely touched her food, pushing it around her plate listlessly. Her housemates' eyes had followed her all day, and though most stayed silent, the weight of their judgment was suffocating.
"Where's Lucian?" she finally asked, setting her fork down with a sigh.
Cassandra, seated beside her, sliced into her steak and kidney pie with her usual composure. "Busy," she said without looking up. "Making sure everything's prepared for tonight."
Helena frowned. "Prepared for what?"
Cassandra set her utensils down neatly and met her gaze, pausing briefly on Helena's split lip.
"There will be consequences."
Helena tensed. "Consequences?"
"Malfoy crossed a line," Cassandra said, indifferent as if discussing the weather. "He can't walk away unscathed."
Helena looked down. She'd been hurt before—she doubted this would be the last time. Still, she didn't understand why Lucian was making it his problem. The thought unsettled her.
"So… does that mean I'll be punished too?"
Cassandra shook her head, leaning slightly closer. "Not exactly. Yours will just be a reprimand. Lucian only wants to make his stance clear."
Helena hesitated. "Isn't that… excessive?" She wasn't defending Malfoy, but this felt like it was spiraling too far.
Cassandra rested her elbow on the table, studying her with mild interest. "Let me ask you something, Helena," she said, her tone soft, almost instructive. "Why do you think no one's dared to confront you directly today?"
Helena blinked. "Because you're all… on my side?"
Cassandra nodded slowly. "Exactly. Lucian holds power in Slytherin. He doesn't control everything yet, but his influence is undeniable. If someone targets you and he does nothing, it's seen as weakness. And that," she said, picking up her knife again, "is unacceptable."
Helena shivered. "So if Malfoy isn't punished, others might try something similar?"
Cassandra smiled approvingly. "That's what I like about you. You learn fast." She speared a piece of meat. "Malfoy sent a message, whether he meant to or not. If Lucian doesn't respond, Slytherin's traditionalists will see it as an opening to challenge him. And if that happens…" She shrugged. "Everything we've built crumbles."
A knot twisted in Helena's stomach. She'd never considered that—never imagined something so small could have such far-reaching consequences.
Cassandra resumed eating, effortless as ever. "So don't worry. This isn't vengeance. It's just… control."
Helena still had questions, but deep down, Cassandra's words rang with cold, undeniable logic.
…
After dinner, the Slytherins made their way to the common room with their usual composure. But just before they could pass through the hidden entrance in the stone wall, the prefects stepped forward, blocking the way.
"Everyone inside," ordered a sixth-year with a gleaming badge on his robes. "No one is permitted to go to their dormitories until further notice. An important announcement will be made."
A murmur of confusion rippled through the crowd. Announcements like this were rare—and even rarer was being barred from leaving. Some students exchanged uneasy glances.
Cassandra barely reacted, gliding forward with her usual indifference. Helena, however, felt a weight settle in her stomach. She didn't need to ask what this was about. She already knew.
When they crossed the threshold of the common room, the scene that greeted them was peculiar. Most of the older students were already there, gathered around the center of the room as if waiting for something.
The first thing that caught everyone's attention was Draco Malfoy, standing rigidly in the middle of the room. His fists were clenched at his sides, his jaw tight. His posture suggested he was fighting to maintain composure, but the slight pallor of his face and the way his eyes darted across the crowd betrayed him.
Strangest of all, Crabbe and Goyle were nowhere to be seen. It was beyond unusual for his usual bodyguards to be absent.
Helena swallowed hard.
Lucian was there too, leaning against one of the black marble columns with his arms crossed. His expression was unreadable, but the way the firelight cast shadows across his face made him look even more intimidating than usual.
When he spoke, his voice wasn't loud, but it carried clearly.
"It seems we're all here," he said calmly. "My apologies for the inconvenience, but there's a matter that concerns us all. As you've noticed, our house has lost a considerable number of points due to the actions of some among us."
He paused briefly before adding, "Helena Potter, would you do me the honor of stepping forward?"
Helena glanced sideways at Cassandra, who gave her a slight nod. Then her eyes flicked to Lucian. There was no anger in his face—only calm. So she obeyed, walking to the center of the room, feeling the weight of dozens of eyes on her.
Lucian studied both Malfoy and Helena carefully, his expression unchanging.
"Fifty points lost," he announced coolly. "Fifty points our house has suffered because of the two of you."
The words landed like a boulder in the silent common room. Some of the older students frowned; others exchanged disapproving looks.
Helena felt a knot tighten in her stomach—a sensation that only grew as Lucian took a few steps toward her.
"I understand you didn't intend to harm our house in this way," he said, his tone deceptively soft—a gentleness that unsettled her more than anger would have. "But actions have consequences, Helena. However well-meaning your intentions, you still became part of the problem."
The silence in the Slytherin common room was suffocating. Every eye was fixed on them, waiting. Helena couldn't shake the feeling that the weight of those stares was crushing her.
Lucian paused, as if measuring each word before speaking.
"Under other circumstances, you would be punished," he said flatly, and Helena felt the knot in her stomach twist tighter.
Her mind raced, imagining what kind of retribution awaited her. Would it be public? Humiliating? Despite Cassandra's reassurances, she knew what she'd done was serious. A mere reprimand seemed too lenient.
But then Lucian continued—
"However, you've consistently earned more points for this house than most. So I'm willing to make an exception."
The relief that washed over Helena was so sudden it nearly made her sway. She took a deep breath, as if it were the first one she'd taken in minutes. Yet when she glanced around, she noticed the older students wore expressions of disbelief and disapproval. The traditionalist faction was clearly displeased—but no one dared speak up.
Lucian went on, his tone firmer now.
"I expect you to understand that this is still your responsibility. What was taken from us, you will repay."
Helena nodded quickly, though her mind was still processing his words. Cassandra's earlier assurance echoed in her head: "Yours will just be a reprimand." And here she was, practically walking away unscathed.
Lucian paused, studying her reaction.
"Let this be a lesson," he said firmly, but not unkindly. "An intelligent person doesn't stumble over the same stone twice."
Helena nodded again, more firmly this time. "I'll remember," she murmured, barely above a whisper.
Lucian held her gaze a moment longer, as if ensuring his words had sunk in. Then, with an almost imperceptible gesture, he signaled for her to return to her place. Helena obeyed quickly, feeling the weight of her housemates' stares follow her as she rejoined Cassandra.
Now, all attention shifted to Malfoy.
Lucian turned toward him, and the atmosphere in the room shifted instantly.
Where his tone with Helena had been firm but measured, now his voice was cold—sharp as a blade's edge.
"And then there's you."
Those words alone made Draco, already tense, seem to shrink further.
Lucian took a step toward him, his gaze locked on Malfoy's.
"The greater blame for those fifty points lies with your pathetic performance last night," he said, his voice utterly frigid. "You let a Gryffindor manipulate you with a cheap trick. Tell me, Malfoy—you who boast so loudly about Slytherin cunning—why do your actions strike me as ridiculously stupid?"
The silence in the room was so thick it could be cut with a knife.
Draco didn't answer immediately. His face, usually so arrogant, had gone pale. His hands trembled slightly.
Lucian didn't give him time to recover. He took another step forward, closing the distance between them until Malfoy had to tilt his head up slightly to meet his eyes.
"Where was that famed intelligence you love flaunting?" Lucian asked, leaning in slightly. "Did you leave it behind in the Astronomy Tower when you realized you'd been fooled?"
"It—it was a mistake," Malfoy muttered, his voice so weak even Lucian had to strain to hear it.
The humiliation radiating off him was palpable.
"A mistake?" Lucian repeated, his tone not mocking but dry—as if he couldn't even be bothered to ridicule him properly. "We all make mistakes, true. But you seem to make them at an alarming frequency."
A ripple of murmurs spread through the common room. Some students exchanged knowing looks, as if enjoying Malfoy's humiliation. Others lowered their gazes, uncomfortable.
Lucian either didn't notice or didn't care. His focus remained entirely on Draco.
"All week, you've cost this house points," he continued, his voice growing sharper. "One would think after the first time, you'd learn. But no. You kept going—thoughtless, never considering the consequences."
Draco clenched his fists, his knuckles whitening. But he said nothing. Didn't dare.
Lucian leaned in closer, until his face was mere inches from Draco's.
"Tell me, Malfoy," he whispered, with a calm that was terrifying, "why should Slytherin pay for your lack of judgment?"
This time, Draco's head bowed. His pale face flushed an unnatural red. His hands trembled slightly, lips moving as if trying—and failing—to form words.
His gaze darted around, searching for help. But no one stepped forward. Not a single face showed pity or support. Draco was alone, and he knew it. The weight of the situation crushed him, and for the first time, his arrogance seemed to dissolve under the pressure of those merciless, cold eyes.
"You have no answer," Lucian said, breaking the silence with a voice that cracked like a whip. "Good." He didn't give Draco time to recover. "Now tell me—what did you do when someone tried to warn you? When someone tried to stop you from digging your own grave?"
A pause. The question hung in the air like an accusation.
"You attacked them," Lucian continued, his tone icy. "You attacked someone from your own house, because your pride blinded you. And need I remind you—that person is under my protection."
As he spoke, the atmosphere in the room grew heavier, colder. Students exchanged nervous glances, but no one moved. The air itself felt charged, thick with a tension no one dared break.
Draco swallowed hard, his hands shaking. He realized there was no way out. He couldn't defend himself. Couldn't deny it. Even if he told the truth, no one would believe him. And he knew—no matter what—Lucian would side with Potter.
"Tell me, Malfoy," Lucian pressed, his voice low but razor-sharp, each word a deliberate strike, "how should I interpret that?"
The silence that followed was absolute.
Draco's gaze dropped, his face burning with shame and suppressed fury. He knew what he had to do. If he wanted to leave this room with even a shred of dignity, there was only one option. His eyes flicked to Potter.
Helena stood beside Cassandra, her expression unreadable—not triumphant, but something harder to define. Pity? Relief? Draco didn't know, and right now, he didn't care.
"I'm sorry," he forced out, the words barely audible but clear enough for the entire room to hear. They burned his throat like poison, each syllable a humiliation. But he had no choice. If he didn't apologize, things would only get worse.
Lucian didn't respond immediately. He studied Draco with a calculating gaze that seemed to strip him bare.
"Louder," he finally said, his voice quiet but absolute.
Draco gritted his teeth, feeling the last remnants of his pride fracture. But he had no choice.
"I'm sorry," he repeated, louder this time, though his voice still shook.
Lucian watched him a moment longer, as if weighing whether it was enough. Then, he nodded.
"Good. I hope you've learned something. Knowing when to retreat is the mark of intelligence."
Draco nodded quickly, not daring to argue.
Lucian turned to address the room, his voice cool and composed once more.
"This matter is settled. You're all dismissed."
Whispers erupted immediately, though no one dared challenge the verdict aloud. Draco left as fast as he could, avoiding every gaze, while the other students began to disperse.
Helena exhaled, unaware she'd been holding her breath. Lucian, meanwhile, simply leaned back against the black marble column, as if the whole affair no longer concerned him.
Yet Helena couldn't help but notice—the faintest glint of satisfaction in his eyes.
…
The next morning, identical notes arrived for Helena and Malfoy:
Your detention will take place at eleven o'clock tonight.
Meet Mr. Filch in the entrance hall.
Prof. M. McGonagall
Helena had completely forgotten about detention. Her mind had been in chaos these past days, so crowded with worries that something as mundane as punishment had slipped to the background.
A glance at Malfoy surprised her. She'd expected sneers or cutting remarks, but last night's humiliation still weighed on him. Draco walked silently, shoulders hunched, gaze fixed on the ground as if hoping to disappear.
At eleven, Helena bid Cassandra and Lucian goodnight in the common room before ascending to the entrance hall with Malfoy. The journey was painfully awkward—not a single word passed between them. Helena focused on the sound of her own footsteps, ignoring Draco's presence entirely.
Filch awaited them, lantern in hand, his usual sneer plastered across his face. Beside him stood Harry and Hermione, looking equally unenthused.
"Follow me," Filch said, lighting the lantern and leading them outside. "I bet you'll think twice about breaking school rules again, eh?" His voice dripped with glee. "Hard work and pain are life's best teachers, mark my words... Pity they've done away with the old punishments—hanging students by their wrists from the ceiling for a few days. I've still got the chains in my office, kept nicely oiled in case they're needed..." He chuckled darkly. "No funny business tonight, or you'll regret it."
They marched across the dark grounds. Helena wondered what awaited them—cleaning, perhaps? After years at the Dursleys', she could handle scrubbing. But Filch's excitement suggested something worse.
The moon shone intermittently through clouds, casting eerie shadows. Ahead, Hagrid's hut glowed with warm light.
Then—a distant shout:
"That you, Filch? 'Bout time!"
Helena's spirits lifted. If Hagrid was involved, how bad could it be? Her relief must have shown, because Filch snapped:
"Think you'll enjoy yourself with that oaf, do you? Think again—you're heading into the Forest. And I'll be shocked if you all come back in one piece."
Hermione gasped. Malfoy froze mid-step.
"The Forest?" he repeated, his usual drawl gone. "There are—there are werewolves in there!"
"Your problem, not mine," Filch said cheerfully. "Should've thought of werewolves before breaking rules."
Hagrid emerged, Fang at his heels, carrying a massive crossbow and quiver. "'Bout time," he grumbled. "Harry, Helena, Hermione—you alright?"
"I wouldn't coddle them, Hagrid," Filch said coldly. "They're here for punishment."
"That why yeh kept 'em? Lecturin'?" Hagrid scowled. "My job now. Off with yeh."
"I'll return at dawn," Filch spat, "to collect what's left of them." With that, he vanished into the darkness, lantern swinging.
Malfoy whirled on Hagrid. "I'm not going in that forest," he said, voice trembling.
"Yeh are if yeh wanna stay at Hogwarts," Hagrid growled. "Yeh messed up. Now yeh pay the price."
"This is servant's work! I thought we'd just write lines! If my father knew—"
"Yer father'd tell yeh this is how Hogwarts does things," Hagrid snapped. "Lines? What good's that? Yeh'll do somethin' useful or leave. Think yer dad wants yeh expelled? Then go pack."
Malfoy didn't move. He glared—but his defiance crumbled.
"Right then," Hagrid said. "Listen careful—tonight's dangerous. Follow me."
He led them to the Forest's edge. Raising his lantern, he illuminated a narrow path vanishing into the black trees. A chill wind rustled their hair as they stared into the abyss.
"See that?" Hagrid pointed at silvery traces on the ground. "Unicorn blood. Somethin's hurt one—second time this week. Found one dead last Wednesday. We're findin' the poor creature tonight. Might have ter put it outta its misery."
"What if whatever hurt the unicorn finds us first?" Malfoy asked, fear cracking his voice.
"Nothin' in here'll hurt yeh if yer with me or Fang," Hagrid said firmly. "We'll split up—two groups. Blood's everywhere, means it's been hurt since last night at least."
"I want Fang," Malfoy said quickly, eyeing the boarhound's teeth.
"Fine, but he's a coward," Hagrid warned. "Harry, Helena—with me. Draco, Hermione—with Fang. If anyone finds the unicorn, send green sparks. Wands out—practice now... Good. Red sparks mean trouble. Move careful."
The Forest swallowed them whole—dark, silent, suffocating. The path soon forked. Harry, Helena, and Hagrid went left; Malfoy, Hermione, and Fang disappeared right.
They walked in silence, eyes glued to the ground. Moonlight occasionally revealed more silvery-blue blood among the leaves.
Harry noticed Hagrid's deepening frown.
"Could a werewolf be killing the unicorns?" he asked.
"Not fast enough," Hagrid muttered. "Ain't easy ter catch a unicorn—powerful magic creatures. Never heard o' one bein' hurt before."
They passed a moss-covered stump. Helena could hear running water—a nearby stream. More silvery blood glistened along the twisted path.
"Yeh alright, Helena?" Hagrid whispered. "Don't fret, can't be far now if it's hurt this bad—"
Suddenly, he stiffened.
"GET BEHIND THAT TREE!"
He seized Harry and Helena, dragging them off the path behind a thick oak. In one fluid motion, he nocked an arrow and raised his crossbow, poised to fire.
The forest held its breath.
Then—a sound. Something sliding through dry leaves, like a cloak dragging across the ground. Hagrid's eyes scanned the dark path, but after a few heartbeats, the noise faded.
"Knew it," he growled. "Somethin' in here that shouldn't be."
"Werewolf?" Harry whispered.
"Not a werewolf. Not a unicorn neither," Hagrid said grimly. "Stay sharp."
They moved slower now, every sense straining. Then, in a clearing ahead—movement.
"Who's there?" Hagrid boomed. "Show yerself—I'm armed!"
The figure emerged—half man, half horse. A torso of reddish hair and beard, merging seamlessly into a gleaming black equine body with a long, chestnut tail.
Harry and Helena gaped.
"Oh—Ronan!" Hagrid lowered his crossbow, relieved. "How're yeh?" He shook the centaur's hand vigorously.
"Good evening, Hagrid," Ronan intoned, his voice deep and mournful. "You were going to shoot me?"
"Can't be too careful," Hagrid said, patting his crossbow. "Somethin' wicked loose in these woods. Ah—Harry, Helena, meet Ronan. Centaur, obviously."
"We noticed," Helena said weakly.
"Students, are you?" Ronan gazed at them with ancient eyes. "Do you learn much, at your school?"
"Enough," Helena hedged.
"Enough." Ronan sighed, tilting his head skyward. "Mars is bright tonight."
"Aye," Hagrid said impatiently. "Listen, glad I ran inter yeh—there's a hurt unicorn. Seen anythin'?"
Ronan didn't answer immediately. His eyes remained fixed on the stars. "The innocent are always the first victims," he murmured. "So it has been for centuries. So it is now."
"Right," Hagrid said through gritted teeth. "But anythin' unusual? Any clues?"
"Mars is unusually bright," Ronan repeated serenely.
Helena craned her neck, but the dense canopy obscured the heavens. Without her star charts and telescope, the celestial patterns meant nothing.
"Yeah, brilliant," Hagrid grumbled. "Meant somethin' a bit closer ter ground, though—"
A rustle in the trees. Hagrid whipped his crossbow up—but it was another centaur, this one black-haired and wilder-looking than Ronan.
"Bane!" Hagrid greeted him. "Alrigh'?"
"Good evening, Hagrid." Bane's voice was deeper, rougher. "You seek answers about the wounded unicorn?"
"Aye! Seen anythin'?"
Bane joined Ronan in staring at the sky. "Mars shines brightly tonight."
Hagrid exhaled sharply through his nose. "Right. Well, if yeh see anythin', lemme know." He stomped off, Harry and Helena scrambling after him.
"Never," Hagrid muttered, "ask a centaur fer a straight answer. Star-mad, the lot of 'em. Couldn't care less 'bout anythin' closer than the moon."
"Are there many here?" Helena asked.
"Few dozen. Keep ter themselves mostly." Hagrid glanced back at the clearing. "Deep minds, centaurs. Know things... just won't say 'em."
"Was that what we heard earlier?" Harry asked.
"Hooves? Nah." Hagrid's grip tightened on his crossbow. "That was our unicorn killer. Never heard anythin' like it."
The trees grew denser, the shadows deeper. Helena kept glancing over her shoulder, skin prickling with the certainty they were being watched.
Then—a scream.
"Hermione!" Harry lurched forward.
"STAY ON THE PATH!" Hagrid bellowed. "I'll fetch 'em!"
He crashed into the undergrowth, leaving Harry and Helena alone in the suffocating dark.
"You think they're hurt?" Helena whispered.
"Couldn't care less about Malfoy," Harry muttered. "But Hermione—"
Minutes crawled by. Every rustle of leaves, every snapped twig sent Helena's heart racing. Finally—crunching footsteps. Hagrid returned with Hermione, Malfoy, and Fang in tow.
"Malfoy thought it'd be funny ter jump out at us," Hagrid growled. "Scared Fang half ter death. Ruined any chance o' trackin' anythin' now."
He reassigned the groups—Hermione with him, Harry and Malfoy with Fang—but Harry refused to leave Helena's side. Hagrid relented with a grumble.
For half an hour, Helena, Harry, and Fang ventured deeper. The path vanished beneath gnarled roots. The unicorn blood grew thicker, smeared across tree roots as if the creature had dragged itself in agony.
Then—a clearing.
"Look..." Harry grabbed Helena's arm.
Something white gleamed ahead. A unicorn—dead. Its slender legs bent at unnatural angles, pearly mane fanned across dark leaves. Helena took a step forward—
A slithering sound froze her in place.
From the shadows, a hooded figure crawled toward the corpse on all fours, animalistic. It lowered its face to the unicorn's wound and—
drank.
Helena's scream tore through the night. Fang howled.
The figure's head snapped up. Silver blood dripped from its chin. It stood—and lunged.
Helena couldn't move. Couldn't breathe.
Then Harry's voice shattered the paralysis—a cry of such searing pain that Helena's blood turned to ice.
Helena staggered, her body moving before her mind could process what was happening. Instinctively, she tried to run toward Harry—just as he lunged sideways. Their movements clashed, clumsy and uncoordinated.
The collision sent them both tumbling to the forest floor. Helena barely had time to wrap her arms around her brother and squeeze her eyes shut before—
Thundering hooves.
Something leaped cleanly over them and attacked the hooded figure. The sounds of struggle—snarls, impacts—filled the air, but Helena didn't dare look. Only when silence fell did she crack her eyes open.
The figure was gone.
A centaur stood over them—not Ronan or Bane. This one was younger, with palomino flanks, a blond mane, and startlingly blue eyes like pale sapphires.
"Are you hurt?" he asked, helping them up.
"I'm fine," Helena breathed. "Harry?"
"Yeah... thanks..." Harry's voice was shaky. "What was that?"
The centaur didn't answer. His gaze lingered on Harry's scar, the purple bruise-like mark stark against his forehead. It wasn't until Helena stepped between them, eyeing the centaur with suspicion, that he finally looked away.
"You are the Potter children," he said. "You must return to Hagrid. The forest is not safe—especially for you. Can you ride? It will be faster." He bent his forelegs. "I am Firenze."
Before they could mount, pounding hooves announced Ronan and Bane's arrival.
"Firenze!" Bane roared. "You disgrace us! Carrying humans like a common mule!"
"Do you not see who this is?" Firenze shot back. "The sooner they leave the forest, the better."
"What have you told them?" Bane's nostrils flared. "We swore not to defy the heavens! Have the planets not shown you what comes next?"
Ronan pawed the ground nervously. "Firenze acted with good intent."
"Intent?" Bane kicked a root. "We concern ourselves with prophecies, not rescuing stray humans!"
Firenze reared, forcing Harry and Helena to clutch his mane. "Did you not see the unicorn?" he demanded. "Do the stars blind you to its murderer? I will fight what lurks here—even with humans on my back!"
With that, he galloped away, leaving Bane's enraged shouts behind.
Branches whipped past as Firenze wove through the trees. Helena clung tight, her mind racing.
"Why was Bane so angry?" Harry shouted over the wind. "And what was that thing?"
Firenze slowed but didn't answer until they reached a dense thicket.
"Tell me," he said, "do you know why one would drink unicorn blood?"
"No," said Harry, while Helena frowned.
"In Potions, we only use horn and tail hair—"
"Because to slay a unicorn is monstrous," Firenze interrupted. "Only one with nothing to lose and everything to gain would commit such an act. The blood sustains life, even at death's door—but at a terrible price. You curse yourself the moment it touches your lips."
Moonlight silvered Firenze's back as Helena digested this.
"Then who'd be that desperate?" Harry asked. "If you're cursed forever, isn't death better?"
"It is," Firenze agreed. "Unless you need only survive long enough to drink something else... something that would restore full power. Do you know what lies hidden in your school this very moment?"
"The Philosopher's Stone!" Helena gasped. "The Elixir of Life! But who would—?" She cut herself off, ice flooding her veins.
Firenze's voice dropped to a whisper. "Can you think of no one who has waited years to return? Clinging to life, biding their time...?"
The memory struck Helena like a physical blow—Hagrid's voice from their first meeting: "Some say he died. Codswallop, in my opinion. Dunno if he had enough human left in him to die."
"You mean—" Harry's voice was hoarse. "Vold—?"
"HARRY! HELENA!"
Hermione's shriek cut through the trees as she and Hagrid crashed toward them.
"We're okay," Harry said numbly. "The unicorn's dead, Hagrid. Back there."
Firenze knelt to let them dismount. "You are safe now."
"Thank you," Helena whispered.
"Good luck," Firenze murmured. "Even centaurs read the stars wrongly at times. I pray this is one such time."
With that, he vanished into the shadows, leaving the siblings trembling in the moonlight.