Night in the Forbidden Forest

At night, Canopus stood beneath an oak tree in the Forbidden Forest, dressed in white robes.

Several weeks had passed since Norbert the dragon left, and Malfoy discovered that his occasional strange snickers had suddenly become useless.

Harry and Ron looked at him with pity, the same way they usually looked at Crabbe and Goyle.

It took Malfoy several days to belatedly realize that the dragon was gone, leaving no trace behind except for three whole crates of empty brandy bottles at Hagrid's place.

Furious, he stomped off to Snape to report the matter. But Snape saw no evidence and took no action.

This disappointed Malfoy greatly, so he began pestering Canopus instead.

"Potter knows nothing about dragons. Granger is a Mudblood, and Weasley and Longbottom together couldn't even piece together one complete brain."

"You helped that big oaf send the dragon away, didn't you, Black?" Malfoy said firmly.

Canopus raised an eyebrow. "I don't like the word Mudblood, and I like you even less."

"I advise you to stay away from me, Malfoy. Don't go looking for trouble. If something isn't yours, throwing tantrums won't make it yours. Only your father will keep indulging you. I won't."

Canopus's contemptuous warning had not had the intended effect. Malfoy continued using petty methods to disgust Canopus. So Canopus acted without hesitation.

Over the next week, whenever Malfoy dared step outside the castle, some kind of bird would fly over his head and drop a bomb on him.

Whenever he fled in panic with his head covered, there would always happen to be one or two vines beneath his feet, tripping him to the ground.

Most infuriating of all, whenever he got back up covered in white stains, he would often see Crabbe and Goyle rushing over in a panic, completely unscathed.

That was right. Canopus targeted Malfoy alone.

After it happened several times, even an idiot would know something was wrong. Malfoy eventually had no choice but to yield.

"Canopus Black, you win. I won't bother you again." Malfoy approached Canopus with resentment in his eyes and offered a truce.

"Oh, did I do something?" Canopus nodded innocently. "Still, it's good that you won't bother me anymore. I can rest for a while too."

Malfoy was so angry he nearly crushed his teeth, bitterly regretting that he had picked the wrong target and kicked an iron plate.

But Canopus did not intend to let him off so easily. Malfoy had provoked him several times already, and Canopus was preparing to give him a stronger dose of medicine.

Recently, Canopus's improvements to his Druid potion formulas had achieved preliminary results. He had found substitutes for nearly all the ingredients that had vanished from those ancient recipes.

Now, Canopus needed to make a batch of finished products to test their effects. Among them was a fertility potion that could increase an animal's chances of conceiving.

Canopus thought that if old Lucius got hold of this potion and gave Malfoy a younger brother, would Malfoy still be so favored?

After all, while Western noble titles were inherited by the eldest son, their property was not.

In other words, if Lucius had another son in middle age and doted on him, the inheritance Malfoy received would be greatly reduced.

Moreover, magical family succession was not so rigid. The eldest son might be a Squib, after all. So if the second son was exceptionally talented, even the family legacy might be passed down to him.

The family legacy here referred to the connections accumulated over many years and ancestral magic. No mere gold or silver could compare to that.

With mischief brewing in his heart, Canopus performed a Druid ritual in the Forbidden Forest on the night of the full moon.

A golden Druid ornament hung from his chest, representing the sun. In his hand, he held a golden sickle, representing the crescent moon.

He nimbly climbed the oak tree and, when the moon reached its zenith, used the sickle in his hand to cut several sprigs of mistletoe.

A magically enchanted white cloth floated beneath the tree, steadily catching them. The cut mistletoe could not touch the ground; catching it with white cloth symbolized its purity.

Canopus leaped down from the tree, cut open his fingertip with the sickle, and flicked down two drops of blood as an offering.

A white bull was originally required as a sacrifice, but Canopus's status was special, so a token gesture was enough.

Moonlight immediately gathered around the mistletoe on the white cloth, causing it to emit a faint glow. Canopus picked up the mistletoe and placed it in an oak box.

Mistletoe was a parasitic plant that often appeared on the sacred tree of Druid culture—the oak.

Thus, mistletoe itself became a sacred object. And because its sap was milky white, it was also believed to promote animal reproduction.

Canopus would use it as the main ingredient to brew the fertility potion. He hoped Malfoy could continue happily being his young master from now on.

Canopus had no intention of personally drawing hatred toward himself. He planned to hand the potion's distribution rights to the Weasley family.

After all, their family was famous for having many children. They were practically a living advertisement.

Then he could hold an auction and put out a dozen or so bottles. Lucius would not be able to resist.

Canopus tucked the little box into his pocket, patted it, and yawned as he prepared to return to the castle to sleep.

After only a few steps, he saw a tall black figure approaching, followed by a low growl.

"Who's there?"

"It's me, Hagrid."

Canopus spread his hands. Moonlight spilled over his white robes, and paired with his handsome, pale face, he looked like an immortal beneath the moon.

"Canopus? What are you doing here?"

Hagrid let out a long breath and lowered the crossbow he had been holding up.

"Headmaster Dumbledore should have told you that I've had business in the Forbidden Forest recently." Canopus walked over to Hagrid as he spoke.

"Canopus, you don't understand." Hagrid looked around warily, as though something lurked in the darkness.

"Recently, the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest have been attacked. I still haven't figured out what did it."

Had it started already?

Kano knew that Quirrell's life force had grown extremely weak. Voldemort had forced him to attack unicorns and replenish his vitality by drinking their blood.

But anyone who prolonged their life this way would be cursed. What they gained would be a life that was neither truly alive nor dead.

But what did that matter to Quirrell? What curse could possibly be more terrifying than Voldemort?

A frightened whinny came from the distance, and Hagrid immediately recognized it as the cry of a unicorn.

"Kano, stay here first—"

Before Hagrid could finish, Kano pulled a tall horse out of the mist, mounted it, and rode off.

The tangled tree roots throughout the Forbidden Forest began to wriggle aside, clearing a smooth path for him.

"Hagrid, I'll go on ahead. Catch up as soon as you can."

Kano pressed his heels into the horse's sides, and the steed immediately carried him away.

By the time he reached the wounded unicorn, the poor little creature was already on the verge of death.

The unicorn looked like it had not yet reached adulthood. Its body lay soaked in the silvery-white blood it had spilled, breathing weakly.

With a helpless sigh, Kano used the golden sickle to cut open his wrist and began drawing a magic array on the ground.