Forbidden Forest Showdown

Over the next few days, Gavin did only one thing.

He watched Quirrell.

He attended classes, ate his meals, went to the library, and made his Saturday trip to St. Mungo's as usual. But beneath that veneer of routine, the Marauder's Map stayed unfolded in a pocket inside his robes, and every so often he glanced down at it.

He had memorized the route the Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts took through the castle: office to classroom, classroom to the Great Hall, Great Hall back to office. It was an orderly zigzag, so orderly it made him uneasy.

When he went to see Norbert, he casually asked Hagrid a question.

"Anything strange happening in the Forbidden Forest lately?"

Hagrid was crouched on the ground, cleaning up a wooden bucket Norbert had chewed to pieces. Sawdust clung to his beard. He looked up and thought for a moment. "No. Why?"

"Nothing," Gavin said. "Just asking."

No disturbances meant Quirrell hadn't succeeded yet. The Unicorns were still alive. Gavin filed that away without letting anything show on his face.

The twins had something else on their minds lately.

"Gu." Fred leaned against the corridor wall, arms crossed. "When are you finally going to crack it?"

"We didn't hand you some random scrap of paper, you know."

"It took us three months." George held up three fingers. "Three whole months."

Gavin tucked the Marauder's Map farther into his sleeve. "It hasn't even been a month yet."

"That answer really rubs me the wrong way," Fred complained.

"I thought you'd manage it in three days." George tilted his head, putting on an exaggerated look of disappointment. "Looks like you're just an ordinary person after all."

"A month isn't long to me." Gavin patted his cuff. "And I am an ordinary person."

The twins exchanged a look and high-fived. They had clearly taken that as Gavin's declaration of surrender. By the time they left, they were already excitedly plotting how to tease him next.

Meanwhile, the other three were busy with a little smuggling operation: sending Norbert away.

They had been acting secretive lately. Ron's right hand was bandaged, and his handwriting had turned crooked, but he was writing letters at a furious pace. Once, Gavin caught a glimpse of the recipient on an envelope in the library: Charlie Weasley, Romania.

It seemed Hagrid's dragon was finally going to be picked up.

The real change came on a Thursday night.

On the Marauder's Map, Quirrell's name left his office. He didn't head for the Great Hall or the library. The little black dot moved along the edge of a corridor, crossed the Entrance Hall, and went straight toward the castle doors.

Gavin watched the map for two seconds, closed it, and stood up.

Finally.

He pulled up the hood of his pure-black cloak and tucked his Wand inside his sleeve, where he could draw it most easily.

Before leaving the castle, he cast a small Transfiguration Spell. A pebble became a bird, which flapped its wings and flew straight off in another direction.

Then he stepped into the night.

The trees at the edge of the Forbidden Forest stood close together under the moonlight. By day, the forest was deep green, with the earthy, faintly sweet smell of soil and moss. At night, all its colors had been drained away. There was only black and deeper black, broken by the occasional pale patch of moonlight slipping through the canopy.

Quirrell walked ahead, his Black Robes appearing and disappearing between the trees. His steps were brisk, his movements agile. He looked nothing like the timid professor from daytime.

Gavin followed at a measured distance. His feet landed on fallen leaves and damp earth, each step swallowed by the fading sound of the one ahead.

He had no intention of taking Quirrell on alone. He needed help.

That help was Hagrid.

Hagrid's magic might now be limited to everyday uses—enlarging teacups, ripening pumpkins, making boats row themselves—but he had one irreplaceable advantage: he stood three and a half meters tall.

At that height, his hands could grip an absurdly large crossbow. When he stood in the Forbidden Forest, even Centaurs had to acknowledge him. Besides, he was the Hogwarts gamekeeper. He had every reason to be there and owed no one an explanation.

By now, the little bird should have struck Hagrid's window and woken him.

If Hagrid noticed the movement at his window and came out with a lantern, Gavin had left traces in a few conspicuous places along the forest's edge.

A snapped twig, its break too clean to have been made by an animal. A small patch of bark scraped off at an adult wizard's shoulder height. A short trail of footprints leading into the trees through the wet mud.

If Hagrid entered the forest, he would follow those traces.

If he didn't, Gavin had plans B, C, and D.

Deep in the Forbidden Forest, the night wind changed. A thread of cold crept into the earthy smell, and Gavin lightened his steps further.

The dark figure ahead suddenly slowed.

Gavin slipped behind an old oak, its trunk too thick for two people to encircle. Slick green moss covered the bark. He leaned aside and peered through a gap between the trunk and a low branch.

A Unicorn.

It stood at the edge of a clearing, its body gleaming faintly silver, as though it had drawn all the night's moonlight into itself. Its white mane carried a thin, iridescent sheen. It looked around uneasily, pawed twice at the wet ground, and breathed little clouds of white vapor into the cold air.

Quirrell was approaching it.

The figure in Black Robes was nothing like the man Gavin saw by day. His shoulders were no longer hunched, his steps no longer hesitant. Something beneath his robes seemed to seep cold into the air, weighing down everything around him.

The Unicorn backed up one step, then another. Then it turned and ran.

Its silver-white body traced an arc between the trees, hooves kicking up wet mud and rotting leaves.

"Impedimenta!"

Quirrell raised his Wand, and a dense, transparent ripple gathered at its tip. It struck the air in front of the Unicorn. The creature hit what seemed to be an invisible, yielding wall and jerked to a halt. Its four legs kept running, but its movements slowed more than tenfold, becoming a slow, futile struggle.

"Incarcerous!"

Thick ropes appeared from nowhere and wrapped around the Unicorn's legs from four directions, tightening and tightening again.

The Unicorn gave a piercing scream. Its forelegs buckled, and it fell onto its side in the wet mud. Its silver mane spread across the ground, fouled with muddy water and torn leaves.

Quirrell walked over.

A pale hand emerged from beneath the Black Robes, its fingers long, the edges of its nails an unnatural blue-gray.

The hand gripped a Wand and pointed it at the Unicorn, as though preparing a Spell.

The Unicorn still struggled on the ground. The ropes bit into its flesh, tightening with every movement.

Gavin's fingers had already closed around his Wand inside his sleeve.

Reason told him to wait. Let Quirrell expend more magic. Wait for Hagrid's footsteps at the far end of the forest.

He had come tonight to stop Quirrell from regaining his strength, not to save the Unicorn. In theory, the safest moment to act would be the second before Quirrell bent to drink its blood, after killing it.

The Unicorn screamed again, sharper and shorter this time, like a cry of pain cut off halfway through.

Gavin raised his Wand.

He told himself he was doing it to make Quirrell use more magic, but he couldn't make himself believe it. He couldn't crouch behind a tree and watch a living, innocent creature be killed in front of him.

His Wand moved. A thick branch overhead twisted violently downward, as though an invisible hand had seized its end and yanked. Leaves and fresh splinters streamed behind it as it tore through the air toward Quirrell's shoulders and back.

Quirrell darted aside with startling speed. Before the hem of his Black Robes could settle, he had shifted half a body's width.

The branch struck where he had stood and snapped in two with a crack, scattering splinters across the ground.

"Who's there?!"

Quirrell spun around. Darkness shifted beneath his hood, hiding his face.

His Wand swept across the clearing, its tip tracing a wary arc through the dark.

But the only sounds were wind in the leaves and the Unicorn's labored breathing.

Gavin had already drawn back behind the tree, his back pressed to the cold, mossy bark. A Disillusionment Charm covered his whole body, and Tortoise-Breathing reduced his breaths to almost nothing.

Quirrell waited a moment, then cast a Shield Charm on himself. A pale-blue barrier flashed around him before fading into an almost invisible shell.

He turned back to the Unicorn. Once more, that pale hand raised its Wand.

Gavin gave him no chance to cast.

The ground beneath Quirrell's feet suddenly softened. It wasn't merely mud that would swallow a boot. In an instant, the whole patch of earth lost its ability to bear weight, becoming a small, bubbling swamp of dark-brown soil.

Quirrell's ankles sank, followed by his calves. He glanced down. The mire had already risen past his knees. Roots, stones, and fallen leaves beside the Unicorn were sinking with him, as if a mouth had opened underground and was slowly swallowing them all.

Then he floated upward.

A silent Levitation Charm pulled him out of the swamp like a post drawn from the mud. He steadied himself briefly in midair, then landed on firm ground nearby.

The little swamp kept bubbling after he left it. Fine foam drifted over the surface with soft popping sounds.

Once Quirrell found his footing, he didn't brush the mud from his robes or check his boots. He stood still, Wand pointed downward, head slightly bowed, as though thinking.

Watching from behind the trunk, Gavin realized something. Quirrell knew someone was there.

The falling branch might have passed for an accident of the forest. The swamp was an unmistakable announcement that someone had cast a Spell.

Quirrell now knew someone was here, stopping him from reaching the Unicorn.

Gavin knew he was waiting for another attack.

Gavin shifted his Wand to his other hand and wiped the sweat from his palm on his robes. Every second counted. Hagrid's footsteps still hadn't sounded from any direction, but Gavin had another move ready. If he could hold out a little longer—

Then Quirrell suddenly doubled over without warning.

His shoulders jerked upward first. His whole body began to shake, and his fingers curled, as though something inside him were giving orders.

It lasted only seconds. When the shaking stopped, Quirrell straightened and headed for the Unicorn. His movements were brisk and direct. He no longer guarded himself; even the glow of his Shield Charm had vanished. He simply strode toward it.

Gavin understood at once.

Voldemort had given Quirrell an order: whoever was hiding in the dark, kill the Unicorn and force them to act.

A trap in plain sight.

Gavin clenched his teeth. His purpose tonight had been seen through. Voldemort knew he was here to protect the Unicorn, so he had put it directly on the chopping block.

A row of earthen spikes burst from the ground beneath Quirrell. Each was as thick as a forearm, its point gleaming cold gray-white in the moonlight, hardened by magic.

Quirrell dodged. He turned aside the instant the first spike broke the surface. The second grazed his robes. The third stabbed toward where he was about to land, but he had moved three steps away before his feet touched down.

Even as he evaded them, he turned. He had already seen where the Spell came from, and he faced that direction with his Wand raised to chest height.

"Incendio!"

A thick column of orange-red fire erupted from the Wand's tip, lighting up a dozen meters of the Forbidden Forest like daylight.

The heat reached Gavin before the flames did. He had already stepped back behind another tree as the fire flared.

The flames tore through the spot he had occupied a second earlier and slammed into the trunk. The old oak's bark instantly blackened and blistered. The acrid smell of burning wood and steam from scorched moss filled his nose. A small flame caught on the hem of his robes, and he slapped it out.

He looked himself over. He wasn't hurt, but the blast of heat had disturbed his Disillusionment Charm. Its edges were wavering.

Then he heard that voice.

"Impedimenta!"

It was low and hoarse, each syllable seeming to be forced up from deep in the throat.

The moment the Spell was spoken, a tremendous force shoved everything outward—branches, stones, dirt, rotting leaves, even the air itself. A shock wave burst from the point of impact in a visible, transparent hemisphere, plowing through the ground.

Gavin barely had time to raise an elbow in front of his face.

The next second, he was thrown off his feet. His back slammed into a tree trunk, the jolt running up his spine from tailbone to skull. His vision went black for two full seconds.

By the time he managed his first breath, he had fallen into the grass beneath the tree. His back burned with pain. The Disillusionment Charm had shattered, and he couldn't maintain Tortoise-Breathing either. A stifled cough escaped his throat.

Quirrell turned and looked straight toward him.

The figure in Black Robes came closer. Not quickly; there was a trace of caution in every step. Gravel and leaves crunched beneath his boots. His Wand hung at his side, a thin wisp of smoke still rising from its tip. Nothing was visible beneath the hood, but Gavin knew two pairs of eyes were watching the patch of grass where he lay.

Gavin tightened his grip on his Wand. His fingers still trembled slightly from the impact. He couldn't move at once. His Disillusionment Charm was gone, but he was still down in the grass, and the light was poor. Quirrell couldn't make out his exact position yet.

That cover wouldn't last. A few more steps, and Quirrell would see someone lying in the grass: a student in school robes.

Gavin frantically ran through everything he could use. The twins' plus-max-ultra Dungbomb was in his pocket, but even if he threw it now, the first burst of foul mist might not disable a wizard carrying the Dark Lord's soul. The Marauder's Map was no help. Transfiguration—what could he make in so little time that would stop the monster before him? He went through every Spell he knew, from the Levitation Charm to the Disillusionment Charm to the Slowing Charm. None was enough.

In the end, he might have only one choice left.

When the figure in Black Robes was less than ten paces away, footsteps sounded in the distance. Heavy footsteps, each one making the ground tremble slightly. A dog barked furiously, and a booming voice carried across half the forest.

"Who's there?!"

Hagrid.

Gavin rested the back of his head against the trunk and closed his eyes for a second, steadying his nerves. Good. Help had arrived.

Quirrell stopped almost instantly.

He stood in the middle of the clearing and took half a step back, drawing his Black Robes tightly around himself again. The next second, he turned and disappeared into the trees behind him, swift and clean as a drop of ink dissolving into black water. Even the hem of his robes barely stirred.

Hagrid came charging in with a lantern in one hand and a crossbow raised in the other. Fang ran ahead of him.

One look left him stunned. The Unicorn lay in the mud with all four legs bound. For a dozen meters around it, the forest looked as though it had been blasted apart. Branches were broken, mud churned up, and a charred tree trunk still smoked. The air held the smell of burning and a strange chill.

"Merlin..."

Hagrid crouched beside the Unicorn, breathing hard, and began undoing the ropes. The creature still struggled, but it had almost no strength left. It could only give a faint whinny.

"It's all right, it's all right," Hagrid muttered, tugging clumsily at the knots with his huge hands.

Gavin hastily cast another Disillusionment Charm on himself. While Hagrid was occupied with the ropes, he prepared to slip away on the other side.

The Charm had been rushed, and the air still wavered faintly when he moved. But it was enough to fool Hagrid while he crouched with his back turned.

He had overlooked one thing.

Fang.

The hound left Hagrid's side and sniffed around the clearing. Then he ran straight to Gavin, tail wagging happily. He lowered his head, sneezed, and dropped into a play bow—front legs flat on the ground, hindquarters high, tail spinning like a windmill.

Fang recognized him. After watching Gavin tame Norbert, he had apparently decided Gavin was some sort of higher-ranking pack member worth following.

"Go away, Fang. Not tonight." Gavin forced the words through his teeth in a low voice.

Fang didn't understand. He stayed in his play bow, made an eager rumbling sound, and wagged his tail harder.

Hagrid finished untying the last rope and straightened, looking around.

"Fang? What are yeh doing over there?"

Fang barked once at Hagrid, then turned back and barked twice toward Gavin. Loud, confident barks, full of the excitement of having found someone.

Gavin reached into his pocket. His fingers touched the smooth surface of a round object. The twins' special-edition, ultimate plus-max-ultra Dungbomb. According to them, it offered "an extra dimension of olfactory experience" and could devastate any creature with a sense of smell. He had meant to save it for Quirrell.

He twisted open its tiny casing and dropped the Dungbomb on the ground beside Fang.

Fang lowered his head and sniffed it.

Then the keen-nosed hound let out the most miserable whine Gavin had ever heard from him. He sprang backward as though punched, clapped both front paws over his nose, and let loose a string of aggrieved whimpers. He turned and bolted toward Hagrid, only to run headfirst into a tree in his haste.

Sorry, Fang. I'll bring you a whole string of sausages next time.

As the smell spread, Hagrid was walking toward them. Caught off guard, he took a deep breath.

He regretted it immediately.

"Merlin's beard—whose thousand-year-old cesspit just exploded?!"

Hagrid covered his nose, but it was no use. This wasn't an ordinary stink. Fang might even have enjoyed a regular Dungbomb, but for this version, the twins had drawn on a few "Muggle things" to give the stench a substantial boost. Hagrid's eyes reddened; it was hard to tell whether the smell stung or simply overwhelmed him.

While he crouched to comfort Fang with his nose pinched shut, a barely perceptible distortion in the air slipped silently past them and vanished among the trees.

Something flickered at the edge of Hagrid's vision. He turned, but saw nothing. Only a few disturbed leaves still trembled. Fang crouched beside his feet, paws over his nose, making low, wounded whimpers.

Hagrid crouched and, still pinching his nose, rubbed Fang's head.

"What," he said, surveying the wreckage, "came through here tonight?"

At the edge of the Forbidden Forest, Gavin leaned against an old oak and caught his breath.

The bruises on his back still hurt. Every breath tugged a dull ache through his shoulder blades, as though someone had wedged a stone on either side of his spine.

Scorch marks still stained the hem of his robe. The edges had curled stiff, shedding black ash at a touch. He reached behind his head and found his palm coated with fine wood shavings and cold sweat.

"I got careless." He began to replay the fight in his mind.

He had prepared himself before coming tonight. Quirrell carried a fragment of Voldemort's soul, and might be far stronger than an ordinary Professor of Defense Against the Dark Arts.

But he had thought the Disillusionment Charm and attacks from a distance would let him keep the cornered beast occupied until help arrived. Instead, Voldemort had blasted him out of hiding with a single spell.

Gavin gently rested the back of his head against the tree trunk. He thought of that Impedimenta—it probably had not drawn on Quirrell's magic, but Voldemort's.

That was the will of a man who had once plunged the entire Wizarding World into fear. Now, inhabiting the body of a stammering professor, he had wielded a Wand with Quirrell's hand and shown a glimpse of his former power.

Gavin closed his eyes, then slowly opened them again.

At least it had ended well. Quirrell had failed, and the Unicorn was still alive.

He slipped his Wand back inside his sleeve, got his bearings, and started walking out.

He did not regret his recklessness tonight. He simply understood one thing: next time he faced the Dark Lord, he would need more plans in reserve.