Harry touched his scar and cried out in pain, "My scar-it feels like it's burning."
Lorne immediately scanned their surroundings.
Under the pallid moonlight, a white unicorn lay on the ground. Beside it, a black-robed figure crouched low, seemingly about to enjoy his lunch.
"Ahh!" Draco screamed and turned to run.
But Lorne caught him by the collar. The Forbidden Forest was not safe. He needed to stay beside Lorne, at least until the Centaurs and Hagrid arrived.
Voldemort's black robes gave him an intensely oppressive presence as he slowly drifted toward the three of them.
With a thought from Lorne, countless pieces of rotting wood rose from the ground beneath his feet, patrolling around them like miniature airships.
Voldemort froze for a moment.
The next instant, a roar came from behind Lorne, and an arrow tore through the air.
Voldemort sidestepped it, but in that brief instant, a pair of hooves had already reached his face.
This time, Voldemort's dodge was far less casual. He practically rolled across the ground several times before fleeing in panic.
Lorne was hardly going to let his big move go to waste.
"Fire."
At his command, the floating wood shot off like arrows, humming toward the fleeing Voldemort.
Firenze the Centaur glanced back at Lorne in surprise. He was about to speak when Lorne cut him off.
"Protect those two and wait for Hagrid. I'll give chase."
Seriously, this was no time for fair play. Strike when the enemy was exhausted, pursue when the enemy fled. He had to kick him while he was down.
Touching the potion in his pocket that he had specially prepared for Quirrell, Lorne charged after him with his head held high.
Firenze: "..."
"Your teacher is very brave. He must have graduated from Gryffindor."
Lorne used the Levitation Charm to fly low over the ground. The rotting wood and leaves beneath him could not hinder his progress at all.
Seemingly driven to desperation by the pursuit, Voldemort pulled a wand from inside his robes, suddenly turned, and cast a spell toward Lorne.
A green beam sliced through the darkness. Lorne did not even need to think-it had to be Avada Kedavra.
While making his game, Lorne had carefully studied combat between wizards.
Even someone as powerful as Voldemort needed a wand to cast certain complex spells. Essentially, a wizard's magic could be understood as a bucket of harmless water. Certain spells turned that water into ice, but to hurt someone, the ice still needed to be thrown.
A wand was like a conduit, gathering scattered magic together and firing it in a concentrated stream.
Combat between wizards involved high attack and low defense. Often, a single spell could put an opponent out of action. Even the Shield Charm could offer protection like a steel plate or a sheet of paper, depending on the amount of magic poured into it.
So Lorne chose not to gamble. He could simply dodge.
As he dodged, Lorne landed smoothly. Everything around him trembled slightly, awaiting his command.
Whoosh-
A branch flew out, its offshoots still attached, and plunged into the muddy ground where Voldemort intended to retreat.
Whoosh, whoosh, whoosh-
Dead branches, fallen leaves, bones, pebbles... everything that could move shot out in an instant, striking Voldemort's black robes. Voldemort cried out in pain and tried several times to escape, but Lorne saw through every attempt. The enormous tree trunks he had positioned in advance had been prepared for precisely this moment.
With a thud, the black-robed figure fell to the ground and lay motionless.
Lorne approached cautiously. Because of the hope Lorne had given him, Quirrell had never drunk Unicorn Blood. Voldemort had already been in a weakened state, and after the beating Lorne had just given him, he had passed out completely.
Lorne dripped two drops of the potion he had hidden into Quirrell's mouth.
It really was not that he did not want to save Quirrell. Even after drinking the whole potion, Quirrell would still need to pit his own soul against Voldemort's. Even with Voldemort half-dead at present, Lorne did not dare gamble on Quirrell being able to drive Voldemort out of his body.
Those two drops were enough to repair Quirrell's nearly shattered soul and sustain it until the end of term.
Quirrell slowly opened his eyes. His head had never felt so unburdened. It was no longer like before, when he had felt as though he were carrying hundreds of little imps on his back.
"Professor Quirrell," Lorne reminded him, "we have limited time. Right now, I'm the only one who can save you. If you have any questions, ask them quickly, all right?"
Quirrell said excitedly, "All right. I can't feel Voldemort inside my head anymore. Does that mean..."
"No," Lorne interrupted. "Voldemort will come back to life. I have no way to destroy him completely either, but I have a potion that can repair your soul and let you face Voldemort once more."
Quirrell fell silent.
"I know you can't stand against him, but we have Harry."
Quirrell's eyes lit up. "Harry?"
"That's right. Keep following Voldemort's plan. Once Harry destroys Voldemort, I'll give you this potion. It can preserve your soul, but on one condition: you mustn't harm anyone, including unicorns."
"I understand," Quirrell said, lowering his head. "Once I drink Unicorn Blood, I'll spend the rest of my life half-dead. He tortured me with the Cruciatus Curse for days before I had no choice but to come here."
"I have another question. Was this Dumbledore's arrangement? Did he arrange for you to save me?"
Lorne shook his head. "No. I'm the one who wants to save you."
"Why?"
"As I said at the beginning," Lorne said, rising politely to his feet, "the General Affairs Office is wholeheartedly committed to serving every member of staff and every student."
Elsewhere.
Firenze handed Harry and Draco over to Hagrid. After exchanging a few words with Hagrid, the conversation turned back to Lorne.
"Who was that? I could see neither his past nor his future in the stars."
"His name is Lorne Miles, our director of general affairs. He's a kindhearted man." Hagrid had wanted to catch up, but thinking of the fallen unicorn and the four shivering children beside him, including Harry, he decided to attend to business first. "Firenze, let's catch up another day. I have to take these young wizards back. I'll leave the unicorn to you."
The Centaurs were highly skilled in medicine-at least much better than Hagrid himself.
Firenze nodded. "Hagrid, remind Dumbledore when you return that the Forbidden Forest needs to expand. Those spiders and our people are almost out of habitat."
When Lorne returned to the spot, only Firenze remained.
With his blond hair, he was handsome and dashing, his muscles strong and powerful. The four legs beneath his body lent him a touch of sanctity.
Firenze knelt on the ground, applying a layer of herbs to the unicorn's wound. "Did you let him get away?"
"I knocked him unconscious, then let him go." Lorne did not lie to Firenze.
Firenze asked no further questions. He calmly continued treating the unicorn. Instead, Lorne was the first to grow restless.
"I heard Centaurs are very good at Divination. I thought you might be able to see my fight with him."
"Astrology only foretells outcomes. It is difficult to deduce the exact process," Firenze said, showing ample patience toward someone outside the stars. "We need to observe the stars in advance, record them, and draw them on wooden posts in a particular way."
"So that means..." Lorne keenly picked up on the word "draw." "You're pretty good at drawing, then?"