Chapter 78: An Old Friend

A curse shot from the tip of Harry's wand, its distinct crimson glow of the Cruciatus Curse staining the surrounding forest with a sinister hue.

The dark-robed figure closest to him failed to dodge in time and was struck directly by the curse.

A piercing scream erupted, an inhuman wail akin to nails scraping against glass, sharp enough to make Harry’s teeth ache.

The figure, which had been diving toward Harry moments before, now flailed like a broken kite, tumbling rapidly out of sight into the dense forest.

The pain in Harry’s scar had vanished—or perhaps, he had channeled it into the figure through the excruciating spell.

He panted heavily. That sensation was far from pleasant. If it weren’t for the near-unbearable agony that had disrupted his focus, he might not have resorted to using the Unforgivable Curse. A simpler, less cruel spell might have sufficed.

"Harry… Harry? Is that you?"

A faint, ethereal voice echoed near Harry’s ear.

"Who’s there?" Harry jerked his head up, quickly pulling a vial of Invigoration Draught from his pocket. Popping the cork with his thumb, he drained it in one gulp.

Warmth spread from his throat to his limbs, and his energy was restored.

Using an Unforgivable Curse carried side effects, though Harry seemed to endure them far better than most. No soul-wrenching agony, no tumultuous flood of negative emotions—just a lingering sense of fatigue.

"Harry, I’m right here."

Following the voice, Harry’s gaze landed on a unicorn lying on the ground.

She was stunning. Even with her slender legs curled in pain, her beauty was undiminished. Her mane, white as pearls, fanned out against the blackened tree roots.

"You… you can talk?" Harry frowned. "You’re a unicorn?"

He stepped closer, retrieving two vials of Invigoration Draught from his pocket. Uncorking them, he carefully poured the contents into her mouth.

Then, tucking the wand he’d picked up from Dawimar back into his robes, he drew his own wand and pointed it at the unicorn’s wound, where silvery blood continued to flow.

"Episkey!"

But nothing happened. The jagged wound showed no sign of healing. Blood still trickled down her pristine fur, pooling on the ground.

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"Harry, that won’t work," the unicorn said softly, coughing twice. Her gaze held a tender warmth.

"If Veratia saw you using the Cruciatus Curse again, she’d be furious."

Harry shot to his feet, disbelief written all over his face. "You—who are you?"

He didn’t recall ever befriending a unicorn. Heaven knows, these creatures seemed to have a bias against boys—they avoided him and Ominis but were always friendly with Veratia, Cassandra, and Poppy.

Could this unicorn have once been one of their friends?

"You’d be better off giving me a Blood-Replenishing Potion," the unicorn suggested.

Harry quickly rummaged through his pocket, pulling out two potions he’d bought from an apothecary. He hesitated, then put them back, opting instead for two he had taken from Professor Snape—meticulously brewed by the Potions Master himself.

Only potions crafted by a master could offer optimal healing.

Whether this unicorn was a friend of Veratia and the others or a stranger, Harry couldn’t stand by and watch her life fade away.

After drinking the potions, the unicorn’s eyes regained some of their sparkle. Though the wound still bled, it no longer poured as profusely as before.

"It’s a vicious curse," the unicorn said. "The one who cast it… they carried an overwhelming aura of dark magic. I don’t know who they were, but they were as terrifying and powerful as Victor Rookwood."

Guided by her words, Harry examined the wound and discovered the lingering traces of a dark magic curse.

He raised his wand again and began chanting the purification spell Veratia had invented.

"Purusor!"

The spell worked, slowly dispelling the curse on the wound.

Harry felt a surge of hope and continued casting the spell, carefully purging the curse.

But when the curse’s remnants reached a certain threshold, they stubbornly refused to dissipate, clinging tenaciously to the wound.

"This spell won’t suffice," the unicorn murmured. "Unless the fifteen-year-old you—or Veratia—casts it, it can’t be undone."

Harry suddenly remembered there was something else he hadn’t asked the unicorn.

"How do you know who I am? Have we met before?"

"Of course we’ve met, Harry," the unicorn said, a sly glint in her bright eyes. "We’ve known each other for over a century… Oh, congratulations, by the way, on making it back to your own time."

With that, she mustered her strength and stood.

Circling Harry twice, she nudged his robes with her nose, her expression almost humanlike in its warmth.

"My, I didn’t notice earlier—you’re back to being a child again. If I recall correctly, this must be right around the time of your Sorting, isn’t it?"

"Yes," Harry scratched his head. "I don’t know how I returned a hundred years into the future, and as an eleven-year-old, but… well, here I am."

"After you disappeared, the Order of the Phoenix all but fell apart," the unicorn said softly, her voice heavy with regret. "Veratia stopped attending classes altogether. She said she was going to look for you… Many believed you were dead, even Headmaster Black urged her to accept it. But she thanked everyone for their concern and vanished. No one has seen her since."

Harry’s heart sank.

Could it be…

Could Veratia truly be trapped somewhere?

Perhaps caught in the chaos of time itself?

Otherwise, why hadn’t she appeared to find him yet?

"What about Sebastian and Ominis?" Harry asked, his voice unsteady.

"Those two…" The unicorn thought for a moment before shaking her head. "The last I heard of them was in their seventh year. After that, there’s been no news."

Harry’s thoughts were a chaotic mess. Where had Sebastian and Ominis gone? Could they have been imprisoned in Azkaban because of Solomon’s case?

"Aren’t you curious about anyone else?" The unicorn lowered her neck, tilting her head to look at Harry. "Like… Cassandra?"

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