At Hogwarts, the story begins with deconstructing Avada Kedavra.

Chapter 65 The Tragedy of the Unicorn

The morning air at Hogwarts Woods was damp and chilly, typical of England.

On the edge of the Forbidden Forest, the oak cabin, pieced together with a restoration spell, looked particularly desolate in the morning mist. A few planks of the roof still bore traces of charring, and the wind howled as it seeped into the cabin through the cracks.

Rupert Hagrid sat at the wooden table that was missing a leg and propped up with a few bricks.

He was holding a rusty iron box in his rough hands.

Thirty-seven—thirty-eight—forty-two—

Hagrid awkwardly fiddled with the Galleons at the bottom of the box with his fingers. Fifty Galleons—for a gamekeeper, that was practically all his savings.

Actually, saying Hagrid is poor is the biggest black humor in the wizarding world.

As the de facto uncrowned king of the Forbidden Forest, he was essentially sitting on a gold mine while begging for food. He probably would never understand that if he had just hardened his heart a little and asked his good friend Aragog for a small vial of octopus venom, he could easily sell it for hundreds of gallons in Knockturn Alley.

He never imagined that the unicorn tail hairs he casually plucked from the bushes to use as a fence for the pumpkin patch could be exchanged for ten golden Galleons at Ollivander's Wand Shop.

Not to mention the precious centaur hooves, the bones of the Thestrals, and the wand wood protected by the Bowtruckle.

If he had even a fraction of Professor Snape's business acumen for extracting the surplus value from magical creatures, he would have been rich enough to buy a shop in Hogsmeade long ago.

But he refused. In his almost foolish mind, these things belonged to his animal friends, and selling them for money was a desecration of nature.

Therefore, this incredibly wealthy man from the Forbidden Forest could only wear an expensive mole-skin coat and carefully count his Galonnais.

However, when he had counted all fifty Galleons, a relieved joy spread across his face, which was covered by his unkempt black beard.

"Fifty Galleons, enough to keep Azkaban—worth it, absolutely worth it."

Hagrid muttered to himself, involuntarily shivering.

Even just thinking of the word Azkaban sends a chill down his spine.

He would never forget the Dementors' breathing there.

That night, when the woman from the Ministry of Magic who looked like a giant toad screamed that she was going to lock him in Azkaban, Hagrid felt his heart stop beating.

But then Dumbledore arrived.

Hagrid looked up at the headmaster's tower in the distance.

His eyes immediately reddened again, and tears welled up in them.

In his mind, everything that happened last night was a great miracle of Hogwarts.

"The headmaster is truly great—he shut that fierce Umbridge down with just one sentence!"

Hagrid blew his nose and let out a loud sob. "So what if it's the Ministry of Magic? So what if it's the Malfoys? They wouldn't dare utter a sound in front of Dumbledore. That signed parchment was just a formality. The headmaster always knows how to deal with them."

In the eyes of this simple-minded mixed-race giant, the world is black and white.

The Ministry of Magic is the villain who's here to cause trouble, while Dumbledore is the omnipotent protector.

All he knew was that the rain had stopped and he was safe.

"It's just a pity for my Norman—"

Hagrid's gaze fell on the old blanket in the corner of the room, which was half burned.

That was the stuff that Norber used when he hatched, and it still had a pungent sulfur smell.

The thought that his mischievous little fire dragon, who always bit his fingers, was now flying to Romania with a group of strangers made Hagrid's heart ache as if it were being gripped tightly by a giant monster.

It's so small, it can't even shoot sparks far. What if it gets bullied by other big dragons? Will Charlie's friends prepare dead rats soaked in brandy for it?

"I'm so sorry, Norbert—" Hagrid wiped away his tears with his coat sleeve, his sigh echoing in the cabin.

Tooth popped out from under the table, rested its drooling head on Hagrid's lap, and let out a comforting whimper.

"Oh, good boy, Toothpick." Hagrid reached out and rubbed his droopy ears. "I still have you, right? I still have Hogwarts."

Thinking about this, three figures came to mind for Hagrid.

Harry, Ron, and Neville, who usually stutters even when he looks at him.

"They are the real Gryffindors!" Hagrid stood up excitedly, his movement causing the cabin to shake.

"Three first-year kids, carrying such heavy boxes up the Astronomy Tower in the middle of the night for this old fool like me. Ron's hands were bitten like that, and Harry had to deal with that old bastard Filch—God, if they get expelled because of me, I'd rather die by the Whomping Willow!"

Hagrid felt guilty, but at the same time he had a kind of blind optimism.

Grades are like leaves; they fall in autumn but grow back in spring.

It's common for young wizards to be put in solitary confinement. As long as they're alright and haven't been sent back to the Muggle world, everything is fine.

Once this storm has passed, he will definitely bake them the biggest and sweetest rock-skin cakes, and then secretly take them to see the nest of newly hatched unicorns in the Forbidden Forest.

"Yes, let's go to the Forbidden Forest!"

Hagrid slapped his forehead, remembering his duties as the gamekeeper. The charred wood on the roof needed replacing; he had to go to the edge of the woods and cut down a few sturdy fir trees.

Moreover, he also needed to go for walks in the woods; only in the shade of those towering ancient trees could he truly feel at ease.

Hagrid grabbed the bow and tucked the pink umbrella inside his coat.

"Come on, Toothpick! Let's go patrol the territory!"

He pushed open the rickety wooden door and strode into the cold morning mist.

The moment Hagrid stepped into the Forbidden Forest, his goofy and simple-minded demeanor vanished.

Here, he was no longer the ignorant guard manipulated in the political vortex, but rather a half-master of this ancient forest.

His ears could hear the whispers of the wind through the leaves, his nose could detect the fox's den half a foot deep in the soil, and his eyes could see the eyes lurking in the deepest shadows.

But today, the atmosphere in the Forbidden Forest is strange.

Hagrid unconsciously slowed his pace as he stepped over the first moss-covered fallen log.

It's too quiet.

At this time of day, there are usually a few tree guards chattering noisily on the branches at the edge of the forest, and occasionally you can hear the soft sound of horsemen's hooves crushing fallen leaves from the depths.

But now, all around is silent, with only cold mist swirling between the tree trunks.

Although Ya Ya is usually timid, she still dares to bark a couple of times at the edge of the forest.

But today, it tucked its tail between its legs, pressed itself tightly against Hagrid's boots, and whimpered in its throat, refusing to take another step forward.

"What's wrong, old friend?" Hagrid frowned and gripped his bow tighter.

He sniffed the air.

The smell of decaying leaves, the smell of pine resin, and the smell of morning dew —

Beneath the normal scents of the forest, a hint of something unusual is hidden.

Hagrid's heart sank; it was an intuition that made him even more uneasy than when he faced Umbridge.

He didn't understand the intricacies of politics, but he was intimately familiar with the laws of the jungle.

He gripped the umbrella in his hand and strode toward the source of the smell.

The further you go in, the taller and denser the trees become, completely blocking out the light from the canopy.

Hagrid stopped in his tracks in a clearing overgrown with thorns.

The fallen leaves before me had been violently churned, and the soil was covered with marks of struggle of varying depths. And amidst the chaotic black and brown, there was a glaring patch of something.

It shimmered with silver light.

Even in the dim woods, it still radiates a pearly luster.

"Good heavens—" Hagrid crouched down to examine the area closely.

He stretched out his finger and dipped it in the silvery liquid.

The liquid was half-dry, but the moment it touched his skin, Hagrid felt a chill seep into his bloodstream.

It's unicorn blood.

Anger and shock churned in his chest.

In this forbidden forest, predation and being prey are a daily occurrence.

The eight-eyed giant spider eats lost beasts, and werewolves tear their prey apart during the full moon; these are all laws of nature.

But unicorns are different.

They are the purest and most sacred creatures. They have extremely strong defensive capabilities and are so fast that even lightning cannot catch them; no creature in the forest can harm them.

More importantly, killing a unicorn is a sin that incurs a terrible curse.

"Who did this? What damned bastard—"

He stood up and carefully examined the traces around him. There were no huge footprints, indicating it wasn't a giant; there were no clusters of hoofprints, indicating it wasn't a centaur; and there were no remnants of spider webs.

There were some strange scratches on the bushes, but no footprints were found on the ground, as if something had slid across the ground.

Hagrid followed the silver trail of blood for several dozen yards until it disappeared completely beside the rushing stream.

The badly wounded unicorn escaped, but having lost so much blood, it certainly wouldn't live long. What attacked it must still be lurking somewhere in the Forbidden Forest, waiting to deliver the fatal blow.

Hagrid stood by the stream, listening to the sound of the water, and felt an unprecedented pressure.

Just as he was lost in thought, a rustling of leaves alerted him. He abruptly raised his bow and aimed at the shadows.

"come out!"

A centaur with silver-white hair emerged from behind the bushes.

It was Ronan. His face looked unusually grave, and his tail was wagging nervously.

"Good morning, Hagrid." Ronan's voice was deep and melancholic.

"Did you see that, Ronan?" Hagrid pointed to the silver blood on the ground and asked urgently, "What's hunting unicorns! Is it some kind of poacher?"

Ronan did not answer directly, but instead looked up and peered through the gaps in the tree canopy at the gloomy sky.

"The stars were bright last night, Hagrid," the centaur said softly, his voice tinged with a fatalistic melancholy. "Something unnatural is happening in the forest. Some things are far more terrifying than poachers. Some shadows that once vanished are now seeking new form, and boys with courage flowing in their blood will face the shadow of death."

"Don't play games with me, Ronan!" Hagrid waved his hand impatiently. "All I know is that there's a unicorn bleeding and suffering! I have to find it, and whatever monster it is, I'm going to shoot it in the head with this bow!"

Ronan looked at Hagrid with pity and shook his head.

"The centaurs will not interfere with the course of fate. Good luck, gamekeeper. But be careful not to let innocents get lost in the darkness." With that, Ronan turned and disappeared into the depths of the woods.

Hagrid spat in annoyance. He knew the centaurs' nature; those stargazing fellows would never say a straight word.

But the bloodstains on the ground were real.

He had to hurry back to school and write a letter to Dumbledore to report this.

At the same time, he must find the injured unicorn as soon as possible, even if it's just to end its suffering.

However, the Forbidden Forest was too vast, and it would be difficult for him to conduct a large-scale search in a short period of time with just one person and a timid dog.

He needs help.

On the way back, Hagrid's mind raced.

It seems that Professor McGonagall arranged for several students who had misbehaved to be put in solitary confinement at his place this weekend?

Hagrid suddenly remembered something.

He remembered that the list included Harry, Ron, Hermione, and oh, right, Draco Malfoy from Slytherin.

I recently added two more girls.

"Very good!"

He had no idea that he was about to face a Dark Lord who was feared even by centaurs, a man who was barely clinging to life yet still deadly.

In his mind, although the Forbidden Forest was dangerous, as long as he, an experienced caretaker, led the way, walking on familiar paths, it was just a slightly exciting night hike.

"This is the perfect opportunity!" Hagrid grinned, his previous gloom vanishing. "Harry and the others must be upset about losing points because of me. I'll take them into the woods for some fresh air, maybe even look for unicorns. This is a real Magical Creatures Protection class, much more interesting than just copying texts in the classroom!"

"As for that Malfoy kid—" Hagrid snorted, recalling Lucius Malfoy's whistleblower letter and Umbridge's sly face.

"His father's out there plotting and scheming, so I'll make his son suffer in the woods! Let him know that Hogwarts isn't his pampered backyard. Let him walk at the front with the lantern, and give this little snitch a good scare!"

Hagrid thought his plan was perfect. It would get the job done, appease Harry, and punish Malfoy—killing three birds with one stone.

With this naive optimism, Hagrid left the Forbidden Forest.

He pushed open the wooden door, walked to the table, picked up a quill pen, and wrote a report to Dumbledore in crooked handwriting on parchment, eagerly awaiting the upcoming weekend of confinement.

This loyal and sentimental half-giant was completely unaware that his well-intentioned arrangement was gradually pushing his beloved Harry Potter towards the heart of a story shrouded in death.