THE FORBIDDEN FOREST

QUIRINIUS

Quirrell peered around the edge of the tree. It was the dead of night, and the darkness of the Forest was impenetrable – yet the unicorn standing twenty feet away seemed to illuminate the clearing, its silvery glow like that of a full moon.

Quirrell had never set eyes on a real unicorn before. He had overheard Professor Kettleburn, who taught Care of Magical Creatures, mention that a small unicorn herd resided in Hogwarts' Forest; he knew they were a protected species by the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creature; he had read of their possession of all sorts of magical properties, and use of their hairs and horns in wands and potions – but being in such close proximity to a real unicorn was a special occurrence. The creature was only chomping happily on a bunch of berries, but Quirrell could almost feel the magic radiating from it.

Don't get attached, came Voldemort's icy voice in his ear. We're not here to befriend it. Quite the opposite. I take it you are familiar with the properties of unicorn blood?

Quirrell swallowed.

'This is most unnecessary, master,' he said shakily. 'Let us return to the castle and find another way to get to the Stone. Now we know how to get past the oaf's three-headed dog –'

You have proven yourself utterly inept at getting anywhere near that Stone, came Voldemort's scathing retort. Which is why, in the meantime, I require another solution. I am growing weaker by the day, Quirrell, and you are to blame. This is a far easier way to redeem yourself. It's very simple. Slaughter this unicorn and drink its blood. When we've had our fill, we shall discuss our next move.

'This is a high crime, master,' said Quirrell, louder this time, though still with a quiver in his voice. 'Someone is bound to happen upon the dead body and report it to the Ministry. What use is this if I end up in a cell in Azkaban?'

Believe me, Quirrell, there are things I can do to you that will make you wish you were in Azkaban, said Voldemort in his most dangerous voice. Do as I say – NOW!

Fear once more prevailing, Quirrell extracted his wand and slowly pointed it at the unicorn. In the distance, he thought he heard voices. Centaurs, most likely. He experienced a stab of self-loathing for what he was about to do.

'Avada Kedavra,' he muttered. A flash of green light, and the unicorn keeled over, unmoving.

Quirrell took several deep breaths to calm himself before approaching the fallen beast. Already a stream of silver blood was seeping over the grass from the place where the Killing Curse had struck. Doing his best to ignore his sense of remorse, Quirrell knelt beside the unicorn and dipped one finger into the unicorn blood, which was glinting of its own nature. Slowly, and accompanied by Voldemort's ascending impatience, Quirrell put the blood to his lips.

His first thought upon tasting the unicorn blood was that he'd quite like to taste more, and that he would lick it clean from the Forest floor if necessary – before he knew it, that was exactly what he was doing. It was without doubt the best thing he'd tasted in his life – and yet, somehow, at the same time the blood was disgusting, revolting, as though he were knowingly ingesting a deadly disease with every drop. As he forced himself to keep drinking, he felt the almighty prospect of eternal life open up in front of him, only to be countered by a terrible sense of panic and paranoia. Why on earth had he just done this? What curse had he placed upon himself with such an act of magical taboo?

'AAAAAAAAAAARGH!'

Quirrell looked up, startled. They weren't alone, after all. A boy and a dog had spotted him and fled in fear. However, a second boy was watching him and appeared frozen to the spot. Even in the darkness, there was no mistaking the round glasses and the lightning scar on the boy's forehead –

For the first time, Voldemort fully possessed Quirrell. Voldemort's wave of fury propelled him towards Harry, who immediately clutched his scar in agony. Before he could get any closer, however, Voldemort was charged upon by one of the centaurs, whose hooves clattered into his body and made him cower in pain. There was nothing to be gained from fighting back. He had already taken what he'd needed from this Forest. With the unicorn blood still dripping from his robes, Voldemort glided away through the trees with a sense of enormous triumph. He was a step closer to eternal life.