Troll: 40. Horsing Around

Chapter 40: Horsing Around

Blaise Zabini
Forbidden Forest, Hogwarts

I’d intentionally had a light day today. I skipped my fencing lesson. I scried my legilimency “training aide” so I could feed mom the answers I wanted and finish up early. It was all so I could take an afternoon nap. Hell, I’d even brought a big, muggle thermos of coffee, big enough that it was made for soup rather than a beverage.

It hadn’t been enough. I’d emptied the damn thing and now, I was tired and jittery. At this rate, I’d probably piss myself, not that the centaurs would take offense to that.

I trudged along behind my hosts. Each step felt like I was wearing boots of lead. Now that the excitement had passed, my body was starting to crash from the sudden onrush of adrenaline. I just couldn’t muster the energy to keep up with them.

“Hurry it up, human, you’re slowing us down,” one of the centaurs demanded. Not one had offered their names and I hadn’t asked. They were surly bastards all, and I doubted a single one would hesitate to put an arrow through my neck if I gave them a reason.

“Gee, sorry I’m not half-horse,” I grouched as I stumbled over yet another root. Here in the forest, those things grew as thick as a man. “Kinda running on fumes here.”

Harry, Ron, and Hermione supposedly ran through this forest from wolf-Remus in another timeline. I called bullshit; that was pure plot armor. At least one of them should have died screaming as Remus slowly yanked their entrails through their assholes. 

He grunted and hung back. For a moment, I thought he’d crouch so I could mount him. But no, no way in hell was I that lucky.

As a rule, centaurs were proud creatures. What exactly they had to be proud of was beyond me, but proud, they were. They had a strong culture of independence and tended to respond to anything that even remotely suggested they were beasts of burden with magic arrows and hooves.

He wasn’t Firenze and I didn’t have Harry’s bullshit protagonist charisma. The fucker grabbed me by the scruff of my robes and hoisted me into the air before switching grips. I hung beneath his armpit like a sack of potatoes. With a derisive snort, he caught up to his herd.

“This is humiliating…” I grumbled. Yes, I was bitching. At this point, piss and vinegar were all that kept me going.

He jostled me purposefully, jabbing a bony knuckle into my ribs. “Blame your pathetic constitution.”

“At least I’m not walking now…”

I hung there for several more minutes. After a while, I could almost pretend his arm was a harness and that I was riding a particularly bumpy zipline. I was tempted to doze off, but had a feeling that if I went to sleep, these fuckers would drop me off in an acromantula web just to watch me piss myself.

The forest cleared, and took my breath with it. I now found myself at a pristine spring. Moonbeams scattered upon its surface and the very wind seemed to still.

Many animals of all shapes and sizes gathered around the spring, but the unicorn herd stood out like jewels in the night. Their horns shone a pure silver and their alabaster coats seemed to drink in the moonlight. Their hooves were gold, a brilliant contrast with the rest of their coloring.

I even saw several foals; they were easy to tell apart because they were pure gold unlike their parents. They’d retain that golden coat for the first two years of life. They played and nudged other animals that sought the tranquility of the spring. Even the most ornery creatures treated the foals gently, as if there was an unspoken rule that no blood would be shed at this spring.

“You are privileged, human,” the centaur lugging me around said. “Only one other has ever seen this spring.”

“Hagrid?” I guessed. If there was anyone who was welcome here, it was the friendly half-giant.

“You know him, then?”

“Of him. I know of Hagrid. We don’t really have much to do with one another. He’s well-known for having a good relationship with the denizens of the forest though.”

“He does. Know that you are being offered a privilege you did not earn.”

“Yeah, secret sanctuary for unicorns. Got it.”

“Come, tend to the injured unicorn. Perhaps her foal will not become an orphan tonight.”

So saying, he led me to the herd. As we approached, the herd parted around us like the Red Sea. Or rather, like a crowd of people parting around a leper. Every single unicorn shied away from me as if they’d catch something by touching me, judgmental pricks.

We soon found the injured unicorn. I could tell right away that she’d lost a lot of blood. She had several wounds, though only one looked truly deep. I wasn’t a vet, but I guessed it cut through her artery, or tapped into it at least. It was only her supernatural vitality and affinity for life that was keeping her alive.

Rivulets of molten silver trickled down her side, staining the grass. Or, given she was a unicorn, I wouldn’t have been surprised to learn that the grass counted as sanctified now that her sacred self had deigned to bleed on it.

“Huh… Does this technically mean the grass is immortal now?” I asked sleepily before I fully realized what I was saying.

He dropped me onto my stomach. The grass was soft, but it knocked the wind out of me anyway. With a disdainful sneer, he spat, “No. Now treat her, human.”

“Okay, yeah, I deserved that one.” I got up and made to approach, but a golden foal placed itself in front of me. Its horn had yet to grow in so it really just looked like a shiny, toy horse. “Hey, I need to heal your mom. Can you move?”

It snorted. When I reached out to gently push it aside, it nearly took a finger off. I desperately wanted to punt it into the water, but I had a feeling that’d get me shot. Alas, diplomacy, it was.

“Is this because I’m not a virgin?” I drawled out sarcastically. Sleepy-Blaise wasn’t very good at the whole diplomacy thing.

More glaring. More nickering. The unicorn eyed me distrustfully. I could more or less guess why. 

Even muggles knew unicorns. Hell, Scotland insisted on it being its national animal, probably to appropriately reflect its nonexistent independence. And one of the few things muggles got right about these self-important gluesticks was that they were walking virgin-detectors.

It was probably a side effect of a unicorn’s affinity with the concept of purity. I’d read several anecdotal records that suggested a unicorn could sense the purity of magic, thought, intentions, or even souls. I normally wouldn’t trust anecdotal yarns, but it wasn’t as if unicorns were easy to study in any other way.

If the foal really could sense my magic, or perhaps even my soul, there was a chance that it was feeling my own, troubled heart. Or, perhaps it could feel that my soul wasn’t quite the soul of a child. That kind of dissonance would naturally make a magical beast wary.

Unfortunately, I had no idea how I could make it better.

Finally, the centaur said smugly, “He does not trust you. A human harmed his mother. He will not trust lightly.”

“I’m tired. I’m cranky. I just want to fix the damn horse and go about my business,” I grumbled. I held out my hands, empty of my wand. “Look, see? No wand.”

“A unicorn, even foals, can see the darkness in your heart. Perhaps you are not as innocent as you claim.”

“I never claimed to be innocent. I claimed I could heal his mother, or at least that I’d try. He’s in the way of that.”

Another centaur tried to help but that damn foal still wouldn’t make way for me. At this point, I was too tired to try to convince the dumb beast.

Frustrated, I held out my hand again.

“Alright, you stupid fuck. See this?” I demanded. I grabbed my index finger. Then, with a pained wince and a dull crack, I wrenched it all the way back. “Gah! Fuck! See? Broken. And now, episkey!”

A gentle glow surrounded my finger. I felt my reserves dip as the ring did the casting for me. The magic wrenched my finger back into place, drawing another wince from me. 

I held my hand out again. “See? All better. Healing magic. Get it?”

He had the audacity to snort at me one more time before he very reluctantly stepped aside. He still eyed me like a mad dog, as if he expected my ribcage to split open into a yawning void and swallow up his mother.

Grumbling, I knelt down next to his mom. The actual healing process didn’t take too long. In fact, I couldn’t take full credit for her swift recovery. Being a creature so closely associated with life must have come with some major perks because her wounds stitched themselves shut with minimal fuss.

Well, most of them. The wound on her neck was too cursed for episkey to fix completely. She was left with a weeping cut that still pulsed painfully.

“This is as much as I can do for you,” I whispered to her.

She gazed up at me with intelligent eyes. Slowly, she sat up as blood still dripped down her side. With my mage sight, I could see a taint in this wound that I could not cleanse.

Madam Pomfrey had told me about this early on. Episkey was a general mending charm for the body. It could fix most flesh wounds, and even set bone by contorting the muscles into proper shape. However, if it could fix everything, healers like her would have been out of a job long ago.

My ring was useful, but it wasn’t a cure-all. The biggest flaw was that it did nothing to cleanse dark magic residue. I felt this intimately when I could only use it to temporarily relieve my spasms. The dark magic residue in my body came from my dearly departed aunt’s crucio, and so there wasn’t much for me to do besides grin and bear it.

“There was something dark in that cut,” I told her. It honestly scared me a little, that Voldemort, even depowered like this, could inflict curses just as potent as my aunt’s best crucio. “You’re going to need to see a professional healer. I’m just a half-assed amateur.”

She nodded in understanding. Then, the blood she spilled began to glow a shimmering silver. It all came alive, like a sentient blob of mercury. It pooled together and rose into the air until it sat eye-level with me.

“Are… Are you giving me your blood?” I asked, half in disbelief, half in awe. At her nod, I searched for anything to put her blood in. Sheepishly, I held out the thermos that had contained my coffee. “Sorry, I don’t exactly carry empty potion vials with me.”

Admittedly, going home with a thermos full of unicorn blood wasn’t in my plans, but I should have expected some fuckery. Hogwarts was just weird like that.

Then again, I couldn’t say I was mad about my prize. Exhausted, but still quite happy. 

The blood was precious beyond words. There was something to be said for consent where magical reagents were concerned. Also nonconsent for that matter. It was why Voldemort required the flesh of the servant, “willingly sacrificed,” and the blood of his enemy, “forcibly taken” in his resurrection ritual. Both were powerful symbols in their own right.

And I had a thermos full of unicorn blood, willingly given. Sure, she wasn’t using it anymore, but as they said, it was the thought that counts.

I had no idea what I’d do with this much unicorn blood. Hell, other than Voldemort’s ritual, I couldn’t even name a potion that might use such a thing. The act of harming a unicorn was so taboo that it wasn’t a subject that was studied. Or if it was, it sure as shit wasn’t common knowledge. 

Which meant I couldn’t even ask anyone about its uses. If I wanted to make good use of her gift, made so much more powerful because it was a gift, then I’d need to do a lot of studying.

“I likely have the most expensive thermos in the world right now,” I muttered, half in a daze.

“Typical of humans. You receive a priceless treasure and your first response is to attempt to put a price on it,” a centaur spat. He’d been the one to lug me here, not that he’d bothered to name himself.

“I’m just trying to process.”

“You… did well. The herd acknowledges you. Know that this trust is a prize worth more than the blood you hold.”

I looked around. Everyone was looking squarely at me. Every centaur, every unicorn, even the mundane animals. I got the distinct feeling that I was on trial, being judged. Until finally, the unicorn, the big one, dipped its head.

I slumped in exhaustion, releasing a breath I didn’t know I’d been holding. “I’d… I’d like to leave now. I think I’ve had enough excitement for the night.”

“Then come, human. I will take you to the edge of the forest.”

This time, he let me ride on his back. It was as close to a glowing endorsement as I’d likely ever get from a centaur.

X

Seeing how the Forbidden Forest was noisy tonight, I decided to hold my ritual elsewhere. I had the centaur drop me off at the edge of Hogsmeade.

It had been a mistake to enter the Forbidden Forest. It’d paid off for me, but I could just as easily have met Voldemort. I’d forgotten about his drinking habits and I almost died for it.

Instead, I mustered up what stamina I still had and made my way through the tunnel beneath the Shrieking Shack. This early on in the story, the only two people who knew about it were Fred and George, and they were almost certainly asleep. Which was good, because they still held grudges.

I couldn’t be sure, but I was loath to cross the Hogwarts wards for fear of alerting a professor. Fortunately, the forest wasn’t the only thing that blurred that line. It was a small detail from the third book, but when the Marauder’s Map was introduced, Sirius Black seemed to “vanish” near the whomping willow.

I strongly suspected the Marauder’s Map was tied to the wards somehow, which explained its extensive tracking function. I could infer then that the wards did not take the tunnel into account, likely because the tunnel had been made long after the wards’ perimeter had been established. After all, the tunnel and shack were less than fifty years old. They’d been made specifically for Remus’ use. 

I confirmed the edge of the wards one last time via mage sight. If the entrance to Diagon Alley stood out like torches in the night, the edge of the wards was akin to a holographic wall of light when I bothered to look. It was distracting enough that I didn’t most of the time.

I reached into my bag and withdrew the ingredients. First came a large, stone mortar and pestle; dragging it around would have been impossible with my current exhaustion without my magic bag.

Then came a set of brass scales, enchanted to be unerringly precise. I’d gotten this set specifically because it reminded me a little of the Millennium Scale from Yu-Gi-Oh, not that it had any other enchantments.

I carefully weighed out an even mix of frankincense and myrrh. The book was a bit weird about this. It said the gypsy woman had added “roughly a handful,” but also advised that the measures be precise. I took a “handful” to mean exactly thirty grams of each.

After measuring the two to my satisfaction, I ground them all together in the mortar. I then placed them into a brass censer and started a small fire. This close to the entrance, the smoke wouldn’t be a problem. Besides, I was supposed to breathe it in.

The last thing in my bag was four elephant tusks. I’d had Daphne carve them down into small pieces three inches long. Four ivory pieces, from four different elephants, went into the flame.

The moment the fire touched the ivory, I felt my magic drop precariously low. I’d been running on fumes already but now, my magical exhaustion matched the weariness I felt in my bones.

Still, I carried on. I breathed deeply of the smoke. It was an acrid thing, at once fragrant yet stifling, but my attention was on the metaphysical. I felt the ley lines stir.

The gypsy called it the “memory of the mother,” and though “Gaia” as an entity didn’t exist as far as I was aware, I was struck with a sense of reverence. This was the earth, and the magic that gave it life. It was so bountiful, so ancient, that I couldn’t help but feel small in comparison. My entire life was but vapor in the wind compared to the history that these ley lines had witnessed.

Tied to the ley lines as I was, I felt in my heart that I could ask three questions and receive an answer. I didn’t know why, the arithmancy was beyond me, but I wouldn’t be able to do this again anytime soon. Not that I would; tonight had been a colossal pain in the ass.

I started with the two obvious questions:

Is the philosopher’s stone in the castle’s third floor corridor real?

What are the protections guarding the stone?

The stone was real. The defenses around the stone were largely the same. There were a handful of differences, but none of them would slow down Voldemort. Given Violet was older in this universe, I doubted they’d stop her for long, either.

No, much as I remembered, it was the Mirror of Erised that was meant to do the real heavy lifting. Voldemort couldn’t destroy the mirror, for fear that the stone would be lost to him forever. He couldn’t move the mirror without triggering the wards, either. In the end, only someone who did not want the stone could pull it out.

Which meant that had Harry sat his ass in his dorm, the plot of the first book would have ended with Voldemort’s loss anyway. His involvement added nothing beyond inspiring Voldemort to find a workaround. The Chosen One had nearly stolen defeat from the jaws of victory.

That left me in an awkward position. I wanted the stone. Now that I knew that it was the genuine article, I wanted it like Gollum wanted the One Ring. It was infinite wealth and immortality. How could the Slytherin in me refuse?

And much like Voldemort, this very same desire precluded me from ever being able to pull it free. If the incomparably better trained, more experienced dark lord couldn’t do it, I doubted I’d be able to finagle a solution, either.

That didn’t mean I’d give up. With my last question, I got a list of the wards around the third floor corridor. They were… complex. I didn’t understand even half of them, but that just meant next semester would be busy.

Tired but satisfied, I stumbled back to the Shrieking Shack. It wasn’t the most comfortable place to sleep, and I’d have some explaining to do in the morning, but those dusty, wooden boards looked as inviting as a five star hotel.

Author’s Note

I didn’t plan on this, but it was a nice way to weave in the canon plotline. Violet never gets detention and so never goes into the forest. But Blaise does, and though he doesn’t run into Voldemort, he does see the dying unicorn after the centaurs chase him off and carry her away.

He has a vial of unicorn blood, willingly given. That’s powerful stuff. Unfortunately, it’s so rare and so powerful that no normal book is going to have a recipe that includes it. So, feel free to drop some ideas for what it can do.

Blaise’s ritual is basically Legend Lore in D&D. 

Animal Fact: Penguins sneeze, and their sneeze is extra-salty.

Penguins have something called a supraorbital gland. Literally, “supraorbital” means “above the orbit,” with the orbit being the eye socket. The glands essentially act as a second kidney, but only for saltwater.

Though penguins do not directly drink saltwater, they intake some when they catch fish and so the salt must be filtered out. The byproduct of the supraorbital gland is five times saltier than seawater, so it’s pretty damn efficient.

Also, they secrete this byproduct through their bills which can make them look like they have a runny nose. And yes, they can also sneeze it out.