Chapter 4: Unicorns

[resonance_and_d]

OK. I was going to send this to M for a check, but somehow I didn't, and I'm feeling lazy.

So, chapter is coming out now. Next chapter can get beta'd...


Chapter 4: Unicorns

Any questions Harry, Ron, and Hermione had about Lupin had to wait. Snape had taken over as the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, and he was giving an abominable amount of homework. Since he was missing from Potions, a new professor named Slughorn had taken over that class. As if that wasn’t enough, Hagrid had gone as well, and his position was being filled by Professor Grubbly-Plank, who Harry maintained (aloud, at any rate) wasn’t half the teacher Hagrid was.

"I bet he's gone to talk to the werewolves," Ron said. "I mean- Lupin's gone, and Hagrid's obviously part giant, so he'd be safe from them."

"Part giant?" Harry said. "How would that... Never mind, I don't want to know."

“Lupin didn’t miss classes when he was communicating with them,” Hermione pointed out. "He went to every single one."

“Well- Hagrid can’t do much magic. Maybe it’s harder for him to get there. They could be deep in the forest.”

Or maybe, Harry thought, he’s been stolen away, too. Or just killed. But this seemed even more unlikely; surely Dumbledore would make some sort of announcement if another teacher went missing.

The second lesson of Professor Grubbly-Plank’s presence featured unicorns.

“They don’t care for boys as much as girls,” she said. “So the gentlemen in the class will want to stay back at first.”

Harry stayed obediently to the back of the group, standing next to Ron as a flock of girls cooed over the unicorn foals.

“Unicorns aren’t all that interesting,” Ron said crossly. “Girls.”

Harry nodded empathetically. “Although it’s nice to see them… you know. Alive. Not like first year…” The memory of dead unicorns wasn’t in Harry’s top ten worst, but it certainly wasn’t pleasant to recall.

“Well, there isn’t You-Know-Who in the forest this year. The unicorn mortality rates have gone right down now he’s gone, I reckon.”

Harry nodded.

“Alright, boys. You can come forward a bit! Don’t be shy- they won’t bite!”

The class laughed a bit, and the boys came closer to the unicorns.

Hermione was kneeling next to one of the babies, her robes pooled around her and an adoring grin on her face.

“Isn’t he adorable?” Hermione said, rubbing the unicorn gently near its nose.

But as Harry and Ron got nearer, the silvery baby unicorn made a scared little whinnying noise.

“Oh, you poor thing. What’s the matter?”

It got louder, and stood up with a panicked speed. Another unicorn, much larger, came over. Probably its mother, Harry thought. Coming over to see what the matter is.

The mother unicorn briefly brushed faces with the younger, and then turned to face Harry. The younger unicorn quieted.

There was a peaceful, collected look in the mother unicorn’s eyes. Very deliberately, it turned and it walked away from him, leaving heavy hoof-prints in the mossy ground. The baby followed.

Hermione sighed. “Well, the professor did say they didn’t like boys very much.”

“Sorry,” Harry muttered, a little annoyed.

The mother unicorn turned back, a few yards further, and gave him a much less peaceful look.

And then it began to charge. By the time Harry had recovered enough from the surprise, it was too late. It was only a few feet away. Unicorns were fast.

It ran him completely through the shoulder. The pain was worse than anything Harry had ever felt; worse even than being bitten by a basilisk. He’d been pumped full of adrenaline then, and prepared to die. And the basilisk fang hadn’t burned like the unicorn horn did. He clutched at it a bit, but was already too weak to do anything, as if his strength had been drained the instant his shoulder was pierced.

He lost the use of his legs, then. They crumpled under him, and he stood for a moment supported by the very horn that had impaled him. Then he slid off it- which, if anything, was more painful than the stabbing had been and collapsed onto the ground, shirt rapidly becoming scarlet. He heard someone say “Get it away- it’s going at him again-“ and then, finally, the world went black.

------------------------------------------

Harry woke in the hospital wing, still in rather a lot of pain. His shoulder was bandaged, but it was obvious he had lost a lot of blood. It had even leaked through the bandage a little.

He tried to sit up and quickly realized his mistake. His head swam- how much blood did I lose?- and he blacked out again.

It felt like only a second later when he woke again, but it had been longer; the shadows on the wall had moved, and he was directly in a beam of sunshine, which was unpleasantly warm. He scooted out of it- slowly, because his shoulder was still painful-and only then realized that Ron and Hermione were next to his bed.

“Harry!” Hermione said, obviously restraining herself from hugging him.

“You managed to handle a dragon without getting hurt, first year.” Ron said. “Giant spiders? No problem. Three-headed dogs, fine. You face a basilisk and get bitten, but survive. But faced with a unicorn- a bloody unicorn- you nearly die. How do you do it, Harry?”

He tried to shrug, and winced. “I still feel like I’ve been stabbed. And it burns.” In fact, it wasn’t just his shoulder that hurt; he felt fevered,

Madame Pomfrey came in at that moment. “Oh, good. You’re awake. Out, you two. I need to talk to him for a while.”

With worried backwards glances, Ron and Hermione left. Harry was sure they were waiting just outside the door.

“How are you, dear?” she asked, taking the seat Ron had just vacated.

Harry repeated what he had said to Hermione. “Why didn’t you heal it yet?”

Madame Pomfrey sighed.

“It’s a bit complicated,” she said. “How much do you know about unicorns?”

“Not much,” he admitted.

“Well,” she said. “There are only a few reasons why a unicorn would run someone through like that. They might be defending themselves from an attacker, or they might be attacking one of a dozen or so dark creatures- vampires, transformed werewolves and the like. The other reason is that it was trying to heal you of a strong dark curse.”

“Heal? That didn’t feel like healing to me. And what dark curse?”

“Unicorn horns have healing properties, which work best when the horn is in direct contact with afflicted blood. As for a curse- well, I think it’s unlikely that your appetite loss is due to Dementors. The Occludus potion isn’t working.”

Harry nodded.

“I’m having a specialist from Saint Mungo’s come in to look at you, next Tuesday. That was the earliest she was available. Let me check that shoulder again; it shouldn’t be hurting you. But as for why I didn’t attempt to heal you- outside magic will interfere with what the unicorn did, and if it’s counteracting the curse- whatever that might be- I’d rather leave it alone for now.”

Madame Pomfrey busied herself with bandages for a while. Harry didn’t look at the wound. The sight of blood was giving him an unsettled feeling- strange, because usually it didn’t bother him. Merlin knew he’d seen a lot of it in his life, with the adventures he sort of fell into, and because he’d grown up in the same house as Dudley.

“How long have I been asleep?” he asked.

“Only a few hours. Compared to some of your other stays here, you’ve recovered quite nicely. It wasn’t such a bad injury.”

Harry wanted very badly to disagree. After all, he’d woken up fully healed from every other major encounter. But he didn’t say anything.

“It looks fine,” Madame Pomfrey said. “Clean. No bits of horn in it, or bit of anything else. I can’t think why it would hurt.”

She felt his forehead and frowned. “You’re a bit warm, though,” she said. “Perhaps you’d better rest for a while.”

Harry didn’t feel tired, but he complied, laying his head down. “It’s too bright,” he said. “I can’t fall asleep like this.”

She put a screen around his bed, and must have cast a spell, as well, because a moment later most of the light was gone.

Somehow, he fell asleep right away. He woke a few times in the night, restless, but always managed to sleep again.

In the morning- or the afternoon, as it turned out, since he’d slept so late- his shoulder hurt worse than before. He didn’t look at the wound when Madame Pomfrey checked the bandages, but he saw her frown from the corner of his eye.

“What?” he asked, turning his head and accidentally getting a glimpse. It wasn’t bleeding, but… Urgh. It was red and swollen, like an enormous pussy mosquito bite. He turned away quickly.

“I think,” Madame Pomfrey said, “that I’m going to heal this after all. I can’t imagine that the benefits you’re getting outweigh the pain…”

She looked worried, but dabbed a foul-smelling potion on the wound. It stung, and Harry hissed a bit at the pain.

A moment later, his shoulder felt better. He gave it an experimental shrug.

“Great,” he said. “Can I go now?”

“No,” she said. “You’re going to write that letter now.” She gestured at the table next to the bed, which he saw had parchment, ink, and quills on it.

“Oh,” he said. “Er- right now?”

“Yes, right now.”

“I have it started, in my trunk. I could go…”

“No. You’re going to write the entire thing, now. I don’t want you running around. You’re staying for the next few hours so that I can keep an eye on that shoulder.”

This seemed a bit made-up to Harry. When had he ever had to stay after being healed, before?

“I feel fine,” he said. “I could manage a run to my trunk.”

“I’m the healer, and I say you aren’t fine yet. Get to work.”

So, giving her a slightly dirty look, Harry did.

It shouldn’t have been hard. It really shouldn’t have been. He knew what he needed to put in the letter. It was just… awkward. When he got right down to it, he was horribly uncomfortable telling complete strangers about his home life. He wasn’t even sure why he’d told Madame Pomfrey.

But it had to be done. So, with no idea of where to start, Harry just wrote:

Until my Hogwarts letter came, I lived in the cupboard under the stairs.

The rest was easier.

By the time he’d finished, it was past dinner time. Madame Pomfrey gave him a bowl of soup, but he couldn’t bring himself to eat any of it. It was more than his usual slight disgust at the food; just the smell of it turned his stomach.

“I can’t,” he told Pomfrey. “I just can’t.”

She took it away. “The curse specialist will be here in fewer than two weeks. I hope she finds out what the matter is.”

Harry nodded glumly.

“You can go back to Gryffindor tower,” she said, “if you feel up for it.”

Harry nodded again. He was tired, and inexplicably sore all over, as if he’d been pummeled all day instead of sitting in bed, sleeping or writing.

“I’ll do that,” he said, staggering a little as he got to his feet. If Madame Pomfrey noticed, she didn’t let on.

He walked back to the common room and saw Ron and Hermione sitting in a corner, arguing.

“Well, don’t blame me when you have to stay up all night to finish it, because you couldn’t be bothered- Oh, hi, Harry.”

“Hi.”

She handed him a stack of papers and books.

“Here. I made copies of the notes you missed, and wrote down the work you need to do. And the books I used are here, too; I already finished. Don’t forget to return them to the library when you’re finished.”

“Er- thanks.”

“I expect the teachers will understand if you’re a bit late, though.”

But though he was sore, Harry didn’t feel tired at all.

“I’ll just do it now,” he said. “What is there?”

He had to write an essay for Defense, on yet another magical being and how to distinguish them from a human, as well as defense against them. They’d done werewolves already, and veela. Now, apparently, it was time for vampires. Snape wasn’t going easy on them at all.

Harry picked up one of the books Hermione had given him, and turned to the page on vampires. The page was brown and the book smelled unpleasantly musty.

And what do we say of the vampire, foulest of all magical beasts? Other creatures have the excuse of poor intellect; for all the damage a werewolf or a manticore might do, they are ultimately to be pitied. The vampire, however, retains his full intelligence, and so bears the full blame for all of his abominable crimes against humanity, too numerous to list in full. From drinking the blood of humans to petty theft, no foul deed is too large or small for a vampire.

So monstrous is his soul that he cannot even stand the light of day. Truly, the vampire is evil, more vermin than human, and intentions to exterminate him can be nothing but good.

The art of vampire hunting is dangerous but most rewarding…

Harry shut the book. On the Hunting of Beasts, it was called. He didn’t care for it much. It seemed… When he came into the wizarding world, it had been an escape from that sort of thing- from hatred, and being called a freak. And those things- but only for him. Everywhere he turned, there were new ways people still hated and hurt. They hated them for being muggle, for being not as bright, for being too bright entirely. And here was yet another way, right here. Vampires were probably just like other people. The writer of this book had probably been someone like Uncle Vernon. No- Uncle Vernon wouldn’t know what half of the words meant. Someone like Lucius Malfoy, then- someone who looked reasonable but wasn’t.

Also, the author had clearly never encountered a dementor, if the line about the “foulest of all magical beasts” part was what they actually believed.

The official school textbook was less poisonous and more helpful, listing distinguishing characteristics (pale, thin, strong, fast) and weaknesses but making no other comments.

Vampires have highly developed senses of smell, sight, and touch. Strong offensive odors and bright light are often enough to deter them. Garlic is highly utilized for this purpose, and sunlight has long been known to overpower vampire eyes, leaving them unable to see for hours and sometimes causing permanent damage.

Because of this intolerance, they rarely venture outside during the daylight hours, resulting in the typical pale skin. Other common physical characteristics include sharp teeth and a slender body, though there are variations among vampires as there are with humans.

Harry wrote the paper and went to bed.

At breakfast; the smell of bacon and eggs, once so appealing, made him feel ill. He only barely managed to choke down the nutritive potion beforehand, and that was because Pomfrey had glared at him.

It didn’t help that Malfoy was doing impressions of Harry being attacked by a unicorn and fainting dramatically.

“Honestly,” Hermione muttered. “He wouldn’t be laughing if it had happened to him.”

“I can’t believe he’s laughing at all,” Ron said. “It was pretty gruesome. That’s a bit low, even for Malfoy.”

“Well, he hasn’t had anything to mock since the beginning of term,” Harry commented. “He’s probably getting a bit desperate.”

Hermione put some eggs on a plate and put it in front of Harry. “Eat,” she said.

Harry looked at the plate. “Er- I’m not feeling up to it, today.”

She gave him a glare worse than even Pomfrey could summon. He took a bite, and immediately wished he hadn’t. They tasted awful.

He made a face, then swallowed.

“See? That wasn’t so bad.”

Harry could tell the others at table were purposefully not paying attention. It was embarrassing. He took another bite, swallowing as fast as possible so he could avoid tasting them.

“Do these taste all right to you?” he asked. Ron took a bit off his plate and chewed thoughtfully.

“They’re good.”

After about two more bites, Harry began to feel sick to his stomach.

“I’m going up to get my book,” he said. “I forgot it.”

The look Hermione gave him was disappointed and concerned. Ron just looked bewildered. Harry felt a brief but strong surge of anger at both of them.

He went back to the tower and sat on his bed.

Really, this situation was awful. Not so much being sick; that he could handle. He’d faced worse. It was the way Hermione lectured him and Ron stared, the way Madame Pomfrey kept shoving potions at him and nothing helped.

He felt another wave of nausea, much worse than when he’d eaten the last bite of egg. He managed to get to the toilet before throwing up- just barely.

There goes the nutritive potion, he thought, staring into the toilet bowl with mild disgust.

It was strange; the very thought of eating made him feel ill, but the smell of vomit was only unpleasant. He flushed the toilet, walked to the sink, and rinsed his mouth out. He looked into the mirror. The image that looked back at him didn’t look ill at all. Just a little thin, and a bit pale; he needed to get more sunlight.

No one would be able to guess that he’d just thrown up, if he didn’t tell them.

It was a powerful realization. Why tell, when it would just make them worry and nag? Ron and Hermione didn’t need to know. Madame Pomfrey- well, he’d still tell her. She was trying to make him better.

Taking one last look at himself, he left the bathroom and grabbed the book that he needed. He started down the stairs, feeling oddly cheerful.

“Harry? Are you alright?”

Ron was at the bottom of the stairs.

“I’m fine.”

“Alright. Good. You were just up there a long time, and Hermione was starting to worry. We’d better hurry, we’re going to be late.”

Harry threw up several times over the next week, but he hesitated to bring it up with Madame Pomfrey. It wasn’t as if he was dying; he mostly kept things down. And he didn’t feel bad at all, other than right after meals. He was fine.

Besides, the first Hogsmeade visit was coming up. What if she decided he needed to stay in the hospital wing? He wouldn’t get to go.

He would tell her after Hogsmeade. It was only a few days.

A/N:

Yes, Harry has his Hogsmeade permission slip. That was intentional. You’ll see why… Mwahaha!

Um. Yes. Anyway. Please review!