The Unicorn and the Snape

The vague beginnings of incandescent morning light filtered through the canopy of the Forbidden Forest. It wafted gently through the trees, turning the forest from darkened wood to enchanted haven as light caressed the leaves. Denizens of the forest were barely opening their sleepy eyes to greet the new day. The birds began to chirp a greeting to the new dawn. The foxes, rabbits, and raccoons were clearing away the debris collected during the night from their doors. In a secluded clearing, a creature emerged from its darkest depths and shadow. Sleek, white, and powerful, it strode along the grass toward the center of the dewy grass. The last of night's shadows gathered under the forest branches. A doe and her fawn watched the vibrant legend from the cover of a copse.

The hollow shade of the surrounding trees was not as empty as it looked, however. The Hunter watched the creature hungrily, lusting after the promise of power. He was crouched low in some berry bushes off to the side, almost stiff from his all-night vigil. He'd been waiting three days for it to show and had almost given up hope, until now. Now that the creature had shown itself, he had no intention of going back empty-handed. He watched the progress of the creature as it walked toward the pond in the clearing.

"Yes, my lovely, keep walking..." he breathed. "I need you to keep heading toward that pond."

Its ears flickered at the faint sound that carried in the wind, but it continued on to the pool in the center of the clearing, staring at its flawless surface. Its flanks shivered in the cold morning air, nostrils flared gently. It knelt, dipping the pride of its existence, a pearlescent horn gracing the forehead, into the pool. It was a ritual as old as the primitive earth magic. Drawn from a time when there were no potions, books, or wands to cast charms and spells; to purify water so that a forest and its creatures may live a life free of disease or illness, a unicorn must dip its horn and swirl it three times. The unicorn's bent head swirled the horn once.

"My beauty..." the Hunter crooned. He lifted his cloak silently and carefully pulled out a heavy iron crossbow, aiming it at the chest of the unicorn. The unicorn swirled its horn a second time. The Hunter took careful aim, lining up the shaft to the chest bone of the unsuspecting creature, slowly pulling the winch tight. The unicorn began its third swirl. Midway through pulling the winch, it gave a slight creak. The abnormal sound resounded through the forest glen like a shot. The unicorn lifted its head and sniffed the air, sensing the danger immediately. Lunging to its feet, it broke into a gallop, leapt over a fallen log and plunged into the shadowy forest. But the Hunter was the Dark Lord's creature. The Dark Lord did not tolerate failure. The Hunter NEEDED that blood; his master NEEDED that blood. He pursued it; his black, sorcerous treated boots making almost no sound.

The HUNTER! The name seared into the mind of the unicorn. She had been warned not to come this far out of hiding, not to leave the old glade. The old man from the wizards' castle had told her to hide there years ago and not to come out until he came for her. She berated herself for behaving like a headstrong colt. She had foolishly revealed herself by attempting to purify a pond so close to the edge of the forest. She realized quickly that she was about to pay for her miscalculation. The sound of her pounding hooves reverberated through the forest undergrowth. Faster, she thought, I must go faster! Try as she might, she could not outstrip the Hunter; not even her otherworldly powers would permit her faster travel through the tangled forest full of trees and no flat ground. She twisted and turned through the dense underbrush, all the while feeling the Hunter's eyes boring into her as he followed.

I have her now, the Hunter thought. He was leaping through the trees, keeping pace with the unicorn. The Dark Lord had given him much in magical accruement for this task. On his feet, he wore boots charmed to be swift and silent. His cloak kept him from being too cold or too hot. His weapon was made of solid iron, but charmed to operate as a normal weighted crossbow. He leveled the iron crossbow to his shoulder. The Strength Charm he placed upon himself made carrying the crossbow effortless, and so he chased her with ease.

There was nowhere to hide for the unicorn. No matter where she turned, no matter where she ran, the Hunter followed close behind. She made a decision. The unicorn fled to the one place she knew she might be safe, the place of the Hunter's enemies. The castle, thought the unicorn, I must make it to the castle. To the one they call Albus. A whizzing sound passed her ear and she narrowly missed ramming into the iron spiked bolt embedded in the tree before her. Oh please, she pleaded, please someone help ... anyone. She wasn't one for prayer as humans were prone to do, but she thought she might give it a go, it couldn't hurt. Another 'thunk' and another narrowly averted spike landed inches from her grinding hooves. The Hunter was becoming more accurate. She twisted to the right and dodged between two closely grown trees. He was keeping up, and it concerned her. Even wizards were hard pressed to catch a unicorn if it doesn't want to be caught. What manner of creature is chasing me, she wondered. Then she shook her head and battened down her concentration. Keep moving, she told herself, Keep going! His third shot skinned her right forelock, severing her hamstring. She screamed in agony, falling to her knees, blinded by the pain. The iron branded her flesh, bypassing her innate resistance to injury.

The Hunter had been pressing on after her, his life, his very existence hanging in the balance. He swore at his first missed shot. He chased her a few more meters, loading he crossbow again and winding the winch. When he missed the second time, he howled in rage. His face was a mask of contorted fury and frustration. Cursing himself and the crossbow, he reloaded and wound the winch again while running, realizing that he had only two more iron bolts left. He HAD to get the shot right. He had to shoot it down before it made it to the Hogwarts grounds. If he failed, the entire castle and that idiot Dumbledore would be alerted to his presence and purpose. He fired again. This time, he made the shot. The unicorn went down, plowing into the ground and rolling to its side. As he approached, he could barely make out the end of the road leading into the forest. No one stood on the path, and no one would witness this. The Dark Lord's victory would be complete. The Hunter lifted the crossbow to his shoulder one final time, his strong arms lining the sight to its heaving chest. He saw it lurch up on three legs and he had to readjust his aim. Steady, he told himself, synchronize the cross sight with the breathing rhythm of your prey. Now gently pull the trigger.

At that moment two things happened at once, the Hunter pulled back on the trigger to fire, and a deep voice filled with power entered the scene with a shout of "Expelliarmus". The crossbow fell to the ground. The bolt landed mere centimeters from its target. Both unicorn and man stared at the gentleman emerging from the surrounding foliage. He was tall, and dressed in long black robes. Black shoulder length hair and obscuring shadows blurred his features. He had a wand already out, clutched in a white-knuckled grip. The Hunter took in all this and was surprised that he didn't recognize him. I thought I knew everyone that was going to be at Hogwarts, he thought. He was, however, going to kill him all the same. The Hunter pulled out his wand.

The Wizard was tired and angry this morning. He had returned to the Hogwarts grounds after a long night and wanted nothing more than to curl up and catch a few hours sleep before class. It seemed, however, that Fate had conspired to deny him this wish. No surprise, thought the Wizard to himself, fate has ever been fickle with me. If I didn't collect bad luck; I would have no luck at all. Fueled by nothing more concrete than rumor and suspicion, the Wizard had decided to search the forest for any signs of the Dark Lord in the Forest. He had walked up the path. He had walked down the path. He had walked a kilometer in either direction of the blasted path. He found nothing to verify his suspicions.

He had been chalking up his eavesdropped conversation as a mishearing when he heard a faint rumbling sound. Intrigued, he cast a blurring charm on himself that rendered his features rather nondescript. That taken care of, the Wizard hurried onward to the cause of the sound, speeding up when he heard something shriek ahead of him. He came upon the fallen unicorn and the Dark Lord's minion. Although he vaguely remembered the face, the Hunter's name escaped the Wizard's recollection for just a moment. He quickly yelled a disarming charm and watched the crossbow fall to the ground. The Wizard recognized it as an iron crossbow. Only someone preparing to kill fey creatures would need such a weapon. So, for once my actions have yielded something of importance. The Wizard noticed the Hunter taking in his sudden appearance and raising his wand. Can't have that, thought the Wizard, Voldemort will have to be disappointed this day.

"Stupefy!" his voice rang out. The Wizard hardly spared a glance to the Unicorn who was shakily getting to her feet, preparing to flee again. Her thoughts were chaotic but she had enough presence of mind to recognize what could amount to divine intervention when she saw it. Unfortunately, her inability to heal wounds of iron meant that her forelock was still injured badly. She stumbled as she rose. Her jerky movements caught the attention of the quickly recovering Hunter, who aimed his wand at her. The beginnings of a chilling and triumphant grin crept along the Hunter's face.

"No!" screamed the Wizard. He was going to be too late. Like all other times, this would just collect as one more act in which he, having the power to do something worthwhile in his miserable life, was just too late. Like I had been too late to realize the extent of Voldemort's madness. Like knowing Voldemort was going after Lily and James that night. Like knowing about Quirrell. He was too late; his spell wouldn't interrupt the one now flying toward the Unicorn, but he could disrupt the effects, and he did

"Transfigaro Emptumio!" roared the Wizard, weaving his life-force into the blast

The Unicorn started to shimmer, becoming a faint shadow, the hint of a new form rising. The Hunter's spell passed right through her. Enraged, the Hunter hurled the spell again. And again. But his spell was meant to kill a unicorn, and that creature was changed enough to not be recognized by the spell. The Hunter tried to reverse the effects of the spell being cast but he was too late. The Wizard was already murmuring additives into the spell, binding it to a new purpose:

Reborn to Earth in Mortal guise,

Encased in layers of visions you must hide,

Secure your will and life shall be,

Only if by danger done shall you set yourself free.

Shorter and slimmer the Unicorn became, forelocks turned into limbs, her shining coat to skin, hooves to dexterous hands, until what lay on the ground was no longer an immortal unicorn, but a flesh and blood woman. The stunned woman lay on the ground, staring upwards at the two men near her.

"BLAST YOU! You bloody bastard! What did you do that for?" yelled the Hunter to the Wizard. "I know what you did. You've stolen her power for yourself!" He raised his wand to the Wizard, yelling, "Petrificus Totalus!" The Hunter watched the Wizard dodge the curse and dive behind a tree.

"On the contrary," said the Wizard over his shoulder. He was trying to pinpoint the exact location of the Hunter. "I have locked her power to her new form and without a proper spell or potion, she may not be changed back against her will. You will never get her blood for the Dark Lord, do you understand me? I suggest you formulate an idea about where else you can acquire what your master needs. I am under the impression that he tends to be unforgiving regarding failure. Please send my regrets to the Dark Lord that he shall not be sacrificing this one."

"That's what you think I'll be doing," snarled the Hunter. He was afraid; the blasted wizard was right about what the Dark Lord would do to those who failed him. "But she can't stay like that forever, immortal or no. You locked away her power, aye, but you locked away her life giving grace as well." He gave an evil chuckle. "She can die now, wizard; just as easily as you or me. An illness, a curse, the possibilities are endless. Not to mention she looks a little green around the edges there. She might not like being a mortal. Maybe I should help her end her misery, eh?"

The Wizard turned swiftly around the tree the words leaving his lips... a shielding charm directed at the woman. He couldn't see the Hunter, didn't even know if he was still here after that parting shot. He cautiously went to stand besides the woman, ever on the alert.

"You'll have to return her to her true form sometime soon." The disembodied voice of the Hunter wafted in his direction. "And I'd much rather have her dead as a unicorn than as a woman. Make no mistake though; she will die either way for your intervention. I'll be waiting." Before the Wizard could react, the Hunter appeared out of the brush a couple of meters in front of him only to vanish into the forest gloom.

The Wizard looked over to what used to be the insensate Unicorn. She was feebly trying to stand but could only manage to kneel in the dirt. He took in her new features, bemused by his work. She wasn't a delicate woman. She was too tall to start, and her limbs were sturdy looking, like an ancient Greek Amazon. She had long hair. Correct that, he thought, her hair is reaching all way down to her knees and it's tripping her up. Her milk-white skin glowed with luminescence against her raven black hair. But it was her eyes that held him still. The stars reflected in the depths of her eyes, the dark smoky night of her pupils. Like windows into the soul, he should have seen her's in them. He saw instead what he could only inadequately label as 'Magic's soul'. That immeasurable part of magic that couldn't be brewed or bottled, never crafted into a charm, unseen by even the most powerful of wizards.

"Who are you?" The words left her lips on a whimper. She was confused to hear the sound of a voice emanate from herself. She didn't normally have a voice, not one that could be heard. She couldn't get to her feet. What is wrong with me, she thought. "What have you done to me?" She heard the wavering tone in that new voice of hers. She looked down at her hands. By Avalon, she thought, I have HANDS. Where are my hooves? Where is my--. Fear shot through her as she considered the ramifications of her new form. It was a new form to her eyes; she had never been mortal. Her wrist was still throbbing in pain. She studied the man looming above her. No, she corrected herself, he is a wizard. From her kneeling position at the Wizard's feet, she could see there was incongruity to his features. It appeared to her as if he had two sets of faces. He had shoulder length black hair, but it looked as if he hadn't combed or washed it since the Great Migration. A high collared white cravat and tightly buttoned black body vest hugged his torso. Slim hips and long legs were encased in black cotton trousers, and ended in rough leather boots. A plain black robe and cloak with a green and silver pin completed his outfit. I am beginning to sense a theme with the black. Her gaze traveled back up toward the Wizard's face again. Unfortunately, the events of the morning were catching up to her newer, more fragile form. The man's face began to waver in her vision as the adrenaline in her system wore off and shock took a hold of her. Blackness engulfed her, sending her spiraling into unconsciousness and to the ground.

The Wizard looked down at the woman in surprise. Then he cursed himself for not reacting sooner. He bent down and carefully wrapped her into his cloak before picking her up, keeping her cradled in his arms. The Wizard confirmed his first assumption about her person. She was a rather sturdy lady. He staggered once and then righted himself immediately. He pulled one edge of the cloak to cover her face; it wouldn't do for a student to know what he was carrying into the school. As he did so, he noted the tiny black star shaped scar on her forehead, frowning. It was almost 6:00 am in the morning by his inner time clock, which meant he had better get back to the castle. He shivered in the morning air and began walking towards the grounds of Hogwarts, unsure of what he had wrought with his meddling.