Patience is the most important element of hunting.
The scent of love spread through the Forbidden Forest, carried on the wind.
Drawn by the lure of blood and flesh, many creatures came and went.
A ravenous wolf pack gnawed greedily at the juiciest parts of the carcass.
A mangy fox sneaked in to nibble on a leg in the chaos.
Wild dogs and feral cats grabbed whatever scraps they could, slinking away to enjoy their stolen bites—they didn't dare remain at the "table" for long.
Surprisingly, these beasts coexisted peacefully.
No fights, no quarrels.
They tacitly enjoyed the feast that had miraculously fallen from the sky.
Though apex predators of their own domains, within this forest, they were merely prey.
Even this unexpected bounty was not theirs to keep.
Before long, an old wolf threw its head back and howled in panic. The pack immediately tucked their tails between their legs and fled, leaving chaos in their wake: scattered pawprints, broken branches, and most of a cow carcass.
The centaurs arrived next.
They too had caught wind of the love potion's aroma.
Harry had encountered these self-proclaimed guardians of the Forbidden Forest on previous excursions. He never greeted them—Hagrid had once warned him that centaurs were deeply distrustful of humans, though they showed some leniency to children.
Avoiding unnecessary danger was a key survival principle.
The lead centaur glanced at the stars and let out a long sigh.
They did not touch the cow. Turning away, they led their kin back into the depths of the forest.
It seemed they had come solely to scatter the other predators.
Deep into the night.
The crisp sound of hooves echoed, gradually drawing closer.
From the bushes, a plump and bloated creature emerged cautiously. Harry's long-awaited target had finally appeared.
It sniffed the air greedily, enticed by the overwhelming scent of love.
Pure, faithful love!
But when its gaze fell on the source—a cow carcass mangled almost beyond recognition—it tilted its head in confusion.
Cows were not known for their fidelity in love.
Perhaps this one was an exception.
For a creature with such exquisite tastes, such a delicacy was rare, even rarer than the offerings from the castle beyond the forest.
Lowering its head, it took a lick of the blood.
The taste wasn't right.
It hesitated, then tried again, moving to the spot where the love potion's scent was strongest.
This time, it was certain.
Fake!
This was not love.
It was something vile, ugly, and deceitful.
The Bicorn let out an enraged roar, rearing up and stomping on the cow's corpse, reducing it to pulp in its fury.
This was the moment!
Harry finally acted.
From beneath his cloak, he hurled a potion bottle at the creature. The glass shattered on impact, splashing a murky gray liquid across its bloated body.
Instantly, pustules erupted across its skin—courtesy of Neville's failed potion.
The abnormal sensation made the Bicorn cry out in pain.
Harry didn't let up, flicking his wand rapidly:
"Incarcerous!"
The vines binding the cow surged like snakes, coiling around the creature and restricting its movements.
"Aguamenti!"
"Glacius!"
Water drenched the Bicorn, freezing into a thick layer of ice that further immobilized it.
The Bicorn struggled desperately, its cries growing more frantic as dark magic began to gather at the tips of its two horns. Black mist, heavy and ominous, oozed forth.
Harry wasn't about to give it the chance to finish.
"Expulso!"
He followed up with a precise gesture:
"Igni!"
A fiery serpent of molten heat coiled around the Bicorn's neck, scorching its hide.
Shielded by the golden glow of his Quen spell, Harry cast off his Invisibility Cloak, drew his sword, and dashed forward.
The Bicorn, however, had been waiting for this very moment.
As soon as Harry appeared, the dark magic on its horns surged toward him.
Harry rolled to the side, narrowly avoiding the blast—but the curse followed, curving mid-air to crash into his shield. Sparks erupted in a dazzling golden spray.
Some of the black mist clung to his robe.
With a soft sizzle, the fabric disintegrated. But the cursed remnants failed to penetrate his troll leather armor and dissipated harmlessly.
The Bicorn began to charge up a second curse.
Harry didn't give it the chance.
Raising his sword, he struck the scorched, burnt patch on its neck.
The blade bit deep, slicing through flesh and bone.
With a heavy thud, the creature's massive head tumbled to the ground, its horns digging into the earth next to the cow's carcass.
"I didn't think you'd use such a method…" the Sorting Hat's voice was tinged with complexity, perhaps even regret.
"What did you expect me to do?" Harry replied. "Charge in like I did with the troll?"
He waved his wand.
The vines holding the cow lifted it and smashed it against the Bicorn's severed head.
At the moment of contact, a dark, malevolent curse erupted from the horns, unleashing the last vestiges of the Bicorn's life force.
Black mist swirled ominously, reducing the cow carcass to a shriveled, foul-smelling husk.
The sight was horrifying.
"This isn't very Gryffindor of you," the Sorting Hat muttered. "You could've faced it head-on."
"But it was safe," Harry countered. "This is a '4X'-class magical creature."
After testing the remains several times to ensure no residual curses lingered, Harry knelt to harvest the materials.
Why fight head-on if you can strike from the shadows?
The Sorting Hat continued to grumble about wizardly honor and combat glory.
Ignoring it, Harry cut off the Bicorn's horns and stuffed them into the hat, silencing it for now.
Sneaking out of the Forbidden Forest, Harry didn't return to Gryffindor Tower immediately. Instead, he headed toward the third floor.
"Wait, Harry, where are we going?" the hat whispered nervously. "This isn't the way to the tower."
"I know." Harry's tone was calm.
He arrived at Professor McGonagall's office, removed his Invisibility Cloak, and knocked respectfully.
After a moment, the door opened.
Professor McGonagall, wearing cat-patterned pajamas, looked surprised. "Harry? I thought it was Filch. Why are you here at this hour? It's past curfew—"
"Professor," Harry interrupted, his voice steady. "I just broke school rules. I went to the Forbidden Forest."
McGonagall's eyes widened in astonishment, and she let out a series of surprised noises. "Oh, oh my… this… this is…"
She was stunned into inaction.
She knew Gryffindor students were mischievous.
Sneaking around after curfew, entering the Restricted Section, or venturing into the Forbidden Forest were practically rites of passage.
But…
Voluntarily confessing to breaking the rules, and with such eagerness?
Harry was the first.
Last term didn't count—that had been Dumbledore's request after the Quirrell incident.
"Are you hurt?" McGonagall asked, her expression turning grim. "Did you encounter a Dark wizard? What did they—"
"No, Professor," Harry replied evenly. "Hogwarts may not be perfectly safe, but it's not as porous as a sieve. There were no Dark wizards."
"Then what—"
"Just magical creatures in the forest," Harry assured her.
McGonagall sighed in relief. "If nothing happened, you should go back to bed. The Forbidden Forest is no place for students—"
"Professor, shouldn't I be given detention?" Harry interrupted.
McGonagall blinked.
So this was why Harry had come.
"Perhaps Wednesdays and Fridays?" Harry suggested. "I already have detention with Professor Snape on Thursdays and Saturdays."
McGonagall stared at him in disbelief.
After a pause, she nodded slowly. "Very well."
Harry bowed slightly. "See you tomorrow—no, tonight, Professor. Sweet dreams."
"Goodnight," McGonagall murmured absently as Harry left.
The Sorting Hat muttered indignantly, "McGonagall, he's toying with you! Surely, this deserves a points deduction?"
"Take five points from Gryffindor," McGonagall grumbled reluctantly.
But as she returned to her office, she began to plot how to involve the Hufflepuff Head of House in Harry's relentless pursuit of knowledge. Three heads down, one to go.
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Powerstones?
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