The feather seemed wrapped in a thin veil of firelight, vivid and impossible to miss against the night sky.
Charlie walked to the window and pushed it open. The wind was sharp this high up, but the feather drifted slowly, completely untouched by the gusts.
He reached out. It settled into his palm.
A single long, elegant plume. Even in his hand the fiery sheen never faded. It wasn't hot either.
The moment his fingers closed around it, a voice spoke straight into his mind.
Anthony and Hector came over, eyes wide with open curiosity. They'd never seen anything so beautiful.
"Charlie, what's going on?"
Charlie shook his head. "I need to step out for a bit."
"Can't tell us?" Anthony pressed.
Charlie simply nodded.
They didn't push. Both of them knew that if something could be shared, Charlie wouldn't keep it from them. Same way he hadn't hidden his more unusual tricks, same way Hagrid hadn't hidden the dragon. If he needed to keep this quiet for now, there was probably a reason.
He drained the last of his juice in one swallow, walked to the corner of the dorm, and quietly triggered the hidden magic inside the feather.
Flames erupted around him in a roaring wave, swallowing him whole before Anthony or Hector could even react. In the next blink the fire collapsed in on itself and vanished, leaving only a few drifting sparks that faded as they fell.
"Merlin's pants—" Anthony whispered, then snapped upright. "Did anything catch? The beds?"
Hector checked quickly. "Nothing. Not even a scorch." He held out his hand; one of the sparks had landed on his skin. "No heat at all."
---
In the Forbidden Forest the sudden burst of fire was blinding in the pure dark. Every eye turned toward it at once.
"Domum, I came to—hm?"
Charlie's eyes adjusted fast. He took in the scene and raised both eyebrows. "Why is half the forest gathered here? Midnight bonfire party?"
"Who is Domum?" Dumbledore asked first.
"A bad guy." Charlie grinned. "Anyway. Why the sudden summons? I figure the all-powerful Professor Dumbledore doesn't need help from a nobody like me."
"No one is all-powerful. In certain matters you may even be my teacher."
"I'll take that." Charlie tipped an imaginary hat.
Then his nostrils flared. He drew in a long breath. "Thick moonlight. Really thick."
He followed the scent a few steps, gave the three non-centaurs a brief surprised glance, then locked onto the source.
The smile dropped from his face.
The small body on the ground still had light in its eyes, but it was fading fast.
"So what am I supposed to do here that Dumbledore can't?"
The answer was already obvious.
"Excuse me."
He stepped forward. Firenze and Ronan moved aside.
Charlie dropped to one knee, leaning in, and gently smoothed the unicorn's silver mane.
"Wonderful," a low voice muttered. "Another student from nowhere, joining the interference in fate—"
Charlie turned his head calmly and looked at the speaker: black hair, black mane, heavy muscle, a bow across his back. The rough type, and not the same kind of rough as Hagrid. This one carried a constant undercurrent of anger.
"Got something to say?"
"The moon has already accepted its death," Bane muttered.
Charlie didn't answer. He rested his right hand on the unicorn's side and raised his left, wand pointing straight at the bright silver disk overhead.
A deep, soundless tremor passed through the world. Every centaur and Dumbledore felt it.
Then threads of pure moonlight poured from the moon itself, gathering toward Charlie. They condensed at the tip of his wand and streamed down into his right hand, flooding into the unicorn's body.
The creature didn't reject it. But the light simply vanished, as if it had fallen into a bottomless well.
"Not enough—"
It was disappearing faster than he could pour it in. What he had gathered so far was a drop in an ocean.
He pushed harder. The moonlight thickened into a continuous waterfall.
Dumbledore watched in silence. His scarred old wand tapped once against his leg. An invisible ripple spread outward, sealing the forest off from the castle.
The centaurs stared, eyes wide with the same stunned reverence young wizards usually reserved for Harry Potter. They looked like they were seeing something that belonged only in legend.
Charlie let out a low grunt. Neville started forward. "Charlie, are you—"
One sharp glance stopped him cold. The bloodshot eyes made the message clear: stay back.
Neville froze.
Charlie kept going. Massive amounts of moonlight poured through him. Mental energy drained at a frightening rate. The vein at his temple pulsed hard.
Minutes stretched. His raised left hand began to shake. At last the wand slipped from his fingers and hit the ground.
The silver waterfall didn't stop. Charlie simply turned his open palm skyward and poured every last scrap of strength into the flow.
The light grew denser still. His entire body seemed to glow with a soft, sacred silver.
Every centaur stood rigid. Not a single hoof shifted. Even their breathing quieted. The softest crack of a dry leaf or the faintest exhalation would have felt like desecration against the scene in front of them.
Deep exhaustion rolled over Charlie. Twin trails of blood slipped from his nose without him noticing. His focus was already fraying.
Then a soft, weak nicker reached him.
His head dropped. Even lifting his eyelids took effort. But he saw it—clear, living eyes looking up at him.
The little unicorn's gaze held something almost like a smile. Its body stirred. After a few shaky attempts it pushed itself upright and nuzzled gently against Charlie's chest.
Charlie's hand slid off its side and fell to the dirt. Two fingers closed around a scrap of oilskin soaked through with silver-blue blood.
The unicorn nuzzled him again, happy and trusting.
"Get lost," Charlie said, voice flat and cold. He picked up the fallen wand with his left hand.
"Vera Verto."
The wand twisted into a thin, sharp blade. He raised the trembling edge toward the unicorn. "Get—get away from me—"
He was too weak. The motion was painfully slow. The unicorn simply bumped the blade aside with its muzzle and pressed closer against his chest.
The knife hit the ground and became a wand again.
"That's enough, Charlie. You did very well." Dumbledore stepped in and helped him stand. "I suspect this little one will think twice before showing such open trust to strangers from now on."
"I wouldn't count on it," Charlie muttered.
His eyes found Bane.
"The moon accepted its death.
I didn't.
So your moon changed its mind in a hurry."
"Child of the Moon—"
An unfamiliar voice spoke.
Charlie turned. At some point a large circle of unicorns and centaurs had gathered at the edge of the clearing. In the deeper shadows he could just make out darker shapes—horse-sized, but with more jagged, dragon-like heads.
Thestrals.
His gaze locked on the speaker: an elderly centaur with a long white beard that reached his chest. If not for the complete lack of hair on his head, he would have looked almost as venerable as Dumbledore.
"I believe I understand why the moonlight was so bright tonight," the old centaur said, stepping closer.
Charlie's reply was quiet and dismissive. "Don't pin any extra titles on me. Titles come with responsibilities."
"You always have the freedom to choose," the elder said calmly. "You're exhausted. Let me take you out of the forest."
Charlie glanced at Dumbledore. The two of them shared a silent look. In his current state, using the path Fawkes had opened earlier was probably unwise.
Still—how was a centaur supposed to escort him when Dumbledore was right there?
The answer came when the old tribal chief sank onto his front legs and lowered his back.
"Please. You're far too weak to walk."
Charlie stared at him, expression odd. From everything he knew, centaurs hated being ridden. It meant conquest. It meant loss of freedom.
"Chief, allow me," Firenze said with a small smile, stepping forward.
He was bumped aside.
Bane pushed through the circle, stopped in front of Charlie, placed a hand over his chest, and slowly lowered both front legs to the ground.
"I owe you a sincere apology."
Charlie looked at him. Bane kept his eyes on the dirt.
After a long moment Charlie gave a short, tired nod and climbed onto the broad back.
Bane was the strongest of them. The seat was wide and steady.
Once Charlie was settled, Bane rose carefully and started walking. The group moved toward the edge of the forest.
Dumbledore glanced back at the old chief and spoke softly. "It's late. Everyone should rest. I only hope tonight's events didn't disturb too many dreams."
The elder answered in the same drifting, unhurried tone Dumbledore often used. "Not at all. What we witnessed was more beautiful than any dream."
Dumbledore said nothing more. If the entire herd insisted on following Charlie all the way to the forest's edge it would be unnecessary, but he didn't press the point.
While the two of them spoke, the young unicorn slipped past and fell into step right beside Charlie, staying close.
Dumbledore smiled faintly, took his leave of the chief, and followed.
They walked slowly. Bane deliberately kept his pace gentle, adjusting the height of each hoof so the ride stayed smooth over the uneven ground.
The little unicorn stayed right beside them, hopping lightly and making soft, happy sounds.
Charlie said nothing. He was drained. He needed time.
Several minutes passed before he spoke again. "There was one more person."
"Ah. If I'm not mistaken, you mean young Mr. Malfoy. When the danger arrived he made a very Slytherin choice. Don't worry about him. He's most likely already asleep in his common room."
"Slytherins do tend to excel at self-preservation," Charlie said with a faint, dry smile.
His gaze settled on Neville and Hagrid walking ahead.
If anything about tonight still irritated him, it was this: Natural Harvest had been on full display in front of them.
It wasn't a deep secret. He was willing to share it with people he trusted—people who could keep their mouths shut.
Hagrid and Neville fell into the first category.
The second category… not so much.
Keeping secrets was a complete disaster for both of them. In Hagrid's world, secrets simply didn't exist.
Charlie sighed under his breath.
"Don't worry," Dumbledore said with a small smile, and actually winked.
Charlie gave him a look of pure skepticism, but Neville and Hagrid were right there. He couldn't dig deeper now. Maybe later.
When their short exchange ended, Bane spoke unexpectedly.
"Sir… do you truly believe that clinging to fate is so contemptible?"
Charlie hadn't expected a question like that from the roughest-looking centaur of the group.
He was quiet for a moment. "What do you think fate is?"
"An uncrossable line," Bane answered. "We read the paths of the planets and receive the signs of fate. The price is that no race understands better than ours that fate cannot be changed. So we follow it. We step outside of it."
"I'm curious. What makes you think you can step outside of fate just because you can see it? How does that work?"
Bane fell silent.
Seeing the path didn't mean you stood outside it. Of course it didn't.
"Has it ever occurred to you," Charlie said, "that the very moment you decide to fight fate might be the exact moment you step into it? Like Voldemort—"
He stopped, then laughed quietly at himself.
---
Back inside the castle, a shadowed corridor stood empty.
A figure appeared at near-running speed and dropped onto the second floor.
"M-Master… I can't… the blood-drinking was interrupted…"
Quirrell's body felt like it was being eaten alive by countless insects—skin, muscle, bone, nerve. Even inside his skull a thousand ants seemed to be biting and burrowing. Strength drained from him in waves. Something hammered at his mind like a drum.
The curse of unicorn blood.
And the unstable strain of two souls sharing one body.
"Find that one," a cold, wet voice hissed inside Quirrell's head. "Now."
"But… Master… I have no money left…"
"Fool. You brainless troll. After what happened tonight, do you honestly plan to walk up in your own face and buy them?"