"Oi, Potter," Fred says when Harry comes into the Entrance Hall, and he and George approach him quickly. They look completely well-rested, as if they hadn't hauled a dragon up a flight of spiral stairs at midnight the night before. As Fred demonstrates a ridiculous set of purple sparks from his wand, George surreptitiously hands Harry's cloak to him, and Harry folds it carefully into the bottom of his bag.

"Thanks," he whispers. It had kept him up a little the night before, worrying that the twins wouldn't give it back: Gryffindors are hyperfocused on honour and nobility, but relief still sings through Harry in waves.

"Our little brother got caught last night," George says disapprovingly, shaking his head in disappointment, "He must have followed us out. But apparently you did too."

"Draco and Ron must have run into each other, both trying to find us, and McGonagall caught them," Harry explains as they walk into the Great Hall. Harry wipes sleep from his eyes and tries to ignore the resounding want of his body to go back to bed - he's certain that Snape would haul him out by the scruff of his neck if he tried to claim illness after being caught out of bed last night. "Me and Hermione would have been fine, but Peeves saw us." George laughs, and Fred does too, but Harry doesn't take it as an insult.

"Charlie took the dragon okay, and he's going to send an owl once they've got it safely home. They said it was a good shout putting the thing to sleep, though, made it easier," Fred says, and Harry nods his head. Even if he and Hermione did get caught and will undoubtedly face some horrible detention, Norbert got away, Hagrid isn't going to be arrested, and he has his dad's cloak back - it could have gone much, much worse. "What detention are you serving?"

"I don't know," Harry admits. "Last time it was just cleaning out cauldrons for Snape for an hour or so each night, but McGonagall implied it was going to be particularly nasty, I think just because it was four students out of bed on the same night, and in different houses too." Fred and George nod, seeming to understand, and then, to Harry's complete surprise, George ruffles his hair.

"Off you go, then, you slimy little reptile. Face your peers." Harry shoves him in the side, and the twins veer off, laughing, to their own table, as Harry makes his way to sit with the Slytherins. Draco is in a sour mood, lips twisted into a scowl as he pokes vigorously at a kipper without actually trying to eat it. Wisely, Harry doesn't try and make conversation.

---

Something is dripping in the potions office. It's not a completely regular drip, so Harry guesses it's not a pipe or an open tap, but every few seconds there's a quiet per-lisk as it drops down into a pool of something, and the noise echoes in the silence of the room. He can barely hear himself or Draco breathing, and Snape isn't making a single sound.

He sits back in his chair, hands folded into his lap, back ramrod straight: on his face, twisting his ugly lips and filling Harry with a quiet dread, is a scowl. His gaze bores into the both of them, and while Snape will occasionally blink, he's so entirely still that Harry could almost believe him some kind of horrible parody of a statue. Now and then, he or Draco will open their mouths to say something, but Snape's scowl will deepen and his brow will furrow just a fraction more, and they'll close them again.

Harry doesn't know how long they've been standing there, listening to the irregular drip and trying not to shake as their Head of House stares at them, but it must have been at least ten minutes, maybe even half an hour.

"Your detentions," Snape says in barely more than a whisper, the sound carrying around the room, "Will be tonight, at nine sharp. You will arrive in the Entrance Hall at that time."

"Isn't that a bit, uh, late, sir? For a detention?" Draco asks, and Snape's head seems to move almost robotically on his neck as he looks directly at him.

"Indeed," Snape agrees, "Though it would also be late to be wandering around the castle with two Gryffindors in tow, would it not, Mr Malfoy?" Harry hears the audible gulp of air Draco takes down his throat.

"What will the detention be, sir?"

"Shut up, Mr Potter."

"Are you going to tell my-"

"Shut up, Mr Malfoy." The three of them return to judgemental silence, Draco and Harry doing their best to keep still under Snape's acidic glare, and finally, Snape says, "Get out." Neither Harry nor Draco need to be told twice, and the two of them virtually run out of Snape's office.

"Do you think he will tell my father?" Draco asks, looking anxious at the prospect as they walk up the stairs towards Charms class.

"You should write him before Snape does," Harry suggests. "Own up to it. I'll write him too, and apologize and say it was all my fault - I'll say I was going to duel Ron Weasley, and that you agreed to be my second." Lucius Malfoy, Harry has discovered, hates the Weasleys, and although Harry's never actually written to Arthur Weasley, his wife has made it pretty clear that the animosity between the Weasleys and the Malfoys is mutual. Draco bites his lip.

"Are you sure?" he asks, not at all looking his arrogant self for a moment or two, and Harry glances at him. If his father was alive, would he love the man as much as Draco loves his father? Would he be consistently terrified of disappointing him?

"Yeah, I'm sure," Harry says. "Your mum will still be annoyed, but at least Lucius will be on your side."

"Don't call my father Lucius, Harry," Draco complains, stepping into the classroom.

"What am I meant to call him? Steve? Anita?"

---

Even with a little light-heartedness throughout the day, Harry and Draco remain mostly quiet in their classes, and when Harry settles to partner with Hermione in Potions come the afternoon, she's equally subdued. "What do you think it's going to be?" she asks quietly. "Something in the greenhouses?"

"Maybe," Harry murmurs, crushing some hydrangea stems under his pestle. "But they'd probably have told us to wear gloves for that. I think it might be something on the Quidditch pitch, revarnishing the fencing or something." Hermione nods her head, dread obvious on her features. Harry's never been a stranger to physical labour, and he thinks that for that reason the Hogwarts detentions don't usually upset him as much as they do some of the other students - they're an inconvenience, yeah, and they're definitely a deterrent, but when you've hand-washed Dudley Dursley's rugby gear, cleaning out an old cauldron or polishing a trophy is nothing.

"You Slytherins," Ron hisses from the next desk, aiming this at Hermione and Harry, presumably because Draco is on the other side of the room, trying to stop Crabbe and Goyle from blowing up the dungeons.

"I'm not a Slytherin, Ron," Hermione points out helpfully as Neville winces at Ron's obvious fury.

"It's your fault I've got detention!"

"You can't blame us for your getting caught, Weasley," Harry replies. "Just like you can't blame us for the acid you've just brewed up."

"What?" Ron demands, and then lets out a yell as he and Neville stumble back from their desk, Harry stands on his chair, gesturing for Hermione to do the same, and he helps her step across the room over a spare table to a distance a few feet away. Neville, lacking in both Ron's strategy of hopping back or Harry's foresight in reaching higher ground, lets out a whine of pain as his boots begin to boil.

"I'll help Longbottom to the hospital wing, sir," Harry says. "Finnegan, Thomas, d'you guys want to give me a hand?" Although they show a reluctance to go with Harry, the two Gryffindors seem to understand that the alternative to them is probably Crabbe and Goyle, and so they help Harry lift Neville to the edge of the room.

"How're the feet, Neville?" Harry asks as they make their way awkwardly down the corridor. Neville's hands are both grasping very, very tightly at Harry's left wrist, which gives him a clue to the answer in advance.

"Not so bad," Neville spits out, gritting his teeth so harshly that Harry winces. "Could be worse."

"Well," Dean says, "Can't say you're not brave about it, can we?"

"S'alright, Neville," Seamus says comfortingly. "At least you've not burned your eyebrows off, eh?" Harry had thought Seamus' brow was looking a bit bald recently.

"Keep up the Gryffindor courage," Harry says. "Nearly there. Madam Pomfrey!"

"Potter, you've not done something else!" comes the retort from down the corridor, and Seamus and Dean have to hide their snickers in the shoulders of their robes.

"Neville's burned his shoes with a messed up boil remover," Harry says to her as she comes out into the corridor, and the three of them release Neville as she levitates him into the hair. "Is he going to be alright?"

"Oh, you'll be fine, Longbottom," Madam Pomfrey promises, answering Harry but directing the words at Neville. "I'll cool them down then I'll remove them, but the skin will grow back."

"Oh," says Neville, weakly, "Well, that's good."

---

"Is Neville been returned yet?" Harry asks as he comes into the Entrance Hall, and Hermione glances up, nodding her head.

"Yeah. He's walking just fine, too, but Seamus say his feet look terrible." Harry makes a face, but nods his head in sympathy. Neville had looked positively green as Madam Pomfrey had brought him into the infirmary, and by the time Seamus, Dean and him had all walked down to the classroom, everyone had gone. Hermione had put his bag right to the side of the room, out of the way, and Harry had picked it up, shouldering it as Dean and Seamus left. At his desk, Snape had been marking essays, concentrated on the messily scrawled pages in front of him, so Harry hadn't said anything, he'd just gone to leave. But then... "Snape gave me ten points, you know," he says to her, quietly. Ron and Draco aren't around yet, but they will be soon, "For "taking initiative", apparently."

"He didn't give any to Seamus and Dean, did he?" Hermione asks, looking affronted at the unfairness of it.

"It's Snape, Hermione. A Gryffindor could pull him out of a burning building and he'd take ten points off them for creasing his jeans." Hermione laughs.

"He doesn't wear jeans, Harry."

"He might. We've only ever seen him around Hogwarts, but he might well be raised by Muggles, like us two." Hermione shakes her head.

"I doubt it," she says. "I- to be honest, I can't really imagine him having family. I mean, obviously he must, he didn't hatch out of an egg, but he's just so- Can you imagine him sitting down to a Christmas dinner with his mum and dad, and a little sister or something? Saying "Please pass the broccoli." or "Isn't the snow lovely outside?" Harry starts to laugh so hard he can't manage an answer, and when Ron and Draco finally arrive, a minute before nine, he's doubled over and red in the face with laughter.

"What are you laughing at?" Ron and Draco demand as one, and then turn to glare at each other.

"Nothing," Harry wheezes out, trying to stand straight as Hermione sympathetically pats his back and calls him an idiot under her breath. "It's not even funny."

"Ah, you're all here," Filch grumbles as he comes into the room, Mrs Norris hot on his heels. Hermione had tried to pet the little rat of a feline once, leaning down and offering her her palm, and Mrs Norris had left a scram all up her wrist. Harry despises the thing far more than he does Filch. Filch sounds disappointed about their presence, and Harry tunes him out as the four of them trail after him, outside and down the path.

"What are we doing tonight?" Draco demands, doing his best to sound haughty and making a similar effort not to sound as anxious as he is.

"You'll be helping the groundskeeper in the forest."

"Hagrid?" Harry asks at the same time Draco says, "In the forest?"

"Yep," Filch says, and Harry and Hermione share a look as Hagrid comes into view. Fang is sat at his feet as he loads his crossbow with bolts, and Harry suddenly feels a bit less good-humoured about the whole situation. "Here you are, Hagrid. I've just been-"

"Ah, off with yer, Filch, you miserable old sod," Hagrid says ill-temperedly. "Yeh've been complaining to 'em about thumb screws and that again, haven't ya? Taken you long enough." Filch lets out an irritable noise, but he doesn't bother to reply, rushing back up to the castle and the comforting paws of his evil feline. It'd be funny if Harry weren't so scared right now.

"Hagrid," Harry says cautiously, "Did he mean the Forbidden Forest?"

"Yep," Hagrid nods, picking up lanterns and handing them to Ron and Harry. "We'll split into two groups. Ron, you'll be with me. Hermione, Harry, Malfoy, you'll go off together."

"We want Fang," Malfoy says suddenly.

"No, we don't," Harry corrects him. "You can keep Fang." To make up for any offence, Harry pats Fang's somehow slobbery head gently. "He'll run away faster than you will, Draco, at the first sign of trouble."

"What sort of trouble? What are we actually doing? I'm going to tell my father about-"

"Draco, calm down," Harry says sharply, and Draco shuts his mouth with an audible click, going even paler than usual.

"Summat in the forest's been killing unicorns, and I've seen blood out in the forest today, which means one of 'em is wounded. We want to try and find it, and help it, or- or, well. Put it out of its misery." Hagrid looks quite upset at the prospect, and normally Harry would feel a bit of sympathy for the unicorn, but now? He's not really in the mood.

"No offence, Hagrid," Harry says evenly, "But can't something that kills unicorns kill us pretty easily?"

"Yeh'll be fine," Hagrid assures Harry unconvincingly. Harry's never going to illegally smuggle a dragon out of the country again.

"But aren't there werewolves in the forest?" Draco asks shakily. "You know, and things like that?" Harry remembers the stupid Lycanthropy book Athene Greengrass had sent him the money for, and tries to keep his tone gentle and understanding as Ron spits, "Shut up, Malfoy."

"It's a crescent moon, Draco. No werewolves."

"Yeah," Ron says, "Just giant spiders, and snakes, fire-breathing lizards, and things that eat unicorns." He looks positively gleeful as he stares Draco down.

"You know, Ron," Harry says. "Hagrid's a pretty intimidating target, so whatever's out there will eat you first."

"Settle down, now," Hagrid says loudly, spreading out his giant hands as Hermione pinches the bridge of her nose in irritation. "Settle down. Now, once you find it, send up some green sparks with your wand. If yer in danger or one of you is hurt, send up red sparks."

"Or just scream in agony and terror?" Draco asks sarcastically, but Hagrid doesn't seem to be that cognizant of his tone.

"Yeah," he agrees. Harry hands Hermione the lantern, pulling his wand out of his robes, and the two groups split up. The path into the forest isn't properly made or lined with stone or anything, but it's well-trodden, and Harry thinks he sees hoof prints in some of the ground.

"There are centaurs in this forest," Hermione says, following his gaze. "They mentioned it in one of the footnotes of Hogwarts: A History."

"I never read footnotes," Harry confesses. "Never read the indexes either."

"How are you two so calm?" Draco hisses.

"Well," Harry says, "My life started out with Voldemort murdering my parents, and her parents are dentists, so we're pretty accustomed to trauma, I guess."

"What the bloody Hell is a dentist?" Draco demands, and Harry lets out a laugh that doesn't make him feel any less nervous.

"Stop it, Harry, you're worse than Ron. They're like- They're Muggle Healers, Malfoy, but for people's teeth." Draco nods his head, and they walk a little farther into the forest, holding the lantern aloft to see the ground better. "Does it glow in the dark, do you think?" Hermione asks, and Harry shakes his head.

"No, there's some on the top shelf of the potions supply cupboard - it's that silvery stuff. It looks like liquid mercury. Quicksilver," Harry amends when Draco looks confusedly at him, and they keep on going.

"He shouldn't have done this," Draco says suddenly. "It's- it's ridiculous, sending eleven-year-olds into the forest like this. I'm going to write my father."

"This morning," Harry points out, "You were terrified of writing your father about this."

"That was when I thought it was a normal detention!" Draco half-yells, and the sound echoes through the forest's dank, dismal trees. In the distance, there's a harsh chattering sound, and then a loud thump. They all go still for a second, holding out their wands, but then it goes silent again, and they cautiously begin to walk again. "Why were you two out of bed anyway? I only left 'cause I saw you'd left, Harry. You weren't really going to duel Weasley, were you? Granger wasn't your second?"

"Duel?" Hermione asks quizzically.

"It was a lie I suggested he tell his dad," Harry explains, "And no, it wasn't a duel. We were meeting the Weasley twins for something that's none of your business. That's why Ron was out of bed - he followed them."

"What were you meeting them for?"

"None of your business is still none of your business, Draco, thanks for asking."

"You shouldn't be so chummy with them," Draco says forebodingly. "They could do you all sorts of damage."

"They're geniuses," Harry retorts, "And they're actually alright, so long as you keep them at a distance. At least I don't keep sucking up to Marcus Flint."

"What's wrong with that?"

"He looks like a troll, and he acts like one."

"Well, I'm not friends with mudbloods," Draco snaps out, and they all go abruptly still. Hermione's spine is as stiff as a rod, and Harry clenches his fist.

"Yeah, Draco, you're not. You wouldn't meet their standards." Draco lunges for him, and Harry tries to push him off him but he loses his balance, falling back and onto the ground, and he'd have gotten right up and smacked the other boy, but-

"Oh, God, no," Harry says as the wet splish of sound sings wetly in his ears. He can feel it soaking thickly into his robes, and he stares up at Hermione and Draco. "Please tell me it's not on me."

"It's not on you," Draco offers, as Hermione says, "It's all over you, Harry." That's the real difference between the two of them, Harry thinks grimly. Tact versus pragmatism. Harry pulls himself up, unbuckling his cloak and pulling it away. A little has gotten into his robes, and he can feel it wet and slick on his back, but most of it is only on the cloak.

"Voldemort aside," Harry says, "This is the worst thing that's ever happened to me."

"Stop saying his name," Draco hisses, and Harry suppresses the urge to throw his bloody cloak over the other boy's face. "It must be close," he says as Hermione and Harry glare at him, and he points down the trail of silver. They step awkwardly through the underbrush, dipping to avoid branches as they come away from the path a bit. There's blood everywhere, little droplets spattered all over the ground, and Harry's sympathy comes all in one go, making his chest ache.

"There it is," he whispers, and they all stop short at the edge of the clearing, staring at the unicorn where it's sprawled out on its side. A wound is harshly visible along its side, and it's breathing shakily, letting out pained whinnies. It's the saddest thing Harry's ever seen, its legs unevenly laid out around it, and he takes a step forwards, but Hermione stops him, passing him the lantern.

"They don't like men," she whispers, and he nods his head, stepping back again. Draco sends green sparks up into the forest canopy, and he and Harry glance to the right as the answering sparks are sent back. Hermione stumbles towards the unicorn, dropping to her knees and ignoring the way the blood gets onto the skirt of her own cloak. She puts out a hand, very very carefully touching the creature's neck, and the unicorn whines, its eyes going wide for a second before it seems to relax a little. Harry doesn't know how long he and Draco stand there at a safe distance, watching Hermione stroke the unicorn's neck, but when its chest finally stops moving, Hermione stands up suddenly, sniffling and wiping her nose on her sleeve. Harry reaches out to hug her, but then he sees it.

He grabs Hermione's robe and pulls her forward, dragging her with him, and the cloaked thing's hand just misses grabbing her hair. Harry's scar is burning pain into his flesh and through his skull, and Harry lets out a harsh noise as he, Hermione and Draco begin to run. They run together, but Draco rushes off in the wrong direction, and Harry lets out a noise of frustration as he and Hermione keep moving.

Seeing Hagrid's lantern in the distance, Hermione runs towards him, and Harry says, "I'm going to go get Draco."

"What? Harry-"

"I can find him, don't worry-" And red sparks appear some distance away. Harry sprints, ducking down through the trees, and he skids down a little ditch and out to Draco. The other Slytherin is on his side, biting hard at the inside of his cheeks to keep from crying out.

"What have you hurt?" Harry demands.

"My ankle," Draco says breathily, "I think I've broken it."

"Well done, idiot," Harry says, and Draco lets out the pained laugh Harry had hoped to elicit. He shifts forwards, putting his arm under Draco's and pulling the other boy up. Draco leans heavily on him, unable to put any weight on his injured leg. Harry's skull is still throbbing with pain, but he tries to ignore it and support Draco.

Harry's blood runs cold as the cloaked figure looms towards them again, but before it can come forwards there's a loud pound of hooves on the forest floor and chases it off. The centaur approaches them slowly, and Harry stares up at him in awe, amazed by the sheer size of the man, at the thick muscle packing his form.

"You shouldn't be in the forest," the centaur says. "It is dangerous. Especially for you, Harry Potter." Harry sees Draco open his mouth in his peripheral vision, and Harry claps his spare hand over Draco's mouth to stop the racist trainwreck waiting to happen from leaving the station. This isn't the night for Draco's bigotry.

"We're just leaving," Harry promises. "Er, sorry, uh, sir-"

"My name is Firenze. We know of you, Harry Potter. Dangers will face you this year, and you ought be careful." The centaur looks down at him with his soulful, brown eyes, and Harry feels- Well, if he's entirely honest, he feels a little creeped out. Are centaurs always so intense?

"Right. Firenze. Uh, thanks - could you point us in the direction of Hagrid's hut, please?" Firenze stares down at the two of them, and then he raises his left arm, pointing. Harry mumbles out a quick apology, and he senses the centaur's eyes on them as they stumble in the direction indicated.

He and Draco stumble from the forest, and as soon as he sees them Hagrid runs over, taking Draco from Harry's arm and lifting him as easily as one of the Hogwarts chickens. Draco lets out a cry at the sudden change of position, and Harry cries out at the same time, clutching his head and tripping forwards, into Hermione as Ron exclaims, "Bloody Hell!" The pain only lasts a second more, though, and they all trudge towards the castle.

In the proper light, Harry realizes how much of the unicorn's blood had stained his sleeves, his shoulders, and how much of it had gotten on Hermione as well. Harry had gotten a little of the silvery substance on Draco's chest and back, but more distressing is the red blood Harry can see dripping from the harsh grazes on his hands and from under the fabric of his trousers.

Harry runs ahead, getting up to the castle first and pushing open the Entrance Hall doors for Hagrid to enter, but as he gets inside he slips a little on the ground, falling into his Head of House. "Potter?" Snape asks, staring down at him, and Harry nods his head, leaning back.

"Detention didn't go too well," Harry says, and then, "We need Madam Pomfrey, sir. Draco's hurt." Snape sets his jaw, and Harry watches as he adjusts his sleeves in the same meticulous way he had before facing the troll back in October, and he breathes in. At the very least, Harry thinks, no detention he ever has again can go worse than this one.