The air in the Forbidden Forest was unnaturally cold and heavy, pressing against the skin like an invisible weight. Towering ancient trees stretched endlessly into the darkness, their twisted branches blotting out most of the moonlight. Only thin strands of pale silver light filtered through the canopy, illuminating fragments of the forest floor.
That faint glow revealed something deeply unsettling.
A trail.
A winding, irregular streak of silvery blood snaked across the ground, glistening faintly like liquid moonlight. It clung to roots, soaked into the soil, and smeared across leaves—guiding them deeper into the forest's heart.
The group came to a halt where the path split in two.
"Alright," Hagrid said, lowering his voice as he studied the blood with a grave expression. "We'll split up here. That thing's hurt—it won't have gone far."
He turned, quickly assigning groups.
"Ron, Hermione—you're with me. Harry, Tamara, Malfoy—you take Fang and go that way."
"I'm not going!"
Draco's voice cracked, high and panicked. His pale face looked even more washed out in the dim light.
"This is the Forbidden Forest! There are werewolves in here! And you said there's something drinking blood!"
"If you're scared, you can stay here," Tamara interrupted coldly, adjusting the collar of her cloak with composed indifference. "And wait to be eaten."
Her eyes flicked toward him—sharp, emotionless, and faintly amused.
"Or you can follow me."
Draco hesitated, glancing at the suffocating darkness of the forest, then back at Tamara's calm, unshaken expression. His jaw tightened.
In the end, fear of staying alone outweighed fear of following her.
He stepped forward.
Ron snorted from the side. "Fang's a coward too—you'll make a perfect pair."
"Shut up, Weasley!"
Meanwhile, Hermione's gaze lingered on Tamara, her brows slightly furrowed.
She had seen Tamara act before—seen her save lives without hesitation. And yet…
There was something unsettling about her composure now.
Still, Hermione spoke softly, "Be careful."
Tamara glanced at her briefly, then gave a small, curt nod.
Concern.
Unnecessary.
Without another word, the groups separated.
Tamara led the way.
A kerosene lamp swayed gently in her hand, its warm glow pushing back the darkness just enough to reveal their path. Her pace was steady, almost leisurely—as though she were walking through a familiar garden rather than a deadly forest.
Harry followed in the middle, his wand clenched tightly. His eyes darted constantly, scanning shadows, flinching at every sound.
Behind him, Draco and Fang trailed closely together—both equally terrified. The slightest rustle sent them jumping.
After ten minutes, Draco finally broke.
"Tamara… are you sure we should keep going?" he asked shakily. "There's… there's more blood here…"
He wasn't wrong.
The silvery substance had grown thicker, more frequent. It stained the ground in disturbing patterns, splattered across tree trunks and pooled in shallow depressions.
Tamara crouched briefly, brushing her fingers against a smear of the luminous blood.
Warm.
And saturated with magic.
Powerful magic.
But beneath that purity was something else—something foul.
A faint, decaying presence.
The scent of a rotting soul.
"This means we're close," she said quietly, rising to her feet.
Then she turned her head slightly.
"Harry. Do you feel it?"
Harry stiffened. His hand instinctively went to his forehead.
"Feel… what?" he asked, his voice unsteady.
Tamara watched him for a moment, then withdrew her gaze.
"Nothing."
Not yet, she thought.
The connection wasn't strong enough.
But it would be soon.
They pressed on.
The forest grew denser, darker. Even the faint noises of insects had disappeared, leaving behind a suffocating silence.
Then—
A clearing.
A pale, radiant shape lay ahead.
Harry inhaled sharply.
In the center of the clearing lay a creature of breathtaking beauty.
Slender limbs. A flowing, pearlescent mane. A body that seemed almost sculpted from light.
A unicorn.
But it was dead.
Its neck was twisted unnaturally, and beneath it spread a wide pool of shimmering silver blood.
Even in death, its beauty remained untouched.
And that only made the scene more horrifying.
"Who would do something like this…" Harry whispered, his stomach churning with revulsion.
Draco said nothing.
He couldn't.
His fingers clutched tightly at the back of Tamara's cloak, as though letting go would mean being swallowed by the darkness.
Then—
A sound.
Wet. Slow. Unnatural.
Rustle… rustle…
From the far side of the unicorn's body, the bushes shifted.
Something emerged.
A figure.
Cloaked in black, it crawled forward on all fours like a beast. Its movements were unnatural—jerky, almost insect-like.
It didn't stand.
It crept.
Slowly, it reached the unicorn's body.
Then lowered its head.
A sickening sound filled the clearing.
Slurp.
Slurp.
It was drinking.
"Aah—!"
Draco broke.
He screamed, turning to run blindly into the forest.
The sound echoed.
The creature froze.
Then its head snapped upward.
Beneath the hood—nothing.
Only darkness.
And within that darkness—
Two burning red points of light.
Fang yelped and bolted.
Harry—
"AAH!"
He dropped his wand, clutching his forehead with both hands. Pain tore through him like fire, as though something molten had been driven into his skull.
His legs buckled.
He collapsed.
Only one person remained standing.
Tamara.
The creature rose slowly.
Still hunched. Still wrong.
It ignored the fleeing boy. Ignored the fallen one.
Its attention was fixed entirely on Tamara.
Something pulsed between them.
A resonance.
Deep. Ancient. Inescapable.
Recognition.
"It's you…" the creature rasped.
Its voice was sharp, broken, and inhuman.
"You… carry my scent…"
It stepped closer.
Each movement carried an oppressive weight—thick with dark magic.
Tamara didn't move.
Didn't retreat.
She simply looked at it.
At what it had become.
And something like disgust flickered in her eyes.
"How unsightly," she said coldly.
The creature stilled.
"Look at you… crawling like a broken animal."
Silence.
Then—
Rage.
"Insolence…" it hissed.
But then it paused.
Something shifted in its gaze.
Greed.
"A soul…" it whispered. "A perfect soul…"
Its voice sharpened.
"Join me… or be devoured."
A skeletal hand rose.
Green light gathered at its fingertips.
It wanted her.
To consume her.
To take her body.
To restore itself.
Tamara remained still.
Unmoved.
Unimpressed.
Behind her, Draco stumbled, looking back despite his terror.
He saw the raised hand.
Saw Harry collapsed on the ground.
"Tamara! Run!"
He raised his wand with shaking hands—but fear locked his voice. No spell came.
The creature flicked its hand.
A streak of red light shot toward him.
Draco shut his eyes.
Impact never came.
"Wingardium Leviosa."
Tamara's voice cut cleanly through the air.
Her wand flicked.
A rotting tree trunk tore free from the ground, shooting through the air like a projectile.
Boom!
The red spell struck the wood, exploding it into splinters.
The shockwave knocked Draco backward—but he lived.
Tamara didn't turn.
"Stay back," she said calmly.
"This is no place for children."
The clearing fell silent again.
Only the faint hum of magic lingered.
The creature's red eyes burned brighter.
Tamara raised her wand slightly.
Her expression was steady.
Cold.
And utterly unafraid.
The confrontation had begun.
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