Harry Potter's : Fantastic Beasts Guide

The next night, the Gryffindor common room was filled with a tense atmosphere. Neville Longbottom sat on the sofa, clutching a note with teary eyes. His hands trembled slightly, and his face was pale.

"It's okay, Neville. Hagrid will protect you," David reassured him, placing a comforting hand on his shoulder.

"Yes, and there's nothing to fear in the Forbidden Forest. Haven't we been there before to see Norbert?" Hermione added, trying to lift Neville's spirits.

"But... but that was during the day," Neville whispered, his voice laced with fear.

"There's no difference between night and day," Hermione said quickly.

"How do you know?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow.

Hermione was momentarily taken aback but then shot Ron a glare. "I just do! Trust me, Neville, you'll be fine."

Neville hesitated, glancing at the large clock on the wall. The hands were creeping closer to eleven.

"I have to go," he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. It was as if stepping out that door meant he might never return.

"Go on, Neville. We'll be here waiting for you," Harry said encouragingly.

Neville nodded hesitantly before turning and stepping out into the corridor. His departure left a heavy silence in the room.

Just minutes later, David suddenly felt a strange sensation—a sharp, almost electric jolt in his chest. His heart pounded erratically, and a cold sweat formed on his forehead.

What's happening to me? Am I cursed?

David frowned. This was new. He had never felt anything like this before.

"David, do you want to play a round of wizard chess?" Ron asked from the sofa.

"Sure, I'll just grab the chess pieces from upstairs," David replied absently, still trying to shake off the uneasy feeling.

As he climbed the spiral staircase to the dormitory, a frantic noise caught his attention. A sharp, rhythmic tapping against glass. David's head snapped toward the source and saw Felix, his loyal owl, desperately flapping its wings against the windowpane.

Bright red streaks of blood marred the owl's pristine white feathers.

"Felix! What's wrong?" David exclaimed, hurrying to the window.

But before the words fully left his mouth, a sudden realization struck him, sending an icy shiver down his spine.

The unicorns!

Voldemort was after them again.

Felix had been stationed to keep watch over the unicorns in the Forbidden Forest. If the owl had returned wounded, it could mean only one thing—something terrible had happened.

Without another thought, David spun around and sprinted back down the stairs.

"David, what's wrong?" Hermione asked, startled by his urgency.

"Get Professor Dumbledore! Now!" David shouted over his shoulder before rushing out of the common room.

Hermione and Harry exchanged concerned glances. Though they had no idea what was happening, they knew David wouldn't panic without reason. Without hesitation, Harry turned and bolted toward Dumbledore's office.

Meanwhile, David grabbed his broom and shot into the sky, the wind howling in his ears as he sped toward the Forbidden Forest. Felix, injured but determined, struggled to keep up.

"Felix, land on my broom! Use your beak to point the way!" David called over the wind.

The owl flapped its wings fiercely, then perched itself on the broom's handle, tilting its head to guide him.

David leaned forward, gripping the broom tightly as he soared over the treetops, weaving through the dense canopy. Then, a sharp cry from Felix signaled that they had arrived.

David took a deep breath and dived toward the forest floor, maneuvering through the tangled branches until he could see the clearing below.

A cloaked figure knelt beside a fallen unicorn, its silver blood glistening under the moonlight.

David's stomach twisted in fury and disgust.

The figure slowly lifted its head at the sound of David's approach. Though the shadows concealed its features, the eerie silver sheen around its lips confirmed David's worst fears.

He's drinking unicorn blood.

David's grip on his wand tightened. "Voldemort… or rather, Professor Quirrell."

A chilling laugh echoed through the trees. "You again?" the sinister voice rasped. "This is the third time you've meddled in my affairs. I should have killed you long ago."

"Try it," David growled, his eyes blazing with determination.

He flicked his wand, summoning a Norwegian Ridgeback and a kelpie to his side. Unlike his previous attempts at summoning, the kelpie's eyes held a glint of awareness, briefly locking onto David before turning its focus toward Voldemort.

But David didn't notice the change. His mind was singularly focused on one thing—stopping Voldemort at all costs.

He exhaled sharply and turned to another page in his mental bestiary. With a precise wave of his wand, he commanded the summoned beasts forward, launching a spell behind them for cover.

Voldemort chuckled darkly. "Ah, this trick again? Impressive, but predictable. These creatures are too slow, too dim-witted. All I have to do is—"

With a flick of his wand, Voldemort sidestepped the Ridgeback's attack and transfigured a nearby tree branch into a thick, twisting rope that shot toward the kelpie.

David's stomach dropped.

He was too slow to react.

Before he could shout a command, the kelpie was ensnared. The spell he had cast moments before would miss entirely. The fight had barely begun, and already, David was at a disadvantage.

The illustrated bestiary had predicted this encounter—but had it been wrong?

A deep sense of unease settled in David's chest.

Something wasn't right.

And he might not walk away from this battle alive.