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"Are you sure this is actually going to work?" Harry asked. He sounded less than convinced as he stared at the unicorn Tom had just wrapped up like a mummy.
It wasn't that he didn't trust Tom, but the cat was really stretching his limits here. Could a bunch of regular medical gauze really cure a dying unicorn?
[Why wouldn't it?] Tom shrugged his paws. [Unless you've got a better idea?]
"Well, no, but... aren't there healing spells? Or potions? Or, you know, a more professional way to do this?" Harry pressed. "Just wrapping it up in bandages doesn't seem like it's going to do much."
Even in the Muggle world, you had to clean a wound and apply medicine before wrapping it. Tom was just mummifying the poor thing. If the bandages had some trace of magic or alchemy to them, Harry wouldn't have said a word.
[I mean, I do have other ways,] Tom stroked his chin, soaking in everyone's expectant gazes. [The problem is we don't have a fridge or an oven out here. Without those, bandages are the best option. It'll cure it either way, so the method doesn't really matter.]
"An oven? A fridge? What do those have to do with healing?!" Harry's jaw dropped. He couldn't even begin to process the cartoon logic. Still, Tom had spoken; all Harry could do was swallow his confusion and accept it.
[That should about do it. But...] Tom nodded approvingly at the unicorn-turned-burrito. His eyes dropped to the creature's twisted, broken leg, and he frowned. After a moment's thought, he casually pulled a massive, oversized wrench out of nowhere.
"Wait, Tom, what are you doing?!" Hannah panicked, clapping her hands over her mouth in horror.
Tom ignored her completely. Squatting in front of the terrified unicorn, he clamped the giant wrench onto its bent leg, took a deep breath, and yanked hard.
CRACK!
"Mmph!" The unicorn instinctively tried to throw its head back and shriek, but the heavy layers of gauze completely shut that down. Unable to move or scream, the only sound that escaped its tightly bound jaws was a muffled, agonizing whimper.
[There, there. No screaming. Almost done.] Tom patted the unicorn's head consolingly.
Staring at the newly straightened limb, he decided to wrap a few extra layers of bandage around it for good measure. Beggars couldn't be choosers; without a proper splint, the gauze would have to do.
What could the poor unicorn even do? It just lay there, completely dead inside, its eyes swimming with absolute helplessness and despair. It was probably regretting every life choice that had led it here. Dying in the forest would have been infinitely better than enduring this level of medical malpractice.
Tom was about to say something else when his ears suddenly twitched. He locked eyes on the nearby underbrush. It was rustling.
The noise grew louder, and just like the unicorn a few moments ago, something began to drag itself out of the shadows. But this was entirely different. As a hooded figure crawled along the dirt like a feral beast, a wave of bone-deep cold washed over Harry and the others, making them shudder.
"Is that—" Ron started to whisper, but Tom slapped a paw over his mouth. The bedsheets they were hiding under acted like a chameleon's camouflage—they hid visuals, not audio.
I'm going to have to figure out how to mute sound with these things, Tom thought to himself, completely ignoring Ron's frantic thrashing. If Harry hadn't nudged him, Tom probably would have suffocated the poor redhead.
It all happened fast. The beast-like figure fully emerged into the clearing but failed to notice anything out of the ordinary. The cloaked man stared at the ground where the silvery blood trail abruptly ended, then looked around in confusion. With Tom's cartoon cloaking at play, there was zero chance of him spotting them. To the figure, the unicorn had simply vanished into thin air.
"M-Master... the unicorn... it's gone?"
Harry and the group froze. That timid, stuttering voice—that was Professor Quirrell!
Which meant the person trying to butcher a unicorn and drink its blood was Quirrell... or rather, his "Master"? But unicorn blood only sustained life if drank fresh from the kill. If Quirrell was gathering it for his master, that meant his master had to be right here in the forest with him. The kids tensed, eyes darting frantically through the dark trees to spot whoever Quirrell was talking to.
"You useless fool!" a harsh, raspy voice hissed.
But the voice hadn't come from the shadows—it came from Quirrell himself.
What happened next was burned into Harry's brain forever. Quirrell pushed himself off the ground and reached up to pull back his hood. There, protruding from the back of the professor's bald head, was a twisted, nightmarish human face.
The face opened its eyes, glaring at the empty clearing with pure malice. "Idiot! Turn me around so I can look!"
"What in the world...?" Harry whispered. In the dead silence of the Forbidden Forest, even a whisper was dangerously loud.
The face on the back of Quirrell's head instantly locked onto the sound. Seeing an empty clearing, the dark wizard immediately connected the dots. "Fool! You've been followed!"
"F-forgive me, Master—" Quirrell groveled, his voice shrinking.
"Probably just students sneaking out of bed. Teach them a lesson about wandering where they don't belong."
Quirrell whipped his wand up, aiming directly at where Harry's voice had come from, and blasted a jet of fire straight at them. "You only have your own curiosity to blame."
Tom rolled his eyes under the sheet. A spark? Really? Who do you think you're dealing with?
But before the cat could even lift a paw, Norberta—who had been passed from Draco over to Harry—decided she'd had enough. She might have been born a few hours ago, but staring down that incoming fireball, the baby dragon felt a primal tug. She knew she could control it.
Acting on pure instinct, Norberta seized the flames. Under Quirrell's stunned gaze, his own fiery spell ground to a dead halt in mid-air—before aggressively rocketing right back at his face.