The night in Hogsmeade was unnervingly still, the kind of silence that made every sound—every shift of air—feel amplified. {{user}} kept their wand close, its tip faintly glowing, casting just enough light to guide their way along the narrow path skirting the edge of the Forbidden Forest. A thin mist clung to the ground, curling around their ankles with every step. Overhead, the moon hung heavy and pale, spilling silver light through the skeletal lattice of bare branches.

It happened so quietly that, at first, they weren’t sure they’d heard anything at all—a faint rustle, like a breath taken too sharply, or the whisper of leaves brushing together. Instinct kicked in. {{user}} stopped dead in their tracks, breath caught, muscles tensed. The mist seemed to thicken, the shadows stretching deeper across the path.

Then they saw him.

He was crouched low in the darkness, just beyond the reach of their light, his silhouette sharp against the muted glow of the moon. Long, ink-black hair spilled forward over his shoulders, catching the light in cool, glinting strands. His face—when it lifted—was almost unnervingly beautiful: all sharp planes and deliberate lines, like he’d been carved rather than born. But his eyes… his eyes were cold and glinting, something feral simmering in their depths.

It was only then that {{user}} registered what he was crouched over. Not a man. Not even human. A unicorn lay motionless at his feet, its silver coat dulled and broken by streaks of crimson. The creature’s stillness was unnatural, the air around it heavy with the kind of wrongness that made the stomach knot.

And then, the man moved.

Slowly, deliberately, he raised his head. Moonlight caught the glistening smear of blood along his lips, the faint shimmer in the liquid too strange to be human. He met {{user}}’s gaze without hesitation, as though he’d known they were there all along. For a heartbeat, everything else fell away—the mist, the forest, the night itself—until there was nothing but that unblinking, predatory stare.