Anthony stepped out into a cold, quiet night. The castle slept under a blanket of stars. Empty corridors, ghost-quiet. Not a single unlucky student out past curfew crossed his path.
Behind him, the door to the Room of Requirement slid shut, melting back into the wall.
He moved quickly down the torch-lit corridor. His shadow danced beside him, long and twisting against the stone. At a narrow corner window, he paused. A warm, yellow glow spilled from the windows of Hagrid's hut, looking steady and safe against the heavy, cloud-choked sky.
Behind the hut, the pumpkins were massive now, hulking shapes like sleeping giants in the dark. Anthony looked towards the Forbidden Forest. Just a wall of black trees. He couldn't even guess where the Acromantula nest was anymore.
He hadn't visited them in a while. Not that he missed the drifting silver webs. He thought of the centaurs. The unicorns.
As he thought it, a light flickered between the dark trunks at the forest's edge. Not silver, like moonlight. Gold.
Anthony leaned forward, hands on the cold stone sill. Stared.
A moment later, a small, golden, foal-like creature stepped out of the trees. It looked around at the wide, open ground, confused, as if wondering where all the trees had gone.
"What?" Anthony breathed the word.
But he already knew. A unicorn foal. They were born gold. Turned silver around two years old. White by age seven. That book he'd gotten said it best: From sun to moon, moon to star.
He held his breath.
The little unicorn lowered its head, snuffled at the dewy grass, and lifted its nose, tasting the air. Then it took a tentative step. Then another.
The golden foal was free of tangled branches. It seemed to decide this was excellent. It gave a little hop. Then another. Kicked up its heels and broke into a trot. The lit-up hut was clearly the most interesting thing around.
It trotted over, circled the hut once, twice. Pushed its forehead against one of the giant orange pumpkins. Testing. Playing. Its horn hadn't grown in yet, but no one called them 'hornless beasts.'
The light in the hut stayed on. Fang didn't bark. The foal played in the pumpkin patch for a while. It tripped over a pumpkin vine, shook its head, then found a giant, still-green leaf and ducked underneath. It seemed to settle. To sleep.
Anthony watched that small patch of gold under the leaf from the narrow window. Stood in the cold night air until a startled bird shrieked somewhere, jolting him back to himself.
He ran, his feet thudding down the stairs, heading straight for the main doors. Mrs. Norris slid from behind a pillar, took one look at him, and slunk away, disinterested.
The air outside was sharp. Clean. The smell of wet earth and coming rain, a cold, biting scent that went straight to the brain. His shoes squelched in the muddy path, complaining with every step.
He slowed a dozen feet from the pumpkin patch. The leaf rose and fell with the foal's gentle breaths. A soft, golden light spilled over the orange pumpkin and the dark green leaf beneath it.
Through the window, he could hear Hagrid moving around inside, humming something badly off-key. Fang must have caught his scent. An excited bark.
"There you are, Fang, there you are," Hagrid's voice rumbled. "That's not for you. Our cured hams all got burnt up… Norbert. Oh, Norbert. I hope he likes the Romanian weather." A pause. Then the humming started again.
The bark woke the foal. It lifted its head, bleary, the leaf sliding off. Looked around. Its eyes met Anthony's. He was kneeling in the damp grass.
Anthony offered a careful smile. "Er… hello."
The foal studied him. Its head tilted. Then, its curiosity won. It stood. Shook its golden mane. Took slow, deliberate steps towards him. Mud slid from its fuzzy coat. By the time it stopped before him, it was clean, gleaming like the first light of a clear morning.
Anthony held perfectly still. Like a garden gnome statue. Not a Weasley one. Just a regular, motionless, kneeling statue.
The unicorn came closer. Those huge, curious eyes were now less than ten inches from his own. He could see the long, golden lashes.
It glanced towards Hagrid's window. Anthony saw its pupils contract.
"You've got horizontal pupils," Anthony whispered. "Like a goat. Or a horse."
Then, he didn't expect it at all, the foal ducked its head. Rammed right into his chest, just like it had tried with the pumpkins.
Anthony grunted, landing on his heels in the mud. The little creature leaped lightly over him and trotted out onto the dewy lawn.
He shook his head, stood up. To his surprise, the golden foal trotted back. Pranced a few feet away. Watched him.
That's when Hagrid finally noticed the commotion outside. The window banged open.
"You lot of students… Henry? Gallopin' Gorgons! You got yourself a unicorn?"
"Your pumpkins got a unicorn," Anthony corrected. Fang shoved his big head out the window next, panting, trying to lick Anthony's face.
Anthony laughed, leaned in to scratch the huge dog behind the ears. "Evening, Fang."
The foal watched, intrigued. Its gaze seemed caught on Hagrid's enormous beard.
Hagrid muttered something, grabbed a rag by the sink, wiped his hands, and stomped out the front door.
He approached the foal like it was nothing. Scooped it up in one massive arm. Gently pried its mouth open to peer inside. "Not even a year old yet. Hey there, little one. Where's your mum? How'd she let you wander out the Forest?"
The foal nibbled curiously on Hagrid's thick finger.
Hagrid pulled his hand back and smacked his own forehead.
"Blimey, I'm thick. I know." He looked at Anthony, suddenly serious. "Its mum is that unicorn."
"Which one?" Anthony asked. The words were out before he realized. The unicorn Quirrell had killed. The one now resting in a quiet clearing deep in the Forest.
Hagrid checked the foal's hooves, its ears, patted its round belly. "Seems fine. Healthy. Not starvin'. Just wandered off." He straightened up, holding the foal. "We gotta get you back home."
"Before we do," Anthony said, hesitant. "Hagrid… can I touch it?"
Hagrid blinked as if the question surprised him. Then a huge smile split his beard.
"Of course, Henry." He practically shoved the little unicorn into Anthony's arms. "You can hold 'im, if you like."
…
With Fang trotting beside him, Hagrid carried the golden foal back into the Forbidden Forest. Anthony didn't follow. He stayed in the hut.
He tied up the hams that hadn't been hung yet. His mind was elsewhere, on the impossible warmth that had seeped from the little creature into his arms, a glow of a thousand summer mornings, and the surprisingly solid kick it had planted on his chin.
He waved a distracted hand and levitated the hams. Standing on a chair, he hooked the bundles of bone and cured meat onto the beams overhead. Hagrid wasn't back yet, so he swept the hearth and wiped down the stove. Household charms made it easy.
By the fireplace, he found a stack of books on magical creatures from Asia and Africa. None looked fireproof. He thought about moving them to Hagrid's bedside, where the dragon-care manuals used to be.
He hadn't taken two steps when a frantic click-clack-scrape came from under the bed.
Anthony bent down. The Monster Book of Monsters was there, tethered to a leg of the bedpost by one of Fang's old leashes. It was snapping its wooden covers furiously, trying to shred the books. Or his ankle.
He hurriedly put the books back by the fireplace. The top one had a Sphinx on the cover, smiling mysteriously. Another showed a yawning, fanged Nundu. Its golden title, Getting Along with the Neighbors, was starkly convincing against the display of its crimson maw.
Finished, Anthony sat at the table. A huge stack of rock cakes waited for him. Hagrid had dug them out of a cupboard before leaving.
"Don't rush off, Henry," Hagrid had said. "Got somethin' to talk to you about."
Anthony was testing his teeth on the third rock cake when heavy footsteps finally thumped up to the hut door. He opened it.
"Little beggar didn't want to go back," Hagrid grumbled, stomping mud off his giant boots on the doorstep. "Oh, here. For you."
He handed Anthony something. A long, silver hair.
"Tail hair. Found it on a branch," Hagrid said. He squinted at Anthony. "You got a few on your robes too, Henry."
Anthony looked down. Sure enough, clinging to the fabric where the foal had rested, were several shining, golden strands. He carefully picked them off.
Hagrid finally finished scuffing his boots clean on the rug and lumbered inside. He looked up at the hanging hams. "Blimey, you finished 'em!"
"Wasn't hard." Anthony watched Hagrid casually kick the straining Monster Book back under the bed. "What did you want to talk about, Hagrid?"
Hagrid rummaged by his bed, pulled a few crumpled sheets of parchment from under his pillow. His face lit up. "Been thinkin' about this. Heard 'em talkin' about Muggle zoos. Even Ron was askin' Harry and Hermione if they're really that good…"
Anthony already knew where this was going.
"No, Hagrid," he said. "Unless you can guarantee that every visitor—whether they got an 'O' in Care of Magical Creatures or never took the class—won't get hurt, and won't hurt the creatures, it's not happening."
"But, Henry, I heard the Muggles just drive their little cars around…"
Anthony shook his head. "The driving paths in those zoos are strictly planned. And the cars are very hard…" He glanced at Hagrid's hands, which could snap a rock cake in half. "Hard enough for the animals the Muggles would meet on that route. And putting people inside a sealed metal box avoids triggering a lot of predators' instincts. As for transportation…"
"Henry, what about broomsticks?" Hagrid said eagerly. "Professor Kettleburn thought we could use brooms instead of Muggle cars."
Anthony pointed at the Nundu book by the fire. "A broomstick won't save you from poison gas."
…
Hagrid had clearly been thinking about this for a while. He claimed he and Professor Kettleburn had discussed the Nundu problem. He squinted at the parchment, finally jabbing a thick finger at a line. "Bubble-Head Charm. Or run like blazes."
He even had a very crude zoo layout sketched. Dragons on the left, other creatures on the right.
"If Dumbledore lets me have a zoo," Hagrid said, eyes shining with hope, "I could bring Norbert home!"
Anthony was glad to change the subject. "Speaking of Norbert, did you write to Charlie Weasley?"
"Did," Hagrid said, suddenly sheepish. "Haven't sent it yet."
He fished in his pocket. Came out with a few Knuts, a handkerchief, and a neatly folded piece of parchment. Handed the parchment to Anthony.
Dear Charlie, Hope you're well. Thanks for all you did for me and Norbert. How's Norbert? He must be at the reserve by now? How big's he gotten? He was just a baby when he left me! Hope the base has enough dead rats, though he might like other food by now. Reckon he still likes a bit of brandy. Tell Norbert I'm still thinkin' of him. Your faithful, Rubeus Hagrid
"Had three letters come back from Romania already," Hagrid said, worried. "Hope nothin's wrong."
"Come back?"
"Yeah." Hagrid scratched the back of his head. "Owls flew back with my letters still tied to their legs, same as I sent 'em. No one there to take 'em."
Anthony flipped the parchment over. Stared at the address.
"You wrote the wrong address," he said gently. "This is for the reserve itself. You need to send it to the nearest village."
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