Chapter 41: Whispers Beneath the Canopy
POV: Barrett
The fire in the Ravenclaw common room crackled quietly, its blue and silver flames casting long shadows across the curved walls. Most students had retired for the night, lulled by the weight of the day's lessons and the promise of early morning classes. But Barrett sat motionless on one of the deep navy couches near the window, his silver-blue eyes fixed on the moon rising above the Forbidden Forest in the distance.
The door creaked behind him.
Hermione Granger stepped out from the girls' dormitory, wearing a thick cloak over her uniform and clutching a small satchel of notes—an obvious front. She paused upon seeing him, brow raised.
"You're serious about this?" she asked quietly, though not accusatorily.
Barrett turned his head, expression unreadable. "You wanted proof magic wasn't all in books," he said, voice soft. "Come observe it where it's wild... unfiltered."
She hesitated. "We'll get expelled."
"Not if we're careful. I have a map." He patted the inside of his cloak where the Marauder's Map was safely tucked. "And I know the patrol patterns."
Hermione frowned, but the gleam of curiosity sparkled behind her eyes. "And what are we looking for?"
Barrett stood smoothly, pulling on a dark cloak of his own. "Magical creatures. Unicorns, perhaps. Maybe something more... elusive. Consider it research."
Minutes later, they slipped past the bronze eagle of the Ravenclaw door, moving in coordinated silence. The castle was different at night. Older. The stones whispered stories, the paintings pretended to be asleep, and the portraits of long-dead witches squinted in the dim torchlight, muttering disapprovals under their breath.
The Marauder's Map guided them like a celestial compass. Barrett moved with uncanny precision—evading a prefect by seconds, ducking behind a statue just as Mrs. Norris padded past, and timing their exit across the moonlit courtyard perfectly to avoid Hagrid returning from a late stroll.
Hermione's eyes narrowed as she followed him. "You move like you've done this before."
Barrett merely offered a half-smile. "Let's just say... I adapt quickly."
The Forest loomed before them like a sleeping beast—its towering trees creaking against the wind, casting elongated shadows that clawed at the earth.
As they stepped beyond the last stone of Hogwarts' boundaries, the air shifted.
Silence fell.
It wasn't the silence of absence—it was presence. Thick. Watching. The kind of silence that made the skin crawl and the instincts sharpen.
Hermione clutched her satchel tighter. "This is a bad idea."
"Most great discoveries start with bad ideas," Barrett replied calmly, his boots crunching on fallen leaves. "Besides, we're not going far. Just to the unicorn glade."
"That's a myth."
"No," he said, his voice softer now, almost reverent. "It's a sanctuary."
They followed a trail of silver prints—hoof-shaped, delicate, and glowing faintly under the moonlight. Barrett slowed his pace, lifting his hand. The forest had grown denser, yet the trees seemed to bend slightly away from them, as though nudged by some invisible force.
They passed under a fallen arch of twisted branches, and suddenly the entire atmosphere changed. The glade emerged before them—a circular clearing nestled in the heart of the woods. Moonlight streamed down through the canopy like divine spotlight, bathing the moss and grass in a silvery glow. The scent of wildflowers and morning dew filled the air, though it was still deep night.
And then, there it was.
A unicorn.
Pristine. White as new snow. Its mane shimmered with iridescence, like strands of starlight, and its spiral horn glowed faintly with pale blue light. It was grazing delicately in the center of the glade, regal and serene.
Hermione's breath caught. "It's beautiful..."
But the moment the unicorn sensed them—it reared back, shrieking with a high-pitched snort, hooves striking the ground. Its eyes flared wide in terror.
Hermione stepped forward instinctively—but the unicorn recoiled further.
The creature wasn't reacting like the legends described.
Barrett didn't move. He closed his eyes.
Hermione looked horrified. "Why is it... it's supposed to love virgin witches! This doesn't make sense!"
Barrett's divine aura had begun to pulse subtly, a golden light seeping from his skin like sunlight through cracks.
The unicorn panicked further.
Hermione stared at him. "And you! You—what are you?"
"Still deciding," he murmured.
Then, in one fluid motion, Barrett knelt.
His aura dimmed. The light curled inward, pulling back like the tide. And then... he spoke.
The words were ancient.
Rhythmic. Resonant. A melody older than time, carried by the wind like a lullaby only the trees understood.
The unicorn froze.
Its ears perked. Its hooves stopped pawing at the earth. Slowly, cautiously, it approached.
Hermione took a step back, stunned.
Barrett extended a hand, palm up. The unicorn lowered its head and touched its nose to his fingers. They remained like that for a moment—boy and beast—two divine creatures meeting under the stars.
The unicorn whispered something.
Barrett's eyes widened a fraction.
"What did it say?" Hermione asked breathlessly.
He looked at her, that same distant glint in his eyes. "Something only old souls remember."
Hermione frowned again. That was the second time he'd said something like that. Her suspicion grew deeper, yet so did her curiosity.
The unicorn stepped away, fading into the trees with a final glance back—this time not of fear, but recognition.
Barrett exhaled slowly.
They stayed in the glade for a time after, Hermione laying out a blanket from her satchel—clearly charmed to fold small—and lighting a small blue-flame lantern.
Barrett sat beside her, his hands resting lightly on his knees.
"You were comfortable," she said finally. "With that thing. Not just calm—familiar."
Barrett didn't answer immediately. He watched the moonlight ripple in the grass.
"Some creatures speak with more honesty than humans ever could," he said.
Hermione's eyes softened a little. Then, as if she hadn't meant to say it aloud, she murmured, "You don't act like an eleven-year-old."
He turned toward her slowly. "And you don't think like one."
Their eyes met.
Not romantically. Not quite.
But with a silent acknowledgment: We are not normal children. And we both know it.
Barrett leaned back against a tree, eyes drifting upward again.
Hermione shuffled, lying beside him with arms crossed beneath her head.
The moon continued its path across the sky. The glade grew quiet again—only this time, it wasn't filled with fear or awe. Just stillness.
And the sense that, tonight, something old had seen them both—and not turned away.
When she finally dozed for a few minutes, curled under her cloak, Barrett stood up, walking slowly to the edge of the glade. He pressed a hand to the bark of a tree, eyes scanning the woods.
"Unicorns, chaos… and you still haven't shown yourself," he whispered to the darkness.
Something rustled in the trees.
He said nothing more and returned to the blanket, lying back with hands behind his head, watching the stars shimmer through the opening above.
And somewhere in the distance, the forest watched them back.