CHAPTER FIFTEEN
out at odd angles where it had fallen and its mane was spread
pearly-white on the dark leaves.
Harry had taken one step toward it when a slithering sound
made him freeze where he stood. A bush on the edge of the clear-
ing quivered. . . . Then, out of the shadows, a hooded figure came
crawling across the ground like some stalking beast. Harry, Malfoy,
and Fang stood transfixed. The cloaked figure reached the unicorn,
lowered its head over the wound in the animals side, and began to
drink its blood.
“AAAAAAAAAAARGH!”
Malfoy let out a terrible scream and bolted — so did Fang. The
hooded figure raised its head and looked right at Harry — unicorn
blood was dribbling down its front. It got to its feet and came
swiftly toward Harry — he couldn’t move for fear.
Then a pain like he’d never felt before pierced his head; it was as
though his scar were on fire. Half blinded, he staggered backward.
He heard hooves behind him, galloping, and something jumped
clean over Harry, charging at the figure.
The pain in Harry’s head was so bad he fell to his knees. It took
a minute or two to pass. When he looked up, the figure had
gone. A centaur was standing over him, not Ronan or Bane; this
one looked younger; he had white-blond hair and a palomino
body.
“Are you all right?” said the centaur, pulling Harry to his feet.
“Yes — thank you — what wa s that?”
The centaur didn’t answer. He had astonishingly blue eyes, like
pale sapphires. He looked carefully at Harry, his eyes lingering on
the scar that stood out, livid, on Harry’s forehead.
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