Harry Potter 50 Shades of Gray

Perhaps because it had pleaded to her, and only to her, but she couldn't help but feel slightly responsible. Taking care to avoid the unicorn's eyes, Cyrna glanced at the wound and grimaced. Blood loss wasn't too much of an issue since there were blood-replenishing potions, but that would need packing and stitches—or the magical spell equivalent. It would have to be cleaned too. With only a year with the Flamels, she had focused most of her attention on the general knowledge and customs of the Wizarding world. Then she had worked through the first-year material before focusing heavily on potions and duelling. Despite having once been a medical student, the only remotely medical thing she'd done since her arrival in the world was brewing medical potions, and she hadn't any potions on her. She had never learned any medical charms or spells.

Something flickered across Snape's expression. "Would I not have done something if I could?"

Cyrna didn't reply. Of course he could. He was a genius in potions. He had prolonged the Headmaster's life; he had brewed the potion to save Arthur Weasley from Nagini's poison. He even created Vulnera Sanetur. In comparison, the damage on the unicorn seemed trite.

Snape read her silence correctly for when he spoke again, his voice was frigid. "Now if you've finally finished dawdling around, it would be much obliged if we could return to the Great Hall sometime before dinner."

She winced at his tone. Had she been wrong?

"Mistress."

Vacillating between being mediocre and saving the unicorn, she ultimately settled for something in between: she would limit herself to first-year spells and muggle medicine. "Professor, do you have a Wound-cleaning potion? Or something to clean the wound? I could—she couldn't transfigure a needle or thread, but—try to seal it with fire, if you have a knife on you."

"I do," he said after a moment of scrutiny. "But it wouldn't be of use to you."

She stared at him, uncomprehending and feeling faintly frustrated.

It was then that the unicorn spoke weakly to her. "Do not be too upset, little mistress. That man beside you… his magic is tainted with an evil that would harm rather than heal me. His potions, made of his magic, would do the same."

Cyrna finally understood. Unlike humans, unicorns were creatures of purity. Anyone whose magic was contaminated by the dark mark would end up harming it instead. There was a pause now, and she fancied that she could feel its heart slow. "Mistress," it said, a whisper of breath, "May I entrust you with my soul?"

Unclear on the happenings, but feeling generous after surviving a near brush with danger—the unicorn being decidedly less fortunate—she answered affirmatively in her mind.

Cyrna startled when a hand tightly gripped her shoulder.

"Don't just sit there and stare into space. We are leaving now. And when we are back inside, Miss Raine, if there is a shred of the self-preservation you speak of in that little head of yours, you will not go to whatever meeting Quirrell invites you to, not even for detention."

In the next breath, the odd connection in her mind snapped, and she knew without looking that the unicorn was dead. Any lingering remnants of the foreign heartbreak disappeared.

Following her professor back to the castle, they had taken no less than five steps when there was a sudden flash of white—so incredibly bright that her eyes burned. And in that light, she heard its voice one last time: "Choose what you believe is best."

Cyrna blinked the spots from her vision. Hurrying back to where the unicorn had lain, she saw that its body had disappeared, and in its place was a small silver flower that glowed softly in the evening sky.

She heard a sharp breath from beside her—the most emotive sound she had ever heard from him.

"Do you know what that is?" she asked.

"A Soulflower," Snape spoke as if he could not believe what he was seeing.

Putting together what the unicorn meant, Cyrna plucked the flower and gently cradled it in her palms. She stared at it, and for the first time in a very long while, she felt guilty. Why had she been gifted this when her attempts to save it had been half-hearted at best? She felt undeserving.

Her professor had yet to look away from the flower, and Cyrna mused that this was probably an incredibly rare ingredient. She pursed her lips, recalling her harsh words, her hasty and callous judgement on him. Aside from surviving the day and patching up canon, Cyrna would admit that she didn't feel terribly good about herself right now.

"Do you want it?" She'd give it to him as her apology and gratitude. He'd probably be able to invent something useful with it.

Snape gave her a peculiar stare, and she felt better when his expression thawed minutely.

"Undoubtedly," he answered after a length of time, but his arms lay stiff by his side. "However, I cannot take it, Miss Raine." Then quieter—his lips barely moving—"it would wither away in my hands."

Cyrna watched her professor walk away, the flurry of black robes blending him into the darkened sky. He appeared rather like a specter that haunted the living world. She hesitated for only a moment before she hurried to follow quietly behind.

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