CHAPTER FIFTEEN
could, they plunged off into the trees, leaving Ronan and Bane be-
hind them.
Harry didn’t have a clue what was going on.
“Why’s Bane so angry?” he asked. “What was that thing you
saved me from, anyway?”
Firenze slowed to a walk, warned Harry to keep his head bowed
in case of low-hanging branches, but did not answer Harry’s ques-
tion. They made their way through the trees in silence for so long
that Harry thought Firenze didn’t want to talk to him anymore.
They were passing through a particularly dense patch of trees, how-
ever, when Firenze suddenly stopped.
“Harry Potter, do you know what unicorn blood is used for?”
“No,” said Harry, startled by the odd question. “We’ve only used
the horn and tail hair in Potions.”
“That is because it is a monstrous thing, to slay a unicorn,” said
Firenze. “Only one who has nothing to lose, and everything to
gain, would commit such a crime. The blood of a unicorn will keep
you alive, even if you are an inch from death, but at a terrible price.
You have slain something pure and defenseless to save yourself, and
you will have but a half-life, a cursed life, from the moment the
blood touches your lips.”
Harry stared at the back of Firenze’s head, which was dappled
silver in the moonlight.
“But who’d be that desperate?” he wondered aloud. “If you’re go-
ing to be cursed forever, death’s better, isn’t it?”
“It is,” Firenze agreed, “unless all you need is to stay alive long
enough to drink something else — something that will bring you
back to full strength and power — something that will mean you
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