The news of a werewolf in the Forbidden Forest spread through the Great Hall like a wildfire in a dry autumn. Sanna sat frozen, her fork hovering halfway to her mouth. "A werewolf? Here?" she whispered, her eyes wide with a mix of terror and academic fascination. "Professor Smith did say they were the most tragic of the dark creatures, but he also said they were apex predators. If one is lurking just past the Quidditch pitch..."
"I wouldn't start packing your silver daggers just yet," Albert said, leaning back and watching the chaos with a detached, analytical gaze. "Think about it logically. Werewolves aren't wild animals that just spring up out of the dirt. They're people—cursed, sure, but people. They have lives, schedules, and usually a very strong desire not to be hunted down by Albus Dumbledore. Why would one be hanging around the Hogwarts boundary unless it had a very specific, and probably very stupid, reason?"
"Maybe we should go see for ourselves?" George suggested, his eyes gleaming with that reckless Gryffindor spark. "If we're quick, we can catch the tail end of whatever the Headmaster is doing. Think of the story! 'The Twins Who Faced the Wolf'."
Albert gave him a look of pure, unadulterated irritation. "Do you honestly believe you can sneak up on the greatest wizard of the century while he's on high alert? Dumbledore would spot your Disillusionment Charms before you even cleared the stone circle. Go back to your homework, George. I'll go talk to Hagrid later and get the actual facts, not the third-hand hysteria being shouted by fifth-years."
"You're remarkably calm for someone who might be sharing a backyard with a monster," Lee Jordan grumbled, though he sat back down, clearly discouraged by Albert's logic.
"Panicking doesn't improve your odds of survival," Albert replied. "Besides, the Headmaster is already on the scene. If there's a threat, it'll be neutralized or relocated before sunset. My only concern is why it's there. A poacher who happens to be a werewolf? That would explain the desperation. It's hard to find a steady job when you turn into a killing machine once a month."
While Albert was deconstructing the situation over tea, the reality on the edge of the forest was much grimmer.
Hagrid's hunting lodge, usually a place of warm tea and oversized rock cakes, had been turned into a temporary holding cell. Inside, a man was slumped in a heavy wooden chair, his body bound so tightly with enchanted iron chains that the wood groaned under the tension. He was pale, his breathing ragged and shallow, and his clothes were little more than blood-stained rags.
"He's one of Greyback's lot," Hagrid rumbled, his face set in a grim mask as he looked down at the prisoner. Dumbledore had just arrived, his colorful robes contrasting sharply with the dark, damp interior of the hut. "I recognize the scent, Albus. Vicious bunch. I didn't take any chances—I lashed him down the moment I realized he wasn't just some lost traveler."
"A wise precaution, Hagrid," Dumbledore said softly, stepping closer to examine the man. He waved his wand in a complex arc, a soft blue light bathing the prisoner. The man didn't even flinch; he remained deeply unconscious. "He is remarkably weak. It isn't just the physical trauma."
"Found him near the old oak," Hagrid explained. "He was babbling about spiders and shadows. I think he's the one Aragog was complaining about—the poacher."
The door creaked open, admitting a draft of cold air and the sharp, sour scent of potions. Severus Snape stepped inside, his black robes billowing like a shadow. "You summoned me, Headmaster? I assume this... specimen is the reason for the interruption?"
"Hagrid found him in the forest, Severus. I need to know his condition before I attempt to speak with him," Dumbledore said.
Snape didn't even look at Hagrid as he moved toward the prisoner. He tilted the man's head back with a gloved hand, sniffing the air near his mouth. "He's been poisoned. It's a paralytic toxin, likely derived from Acromantula venom, but it's been diluted. It won't kill him, but it has turned his muscles to lead. More interestingly..." Snape paused, his eyes narrowing. "There are traces of the Imperius Curse. His mind has been tampered with, and recently."
"Imperius?" Hagrid's eyes widened. "Who'd want to control a werewolf in the woods?"
"Someone who wanted a disposable tool to harvest venom," a new voice suggested. Professor Rowena Smith stepped into the hut, his eyes cold as they raked over the bound man. "I heard the rumor. It seems the 'beast' has been caught. Though, looking at him, 'victim' might be a more accurate term."
"Vouching for a werewolf, Rowena?" Snape sneered.
"Hardly. I'm simply observing that a weak, poisoned, and magically controlled werewolf is about as dangerous as a wet rag," Smith retorted. "I suggest we dispense with the medical pleasantries. Use Legilimency. Find out who sent him and if there are more of them. If he was sent to target the students, he belongs in Azkaban, not a hospital bed."
Hagrid winced at the mention of the prison, but Snape gave a rare, sharp nod of agreement. "For once, Professor Smith makes a practical suggestion. Why wait for him to recover? Extract the truth now."
Dumbledore looked at the three men, his expression unreadable. "I will not judge a man solely by his blood, but I cannot ignore the safety of this school." He drew the Elder Wand, the air in the hut suddenly humming with a terrifying, ancient power. "Legilimens."
Dumbledore's mind dived into the fractured, chaotic memories of the man known as Yolman. He saw flashes of a dark camp, the terrifying face of Fenrir Greyback, and then a sudden, blinding flash of red light. Yolman had been ambushed. He remembered being dragged through the dirt, the sensation of his own will being stripped away, and then days of being forced to crawl into the Acromantula dens to steal eggs while a hooded figure watched from the shadows.
There had been another werewolf with him, a man named Skoll. They had been used as biological shields against the spiders. When the Imperius finally buckled under the weight of the spiders' venom, Yolman had tried to run. He remembered the sting of a centaur's arrow in his knee, the crushing weight of Hagrid's hand, and then darkness.
Dumbledore withdrew, looking older than he had minutes ago. "He was a slave," he said quietly. "Sent here with a partner to harvest materials for an unknown master. They've been in the forest for over a week."
"Then there's another one out there," Smith said, his hand straying toward his wand. "And if he's untethered from the Imperius, he's a wild card. We need to sweep the woods."
"Severus, contact Cornelius Fudge immediately. This is a Ministry matter now," Dumbledore commanded, his voice regaining its steel. "Rowena, notify the staff. We are to conduct a full search of the Forbidden Forest perimeter. The Centaurs have already agreed to assist. No student is to leave the castle under any circumstances."
The ensuing twenty-four hours were a blur of activity that the students watched from the safety of the high windows. Minister Fudge arrived with a contingent of Aurors, his green bowler hat trembling with agitation. The idea of werewolves being used as "poaching tools" near a school was a political nightmare he couldn't afford.
"Greyback's men?" Fudge blustered, pacing Hagrid's small floor. "In my backyard? This is unacceptable, Dumbledore! Absolutely unacceptable! We'll take this Yolman to Azkaban—let the Dementors see what he knows."
While Yolman was being carted off in chains, the search for the second werewolf continued through the night. It ended at dawn, when Hagrid found Skoll near the heart of the spider territory. The man hadn't been as "lucky" as Yolman. He was found wrapped in thick, grey webbing, his body cold.
In a rare move of grim diplomacy, Hagrid had to negotiate with Aragog to retrieve the body. He traded two fresh deer carcasses just to stop the Acromantulas from turning the man into their next meal.