"After crossing the river, we'll do a sweep centered on the crossing point. If we find a trail, we'll continue; otherwise, we'll just have to turn back," Alan decided. He didn't hesitate, using a Levitation Charm to float across to the opposite bank.
Once across, he was truly deep within the Forbidden Forest. No one could say for certain exactly how vast the woods bordering Hogwarts really were. Alan checked his watch; evening was fast approaching. He had to seize the remaining daylight to find a fresh lead.
At the landing point, Alan placed a Tracking Charm as a physical marker, then began a systematic search, sweeping the area in concentric circles. Initially, he explored downstream. If he were the werewolf, he reasoned, he might have used the current to mask his scent before coming ashore further down. But after half an hour of searching in a fan-shaped pattern, neither his Tracing Charm nor his Echo Spell yielded any results, leaving him momentarily disheartened.
Sticking to his principles of thoroughness, he Apparated back to his original marker and began searching upstream.
In the two months since returning to Hogwarts, and with Professor Flitwick's expert guidance, Alan had finally mastered Apparition. This was the primary reason he dared to explore the deep forest alone; it provided a guaranteed emergency exit if he encountered a situation beyond his control.
"What do we have here?" Alan didn't expect to find anything so quickly, having searched less than a kilometer in this new direction.
In a clearing not far away, he found traces of a struggle. No, perhaps not a struggle, but a successful hunt. A wild deer lay disemboweled on the forest floor, a gruesome sight. Large claw marks raked across its neck and torso, perfectly consistent with the werewolf tracks Alan had documented earlier. The carcass was roughly a dozen meters from the river, and closer to the bank, Alan rediscovored the werewolf's scent signal. Faint, but undeniable.
"So the target swam upstream for a distance before coming ashore. No wonder the crossing point was cold. Judging by the state of the carcass, this kill is less than a day old, yet the Hippogriff was attacked two days ago."
"This werewolf must have rested nearby, hunted the deer, fed, and then moved on. It can't be far now."
The discovery bolstered his confidence. The intelligence he had gathered suggested this werewolf was entirely feral, its movements erratic and lacking any human rationality. If it was still zig-zagging through the brush, there was a high probability of cornering it before nightfall.
Alan's determination hardened. An irrational werewolf prowling the outskirts of the school was a significant threat to the forest's ecosystem and the students' safety. Moreover, he relished the prospect of adding a werewolf to his collection of live specimens; he was deeply curious about the mechanics of lycanthropy and its high rate of contagion.
However, he didn't rush blindly ahead. He meticulously scouted the immediate area. Dangerous creatures required a cautious approach, and his prudence soon revealed a suspicious detail.
Protruding from the deer's carcass, Alan found a broken arrow. After extracting the head, he noted it wasn't a modern design. It was a traditional, handcrafted point, heavy and utilitarian.
"Could it be? Someone else was hunting this deer besides the werewolf? This arrowhead is too bulky for a human bow. Centaurs?"
This realization put Alan on high alert. The centaur tribes of the Forbidden Forest were not known for their hospitality. They were fiercely territorial, rejected human contact, and viewed the entire forest as their sovereign domain. Hagrid often told stories of his encounters with them, describing most as openly hostile toward wizards, with only a few willing to exchange words.
The Wizarding World's relationship with the tribes was equally strained. On one hand, the Ministry classified them as "human-level" beings, yet they insisted on placing a Centaur Liaison Office within the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures—a move the centaurs viewed as a supreme insult.
"I'll follow the trail and see where it leads. If the werewolf has already been claimed by a centaur hunting party, I'll retreat immediately. It's best to avoid a diplomatic incident; otherwise, getting back into the forest for research will be impossible."
He had expected a simple hunt, but now he had to contend with centaurs of unknown intent. He pressed on, following the scent mist. Unlike before, the werewolf's movement had become strangely linear. It was no longer wandering; it was moving with purpose toward a specific destination.
Alan sensed the shift in behavior and quickened his pace. After another hour of tracking, he was close enough to see clear physical footprints in the soft loam. The gait was primitive—sometimes bipedal, sometimes dropping to all fours. It confirmed his suspicion: this was a feral breed or someone completely lost to the wolf.
As the sun dipped below the horizon, Alan realized he wouldn't make it back to the castle tonight. He used his Communication Amulet to report his safety to Hagrid, informing him that he was staying out overnight, and then accelerated his pursuit.
The closer he got, the more crowded the path became. Fresh hoof prints appeared alongside the wolf tracks. They weren't just from a single centaur, but a group. The werewolf wasn't fleeing; it was converging directly on the centaurs' path.
*Is the werewolf actually hunting them?* Alan wondered. It seemed suicidal. Centaurs were formidable warriors, especially in a group. Why would a lone wolf stalk a war party?
A myriad of doubts clouded his mind as he pushed through the dense foliage. He was so close now that he didn't even need his monocle; he could follow the trampled earth at a run. And then, as he broke through a final thicket, Alan saw something even more astonishing.