Next to the two large iron cages were smaller metal enclosures. One held a Kneazle that looked almost exactly like an ordinary cat, save for its distinct, tufted lion-like tail. Another contained a Re'em—a golden-furred beast with glowing red eyes and fangs, its body as sturdy as a large hound.
There were two Fire Crabs with gem-encrusted shells, three hedgehog-like Knarls, two Jarveys much larger than common ferrets, and a Murtlap with a back covered in swaying tentacles. An Occamy was coiled inside a reinforced glass jar; the creature possessed the ability to expand and contract its size at will, and Alan knew that if it were released, it could instantly fill the entire cavern.
All these magical creatures shared a common state: they were profoundly listless, matted with dirt and grime. They looked as though they had been starved for days, their hollow frames making for a pitiful sight.
Alan moved toward the stone chambers with reinforced metal doors set deeper into the cave wall. There were four such cells. The first was empty, though its sheer height and internal volume suggested it had been built for something massive.
In the second cell, Alan found a Graphorn. Its humped back and two lethally sharp golden horns were unmistakable. It lay on the damp stone, its mouth tentacles twitching weakly. It cast a dull glance at Alan before closing its eyes again, indifferent to its new visitor.
However, as he approached the third chamber, a piercing roar erupted from within, followed by the heavy clanking of iron. Alan raised his lamp. A Manticore was lunged against the bars, its blood-red mouth agape in a snarl. It had the body of a lion but a long, hooked scorpion tail and massive paws tipped with obsidian claws. A thick metal collar was cinched around its neck, anchored to the back wall by four heavy chains. It was emaciated, but its eyes burned with a primal ferocity. Its hide was striped with raw welts—either from whip lashes or the raking claws of a werewolf.
When he reached the fourth cell, Alan stopped dead.
A Husky?
Inside lay a dog covered in wounds, looking remarkably like a Siberian Husky from the Muggle world. It was covered in scratches and lash marks, many of which were festering. It looked even more miserable than the Manticore next door, yet its eyes remained sharp and spirited as it stared coldly at Alan.
"Why is there an ordinary pet in here? The tail doesn't even match a Crup's," Alan muttered, perplexed. The presence of a mundane dog in a hoard of high-value magical beasts was a baffling inconsistency.
"I am not a dog. I am a wolf, you fool!"
A weak but clear, youthful voice rasped from the Husky's throat. Alan jumped, his grip on the lamp tightening as he stared at the animal, confirming he hadn't imagined it.
"What are you staring at? Are you some merchant the werewolves brought in to pick over the stock? Those bastards will tear your throat out the moment they have your gold," the Husky said, its tone dripping with weary sarcasm.
"Are you a werewolf? Or an Animagus?" Alan's interest was piqued. He ignored the insult and leaned closer.
"What's it to you? Planning on buying me? I promise I'll rip your windpipe out the second I'm free. Heh... heh... cough..." The effort of laughing sent the creature into a violent coughing fit.
"You should take it easy. You clearly aren't on friendly terms with the pack, so let me give you some news: they're dead. Now, tell me, what's your history with them?" Alan noted the pure hatred in the creature's eyes whenever it mentioned the werewolves.
"Dead? Hahaha! You say they're dead and I'm supposed to believe you? Who do you think you are?" The Husky's sneer deepened, though the malice in its eyes flickered with doubt.
Seeing that words wouldn't suffice, Alan turned and vanished into the shadows for a moment. He returned and, with a heavy "thud," tossed a severed werewolf head in front of the bars. The wolf's dead eyes were still locked in a final expression of bewildered shock.
The Husky stared, dumbfounded. Then, despite its shattered condition, it lunged at the cage door. It thrust its muzzle through the iron mesh and bit down savagely on the head, worrying the flesh as if it wanted to grind the bone to powder.
Alan watched the display with a curl of his lip. It was an unhygienic, visceral sight. He kicked the head away and crouched down, his expression returning to a state of clinical indifference.
"Can you answer my question now?"
"Did you really kill them? All of them? You aren't lying?" The Husky was trembling, its excitement bordering on hysteria.
"Sigh." Alan let out a weary breath. "I killed four in this cavern, one at the tunnel entrance, and ten last night. One wizard named Fenrir escaped. So, fifteen in total. Satisfied?"
The Husky's jaw dropped. It looked at Alan, who was counting off the kills as casually as if he were listing groceries.
"Yes... you're right. It's them. It's those bastards." The shock faded into a sudden, overwhelming grief. The Husky slumped to the floor, burying its face in its paws and whimpering with a raw, broken sound.
It was clear there was a deep, agonizing history between this creature and Greyback's pack. Alan waited for the outburst to subside.
"Now. My question?"
The Husky's emotions finally leveled out. "Ask. You are my benefactor now; I will tell you everything I know. Cough... cough..." The toll of the emotional release had drained its remaining strength.
Seeing the creature flagging, Alan retrieved a bottle of restorative potion and used a minor hovering charm to guide the liquid into the Husky'