Although this creature looked like a harmless Husky and clearly harbored a grudge against the pack, Alan knew better than to release him without due diligence. If the wolf carried the lycanthropy virus, he remained a Grade 1 transition threat.
After consuming the restorative potion, the wolf finally caught his breath, his strength visibly returning.
"Alright, let's have a real conversation. First, tell me who you are and why you possess the gift of speech," Alan said, noting the creature's renewed spirit.
"Benefactor, my name is Hog. I am fourteen years old," the wolf said, letting out a heavy sigh as he looked up at Alan. "I am neither a werewolf nor an Animagus, nor even a magical beast in the traditional sense. I am a wolf. If you find me special, it is because both of my parents were wizards afflicted with lycanthropy."
Alan's expression shifted to one of genuine shock. "Your parents... they conceived you during a full moon?"
"Precisely. They mated while in their wolf forms, and that is how I came to be," Hog nodded.
The pieces clicked into place. Alan had encountered references to this phenomenon in obscure texts, though he had dismissed it as cryptozoological myth.
Werewolves are highly infectious; a bite transmits the curse to humans, who then undergo an involuntary transformation during the full moon. Ordinarily, if two afflicted humans mate in their human forms, their offspring are entirely human and carry no trace of the curse. However, if two werewolves in their transformed states mate under the peak of the full moon, the result is a litter of true wolf cubs. These offspring grow into beautiful, near-sentient wolves, indistinguishable from the wild variety except for their near-human intelligence.
"My parents were wizards," Hog continued, his voice steadying. "Even after I and my siblings were born as wolves, they did not abandon us. They raised us with care in a remote forest far from human settlements. Some of my litter did not survive the winters, until only my elder brother and I remained."
"We lived in isolation, though my parents would occasionally take us to the fringes of human villages so we could observe wizarding society. Because we are the children of wizards, magic flows through our veins even without a human shape. When my parents realized we possessed the intellect to understand them, they began teaching us to speak."
"It was difficult at first; a wolf's throat is not built for human phonetics. But we learned to use our innate magic to subtlely alter our vocal structures. I had more talent for it than my brother, which is why my speech is so clear."
"I see. And how did you fall into Greyback's hands?" Alan asked.
"That wizard..." Hog's eyes burned with a cold, sharp hatred. "We were happy until he arrived with his pack. He demanded my parents submit to him, to join his 'army' against the Ministry. They refused. They tried to lead us away, but the pack tracked us."
Hog's eyes wellled with tears, his voice cracking. "They ambushed us in the dead of night. We were outnumbered. My parents... my brother... they were slaughtered. Those monsters ate them alive. They only kept me because Greyback realized I could speak—he thought I would fetch a record price on the black market."
Alan remained silent. The brutality of the pack was consistent with everything he had seen. It was a grim irony that the victims of lycanthropy, already shunned by the wizarding world, faced their most horrific persecution from their own kind.
Alan handed Hog a fortifying draught and used a concentrated application of Essence of Dittany to close the worst of his wounds.
"What did you mean earlier, when you mentioned merchants coming to select goods?" Alan asked as the wounds began to knit.
"The werewolves scout the forest daily. Sometimes they return with cloaked figures who browse the cages like they're at a common market. But the pack is treacherous. If a merchant comes alone or lacks a powerful backing, the werewolves simply kill them after the gold is exchanged. They dismember them and keep the goods anyway," Hog explained, his tone flat.
The logic tracked. It explained the fate of the black-market merchant Alan had found earlier. Dealing with Greyback was a death sentence for anyone without an army at their back.
Alan looked at Hog, preparing to make a decision on his future.
"Hog, I'm going to ask you a question. I need the absolute truth," Alan said, his voice solemn.
"Ask, Benefactor."
"I know that children born to infected werewolves in their human forms are safe. But what about you? If you were to bite me, would I be cursed?" As he asked, Alan subtly initiated a surface-level Legilimency probe to gauge the wolf's sincerity.
"My parents examined me many times," Hog replied, his eyes clear and unfaltering. "My saliva does not carry the blight. I do not change with the moon, nor do I feel its pull. When I was a cub, I once accidentally nipped a human child while accompanying my mother. The child was fine; no infection ever took hold."