The rare winter sun broke through the eternal Scottish grey, casting long, pale shadows across the stone courtyard. The air was crisp, but the warmth was welcome.
Alister sat on a stone bench, legs stretched out, flanked by two identical redheads. Fred and George were currently debating the commercial viability of a custard cream that turned the eater into a canary.
"The feathers are the easy part," Fred said, waving a hand. "It's the molting. People don't like going bald before they turn back."
"Details, brother," George dismissed. "We market it as a 'fresh start' for the scalp."
Alister listened with a faint smile, as he moved his mouth with the Elder Mandrake leaf securely lodged under his tongue—held in place by a transfigured hollow in his back molar to prevent accidental swallowing. "You could add a regrowing agent to the formula. Essence of Rat-tail. It stimulates follicles."
The twins looked at him, impressed. "Not bad, Alister. Wickedly gross, but not bad."
They sat in a comfortable silence for a moment, basking in the light.
"Would you guys like to explore the Forbidden Forest with me?"
The question dropped like a stone in a pond. The ambient chatter of the courtyard seemed to fade away.
Fred stopped chewing his licorice wand. George froze mid-stretch. They both turned their heads slowly to look at Alister. The Forbidden Forest wasn't just 'out of bounds'—it was the home of wolves, centaurs, and things Hagrid didn't talk about. Even for them, it was a place even they havn't explored, they only dared to roam around the outer area.
The silence stretched, heavy and awkward.
Alister kept his gaze on the treeline in the distance, the smile on his face slight but distinct. He turned his head, locking eyes with them.
"Are you scared?"
The effect was instantaneous. The identical shock on their faces hardened into identical indignation.
"Scared?" Fred scoffed, though his voice pitched slightly higher than usual. "We're not scared. We respect the ecosystem."
"Yeah," George added, crossing his arms. "We have a healthy appreciation for not being eaten by Acromantulas. There's a difference."
"But," Fred added, a glint of reckless curiosity entering his eyes, "if you are the one asking to go... it must be for something interesting. You're not the type to go for a stroll."
He stood up, adjusting his robe. "Tonight. Midnight. Meet me at the bridge. Unless, of course, the 'ecosystem' is too much for the Lions."
____________________________________________________
Midnight found them at the edge of the wooden bridge, the silhouette of the castle looming behind them like a sleeping giant.
Fred and George were already there, crouching behind a statue of a gargoyle. They weren't wearing their school robes; they were dressed in dark, muggle clothing that were slightly too big, stained with soot and potion spills.
"You actually came," George whispered as Alister approached, stepping out of the shadows.
"We thought about it," Fred admitted, spinning a heavy-looking beater's bat in his hand. "figured if you were planning to murder us, you'd have done it in the Great Hall. Less walking."
"And," George added, tapping a bulky pocket that clinked with glass vials, "we wanted to test the prototype 'Dungbombs - Mark II'. Hagrid's pumpkins are too stationary. We need moving targets."
Alister smirked, the expression hidden by the darkness. "Let's hope we don't need them. Follow me. And keep your wands low. The centaurs will be patrolling, always be vigilant, we're heading east."
"How do you know the patrol routes?" Fred asked, hurrying to keep up with Alister's long, confident strides.
"I heard them form Hagrid," Alister replied vaguely.
They slipped past Hagrid's hut, where Fang let out a single, low woof before falling silent, and stepped into the tree line.
The temperature dropped instantly. The Forbidden Forest didn't just feel like a collection of trees; it felt like a living, breathing entity that resented their presence. Roots seemed to twist like snakes in the gloom, and the canopy was so thick it blocked out the stars.
Alister moved with an eerie silence, his enhanced Physique allowing him to step over dry twigs without snapping them. The twins, for all their prankster stealth, sounded like stampeding elephants by comparison.
"So," George whispered loudly, stepping over a patch of glowing moss. "What are we actually looking for? Wolfsbane? Unicorn hair? A girlfriend for Filch?"
"The Thestral," Alister answered calmly, not breaking his stride.
Fred frowned, adjusting his grip on the bat. "The Thestral? You mean the bony horses that pull the carriages? But... we can't see them. They're invisible to anyone who hasn't—"
He stopped. The implication hung in the air like a cold mist.
"How would you find them if we can't see them?" Fred finished quietly.
"I can see them," Alister said. His voice was devoid of emotion.
Fred and George froze in their tracks. The playful, chaotic energy that usually surrounded them vanished instantly. They exchanged a look—not of confusion, but of sudden, sobering realization. To see a Thestral, you had to have witnessed death. For a student to say it so casually...
They stood there for a moment, watching Alister's back as he continued walking into the gloom.
"Are you coming?" Alister called out, pausing near a twisted ancient oak. "Or did the darkness freeze your boots?"
The Twins shook off the mood, though their grins were a little less wide than before.
"Coming," George said, jogging to catch up. "Just... processing. You're full of surprises, Potter."
"You have no idea," Alister murmured.
The Forbidden Forest didn't give up its secrets willingly. As they pushed deeper, the path didn't just disappear—it seemed to actively fight them.
Ten minutes in, the canopy became so dense it choked out the moonlight entirely. The only illumination came from the tip of Alister's wand, casting long, dancing shadows against the twisted roots.
"Is it just me," Fred whispered, gripping his bat tighter, "or are the trees moving closer together?"
Before Alister could answer, the ground beneath George's feet exploded.
Thick, writhing vines—Venomous Tentacula—shot out of the leaf litter like striking cobras. One wrapped around George's ankle, yanking him off his feet with a startled yelp, dragging him toward a spanged maw hidden in the brush.
"George!" Fred shouted, raising his wand. "Diffindo!"
The severing charm sliced the air but missed the thrashing vine by an inch.
Alister didn't hesitate. He spun, his wand moving in a blur. "Incendio Duo!"
A jet of blue-hot flame erupted from his wand, striking the base of the Tentacula. The plant shrieked—a high-pitched, ear-splitting sound—and recoiled, dropping George into the mud.
"Move!" Alister commanded, hauling George up by his collar. "They hunt in packs. Don't touch the walls!"
They scrambled through the brush, the forest coming alive around them. More vines lashed out from the darkness, snapping like whips.
" Impedimenta! " Fred yelled, blasting a vine that was aiming for Alister's neck.
" Reducto! " George added, blowing a hole through a wall of thorns blocking their path.
They burst through the thicket and skidded to a halt. The ground dropped away sharply. They were standing on the edge of a ravine, a twenty-foot drop into a rocky stream below.
"Dead end," Fred panted, wiping sweat and dirt from his forehead. "And the salad bar is catching up."
Behind them, the rustling of the Tentacula was getting louder.
"Not a dead end," Alister said, gauging the distance. It was a fifteen-foot jump to the other side. Doable for him with his stats, but impossible for the twins.
"Bridge!" Alister barked. "Locomotor Wibbly on the roots overhead!"
" The jelly-legs jinx?" George looked confused. "On a tree?"
"Just do it!"
Trusting him, the Twins pointed their wands at the thick, overhanging roots on the opposite bank. "Locomotor Wibbly!"
The roots wobbled, losing their rigidity and drooping down like wet noodles.
Alister pointed his wand at the drooping roots. "Glacius!"
A beam of freezing air hit the roots, instantly hardening them into a makeshift, icy ramp that bridged the gap.
"Go!" Alister yelled.
Fred and George didn't argue. They scrambled across the slippery ice-root bridge, their boots skidding. Alister followed, leaping the last few feet just as a thorny vine slashed the air where his head had been a second ago.
They landed on the other side, collapsing against a mossy boulder, chests heaving.
"That," Fred wheezed, checking his arm for scratches, "was not a stroll."
"Did you see the size of those thorns?" George grinned, though his hands were shaking slightly. "I reckon we could harvest the venom for the Skiving Snackboxes. Make your tongue swell up so you can't answer questions in class."
"Focus," Alister said. "We aren't there yet."
But the forest had other plans.
A sound tore through the silence—not the chattering of the Acromantulas or the rustle of the wind, but a long, guttural howl that vibrated in their ribcages. It was followed by another. And another.
"Down!" Alister commanded, tackling the twins by their shoulders.
They dropped into a dense cluster of ferns, pressing their bodies into the damp earth, mud smearing their faces. The smell of wet dog and copper hit them instantly, overpowering the scent of the raw meat nearby.
Alister peeked through the gap in the leaves, his eyes narrowing.
Emerging from the treeline, moving with a terrifying, fluid grace, were four massive shapes. They weren't wolves—their snouts were too short, their spines too hunched, their pupils human-like and dilated with madness.
A Werewolf pack.
They prowled into the clearing, sniffing the air, their claws tearing deep furrows into the moss.
Alister looked up. Through a break in the canopy, the clouds had parted, revealing a perfect, blindingly white orb.
'Crap,' Alister thought, his heart hammering against his ribs. 'I was so focused on the planetary alignment for the Mandrake stability that I forgot to check the lunar cycle for lycanthropy. It's the full moon.'
Beside him, Fred and George had gone pale. They were gripping their wands so hard their knuckles were white. This wasn't a prank. This was a death sentence.
The Alpha of the pack paused. It turned its massive, shaggy head directly toward their bush. Its nostrils flared.
But before Alister could trigger a spell, the werewolf whined—a high, pathetic sound of terror—and scrambled backward. The rest of the pack tucked their tails between their legs and bolted into the darkness in a blind panic.
Alister and the twins blinked, completely confused.
"Did we... did we scare them?" Fred whispered, lowering his wand slightly.
"I don't think so," Alister muttered, standing up cautiously.
Then the ground shook.
It wasn't the rhythmic thundering of hooves like horses, but a strange, clattering vibration, accompanied by the sound of immense, leathery wings beating against the air like torn sails in a storm.
From the shadows of the trees, they poured out. Not just the small group, but the entire herd.
Dozens upon dozens of Thestrals.
To Fred and George, it was a scene of invisible terror. They watched as the bushes were trampled by nothing. They saw the mud splash upward under the weight of unseen hooves. They felt the wind of giant wings buffeting their faces, knocking their hair back, but they saw only empty air.
"Alister!" Fred yelled over the noise of the wind, backing up until he hit a tree. "What is that? It sounds like a dragon!"
"The herd," Alister said, his voice calm despite the chaotic scene. He stared in awe.
For him, the clearing was a sea of black skeletal bodies, white glowing eyes, and dragon-like faces. They shrieked—a sound that pierced the night—and snapped at the air where the werewolves had been, reclaiming their territory. The werewolves had fled from a swarm.
The Alpha male, a beast twice the size of a shire horse with a wingspan that blotted out the moon, landed with a heavy thud right next to the stag carcass.
"They... they are everywhere," George whispered, his eyes wide as he watched a patch of grass flatten inches from his boot. "We're surrounded by invisible death horses."
"Don't... move," Alister commanded, keeping his lips tight around the leaf.
He looked toward the center of the chaotic swirl of bodies. The stag carcass was being torn apart now, vanishing bite by bite into invisible maws.
But there, fluttering frantically above the feeding frenzy, disturbed by the arrival of the herd, were the Mourning Cloak Moths he was here for.
They were agitated, flying higher, looking for a new place to land. If they flew into the canopy, they would be gone.
(END OF CHAPTER)
"Can't wait to see what Alister does next?
You don't have to wait! I am currently 15 chapters ahead on Patreon.
special thanks to all my EPIC members and,
LEGEND: Franco Steam
MYTH: Asaf Montgomery
Link: patreon.com/xxSUPxx