The moths were spiraling upward, drawn toward the faint slivers of moonlight piercing the canopy. If they reached the high branches, they would be lost among the leaves, and Alister would have to search for them again.
"Jar," Alister barked, the word slightly slurred around the leaf. He thrust his hand out to George.
George, reacting on pure seeker instinct, slapped a glass jar into Alister's hand. "Catch!"
Alister didn't waste a second. He broke into a sprint, heading straight for the center of the herd.
"Alister, stop!" Fred yelled, reaching out to grab him. "You're running straight into them!"
To the twins, it looked like suicide. Alister was charging into a chaotic vortex of trampled mud and floating carcass meat. But Alister saw the path clearly. He saw the gaps between the skeletal bodies, the shifting wings, the snapping jaws.
He dodged a snapping foal, ducked under the leathery wing of a mare, and targeted the Alpha.
The massive beast was rearing up, its wings spreading to claim the carcass.
Alister didn't slow down. He planted his boot firmly on the Alpha's invisible hind leg, pushed off, and vaulted upward.
"He's... he's walking on air," George whispered, his mouth hanging open.
Alister landed on the ridge of the Alpha's spine, finding purchase on the bony vertebrae. The beast bucked, surprised by the weight, launching Alister higher. He used the momentum, leaping from the invisible back of the monster into the empty air above the herd.
Time seemed to slow.
Alister reached the apex of his jump, twenty feet in the air. The grey moths were right in front of him.
With a fluid motion of his wandless hand, he swept the jar through the air, scooping the cluster of Mourning Cloak Moths inside. In the same motion, he slapped the lid shut and sealed it with a burst of raw magic.
Gravity took hold. He began to fall back toward the churning mass of invisible hooves.
" Arresto Momentum! "
The spell came from two directions. Fred and George, recovering from their shock, pointed their wands in unison.
Alister's fall slowed instantly. He drifted down like a feather, landing softly on a patch of moss just outside the herd's reach.
He held up the jar. Inside, three grey moths fluttered against the glass, their skull-marked wings glowing faintly.
"Got them," Alister mumbled, shoving the jar into his enchanted pocket.
The Alpha Thestral turned its skeletal head, its white eyes locking onto Alister. It let out a huff of steam, shaking its wings as if insulted by being used as a stepping stone. It took a step toward him.
Fred and George raised their wands, aiming at the sound of the breathing.
"Don't," Alister warned, holding up a hand. He stared at the Alpha straight into its eye. He bowed his head slightly—as the sign of appreciation.
The Alpha snorted, scraped a hoof against the ground, and then turned back to the carcass.\
"We go. Now," Alister signaled.
They didn't need telling twice. The trio backed away slowly until the sounds of feeding were distant crunching noises in the dark, then turned and jogged back toward where they thought the castle lay.
The adrenaline began to fade, replaced by the heavy, aching fatigue of trekking through uneven terrain. The forest was unnaturally quiet now, the earlier chaos of the Thestrals and Werewolves seeming like a fever dream.
They spent half an hour walking, stepping over gnarled roots and pushing through patches of stinging nettles. The trees looked identical—ancient, twisting oaks that seemed to lean in closer the further they walked.
George, who was leading, suddenly slowed to a halt. He looked at a distinctive mossy boulder, then looked to his left at a familiar-looking stump.
"Uh... guys?" George whispered, his voice tight. "We are lost."
"What do you mean 'lost'?" Fred hissed, bumping into his brother's back. "The castle is North. We've been walking North."
"We've been walking in a circle," George pointed at the boulder. "I tripped over that rock twenty minutes ago. I remember because it looks like a troll's nose."
Alister stopped, frowning. The forest was shifting around them, confusing their senses.
Snk.
The sound of a heavy twig snapping echoed from the darkness to their right.
Alister spun around, wand raised instantly. The Twins scrambled back to back, aiming their wands at a violently shaking bush.
"Don't tell me it's another pack of werewolves," Fred groaned, his voice trembling between fear and exhaustion. "Why are we encountering all these creatures in a single trip? Did we walk into a magical zoo break-out?"
"Quiet," Alister commanded through gritted teeth, the leaf pressing uncomfortably against his tongue.
The bushes parted. It wasn't a werewolf.
From the shadows emerged a Centaur.
He was nothing like the dark-haired, furious archer they had imagined. This one had a coat the color of pale cream, gleaming like pearl even in the gloom. His hair was white-blond, cascading over his shoulders, and his eyes were astonishingly blue, piercing the darkness with a calm, unnerving intelligence.
He didn't have a bow drawn. He stood with his arms relaxed at his sides, looking down at them not with anger, but with a strange, detached curiosity.
Fred and George didn't lower their wands. They were shaking, their nerves frayed to the breaking point.
"Stay back!" Fred warned, his voice cracking. "We've already dealt with warewolves tonight. We aren't afraid to—"
"Peace," the Centaur said. His voice was low and melodic, vibrating in the chest rather than the ears. He stepped forward, his hooves making no sound on the damp earth. "If you were truly afraid, you would not have come this deep."
He stopped a few feet away, looking up through the canopy at the sliver of sky visible between the leaves.
"Mars is bright tonight," he murmured, as if speaking to the trees. "It burns with a fever. It suggests that innocent blood is liable to be spilt."
He looked back down at the students, his blue eyes locking onto Alister.
"And you three are drenched in the scent of predators. You are fortunate the spiders are feasting elsewhere."
Alister nudged George to lower his arm.
"Who are you?" George asked, lowering his wand an inch, though he didn't look convinced.
The Centaur inclined his head slightly, a gesture that was polite but ancient.
"I am Firenze," he said softy. "And you are foals wandering in a wolf's den. The forest is shifting tonight to confuse the prey. That is why you walk in circles."
He looked at the jar protruding from Alister's pocket, where the moths fluttered against the glass.
"You carry the agents of transition," Firenze noted, his expression unreadable. "A heavy burden for one so young. The stars did not foretell this theft... which makes it dangerous."
Not understanding what centaur meant, Alister nudged Fred sharply in the ribs with his elbow, then jerked his head toward Firenze.
Fred, catching the silent command, swallowed his nerves and stepped forward, lowering his wand completely.
"If... if the forest is shifting," Fred began, his voice rasping slightly from dehydration, "and we're just 'foals' walking in circles... can you show us the way out?"
Firenze turned his head, his long hair shimmering like spun silver. He looked at the twins, then back to the canopy.
"The forest confuses those who do not know where they stand," Firenze said softly. "But I will guide you to the edge. Not for your sake, but because the stars are... unusually silent regarding your fate tonight. And silence is a rarity that should be preserved."
He turned his equine body, his tail swishing. "Follow. Step only where I step. The roots here are treacherous to two-legged things."
They fell into line.
The journey back was surreal. Where the forest had been hostile before—vines snapping, roots tripping—it now seemed to part before Firenze. The thick fog that had obscured their vision rolled back, revealing a clear path of trodden earth that definitely hadn't been there five minutes ago.
They walked in silence for twenty minutes, the only sound the rhythmic clip-clop of hooves and their own ragged breathing.
Finally, the trees thinned. The familiar silhouette of Hogwarts castle appeared against the night sky, its windows glowing with warm, welcoming light.
They reached the edge of the treeline near Hagrid's pumpkin patch.
Firenze stopped. He didn't step onto the manicured grass of the grounds.
"Go," he said, not looking back at them. "And be wary, star-thief."
Alister paused. He turned to look at the Centaur.
Firenze looked over his shoulder, locking eyes with Alister one last time. "You seek to wear the skin of legends. But remember... the stars judge the shape of the soul, not the body. Do not lose one to gain the other."
With that, he galloped back into the darkness, vanishing as if he were made of mist.
"Star-thief?" George whispered, shivering as the cold wind hit them. "That's a new nickname. Better than 'Potter-Stinker', I guess."
Alister didn't answer
They crossed the grounds, slipping through the main doors just as the grandfather clock in the entrance hall chimed 3:00 AM.
"You know," Fred said, leaning against the stone wall as he caught his breath. "That was..."
"Terrifying?" George suggested.
"I was going to say 'educational'," Fred grinned, wiping slime off his cheek. "Walking on invisible monsters? That was wicked. Alister, you really are insane."
Alister offered a tired, closed-lip smile, tapping his cheek where the leaf was hidden. "Rest," he said simply. "Debt... owed."
"No debt," George waved him off. "Just don't forget us next time you decide to go on these amazing night outs"
Alister nodded once, then turned toward the basement.
____________________________________________
The next morning, the Great Hall was a cacophony of clattering cutlery and excited chatter. The smell of bacon and toast filled the air, but Alister sat with a cup of lukewarm tea, taking small sips.
"So, I told Marietta that the layout of the stars doesn't actually predict her love life, it predicts weather patterns," Cho was saying, buttering a piece of toast with vigor. She looked fresh and bright-eyed.
Alister just nodded, humming a non-committal "Mmh-hmm," keeping his lips pressed together.
Across the hall at the Gryffindor table, the scene was very different. Fred and George were slumped over their porridge bowls, looking like zombies who had been reanimated by weak tea. George was actually using a fork to prop his left eyelid open.
Alister caught Fred's eye. Fred blinked slowly, gave a weak, imperceptible thumbs-up, and then let his head drop onto the table with a soft thud.
Alister suppressed a smirk.
"Are you okay?" Cho stopped eating, looking at him with concern. "You're barely talking. Usually, you'd have corrected my astronomy chart by now."
Alister pointed to his throat, then spoke out a single, fabricated lie he had prepared. "It's just a slight cold that's making my throat sore"
"Oh no!" Cho winced sympathetically. "It must be really irritating, Here, drink some honey water."
Before Alister could protest, the sound of a magically amplified whistle cut through the hall.
"Eat up! We fly in thirty minutes! Gryffindor vs. Ravenclaw!"
Cho gasped, her toast forgotten. The excitement hit her like a lightning bolt.
"I completely forgot! It's the season opener!" She jumped up, grabbing her blue-and-bronze scarf. "Alister, come on! We have to get the good seats near the commentator's box!"
Alister blinked. "I... study..."
"No studying!" Cho declared, grabbing his arm and hauling him up from the bench with surprising strength. "You need fresh air for your throat. And I need someone to explain the Wronski Feint physics to me. Let's go!"
Ten minutes later, Alister found himself bundled into a thick wool coat, sitting high in the stands of the Quidditch pitch. The wind was biting, whipping around the towers.
(END OF CHAPTER)
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