The Wizard's Guide to Timelords and Other Demons Book 1: The Forgotten War

The Forbidden Forest

Hagrid met Elise and Professor Lupin at the edge of the Forbidden Forest about twenty or so yards down the hill from his hut. He was accompanied by his enormous boarhound, Fang, which had so much reminded Elise of her beloved pet hellhound, Growley; except Fang was not so large and other people could see him all the time. Elise got down on her knees, face to face with the immense, slobbery dog, and started rigorously massaging his neck. "What a good boy!" She praised.

Fang dropped to his side with a hefty whump and rolled over on his back for a belly rub. Elise happily obliged. One of Fang's massive hind legs started lurching up and down aggressively as the big dog whined with delight. Elise thought for a moment about Growley, who she had released into the Forest a few days earlier. With all that had been going on she had nearly forgotten about her dear paranormal pet. I hope he hasn't been causing too much trouble, she thought.

Hagrid's huge hand firmly grasped the handle of a large oil lantern, the bright, flickering flame within illuminating a large area around them. This concerned Elise greatly as it would certainly interfere with her own night vision, which was finely tuned and allowed her to discern small details at great distances—and in near total darkness, no less. Even the muted glow of the half-moon shining overhead would provide her more than enough light during this nighttime adventure. That lamp is the first thing that will have to go! She thought.

"How far in will we have to go, Hagrid?" asked Professor Lupin.

"It's pretty far in where we're goin' Professor." Hagrid said, "I'm afraid tha' we're in fer at least an hour's walk from here."

"Well, let's get to it then." Lupin urged, then took the lead as the three of them plunged into the Forbidden Forest while Fang followed, tail up and wagging, sticking close to his new best friend.

They chatted very little during the first half-hour of their trek. Hoping to find common ground for a compelling discussion, Lupin had asked Elise about her experience becoming a werewolf. He related his own story of having been infected with lycanthropy as a child by the werewolf Fenrir Greyback, probably out of revenge against Lupin's father for having revealed his secret previously during a trial.

"I was born a werewolf," she responded without emotion, and left it at that. Elise did not desire to have an idle, get-to-know-ya conversation right now. She was deep in concentration: listening to every sound in the forest, sensing every motion around her, and seeing...well, actually, she was seeing very little at the moment.

That lantern has really got to go! She thought.

And then there was that half-giant carrying the infernal lamp. Hagrid walked behind her, tromping through the forest floor with all the stealth and grace of a Sherman tank. She glanced back at him and tried to kindly project an expression of "could you please trample more quietly?" Hagrid smiled back at her pleasantly and began to hum loudly. She did not recognize the tune but was certain that the lumbering oaf was singing it way off key.

I would have better success on this hunt if I'd come with an ice cream truck! Elise fumed.

Professor Lupin, on the other hand, glided expertly through the thick brush with a surprising degree of stealth. Elise surmised that this was most likely due to his werewolf instincts, and not from any conscious effort on his part to be covert, as his insistence on making small talk clearly negated any benefit offered by his inherent furtiveness.

Elise was getting frustrated. She was accustomed to hunting alone, or at least with companions at her side who didn't raucously announce their arrival to all the prey.

I've really got to do something about this dead weight, she resolved.

Almost on cue, a familiar howl echoed through the forest, causing the others to snap to alert. Lupin froze in his tracks and listened. Fang stopped cold and made a sincere effort to raise both of his huge, floppy ears into the air as a pool of slobber started to gather on the ground below his jowls. Hagrid had suspended his galumphing for the moment but kept humming his tune, albeit somewhat quieter now, at a faster tempo, and in a different key—still the wrong one. Then the howl came again.