Chapter One: "Never stray from the pathways"
Hagrid looked around the small circle of seventh-year students, gauging their mood. In the ten years since the Battle of Hogwarts and the last culling of Death Eater encampments after their leader's death, the Forbidden Forest had been a quiet place. Which probably explained why one or two students looked nonchalant, as if they had much better things to do than spend three days and two nights surrounded by dark, twisted trees, seeing very little sunlight, and encountering a few of what Hagrid liked to call "the denizens." But most faces looked tense or a little scared—a mood Hagrid endorsed. Though he and Firenze had taken care to ensure the students would be in no real danger during this first-ever overnight field trip into the heart of the Forest, he was never one to discourage constant vigilance, as poor old Moody used to say.
"All righ' then?" he said heartily.
Everyone nodded.
"Yeh need ter stay with me, stick together, and remember everything I've told yeh." The Care of Magical Creatures professor bent his massive, grey-bearded head toward the seventh-years and tried to look stern. "What's the one thing yeh mustn't ever forget?"
"Never stray from the pathways," said Diana Fawcett, her voice clear and steady, and Hagrid gave her an approving nod. She was proving to be an excellent choice for Head Girl. He knew he could rely on her.
"If you stray, you will get lost," said Firenze, his white-blond head uplifted, left front hoof pawing the ground eagerly. Though it was now several years since the other centaurs had accepted him back to the clan, his responsibilities to Hogwarts made it difficult for him to visit as often as he'd have liked. "Before the Battle of Hogwarts," added the Divination teacher, "getting lost in this Forest had dangerous consequences."
"But now it's safe," said another student. "Right? Or we wouldn't be here."
It took Hagrid a moment to recall her name: Wendy Chow. A bit flighty.
Firenze's blue eyes glinted in the dim Forest light. "For the most part. But never forget that some creatures in this Forest are still quite powerful. If you should encounter them—" at that, a couple of the young men nudged each other "—they will offer you, shall we say, a challenge." Wendy swallowed, and the centaur gave her a frosty smile. "Isn't that, after all, why you're here?"
The students nodded, some with more enthusiasm than others.
"As long yeh act respectful ter the trees an' other denizens and stay on the planned route, yeh have nuthin' ter fear from anythin' livin' in the Forbidden Forest," Hagrid added robustly. Then he clapped his hands together, beaming at the ten young people. "All righ'? Ready?"
The students exchanged nervous smiles. A few cheered feebly and clapped their wands together. Then the small party moved into the heart of the Forest—Hagrid at the front, followed by the students in twos, and Firenze a few stately paces behind the last pair: Diana and her least favourite person, Terry Brar, self-styled Quidditch champion of all time.
Terry looked over his shoulder to make sure Firenze was out of earshot. "Challenging?" he muttered. "What balls. All the really cool creatures've been gone for what—ten years at least. Like the giant spiders. What's left?"
Diana glared at him. "Haven't you listened to a single thing in class?" she said in a fierce whisper. "There are still spiders. And giants. And not all the centaurs are like Professor Firenze. Most dislike humans. A few actually hate them. And—" She flicked a glance at the branches arcing above them. "Apparently some of the trees are very odd."
Come to think of it, it was quite dark amongst those thick trunks. But no way was he going to let Diana get to him. She was a prig. Which was a shame because otherwise she was really fit.
"Balls," he said again. "Scary stories for kids. All we'll get out of this is a boring stroll."
Diana rounded on him. "If you stepped off this pathway, you wouldn't last a minute."
"Crap."
"You'll howl for Hagrid as soon as you run into a bit of Creeping Ivy."
"That would be you, Fawcett."
"Oh, drop dead, Brar."
What a pill, Diana thought with disgust. He thought he was Merlin's gift to wizard-kind because he was Hogwarts' star Seeker. But Diana could outrun and out-duel him, which (she suspected) was one reason why he was scowling and slashing at bushes with his wand, as if it were a machete and this were the Amazon.
Not only Head Girl but one of Hogwarts' best duellists, Diana had strongly supported Hagrid's idea of an advanced field trip for Hogwarts' top seventh-years. Only ten students were selected for what Hagrid had promised would be a challenging experience hiking and camping in parts of the Forbidden Forest never before visited by outsiders. Best of all, because Hagrid had also persuaded Firenze to work with him, the centaur had arranged for some of his Forest acquaintances to stage mock surprise attacks to test the students' duelling and defensive skills. Tall, bronze-skinned, strongly built, and already a formidable witch, Diana couldn't have been more in her element.
This field trip was going to be brilliant . . . assuming she could get past having Terry as her partner. They had to watch each other's backs; that was the deal. Hopefully he wouldn't do anything really stupid.
The path narrowed to single-file width. Diana, now in front of Terry, threw a defiant look at the thickening growth overhead. Was it her imagination, or were some of the branches reaching toward them?
The path curved sharply to the right. For a moment she couldn't see Hagrid or the other students up ahead, nor Firenze behind.
"Hey, Fawcett!" Terry whispered behind her. As Diana turned with an impatient sigh, Terry gave her his most dazzling Quidditch-star smile and leapt off the path. "You're too scared to follow me, aren't you?" he taunted. She lunged toward him to grab his arm, but with a laugh he plunged into the bush beneath the lowering branches, straight into the black heart of the wood.
For a second Diana stared after him in shock. Then she screamed, "Help! Professor Firenze!" Oh my god—I dared him to do this! She heard a great thundering of hooves, felt a rush of wind as the centaur sailed off the path, and then she was moving too, running straight after Terry and Firenze into the heart of the Forbidden Forest, her wand out and ready. She dimly heard shouting behind, Hagrid's voice raised in a bellow.
Diana knew she was breaking the rules. But she had to because she was Terry's partner and she'd promised to watch his back. Even though she hated him.
Was Professor Firenze still in front? Beside her? Diana couldn't tell, but she kept pushing into the tangled darkness, calling for Terry, until at last she had to slow down. The bush was too tangled to run through. Even the air felt thick; she could no longer hear any sounds behind her. And it was so dark. "Lumos!" she gasped, but only the faintest light sputtered from her wand-tip. She turned around and around, trying to see signs of where she'd come from, but there was no path, and though she strained to listen, there were no voices. No sounds at all.
Then she saw dim light ahead. Stumbling toward it, she emerged in a roughly circular clearing about the size of the Gryffindor common room. The trees pressing around were so tall, their tangled black branches so dense, that she couldn't see their tops—only a misty light far above, struggling to reach the twilit Forest floor. All was utterly still. Diana found it hard to breathe, as if she'd blundered into a mass of dead, still air.
One great oak compelled her, as if it were sending out a silent call. Its girth was tremendous—twenty Hagrids could have joined hands around it. From its base a black hollow gaped at her, half-hidden behind roots that long ago had grown up and out of the ground like the legs of a spider. Diana walked toward that hollow, her wand out, the light of her Lumos spell flickering dimly at its tip.
Then she saw Terry, sprawled face down on the lip of the hollow.
At that moment, Diana knew that some thing inside that hollow was watching her: cold, merciless, and hungry. An instinct older than thought leapt through her like summer lightning—run, run! She had never felt real fear in her life, but now terror took her and she turned, stumbling on tree roots, her mouth opening to scream, to breathe. It took enormous effort just to take one step, and then another . . .
A tremendous force yanked at her, pulling her up short, holding her rigid. Her wand tumbled from her hand, and its faint light died.
Unable to move, Diana heard a sound from behind her—footsteps. They came closer. A tall, black-cloaked figure moved around to face her, arms folded across its chest. A black hood hid most of the face, except for the tip of a sharp nose and a thin, brutal mouth.
"I'm going to put you to sleep," the figure said after a moment. His voice was soft, rich, almost velvety. "It's easier that way." He stretched out a pale hand and touched the top of her head. A warm, soothing sensation crept over her, as if she were being wrapped by her mother in a soft eiderdown. A moment later a wild wind arose, whirling up cones of dirt, lashing branches into a frenzy, and pushing her slowly backward toward the hollow of the ancient oak. But it didn't matter. She was safe, and she felt no fear.
"Sleep," said the man, and as her eyes grew heavy she thought she heard him whisper, That is all I can do for you.
A gust of wind whipped the man's hood away from his face. He yanked it back, but not before she saw every feature, pale against the growing darkness. It couldn't be; it was impossible, yet she knew that face; everyone knew it. Among the portraits of heroic witches and wizards who had lost their lives to Voldemort or his followers, this one had always stood out, and not pleasantly. It looked a lot more evil than heroic.
The shock hurled Diana out of the spell of sleep and into nightmare. As bitter wind slashed her skin and darkness clawed her, she had just enough strength to give a last despairing scream before the giant oak tree pulled her into its maw.
"Not since Tom Riddle died have we had even the slightest trouble. And now—two students at once! And not just any two. Our very best." As Minerva McGonagall paced back and forth in her office, the portrait hanging near the fireplace stroked its beard and looked at her with compassion.
At length the portrait asked, "And there have been no recent incidents like this in the Forbidden Forest?"
"None!" Minerva burst out. "Or I would never, ever have allowed this excursion to go ahead."
The portrait of Albus Dumbledore shook its head, half-moon glasses twinkling in the soft light. "I remember some mention of disappearances. But those were centuries ago."
Minerva stopped pacing and stared at the portrait. "What can you tell me?"
The portrait smiled gently. "Little, I'm afraid. I did study arcane magic, but I concentrated on objects. I didn't have much occasion to focus on creatures, plants, or their life paths—topics that would probably be more relevant in this case." The portrait fell silent as Minerva resumed her pacing. "But," said Dumbledore after a long moment, "if it's research you need, or even a discreet investigation, I may have a suggestion."
"Albus, there is no such thing as a 'discreet investigation' in this case. I want no one from outside Hogwarts involved, full stop. Not until or unless we absolutely must. Hagrid and his parties have two more days to search. If they're found by then—" she took an uneven breath "—we may yet be able to contain this."
"Until a year or so ago," said the portrait as if she hadn't spoken, "you were updating me regularly about a certain former student. You expressed considerable pride in her career, which I believe involved the analysis of arcane, ancient, or otherwise rare magical problems that, as you put it once—'would challenge the most adept.'"
Minerva stopped in mid-pace and looked at Dumbledore incredulously. "Are you suggesting I ask Hermione Weasley for help?"
"Why not? Does she lack the magical expertise? Would she be indiscreet?"
"No, but . . . Albus—it's simply not an option." She spread her hands. "For one thing, she would never agree to come."
"Why?"
With a tired sigh, Minerva sat down in a chair by the fireplace and considered the portrait. After a moment, she said, "She and Ronald Weasley have separated. Or more accurately, she left him, and he took the separation bitterly. I have neither seen nor spoken with her since—but only because she hasn't contacted me," she added quickly.
A brief silence fell. The fire crackled.
"I'm most sorry to hear that," said Dumbledore's portrait at last. "And with Mr Weasley's having recently stepped into Madam Hooch's position, I can see possibilities for awkwardness. Nonetheless—"
"To add another complication," Minerva interrupted, "Last week Professor Sinistra fell ill, and I asked Mr Weasley to serve temporarily in her position as Head of Gryffindor House. Both the missing students are in Gryffindor; the best often are," she couldn't help adding with a touch of pride, "which means Mr Weasley has been on the forefront of the search. It also means his ex-wife will not, under any circumstances, be able to avoid an interview with him."
"Ah," said the portrait, nodding in sympathy. "That will make things a bit more difficult for Miss Granger on her arrival. And for you as well."
"If I agree to call her in," said Minerva sharply.
"If," said Dumbledore.
Hagrid wiped his forehead and called Fang the Second to his side. He, Firenze, Ron Weasley, and a phalanx of Hogwarts staff members had been combing the Forest for over a day now—and still not a trace of poor Miss Fawcett or Terence Brar.
He couldn't remember the last time he'd felt so low, so hopeless. After the abrupt shock of the disappearances yesterday morning, he and Firenze had taken turns searching the area and guarding the eight remaining students. They had found nothing. At last, after deciding it was most important to get their dismayed group safely back to Hogwarts, the two had reported the grim news to the headmistress. Firenze had looked thunderous; Hagrid had wept and vowed not to rest until he found the students, after which he would resign his position. Minerva, all at once looking her true age, had accepted Hagrid's first offer but not his second. "Recruit all the staff you need for the search," she'd insisted, "but don't involve any outsiders. Not from Hogsmeade. Not from the Ministry. No one."
But how much longer could they keep this quiet? The students' parents knew that the field trip was supposed to end tomorrow; they would be expecting owl posts from their offspring the following day at the latest. And still no trace. No sign. Nothing.
Suddenly Fang the Second jerked away from Hagrid's hand and plunged from the path. Barking madly, he made a beeline for a nearby cluster of sinister looking oaks.
"Fang! Get back 'ere!" But the huge dog kept going. What the devil was attracting him? They were nowhere near where the disappearances had occurred. Cursing, Hagrid ploughed after Fang.
When he finally caught up to the mastiff just inside the oak grove, the great dog was crouching, almost cringing, and making high-pitched whining noises.
"What? What is it?" Trying to soothe the dog, Hagrid peered around. The grove was dim; the trees grew so closely together that very little sunlight filtered through their densely leaved, tangled limbs. But Fang's attention seemed riveted to one particular oak, exceptionally gnarled and as thick around the truck as a small house. Other than that, nothing about it looked unusual. Hagrid frowned.
"If yer chasin' after some squirrel . . ." he said heavily. But he went up to the oak nonetheless, for he felt certain that Fang the Second (who had a sweet, sanguine temperament for such a fierce looking creature) would not react so dramatically to an ordinary Forest tree or creature. He touched the bark, looked up at the dark leaves and twisted branches, and with a sigh, began to walk around the trunk. As he reached the other side he felt a strange shiver, as if the very air had shifted. Then he saw that the trunk was hollow—a black cavity even larger than the one under the Whomping Willow. But that wasn't what made Hagrid stop, gape, and then give a great shout.
Just inside the hollow lay the limp bodies of Diana Fawcett and Terry Brar.