74: Poachers in Hogsmeade?

For all accounts, the Three Broomsticks was the most popular inn and pub in the all-wizarding village of Hogsmeade. Often frequented by Hogwarts's students and all sorts of magical folk, the inn was often warm, crowded, and a bit smoky but clean and welcoming. 

Or at least, that's what Alaric thought.

He and his friends had chosen a table in one of the corners of the shop, a round wooden table without a single scratch on it, even with all the years of supporting mugs full of drinks and plates of food. 

It was evening already, and they'd been at the pub for a few hours now, talking and laughing between butterbeers. To Alaric's surprise, the butterbeer here was better than the ones he had in other bars or pubs. 

Maybe it's the atmosphere, Alaric thought as he leaned back on the table's booth seating. 

"Another butterbeer, p-please!" slurred Theodore, his cheeks flushed pink. Even with the small amount of alcohol in Butterbeer, the number of drinks he had had left Theodore in such a state.

Madam Rosmerta, who was passing by with an order for another table, heard him quite clearly. With the look of an upset mother, she stared pointedly at Theodore and spoke. 

"Now, now, young man, I think it's time you opted for some Mooncalf milk instead, don't you think?" 

Her tone was soothing, but she wasn't making a recommendation. Alaric wasn't sure if she was concerned about her customers' health or merely didn't want any disturbance in her pub, but she seemed nice.

When she left with the order, Blaise, who had been sleeping from the excess of butterbeer, shifted his head to have a proper look at the landlady of the bar disappearing through a back door. 

"Blaise, what are you looking at?" Tracey asked with a small grin. 

"Nothing," Blaise answered, setting his head back down on the table. 

"I expect 'nothing' went to get more firewhisky," said Alaric with a chuckle. He couldn't blame his friend. Madam Rosmerta was a curvy sort of woman with a pretty face any boy would like. The number of boys who tried asking her on a date that evening wasn't a surprise. 

By that point, even Alaric felt that his head was a bit heavy. He looked around. It seemed like everyone was in there, drinking Butterbeer, laughing, talking, joking around. Some of the older students were on dates, getting to know each other, and some even found quiet corners for a bit of snogging. 

For a while, the five of them — primarily Alaric, Tracey, and Daphne — talked about whatever came to mind. They were deep in a serious debate on who the most unpleasant professor was when Alaric felt the urge for some fresh air.

"I'm going outside for a bit," He said as he dressed in his long woollen coat. 

"Sure," said Daphne, giving him his scarf that was on her lap. "Come back quickly so you don't catch a cold," 

"Yes Mother," He said absentmindedly, leaving behind a laughing Tracey and a seriously flushed Daphne. 

__________

The streets of Hogsmeade were completely deserted. A thick blanket of freshly fallen snow covered the cobblestone paths. It was as if the village had been hushed by the winter. But, unfortunately, that wasn't the reason. Dementors were. 

Foul things, the Dementors. Alaric had the unpleasant experience of reading all about their creation, so he felt even more repulsed by the beasts. He remembered clearly the book where he found it. A large and ancient tome, covered by a tattered leather case. The name had faded from the cover long ago. 

According to ancient history, the dementors' origins were inextricably tied up to one location: Azkaban. Its first resident, or even creator, Ekrizdis, practised the worst kinds of Dark Arts and constructed a fortress on the island, luring Muggle sailors there to torture and murder them. 

Most thought that Dementos were the manifestation of the endless suffering of these sailors, or even the sailors themselves. Alaric reckoned they were right. 

Alaric looked at the snow falling before his eyes. He still felt heavy from all the Butterbeer he had. With his gloved hands, he removed the scarf around his neck and felt the chilly October breeze wash over his nape.

By now, most of the Halloween decoration was covered in snow. Rooflines, steep and angular, held thin layers of snow, like frosted icing on gingerbread houses. 

From the corner of his eyes, Alaric could see the inviting glow of the castle, permeating through the icy haze that resembled fog. 

If he hadn't been looking at the castle, Alaric wouldn't have seen what he saw next. 

They looked unsuspecting, really. A group of seven wizards garbed in forest-green clothes. But Alaric could recognize dragon-hide at a glance. All seven of them were sporting vests of it, as well as gloves and tassets.

Why would wizards, seven of them, wearing so many protection items, have such anxious looks about them? And Alaric knew that look all too well. It was the same people would have whenever they tried to visit the underground club at the Le Dragon Rouge. 

However, what made him follow them wasn't their clothes, nor their expressions. No, it was the small cage the stoutest of the group was carrying. A bird was in it. A crossbill. 

They weren't rare or anything, especially in Northern Scotland. But it wasn't a normal bird. Familiar magical whispers were coming from it. An image of a rat passed through his mind. 

Alaric, wrapped in his warm winter coat, silently trailed the group of seven wizards through the deserted, snow-covered alleyways of Hogsmeade. The snow crunched beneath his boots, but he moved with carefulness and some sound-blocking charms that kept his presence hidden from the wizards ahead. They were a motley crew, Alaric noticed. The one carrying the cage was stout, and the other two near him were also a bit plump. The other four were all tall, but one of them was skinny and mousy, while the neck of one other was as thick as Alaric's leg. The other two were so similar in structure Alaric could only guess they were twins. 

The crossbill chirped loudly in the cage, as if anxious, and it was evident that the group was uneasy about something. Their hushed voices occasionally drifted back to Alaric, who strained to catch their words. 

As they continued, Alaric could only wonder what had prompted their behaviour. He didn't care if they were doing something illegal — as long as it wasn't harming anything — because he was aiming to steal that bird so he could study it. For the greater good, he laughed silently. 

The lamposts, with thick burning candles within, had started to cast long shadows on the frost-kissed storefronts as the sun began to hide under the horizon. The wizards turned a corner, their footsteps muffled by the snow, and Alaric followed suit, still keeping his distance. The path led them towards the edge of the village, where the towering trees of the Forbidden Forest loomed in the distance.

With each step, Alaric had started to guess what they were up to. Dragon-hide robes, disquieted expressions plastered on their faces, a magical animal kept in a not-so-clean cage... If they weren't poachers, Alaric was a Squib. 

He continued to follow them, hidden in the shadows, his curiosity even more piqued. They stopped at the forest's edge, their voices hushed and their gazes fixed on the cage containing the crossbill. Alaric watched as they muttered incantations and performed some wand movements. He recognized one of the charms as a Point-Me spell. 

Not wanting to be spotted by creatures of the forest, Alaric turned into his raven form and flew from tree to tree as the wizards followed a poorly done trail. Said trees' branches were laden with snow and the fading light of the late evening sun cast dappled patterns on the frosty grass of the forest. The group, now illuminated by the light emanating from their wands, moved even more cautiously, and Alaric could almost touch their apprehension. 

After a while, the group arrived at a clearing deep within the forest. In the fading light, Alaric could see the dim glow of a campfire, its flames dancing and flickering. The clearing was marked by several tents and a makeshift campsite. The camp itself was a disarray of tents and equipment. Tattered nets and cages were strewn about, and the ground was littered with scattered leaves and bits of underbrush.

They huddled around the campfire, their faces now illuminated in a sinister, warm glow. Alaric perched himself on a branch of a gnarled tree, silently listening and waiting for an opportunity to steal the cage they placed near them. 

With the darkness of night closing in and the snow-covered forest shrouded by distant howls and sounds, the wizards spoke in loud voices now that they were back to camp. 

"Fifty galleons, he offered," Spoke the thick-necked one. The apprehensive expression from before had been replaced by a grin. 

"That much?" One of the plump men, whom Alaric could now see was bald, spoke in surprise. "For a stupid bird?" 

"The bird's magical, he says," said another one, this time the lanky wizard. "But who cares? It's fifty galleons, for Merlin's sake! Maybe we can finally buy some properly expanded tents," 

"Still think we should've gone to Egypt after that Manticore," Said the one nearest to the cage. "Five thousand galleons! That's more gold than we've ever had..." 

"Yeah, and get turned into a skewer in the process. Seems pleasant enough," Snorted one of them. 

Most of them discussed back and forward, but Alaric noticed that one of them wasn't speaking. He looked like the most composed of them all, and the one, Alaric reckoned, could pose a challenge to get the crossbill. 

He got the feeling that the man, who seemed to be in his early twenties, was more skilled than any of the others. 

"What're you mulling about, Mason?" Snickered the bald poacher. It was evident he didn't like him, and now that Alaric looked, none of the six seemed to like this Mason. 

"The bird," Mason said, looking at the thick-necked poacher, who was possibly the leader. "You said it was magical?" 

"That's what the buyer said," The leader grunted. "Mentioned blood or something. Wasn't really paying attention. Was more worried about the money," 

"A Maledictus," said Mason at the same time as Alaric thought. "At Hogwarts and the Auror Academy, they teach us all about them. They carry a blood curse that permanently transforms them into a beast,"

An Auror. So that's why Alaric got that uneasy feeling. Mason was definitely more skilled those Alaric had duelled in France. And a Maledictus... Alaric knew about them but had never seen one in person. 

With the new information, the poachers seemed to distance themselves from the cage. They were used to dealing with creatures, but certainly not humans, even if it was now a bird. 

"Well, I'm going to sleep," said the leader, getting up and slapping the dirt from his pants away. "Mason, since you know all about it, how about you keep a lookout with the cage?" 

The other poachers laughed and jeered at the ex-Auror, retreating to their tents. It wasn't even night, so Alaric wondered if they had been awake since early. 

He watched as Mason grabbed the cage and placed it near him, took some beef jerky from his bag, and began to eat. 

Alaric waited a few more minutes to make sure the others were asleep, and when he heard a faint snore, he dropped down to the snow-covered ground.

**********

A/N: I've had exams the past two weeks but now they're over. I still have some stuff to do for uni, so I can't promise daily updates this week. 

Fun fact! Did you know it's rumoured that Dobby's appearance, in the films, was inspired by Vladimir Putin? The Russian government was enraged to the point they began to plan lawsuits against Warner Brothers Studios for the perceived sleight.

Hope you enjoyed the chapter!