Tracking

On Friday, Zhang Wen was woken by a sore neck.

After sleeping against a stone wall all night, his cervical spine had issued a serious protest. When he opened his eyes, the first thing he saw was the gray light outside the window.

The second thing he saw was Artoria's hair.

Golden strands lay against his collarbone, slightly disheveled from a night's sleep. Her head was still resting on his shoulder, her breathing light and steady.

At some point, the gray scarf had come loose and stretched across both their shoulders like a small woolen bridge.

Zhang Wen spent about ten seconds switching his brain from "still dreaming" mode to "this is reality" mode.

Then he faced an ultimate dilemma—how to move his nearly broken neck without waking her.

He tried turning his head two degrees to the other side.

Artoria woke instantly.

Her way of waking was completely different from that of ordinary people—there was no groggy transition, no rubbing her eyes, no yawning. From closed eyes to open took roughly 0.3 seconds, her gaze becoming instantly alert and her muscles tensing at once.

A waking pattern forged on the battlefield.

Then she realized what she had been leaning against.

She sat upright.

Very quickly. So quickly that a patch of Zhang Wen's shoulder was suddenly left empty—and rapidly grew cold after her body heat vanished.

"What time is it?" Artoria's voice was perfectly calm, as if she had just been leaning against a wall rather than a person.

"About six."

"I overslept. Neville's training—"

"Neville can train by himself today."

Artoria stood up. Her movements were perfectly normal, her steps steady, her expression unchanged.

But she did not turn to face Zhang Wen.

She was fixing her hair. Using her fingers, she gathered the disheveled golden strands and tied them back. The motion took about fifteen seconds longer than usual.

Zhang Wen suspected that she was using the time spent fixing her hair to adjust her expression.

The King of Knights' emotional control was top-notch. But even the best emotional control needed a few seconds to boot up.

"The scarf." After finishing her hair, Artoria turned around and reached for the gray scarf hanging on the windowsill.

Zhang Wen was a step faster.

He picked up the scarf and walked over to her.

"I'll do it."

Artoria's hand stopped in midair.

Zhang Wen wrapped the scarf around her neck. This time, his movements were more practiced than the night before—he wrapped it around one and a half times and tucked the ends into her collar.

His fingers brushed her jawline.

Artoria's entire body froze for a moment. It really was only a moment—about 0.5 seconds—before she returned to normal.

"Today is your training day." Zhang Wen stepped back. "You need the scarf yourself."

"I can—"

"You sat on a windowsill at two degrees below zero for an hour and a half last night. If you don't wear the scarf today, I'll tell Madam Pomfrey that you're at risk of catching a cold and have her force you to rest in bed for three days."

Artoria looked at him.

"You're threatening me."

"I'm concerned about you. I'm just putting it in a way you'll understand."

The corner of Artoria's mouth twitched.

It was a tiny movement. But Zhang Wen could now precisely catch every one of her microexpressions.

It was a smile.

A very, very faint smile.

"Let's go," she said. "Let's get breakfast."

The two of them walked downstairs side by side.

The scarf was wrapped around Artoria's neck.

Zhang Wen's neck was bare, and cold air poured into his collar.

But he felt warm all over.

Something minor happened during breakfast.

When Zhang Wen and Artoria entered the Great Hall, Fred and George Weasley looked up at the same time.

Their gazes first landed on the gray scarf around Artoria's neck—the same scarf that had been around Zhang Wen's neck yesterday, which the entire school had seen.

Then the two exchanged a glance.

Fred opened his mouth. George kicked him. Fred closed it again.

Zhang Wen pretended not to notice anything.

Artoria did not notice the detail at all. Her attention had already locked onto the fried eggs and bacon on the table.

But Zhang Wen knew that by noon, the change in ownership of this scarf would probably have spread throughout Gryffindor Tower. The Weasley Twins' information network was no less effective than the Daily Prophet's.

Sure enough.

At lunchtime, Hermione walked to Zhang Wen's office and knocked on the door.

"Professor Zhang, I made a new discovery regarding the literature investigation into Glenmore Lake—" As she spoke, her eyes swept over Zhang Wen's neck (bare, without a scarf), then over Artoria by the window (wearing the scarf), before she made a tremendous effort to drag her gaze back to the notebook in her hands.

"What discovery?" Zhang Wen asked.

"After the incident in 1634, a similar incident occurred at Glenmore Lake in 1782." Hermione opened her notebook. "The same pattern—people in black robes appeared, creatures in the lake mutated, and the village was threatened. The 1782 incident was handled by a special task force from the Ministry of Magic. It took them two months to eliminate the Dubh-Loch Beast."

"Where is the method they used recorded?"

"In the Ministry of Magic's internal archives. I couldn't find the details in the library, but one book mentioned the name of the task force commander—Ignatius Dagworth. He's from the same family as Hector Dagworth, who wrote the book."

The Dagworth family. A family that specialized in researching the Dubh-Loch Beast?

"There's one more thing." Hermione lowered her voice. "I looked into the Dagworth family tree. The family died out in the mid-nineteenth century—the last member died in 1856 without any descendants. But their research manuscripts and books were auctioned off—"

"Who bought them?"

"The records say the buyer was 'an anonymous pure-blood collector.'"

Zhang Wen's mind raced.

The Dagworth family had researched the Dubh-Loch Beast for over a century. All their knowledge—including the methods for creating and destroying it—had been purchased by an anonymous buyer after the family died out.

If that buyer had passed the knowledge down to their descendants—

If one of those descendants had decided to use that knowledge—

"Miss Granger," Zhang Wen said, "can you look into the detailed records of the 1856 auction? Especially the name of the auction house and the list of people who attended the bidding."

"I'll try. I may need to look through the Pure-Blood Heritage Trading Almanac. Madam Pince should have it."

"Go ahead. Tell me immediately if you find anything."

Hermione hurried away with her notebook in her arms. When she reached the door, she paused and glanced back at the scarf around Artoria's neck, her lips moving slightly.

Then, wisely, she left without saying anything.

Saturday morning.

Zhang Wen, Artoria, and Harry traveled to Inverness by Floo Powder.

They did not bring Malfoy this time. Tracking the magical connection was risky, and Malfoy's defensive abilities were not yet sufficient. Zhang Wen explained the reason to Malfoy. Although Malfoy was unhappy about it, he did not make a fuss.

"Next time," Zhang Wen said.

"I'll be stronger," Malfoy said.

If he had said that two months ago, his tone would have carried arrogance. Now, it carried determination.

Glenmore Lake. 1:30 p.m.

The three of them and Angus took up positions at the lake's southeast, northeast, southwest, and northwest points respectively. Each held a Tracking Crystal—something Zhang Wen had spent three days making, its core a piece of quartz that Filius Flitwick had helped enchant.

"The principle behind the Tracking Crystal is simple." Before setting out, Zhang Wen explained it to Harry. "When the Dubh-Loch Beast receives an external command, the magical channel connecting it to the caster briefly 'lights up.' The Tracking Crystal can capture the direction of that channel. When four lines from four different positions intersect, they can pinpoint the caster's approximate location."

"Just like triangulation with Muggle technology," Harry said.

"You really have watched a lot of television."

"The television at the Dursleys' house is always on. I listened from the side whenever Dudley watched."

2:50 p.m. Everyone was in position.

Zhang Wen stood on the north shore of the lake, holding a Tracking Crystal and a Communication Lens.

"Everyone, confirm your positions," he said into the lens.

"East side, in position." Artoria's voice came through.

"South side, in position." Angus's voice was slightly tense but steady.

"West side, in position." Harry's voice was clear.

"Received. Prepare to activate the Tracking Crystals. Wait for my signal—the signal is 'now.' Do not activate early, before the spike appears. The crystals can only be used once."

They waited.

2:55 p.m.

3:00 p.m.

3:01 p.m.

3:02 p.m.

3:03 p.m.—

The remote monitoring device in Zhang Wen's hand suddenly emitted a sharp alarm.

The magical spike had arrived.

The surface of the lake trembled faintly. A thin layer of mist rose from the water—the steaming effect caused by magic traveling through it.

"Now!" Zhang Wen shouted.

At the same time, he activated the Tracking Crystal in his hand.

The quartz emitted a faint purple light in his palm. The light stretched through the air, forming a thin beam that pointed in a certain direction.

Zhang Wen carefully identified the beam's angle.

Southeast. Approximately fifteen degrees south.

He quickly recorded the precise bearing.

"Report your bearings!" he shouted into the lens.

"East side—bearing 240 degrees north." Artoria's voice.

"South side—bearing 320 degrees east." Angus.

"West side—bearing 110 degrees south." Harry.

Zhang Wen calculated rapidly in his head.

Four lines of direction. Four different angles. If they intersected in the same area—

Fifteen minutes later, the spike ended. The light of the Tracking Crystals faded.

Zhang Wen pulled a map of Scotland and a protractor from his backpack.

Using a pencil, he drew a line from each of the four measurement points.

The four lines converged on the map.

The intersection was a small area—roughly five kilometers across.

Zhang Wen stared at the location of the intersection.

His heartbeat quickened.

The intersection was in—

Wiltshire.

Southern England.

The county where Malfoy Manor was located.

Zhang Wen stared at the map for a full ten seconds.

No.

Old Nott's residence was in Norfolk, in eastern England. Wiltshire was in the south. The two directions were completely different.

The tracking result had not pointed to Old Nott.

It pointed to Wiltshire.

What was there?

Malfoy Manor. But Lucius couldn't possibly be responsible—he was the mastermind behind the Diary incident and was working hard to repair his relationship with the school. Creating a Dark Magical Creature at a time like this would be suicide.

What else was in Wiltshire?

Zhang Wen's mind searched rapidly.

Wiltshire. One of the gathering places for pure-blood families. The Malfoy Family and the Nott family had branch holdings there, and the Lestrange family's old estate—

Lestrange.

Zhang Wen's blood turned half a degree colder.

Bellatrix Lestrange was in Azkaban. But what about the other members of the Lestrange family? Had anything been left behind in their old estate? Was anyone using those abandoned facilities?

Or—

Was someone conducting Dark Magic experiments in the Lestrange family's old estate?

Zhang Wen folded the map and put it away.

He needed more information.

The four of them gathered at Angus's house.

"The tracking was successful." Zhang Wen told everyone the result. "The direction points to Wiltshire in southern England."

"Wiltshire?" Angus frowned. "That's at least five hundred miles from here. Can it still be controlled remotely over such a distance?"

"If the caster's magic is strong enough, distance isn't a problem," Zhang Wen said. "Besides, he may have used some kind of relay device. For example, the cursed stone left at the bottom of the lake may itself be a relay point."

"What do we do next?" Harry asked.

"Return to Hogwarts. Analyze the data. Investigate the connection between Wiltshire and Dark magic activity."

Harry nodded. His expression was serious but calm—after two field investigations, his ability to handle emergencies had clearly improved.

After saying goodbye to Angus, the three of them returned via Floo Powder.

By the time they returned to Hogwarts, it was already evening.

Zhang Wen spread out a map in his office and marked the tracking data on it. Artoria stood beside him and watched.

"Wiltshire." She pointed at the convergence point. "Where exactly is this location?"

Zhang Wen took out a more detailed map of Wiltshire—one he had borrowed from the library—and enlarged the area around the convergence point.

There were three noteworthy locations within a five-kilometer radius.

First, an abandoned farm. There was no historical record of any connection to the wizarding world.

Second, an outlying property of Malfoy Manor—an abandoned hunting lodge.

Third, a building labeled "Lestrange Old Manor (Abandoned)."

"Lestrange." Artoria's gaze settled on that label.

"Bellatrix Lestrange—one of Voldemort's most loyal followers. She's currently in Azkaban. Her husband, Rodolphus Lestrange, is also in Azkaban."

"Then this old manor—"

"In theory, it should be empty. Some of the Lestrange family's assets were frozen by the Ministry of Magic, but real estate usually wasn't seized. An abandoned old manor, with no residents and no one guarding it—"

"An ideal place for secret activities."

"But who is using it?" Zhang Wen frowned. "The adult members of the Lestrange family are either dead or in Azkaban. Unless—"

He paused.

"Unless someone is using Lestrange Old Manor under false pretenses, and that person has no direct connection to the Lestrange family."

"For example—"

"Someone who knows the manor's location, can break through its remaining Shield Charms, and needs a secluded place to conduct Dark magic experiments."

The two fell silent at the same time.

The range of people fitting that description was narrow. Former Death Eaters, or people closely connected to the Death Eater circle.

Old Nott's home was in Norfolk. But if he had set up a secret laboratory in Lestrange Old Manor in Wiltshire—

"That explains why the tracking direction didn't point toward Norfolk," Zhang Wen said. "He isn't controlling the Dubh-Loch Beast from his own home. He's controlling it from Lestrange Old Manor."

"A cunning rabbit has three burrows."

"Standard Death Eater procedure. Never operate from your own base."

Zhang Wen put away the map.

"I need to confirm the situation at Lestrange Old Manor. But I can't go there myself—"

"Why?"

"Wiltshire is too far away. And if that really is their control base, there may be defensive measures and alarm systems. Charging in recklessly would alert them."

"Then have Dumbledore send someone?"

"Dumbledore can have members of the Order of the Phoenix scout it out. But we need to discuss it with him."

Zhang Wen wrote down an item in his notebook: Find Dumbledore first thing tomorrow morning.

By the time they finished with business, it was nearly eight.

Zhang Wen suddenly realized they had missed dinner.

"You're hungry, aren't you?" He looked at Artoria.

"I'm fine."

When Artoria said "I'm fine," she usually meant, "I'm starving, but I can endure it." Zhang Wen had already mastered her translation manual.

"I'll go to the kitchens and bring something back." He stood up.

"I'll go myself—"

"Sit down. You stood by the lake for two hours today without moving, holding the Tracking Crystal. Your arms must be sore."

Artoria subconsciously rotated her right wrist.

Zhang Wen saw it.

"So they are sore," he said. "Sit still. I'll be back in ten minutes."

Before leaving, he looked back once.

Artoria sat in an armchair, still wrapped in her gray scarf, holding a cup of cold tea. The fireplace's glow fell across her profile.

There was the faintest curve at the corner of her lips.

Zhang Wen made a mental note—this was the third time today. Once with the scarf this morning. Once at noon, when he had helped her carry books in the corridor. And now, once more.

Three times in one day. The frequency was increasing.

That data trend made Zhang Wen's heartbeat more unstable than the magical spike at Glenmore Lake.

The Hogwarts kitchens were beneath the Great Hall. The entrance was hidden behind a painting of a bowl of fruit—tickling the pear would open it.

Zhang Wen tickled the pear. The door opened.

Steam filled the room. Dozens of House-elves bustled about—even though dinner had ended, they were always preparing ingredients for the next meal.

"Professor Zhang, sir!" A large-eared elf ran over. "What do you need?"

"Two dinners, please."

"Right away!"

The House-elves were remarkably efficient. Within five minutes, two complete meals were laid out on a tray—shepherd's pie, roasted vegetables, bread, butter, and two servings of toffee pudding.

As Zhang Wen carried the tray out, a House-elf hurried after him.

"Professor Zhang, sir!" it said timidly. "That blonde lady—Miss Pendragon—what desserts does she like? We would like to prepare more for her."

"She likes every dessert." Zhang Wen thought for a moment. "But if I had to choose—apple pie and chocolate mousse."

The elf nodded gratefully and ran off.

It seemed Artoria was still extremely popular among the kitchen elves.

Zhang Wen returned to his office carrying the tray.

Artoria had already cleared the desk—the maps, notes, and Tracking Crystal had all been put away. Only two empty spaces remained on the desk, just enough for two plates.

She had also brewed two fresh cups of hot tea.

Zhang Wen set down the tray and pushed Artoria's portion toward her.

"Shepherd's pie. One of your favorites."

Artoria glanced at the plate.

"You remember what I like."

"You like all food. But when you eat shepherd's pie, you eat eight percent faster than you do with other foods. I calculated it."

Artoria looked at him with an expression he had never seen before for three seconds.

"You calculated how fast I eat different foods."

"...Occupational habit. Data analysis."

"Have you done this kind of analysis on Snape?"

"Of course not."

"Filius Flitwick?"

"...No."

"Anyone else?"

Zhang Wen closed his mouth.

Artoria did not press further. She picked up her knife and fork.

"Thank you for bringing me dinner," she said, her tone returning to its usual calmness.

But Zhang Wen noticed that when she made the first cut into the shepherd's pie, the angle was off by four degrees.

Two degrees more than during the scarf incident.

Four degrees.

The King of Knights' hand stability continued to decline in front of him.

Zhang Wen felt that if this trend were plotted on a graph, the slope would thrill any data analyst.

The two quietly finished dinner in front of the fireplace.

Outside, the wind howled. In Hogwarts in November, night came early. Stars occasionally flickered behind the heavy clouds.

After eating, Artoria went to wash the dishes. Zhang Wen said, "I'll do it," and she said, "You made dinner—" Then she paused and corrected herself. "You brought dinner. I'll wash. Fair."

Zhang Wen sat at the table and watched her back as she washed dishes at the small sink beside the fireplace.

One end of her scarf hung over her shoulder, gently swaying with the movements of her hands.

Zhang Wen suddenly realized something.

He liked watching her do these ordinary things.

Brewing tea. Washing dishes. Tidying the desk. Wiping wooden sticks. Turning pages. Eating.

There was no brilliance of Excalibur in these actions, no majesty of the King of Knights, no battlefield sharpness.

There was only a person carefully, quietly, and meticulously handling the small tasks of daily life.

Every movement was clean and efficient. Every detail was treated with care.

Exactly like the way she went into battle.

Artoria Pendragon had only one attitude toward anything she did—giving it her all.

Even washing dishes.

Zhang Wen buried that thought deep in his heart.

There were still too many things to do. The Dubh-Loch Beast at Glenmore Lake, Lestrange Old Manor, the possible mastermind behind it all, the students' training and lessons—

Confessing ranked below every other task.

But he allowed himself to quietly admit one fact in his heart.

He seemed to have fallen for her.

Not "seemed."

He was certain.

Artoria finished washing the dishes and turned around, only to see Zhang Wen sitting motionless at the table, staring at her.

"What is it?"

"Nothing. Just thinking."

"About what?"

"A reconnaissance plan for Lestrange Old Manor."

Artoria looked at him for two seconds. Those eyes of hers, which had seen through countless battlefield situations, had probably determined that what Zhang Wen had been thinking about had absolutely nothing to do with Lestrange Old Manor.

But she did not expose him.

"Tomorrow morning, we'll go see Dumbledore together," she said.

"Okay."

"Go to sleep now. Your dark circles are worse than Neville Longbottom's."

"You have dark circles too."

"Mine are under the scarf. You can't see them."

Zhang Wen laughed.

"Good night," he said.

"Good night."

Artoria walked toward her room.

At the door, she paused.

"Zhang Wen."

"Hmm?"

"The shepherd's pie was delicious."

"I know. Eight percent faster than other foods."

The curve at Artoria's lips appeared again for an instant.

The fourth time today.

A new record.

She closed the door.

Zhang Wen sat in the empty office. Before him were two clean empty plates, two finished cups of tea, and an entire wall of investigation materials.

He should have organized the materials for tomorrow's report to Dumbledore.

But he sat there for another five minutes.

Because the scent of the tea she had brewed still lingered in the air.

Sunday morning.

While Neville Longbottom was doing morning training in the Third-Floor Corridor, he saw Professor Zhang emerge from the office.

The professor looked far better than he had over the past few days. His dark circles had faded somewhat. There even seemed to be the trace of a smile at the corner of his lips.

And around his neck was a new dark blue scarf—purchased from a shop in Hogsmeade yesterday and delivered by owl.

Miss Pendragon emerged from the neighboring door. The gray scarf was wrapped around her neck.

Two scarves. Two people.

Neville lowered his head and pretended to tie his shoelaces.

His smile was too obvious. He was afraid they would notice.