Tracking

Zhang Wen woke on Friday with a stiff neck.

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

The second was Artoria's hair.

Golden strands rested against his collarbone, slightly mussed from a night's sleep. Her head was still leaning on his shoulder, her breathing soft and steady.

At some point, the gray scarf had unfurled, spanning both their shoulders like a small woolen bridge.

It took Zhang Wen about ten seconds to switch his brain from I'm still dreaming mode to this is real mode.

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

He tried tilting his head two degrees in the other direction.

Artoria woke immediately.

The way she woke was entirely unlike an ordinary person's—there was no groggy transition, no rubbing her eyes, no yawning. It took about 0.3 seconds to go from closed eyes to open ones, her gaze instantly clear and her muscles instantly taut.

A waking pattern forged on the battlefield.

Then she realized what she had been leaning against.

She sat upright.

Very quickly. So quickly that Zhang Wen's shoulder was suddenly empty—the spot rapidly cooled after losing her warmth.

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

"About six."

"I overslept. Neville's training—"

"Neville can train on his own today."

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

But she did not turn to face Zhang Wen.

She was fixing her hair, gathering the scattered golden strands behind her head and tying them back with her fingers. It took about fifteen seconds longer than usual.

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

The King of Knights' emotional control was first-rate. But even first-rate emotional control needed a few seconds to activate.

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

Zhang Wen was one step faster.

He picked up the scarf and stepped in front of 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 last night—he looped it around once and a half, then tucked the end into her collar.

His fingers brushed her jawline.

Artoria froze for a moment. Truly only a moment—about half a second—before returning to normal.

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

"I can—"

"You sat on that windowsill in minus two degrees for an hour and a half last night. If you still refuse to wear a scarf today, I'll tell Madam Pomfrey you're at risk of catching a cold and have her force you to stay in bed for three days."

Artoria looked at him.

"You are threatening me."

"I'm worried about you. In a way you can understand."

The corner of Artoria's mouth moved.

The change was tiny. But Zhang Wen could now precisely catch every one of her microexpressions.

It was a smile.

A very, very faint smile.

"Come on," she said. "Let's have breakfast."

The two of them walked down the stairs side by side.

The scarf was around Artoria's neck.

Zhang Wen's neck was bare. Cold wind poured into his collar.

But he felt warm all over.

A small incident occurred at breakfast.

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

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

Then the two exchanged a look.

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

Zhang Wen pretended not to notice anything.

Artoria did not notice that 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 scarf's change of ownership would probably have spread through all of Gryffindor Tower. The Weasley Twins' ability to spread intelligence was no less formidable than the Daily Prophet's.

Sure enough.

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

"Professor Zhang, I have a new discovery regarding the research into Glenmore Lake's records—" As she spoke, her gaze swept over Zhang Wen's neck, which had no scarf, then over Artoria by the window, who did have one. Then she made a great effort to pull her eyes back to the notebook in her hands.

"What discovery?" Zhang Wen asked.

"After the 1634 incident, a similar incident occurred at Glenmore Lake again in 1782." Hermione opened her notebook. "The same pattern—black-robed figures 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 are the methods they used recorded?"

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

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

"There's one more thing." Hermione lowered her voice. "I checked the Dagworth family genealogy. The family died out in the middle of the nineteenth century—the last member died in 1856 without any descendants. But their research manuscripts and book collection were auctioned off—"

"Who was the buyer?"

"The records list the buyer as 'a pure-blood collector who wished to remain anonymous.'"

Zhang Wen's mind raced.

The Dagworth family had studied the Dubh-Loch Beast for over a century. All their knowledge—including methods of creating and destroying it—had been acquired 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 make use of 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 check the Pure-Blood Heritage Trading Almanac—Madam Pince should have it."

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

Hermione hurried off with her notebook. At the door, she paused and looked back at the scarf around Artoria's neck, her lips moving slightly.

Then, very wisely, she said nothing and left.

Saturday morning.

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

They did not bring Malfoy this time. Tracking a magical connection involved risks, and Malfoy's defensive abilities were not sufficient yet. 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, there would have been arrogance in his tone. But now there was determination.

Glenmore Lake. One thirty in the afternoon.

The three of them, along with Angus, took positions at the lake's east, south, west, and north sides. Each held a Tracking Crystal—Zhang Wen had spent three days making them, using quartz enchanted by Filius Flitwick as the core.

"The Tracking Crystal's principle is very simple." Zhang Wen explained it to Harry before setting out. "When the Dubh-Loch Beast receives an outside command, the magical channel linking it to the caster will briefly 'light up.' The Tracking Crystal can capture the direction of that channel. If we cross the directional lines from four different positions, we can pinpoint the caster's approximate location."

"Like Muggle triangulation," Harry said.

"You really have watched a lot of television."

"The Dursleys' television was always on. When Dudley watched, I listened nearby."

Two fifty in the afternoon. Everyone was in position.

Zhang Wen stood on the lake's northern shore, 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 sounded nervous, 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.

Two fifty-five.

Three o'clock.

Three oh one.

Three oh two.

Three oh three—

The remote monitor in Zhang Wen's hand suddenly let out a sharp beep.

The magical spike had arrived.

A faint tremor rippled across the lake. A thin layer of mist rose from the water—that was the vaporization effect caused by magic conducting through the water.

"Now!" Zhang Wen shouted.

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

The quartz gave off a pale violet light in his palm. The light stretched through the air, forming a thin ray pointing in a certain direction.

Zhang Wen carefully identified the angle of the ray.

Southeast. About fifteen degrees south of east.

He quickly noted the exact bearing.

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

"East side—bearing two hundred and forty degrees, north by." Artoria's voice.

"South side—bearing three hundred and twenty degrees, east by." Angus.

"West side—bearing one hundred and ten degrees, south by." Harry.

Zhang Wen calculated rapidly in his head.

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

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

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

Using a pencil, he drew directional lines from each of the four measuring points.

The four lines converged on the map.

The area of intersection was very small—roughly five kilometers across.

Zhang Wen looked at the location of that intersection.

His heartbeat sped up.

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 results had not pointed to Old Nott.

They pointed to Wiltshire.

What was there?

Malfoy Manor. But Lucius Malfoy could not possibly—he had been the mastermind behind the Diary incident and was working hard to repair relations with the school. Creating Dark Magical Creatures at a time like this would be suicide.

What else was in Wiltshire?

Zhang Wen's mind searched frantically.

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

Lestrange.

Zhang Wen's blood chilled by half a degree.

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

Or—

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

Zhang Wen folded the map and put it away.

He needed more information.

The four gathered at Angus's home.

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

"Wiltshire?" Angus frowned. "That's at least five hundred miles from here. They can remotely control it from that far away?"

"If the caster's magic is strong enough, distance is not a problem," Zhang Wen said. "And they may be using some sort of relay device—the cursed stone left at the bottom of the lake itself may be a relay point."

"So 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, watching.

"Wiltshire." She pointed at the point where the lines converged. "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 notable locations within a five-kilometer radius.

First, an abandoned farm. There was no recorded connection to the wizarding world.

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

Third, a building marked "Lestrange Old Manor (abandoned)."

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

"Bellatrix Lestrange—one of Voldemort's most loyal followers. She is 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 was not seized. An abandoned old manor, with no one living there and no one guarding it—"

"Would be 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 appropriated Lestrange Old Manor, and that person has no direct connection to the Lestrange family."

"For example—"

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

They both fell silent.

The range of people fitting that description was very narrow. Former Death Eaters, or people with close ties to the Death Eater circle.

Old Nott's home was in Norfolk. But if he had established 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 rashly 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 first."

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

By the time they finished dealing with the serious matters, it was nearly eight.

Zhang Wen suddenly realized that they had missed dinner.

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

"I'm fine."

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

"I'll go to the kitchen and bring something back," he said, getting to his feet.

"I can go myself—"

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

Artoria subconsciously flexed her right wrist.

Zhang Wen saw it.

"Just as I thought. It is sore," he said. "Sit still. I'll be back in ten minutes."

Before leaving, he glanced back.

Artoria sat in an armchair, still wearing her gray scarf and holding a cup of cold tea. Firelight from the fireplace fell across the side of her face.

There was an almost imperceptible curve at the corner of her lips.

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

Three times in one day. The frequency was increasing.

That data trend made Zhang Wen's heartbeat even less stable than the magical spike at Glenmore Lake.

Hogwarts' kitchen was beneath the Great Hall. Its entrance was hidden behind an oil painting of a bowl of fruit—tickle the pear, and it would open.

Zhang Wen tickled the pear. The door opened.

Inside, it was warm and steaming. Dozens of House-elves bustled about—although dinner had already 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 elves were extremely efficient. Within five minutes, a tray held two complete dinners—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 kind of 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 very popular among the kitchen elves.

Zhang Wen carried the tray back to the office.

Artoria had already tidied the desk—the maps, notes, and Tracking Crystal had all been put away. Only two empty spaces remained on the tabletop, just enough for two dinner 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 other foods. I calculated it."

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

"You calculated the speed at which I eat different foods."

"...Occupational habit. Data analysis."

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

"Of course not."

"What about Filius Flitwick?"

"...No."

"Anyone else?"

Zhang Wen shut his mouth.

Artoria did not press the matter 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.

That was even more than the two degrees from 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 excite any data analyst.

The two of them quietly finished dinner in front of the fireplace.

Outside, the wind howled. At Hogwarts in November, night came early. The 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 went to get dinner. I'll wash. Fair."

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

One end of her scarf hung from her shoulder, swaying gently with her movements.

Zhang Wen suddenly realized something.

He liked watching her do these ordinary things.

Making tea. Washing dishes. Tidying the desk. Wiping her sword. Turning pages. Eating.

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

There was only a person earnestly, quietly, and meticulously doing small everyday things.

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

Exactly the same way she went into battle.

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

Even washing dishes.

Zhang Wen buried that thought in his heart.

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

A confession ranked after every other task.

But he allowed himself to quietly admit one fact.

He seemed to have fallen for her.

Not "seemed."

He was certain.

After washing the dishes, Artoria turned around and saw Zhang Wen sitting motionlessly at the table, staring at her.

"What's wrong?"

"Nothing. I was thinking."

"About what?"

"A reconnaissance plan for Lestrange Old Manor."

Artoria looked at him for two seconds. With those eyes that had seen through countless battlefield situations, she probably determined that what Zhang Wen had just been thinking had absolutely nothing to do with Lestrange Old Manor.

But she did not expose him.

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

"Alright."

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

"You have dark circles too."

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

Zhang Wen laughed.

"Good night," he said.

"Good night."

Artoria walked toward her room.

She paused at the door.

"Zhang Wen."

"Hmm?"

"The Shepherd's Pie was delicious."

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

The curve at the corner of 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 drained teacups, 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 much better than he had over the past few days. His dark circles had faded somewhat. There even seemed to be a faint smile at the corner of his mouth.

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

Miss Pendragon came out through the neighboring door. The gray scarf was 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.