During this time, Fenrir transferred many of the werewolves who had surrendered to strongholds on the European mainland, leaving them under the care of his allies. He remained in the UK with his native pack, lurking in the Forbidden Forest, where they smuggled magical creatures and trafficked non-human intelligent beings to fund their activities. Before encountering Alex, Fenrir and his pack had hunted a variety of magical creatures, including thestrals, diricawls, mooncalves, occamies, and runespoors. This time, their target had been unicorns, but they stumbled upon the centaurs instead.
Fenrir had imprisoned their captured prey in a secret stronghold deep within the Forbidden Forest. Alex learned from the werewolf’s fragmented memories that Fenrir’s stronghold was far from his current location, with several werewolves stationed as guards. Even at full speed, it would take Alex two to three hours to reach the stronghold. If Fenrir realized something was amiss, that would give him enough time to evacuate. Adding to the challenge, Alex was physically and mentally exhausted from the earlier fight and the prolonged use of Legilimency. He needed to rest before pursuing Fenrir.
Making his decision, Alex turned his attention back to the unconscious werewolf. He had no intention of wasting resources. Pulling out his collection tools, Alex meticulously extracted blood, hair, and saliva samples from the werewolf. Once finished, he drew a sharp, enchanted blade and ended its life with cold precision. "Better not leave dangerous loose ends," Alex muttered to himself.
Nearby, Wimzy watched Alex’s actions with a mix of awe and trepidation. Watching her new master calmly dissect and then kill the werewolf, she couldn’t help but shudder. He didn’t seem like the kind of wizard she’d ever served before—and not necessarily in a good way. After cleaning up, Alex approached Wimzy, who was stiff and trembling slightly. He raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong? Are you cold?”
“N-No, Master! Wimzy is not cold. Here, please drink the soup!” Wimzy stammered as she hastily filled a bowl. Her small hands shook so much that some of the soup spilled. “I’m sorry, Master! Wimzy made a mistake!” she cried, wringing her hands nervously and looking like she expected to be punished.
Alex sighed. “Relax, Wimzy. I’ll handle it myself.” He filled a bowl and took a sip of the steaming soup. To his surprise, it was delicious. “This is really good,” Alex said after another sip. “Although, the mushrooms could have cooked for another two minutes. Still, the seasoning and heat control are excellent.”
Wimzy’s eyes widened, but instead of taking the compliment, she misunderstood. “I’m sorry, Master! I’ll do better next time!” Tears welled up in her eyes as she bowed her head in guilt.
Alex shook his head, exasperated. “You’re way too sensitive. Calm down, Wimzy. There’s nothing to apologize for.” He motioned to the food. “Go ahead and eat something too. You’ve been working hard.”
“No, Master! Wimzy isn’t hungry! Wimzy isn’t worthy of eating with the Master!” she squeaked, shaking her head furiously.
Alex frowned, his tone turning serious. “Wimzy, stop that nonsense. You’re not unworthy of anything. You’re a free individual. Whatever you were taught before doesn’t matter anymore. With me, there’s no need to act like this.”
“But… but Wimzy is just a house-elf. Wimzy’s old master always said…”
“If you keep talking like that, I’m going to get angry,” Alex interrupted, his voice firm. “I don’t care what anyone else told you. I don’t like people belittling themselves in front of me. Even if you have to fake it, stand tall and speak clearly.”
“Yes, Master,” Wimzy said quickly, straightening her back as instructed. She lifted her gaze to meet Alex’s, a monumental effort for her. Overcoming the deep-seated humility and fear ingrained in her very being was no small feat.
Alex’s stern expression softened slightly. It seemed his approach, honed from years of dealing with subordinates in his past life, was effective with Wimzy as well. “Good. Now listen to my command: eat and sleep,” he ordered in a firm but calm voice.
Under Alex’s watchful eye, Wimzy ate a full meal, something she hadn’t done in years, and slept on a proper bed complete with a mattress and quilt. It was the first time in her life she had experienced such comfort. As she lay beneath the soft quilt, her tiny hands clutching the edges, she felt as though she were in a dream. In Wimzy’s mind, her master’s image shifted. He was merciless toward the werewolves, yet he had been oddly kind to her, a lowly house-elf. Confused by this contradiction, Wimzy’s thoughts swirled as she drifted off into a deep, dreamless sleep.
When she awoke, the faint light of dawn had yet to break through the forest canopy. Standing before her, fully armored and prepared, was Alex. Beside her makeshift bed lay a neatly folded marching uniform, complete with sturdy boots. “Master… what’s this?” Wimzy asked hesitantly as she scrambled to her feet, her wide eyes darting between Alex and the clothes.
“Hurry and get dressed,” Alex instructed firmly. “I’ve adjusted the size with a Shrinking Charm. These clothes will help you blend into the forest. We’re going after the remaining werewolves before dawn.”
Wimzy’s expression shifted to one of panic. “Master, you… you don’t want me anymore?” Tears welled in her large eyes as she wrung her hands. “When a master gives us clothes, it means we’re free! Free house-elves are disgraced elves! Wimzy finally found a new master, and now…”
“Stop crying,” Alex interrupted sharply. His voice carried the weight of authority, silencing her instantly. “You’re free. I’ve told you that already. If you want to work with me, you’ll follow my orders. I’ll compensate you for your work. But if you waste more time crying, you can stay here and sob all alone in the Forbidden Forest.”
Wimzy’s tears dried almost immediately. Her instinctive reaction had been fueled by the ingrained beliefs of her kind, but Alex’s no-nonsense tone brought her back to reality. She quickly picked up the uniform, fumbling slightly in her haste to obey. The fear of being abandoned in the dark woods overshadowed everything else.
Despite her initial resistance, Wimzy couldn’t hide her fascination with the clothing. She adjusted her appearance in the uniform, her tiny hands brushing the fabric with curiosity. Though she muttered complaints under her breath about wearing clothes, her fingers lingered on the material a little longer than necessary, betraying her admiration. Alex ignored her conflicting emotions. Instead, he efficiently dismantled the campsite, stowing everything into his enchanted space ring. With everything packed and ready, he picked up Wimzy, summoned his broomstick, and soared into the air.
It was still the dead of night, around three or four in the morning, with the first light of dawn far off. The Forbidden Forest below was eerily silent, its creatures in the deepest part of their rest. Alex pushed the broomstick forward at a steady pace, keeping his movements deliberate. He planned to use the cover of night to strike the werewolf stronghold. If Fenrir had already returned and begun evacuating, this would likely still be their resting period. Either way, Alex was determined to catch them before they could escape.