Buckbeak was well enough to have a romp in the snow under Hagrid’s supervision and was prancing around in it when Harry and the others came to visit. The snow made him too frisky to tolerate being petted, so they went to talk to Hagrid. He was digging in the snow and when they got closer they could see a row of small graves.
“What’s all this?” Ron asked. Hagrid shook his head sadly.
“The little ichlings don’t have very long lifespans,” he said. “Some of the better made ones are still alive, but most of them just sort of collapse into a pile of their original parts.”
“Poor little things,” said Hermione. Harry wasn’t as sorry that the ugly little things didn’t last long, but then he remembered what Weiss had said about everything wanting to live no matter how unwanted it was. Feeling a little guilty, he helped Hermione pluck some pine branches to put on the graves in place of flowers. The snow was still falling and would cover it soon, but the gesture pleased Hagrid.
“Hermione was telling us about the lady centaur,” Ron said to ease the silence. Hagrid blushed again. “What’s the word on the Morthahg in the woods?”
“It’s gone underground,” Hagrid told him. “They can still track it from the air because of the way the animals react on the surface. It’s too dangerous to follow it underground, so they’re waiting for it to show itself again.”
“What’s going on with the werewolves then?” Harry wiped his sticky hands on his robes. “Do you know?” Hagrid looked troubled. He shook his head and put the shovel away.
“It gives me a bad feeling,” he said. “I don’t know what’s wrong, because I haven’t been able to find one to talk to me...But even the natural wolves are acting up. Doing things that wolves don’t do. I hear them at night and even their voices sound wrong. Their songs have changed.”
Something in his tone made the hair prickle on Harry’s neck. He had never seen Hagrid so eerie. The groundskeeper turned to look into the Forest as if he expected something to burst out at them. Following his gaze, Harry saw a flock of birds take flight over the trees in the distance. He couldn’t help but wonder what had set them off. Was it the Morthahg, or something different?
He remembered the pack that had killed Ficus. Esme had said that the red werewolf had called them to help. What were they doing now? The black one, Rosie, had been the more frightening of the pair. She’d made it pretty clear that she had no qualms with killing Ficus or disposing of the body. Could she be the reason the other wolves were so worked up?
They visited with Hagrid until they had to go to their next class. When they finally got back to their rooms, they found Sirius as Padfoot waiting on them. When the rest of the students had left for dinner, he turned back. Harry told him about the werewolves, and his godfather looked thoughtful.
“The werewolves have been keeping track of Esme longer than I have,” he explained. “Maybe they know where she is.”
“Only one way to find out,” Harry said. A dark grin split Sirius face. He suddenly looked much younger.
“After dinner then,” he said. Then he changed back to Padfoot and went trotting out.