The next few days passed in their usual rhythm. Classes, homework, dueling club on Tuesday where Hecat matched him against two opponents simultaneously to provide actual challenge. Rowan managed to win, but it took everything he had.
Saturday morning arrived clear and cool. Rowan told Lawrence and Hector he needed to work on an essay in the library. Neither questioned it. He often spent Saturdays studying alone.
Instead, he made his way down to the grounds, his wand secured in its holster, his mind running through everything he'd researched about forest dangers.
No acromantulas yet. Hagrid wouldn't release Aragog for decades. Werewolves, only dangerous during full moons, and the moon was currently waning crescent. Centaurs, territorial but not inherently hostile if you respected boundaries. Other creatures. Bowtruckles, nifflers, various fairy folk. More annoying than dangerous.
The forest was risky, but the risks were manageable.
Rowan crossed the grounds and stepped into the treeline. The temperature dropped immediately, and light dimmed under the heavy canopy. He moved carefully, staying alert, checking for signs of dangerous creatures.
He searched for clearings first. Places where moonlight could reach the ground directly, where lunar magic might concentrate enough to form moonstone deposits. The manual had mentioned that while mountains were primary formation sites, occasionally lowland clearings with the right conditions could produce smaller deposits.
The first three clearings yielded nothing. Just grass, fallen logs, normal rocks with no magical resonance.
Rowan ventured deeper, following a stream upstream. Water sources sometimes concentrated magical energy. The fourth clearing was larger, with a ring of ancient stones that looked almost deliberately placed. He circled it systematically, checking rocks, examining the ground, feeling for magical resonance.
Still nothing.
He was about to continue when he noticed something odd. The trees on the far side of the clearing grew in an unnaturally straight line, as though marking a boundary.
Curious, Rowan pushed through the undergrowth.
And stopped.
A structure stood before him. Ancient, half-buried, made from dark stone that seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it. The entrance was a gaping archway, and beyond it descended stone steps leading down into darkness.
The air around the structure felt wrong. Cold. Oppressive. Like approaching a tomb.
Rowan moved closer cautiously, every instinct screaming warnings. The stone was carved with symbols he didn't recognize. Similar to runes but older, more primitive. And the magic here was dark. Very dark. Layers of it, emanating from below like a physical presence.
This was wizard-made. Built for purposes he didn't want to imagine.
The archway led down into darkness. Stone steps descending into earth. Complex, disturbing magic radiated from within.
Rowan backed away slowly. Whatever this place was, he wasn't ready to explore it. Not without far more knowledge, more preparation, possibly backup.
This was the kind of place where students who ventured alone never came back.
He returned to the clearing quickly, his heart still pounding.
For the next two hours, Rowan continued his search, but the encounter with the dark structure had shaken him. He found two more clearings, both empty of moonstone. By late afternoon, he'd explored every accessible area within reasonable distance of the castle.
No moonstone deposits anywhere. The compendium had been right. Lowland formations were rare.
He'd have to venture into the mountains, face the thornbacks and trolls, or find another way entirely.
Rowan was heading back toward the forest edge when he heard hoofbeats.
He froze, pressing himself against a large oak tree.
Through the undergrowth, he could see them. Three centaurs moving through the forest with easy grace. They spoke in low voices, some flowing, musical language he didn't recognize.
One gestured sharply toward the distant mountains. Another shook his head, his body language suggesting disagreement. The third, younger, with a sleek dark coat, made a comment that drew laughter from the others.
Rowan waited, barely breathing, until they passed. Then he moved carefully in the opposite direction.
Centaurs. Intelligent beings, territorial about their forest, proud and wary of wizards. Best avoided.
He was nearly to the forest edge when hoofbeats returned. Closer this time, and faster.
Rowan turned to find the young centaur standing before him, dark coat gleaming in the dappled light.
"A wizard," the centaur said, his English heavily accented. "A child wizard, trespassing in our forest."