Chapter 291: The Werewolf's Dilemma
Werewolves had keen senses. Even though the girl named Clare seemed distracted, she instantly became alert the moment Wade stepped into the alley.
Seeing an unfamiliar wizard, Clare shifted slightly, pressing herself against the wall to make space.
But the stranger stopped just a few feet ahead of her.
“I’m sorry,” the wizard said gently. “I didn’t mean to eavesdrop. But I thought I just heard you say… you’re a Werewolf?”
“Ah!” Clare flinched, stammering, “I—I’m so sorry! I’ll leave right away!”
Even in the magical world, Werewolves were widely discriminated against. Clare hastily tried to depart—only to step on a discarded jar on the ground. She stumbled backward, arms flailing wildly as she fell.
Suddenly, her arm was seized. She was yanked back upright.
Clare stared, wide-eyed and shaken, her breath catching. After a moment, she murmured, “T-thank you…”
“Don’t worry,” Wade said, releasing her arm. “I have no ill intent.” He reached out again. “Allow me to introduce myself—I’m Wenar. As you can see, a wizard.”
“Oh… I’m Clare,” she said, cautiously extending her hand. She gave Wade a light, hesitant handshake, her face still tight with nervousness—but just slightly less tense.
A few minutes later.
They sat outside an ice cream shop. Wade ordered two scoops. He pushed one toward Clare. She scooped a small spoonful, popped it into her mouth, and blinked, her eyes narrowing slightly in delight.
“Wow, this is amazing,” she sighed, then smiled. “Thank you for buying me ice cream.”
“Not a problem,” Wade replied.
“Um… what did you need me for?” Clare asked softly, holding her spoon. “As you can see, I’m a former Muggle—turned Werewolf. I can’t do magic, I’m not particularly strong… and I don’t have much money.”
Wade paused, silent for a moment. Seeing how tense she was—like she might bolt at any second—he said:
“Actually, I’m researching whether there’s a way to cure lycanthropy. That’s why I need someone willing to help with testing… I heard you say earlier you’d be willing to assist with trials.”
Clare’s eyes lit up instantly. Before he could finish, she was nodding frantically. “Yes, yes! If it means I’ll never have to turn again, I’ll do anything!”
“But the trials are dangerous,” Wade said, feigning hesitation. “And my compensation isn’t much…”
Clare gritted her teeth. “I don’t have any family. I’ll do it for free!”
“That won’t do,” Wade smiled. “I can’t let you work for nothing. Actually, for the research to be valid, I’d need a control group—someone with magic, to compare against. Could you introduce me to your magical companion? That way, I can isolate the effects of magic and pinpoint what actually triggers lycanthropy.”
“Will…” Clare hesitated. “He might not be able to join. He’s busy with his job. But I can introduce you to another Werewolf who does have magic.”
“Sure,” Wade said casually. “You know a lot of Werewolves?”
“We have our own community,” she explained, trying to sound casual. “We help each other. You know… most wizards can’t accept Werewolves. It’s hard to get by.”
“How do you support yourself?” Wade asked.
“I usually take odd jobs in Muggle cities—waitress, handing out flyers, that sort of thing.” She spoke softly. “But I get fired often, because I can’t work during the transformation. I’m out of commission both before and after.”
“What about during the change?”
“I lock myself in beforehand. I even take sleeping pills… though they don’t always work. I’ve heard the Life-and-Death Elixir is effective, but… it’s far too expensive.”
She forced a small, wry smile—like it wasn’t a big deal. Her fingers unconsciously pulled her sleeve down, tugging it over her hand, until the back of her wrist was hidden.
Even in July, she wore long sleeves and long pants, a worn scarf wrapped loosely around her neck.
But even so, Wade could still see a thin, pale scar running along the edge of her ear.
It triggered a memory—something he’d read in old books about Werewolves.
For instance: during a full moon, a transformed Werewolf became violently aggressive, attacking anyone within sight—relatives, friends, even loved ones.
Ministry of Magic regulations required Werewolves to lock themselves away during the full moon to prevent harm.
Yet even without a target, the beast within still raged. Their blood burned with wild fury and bloodlust. Without a companion—another animal to share the night—they’d turn on themselves, clawing and biting until dawn, when they’d wake up human again—bruised, bleeding, and fully aware of every terrible thing they’d done.
That process was excruciating.
Law-abiding Werewolves often looked exhausted and frail. Those who gave in to their nature gradually lost their humanity.
Wolfsbane Potion kept them sane during the transformation—preventing them from harming others, or themselves. It allowed them to endure the night in quiet stillness.
Still, it was no easy ordeal. Remus Lupin, for instance, had always looked weak in the days after his transformation—until Sirius Black escaped prison and began accompanying him. Only then did Remus visibly regain his strength and color.
That’s when Wade suddenly understood why he’d felt something was off about Will the moment he saw him—though he hadn’t known what it was.
—That man’s spirit was far too vibrant.
Yes, he was thin, like Remus once had been. But there was no shadow, no melancholy. On the contrary, he radiated enthusiasm—his smile so bright it almost felt invasive.
Of course, one couldn’t assume that because someone was cheerful, they were hiding something. Maybe Will was just naturally cheerful—someone who could face hardship with unshaken joy.
Or perhaps his mood had improved recently—his happiness simply expressed more dramatically.
Wade idly stroked the handle of his wand, thoughts swirling in his mind.
“Um… Mr. Wenar?” Clare finished her ice cream and whispered. “When do I start? What do I need to prepare?”
Wade had only meant to use the conversation as a casual opening—something to pass the time. But as he opened his mouth, he caught her eyes.
They were filled with desperate longing—she wanted his words to be real. Yet deep down, she knew it wasn’t possible.
So in that gaze, there was both trust and pleading… and beneath it, a quiet, crushing fear.
(End of Chapter)
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