Chapter 458: Werewolf
“Dumbledore?” Hearing that name, Morris instantly lit up with excitement. “I know Dumbledore! He’s the strongest wizard in the world!”
“Hmm, yes,” Wade smiled. “Have you ever met him?”
“No,” Morris shook his head. “I’ve never seen him. But Dad used to read us the newspaper sometimes.”
As he spoke, Morris shifted in Wade’s arms, turning to gaze at the castle as it slowly pulled away into the distance.
Under the morning light, Hogwarts looked breathtaking—wrapped in a delicate veil of mist, the sun painting the towers and stone walls with a soft golden glow. Students hurried toward class and breakfast, their young figures darting through the windows, laughter and playful shouts echoing faintly through the air. The ancient castle seemed to breathe with new life.
Morris’s eyes shone with undisguised envy.
“Wade… can’t I really go to school here?” he whispered.
Wade paused for a moment. “Hogwarts students all receive their acceptance letters at the age of eleven.”
“Eleven? By then I’ll be an adult,” Morris sighed, resting his head on Wade’s arm and staring fixedly at the castle.
Wade had reached the edge of the Forbidden Forest. The air here felt cooler, heavier. He was preparing to find Hagrid and ask him to take this two-year-old pup back home—when suddenly, a figure emerged from the shadows of the trees, silent and watchful.
Unlike Remus Lupin, who could still blend into human society, this man looked unmistakably like a wolf. His eyes, nose, and ears were sharp and feral, his skin pale, his hollow cheeks framed by wild, tangled hair. His clothes were tattered rags, and his bare feet were caked with dirt.
He carried a bow and arrows across his back, knives strapped to his waist and thighs, and in his hand was a black, heavy shotgun, its barrel pointing downward, not raised.
Wade froze mid-step.
He glanced at the man’s name—Lucas Holden—then gently nudged the pup in his arms.
“Morris,” Wade said, “is that your father?”
“Huh?” Morris, still trying to absorb every detail of Hogwarts, blinked in shock. He turned, saw the figure in the forest, and instinctively scrambled out of Wade’s arms, landing awkwardly on the ground.
“D-Dad… Dad…” Morris whispered, head down, tail tucked. “I’m sorry… I… I shouldn’t have run away…”
The man’s voice was rough, gravelly. “Morris, come back.”
“…Okay.” Morris lingered, casting one last wistful look at Wade and the castle, then slowly trudged toward the forest.
His wounds had mostly healed, but he still looked weak. When Morris finally reached him, the man bent down, scooped him up, and tested him gently.
“I’m fine,” Morris said, squirming slightly. He pushed the man’s hand away with his tiny claw, embarrassed. “Wade took me to the school healer.”
“Wade?” The man turned to look at Wade. “Thank you. You saved my son.”
Wade studied the man’s amber eyes and nodded. “You’re welcome. Take him home. I should get to class now.”
“Wait!” The man suddenly called out. “Be careful, boy. There’ve been a lot of vampires in the forest lately. They’ve been asking for my help to guide them—and they’ve even made contact with the Acromantula tribe.”
Wade stiffened. His brows lifted slightly at the mention of Acromantula, then he fell silent.
“Does Professor Dumbledore know about this?” he asked.
“Of course,” the man said, a bitter twist to his lips. “He lets someone like me—someone with a tainted bloodline—live in the Forbidden Forest. In return, we serve as his spies.”
Wade tilted his head, frowning. “Sorry… it sounds like Dumbledore’s helped your family. But you seem… resentful.”
“Resentful?” The man let out a cold laugh. “No. I respect him. But Dumbledore? He keeps letting everyone down—again and again!”
Wade thought of the old saying: A little rice brings gratitude, but too much brings hatred. His expression turned icy. “What do you mean?”
The man narrowed his eyes. “You’re still reading books, kid. In your heart, you probably think your headmaster is a hero—someone you can always rely on. But when you graduate…”
His voice cut off abruptly. His nostrils flared. His teeth clenched, grinding audibly.
After a long silence, he continued, voice low and bitter:
“…You’ll see the Ministry of Magic—corrupt, inefficient, dragging its feet. Everything’s a mess. Discrimination runs rampant. Criminals walk free, while ordinary people get thrown into Azkaban for buying a secondhand wand.”
“You know there’s a problem. You know someone could fix it—maybe even fix part of it. You ask him. Again. And again. Beg him to act. But he just… refuses.”
“Just one nod from Dumbledore, and the Minister’s seat would be his. He wouldn’t have to do a thing.”
“But what does he do? He lets a greedy fool sit there—while he stays locked in Hogwarts.”
“Tell me, boy… how do you feel about gratitude in a situation like that?”
The werewolf asked, but then he looked at Wade’s still-youthful face and let out a bitter chuckle. He wiped his face with one hand.
“Sorry. You’re still a child. I shouldn’t burden you with this. Go back to your books. Stay away from the Forbidden Forest for now.”
With that, he lifted the trembling pup and strode into the forest.
Wade stood still for a moment longer, then turned and walked back toward the castle.
Hagrid, who had heard the werewolf’s growl faintly, stood outside his hut, staring, a hatchet still in hand.
Seeing Wade, he dropped the axe and asked, puzzled, “Wade… who were you talking to?”
“The werewolf who lives in the Forbidden Forest,” Wade said simply. “His son was injured. I found him.”
“Oh… that’s good.” Hagrid relaxed, though his beard twitched into a conflicted expression. “What’s wrong?”
“Don’t go approaching them too directly, Wade,” Hagrid said, scratching his messy beard. “I mean, Remus is a good man—I like him. And Lucas… he’s not bad either.”
“Then?” Wade smiled.
“…But Wade, you’re too careless around werewolves,” Hagrid said, bending down, concern in his eyes. “Most of them are brutally violent—especially toward wizards. They don’t have a good memory of us. During the last war, nearly all werewolves fought for the Dark Lord.”
“I understand,” Wade said, nodding seriously. “I won’t go recklessly near strangers like that again.”
“That’s good,” Hagrid said, beaming. “You could write an essay on how to correctly identify werewolves…”
“Stop!” Wade held up a hand. “Hagrid, since when did you start acting like you’ve got a whole assignment system?”
Even trips outside for “field trips” now came with a required essay as a “souvenir.”
“Oh, that’s Professor Kettleburn’s idea,” Hagrid said. “I’m worried you’ll all fail your OWLs. I heard it’s brutal. He says if you write more essays, the knowledge sticks better…”
Wade stared, speechless.
Two people who rarely wrote anything were now teaming up to solve academic problems with more writing? That was… utterly unexpected.
He asked, “But Hagrid, isn’t that for fifth years? We’re only in third year!”
He loved learning new magic, but repeating what he’d already mastered in endless essays? That was beyond his patience.
Hagrid scratched his head. “Early learning never hurts.”
“Actually,” Wade said seriously, “if everyone knows your class has tons of assignments, next year fewer students will sign up. Even Hermione would break under that kind of workload.”
Hagrid froze. “Really?”
“Of course,” Wade nodded.
The half-giant fell into deep thought.
Wade slipped away quietly, heading toward the castle.
Speaking of Hermione—there she was.
As Wade stepped into the Great Hall, he saw her collide with someone, her books scattering across the floor.
“Hey!” Hermione shouted, furious.
Pansy, pretending not to hear, strode off with a group of Slytherin girls, then burst into a smug, cruel laugh.
Hermione’s eyes flashed with anger—but she was too busy to retaliate. She dropped to her knees, scrambling to gather her books.
Wade hurried over, waved his wand, and the books floated up, neatly returning to her arms.
Only one thick volume—A History of Magic—remained. It had already been picked up.
“Here,” Kariel said, handing it to her.
“Thanks,” Hermione said, then glanced at Wade. “Be careful, Wade. Class is starting soon.”
“I won’t miss it,” Wade said. “Why didn’t you put them all in your backpack?”
The SSC members’ backpacks had all been enchanted with Invisible Expansion Charms. They could hold a mountain of books with barely any weight.
“Oh, I’m returning them to the library,” Hermione said anxiously. “I’ve got to go!”
She vanished in a flurry of motion, and when Wade turned, Kariel was already gone.
“Looking for the little sharp-toothed one?” a voice came from a portrait on the wall. A red-haired wizard leaned forward, peering from his frame. “He left with his girl friends.”
“Griffiths?” Wade stared at the man in the painting.
“Girl friends?” he repeated.
“I’d guess so,” Griffiths grinned. “No messages, no rumors—but they were so close. The relationship’s clearly serious.”
Wade didn’t care about Kariel’s love life, but he warned, “Don’t spread rumors. You’ll get reported—and you’ll be moved to the Astronomy Tower again.”
Griffiths snapped to attention, zipped his mouth shut with a dramatic zip gesture.
After Wade disappeared into the Great Hall, Griffiths sighed and muttered to his neighbor, “Kids these days—no respect for elders.”
The portrait beside him remained silent, eyes closed, pretending to sleep.
Griffiths wasn’t fazed. “But that’s good, isn’t it? If everyone were always polite, life would be dull. Oh, don’t worry—I won’t bother you today.”
The old wizard with the pointed hat stayed perfectly still, not even a hair moving. Only the faint sound of soft snoring proved he was still alive in the magical world.
Griffiths’ expression softened. He sank back into his frame, slumped in place—like a portrait that had forgotten how to move.
…
Lucas the werewolf threw his son onto his shoulders, letting him cling there, and began walking home, scolding Morris for his recklessness.
For some reason, the Forbidden Forest felt… different. Since last night, it had seemed almost friendly.
He’d slept out in the open—no cave, no nest—yet hadn’t encountered any danger.
Suddenly, Lucas stopped.
Morris lifted his head, sniffing the air with his damp nose, trying to catch the faint, wrong scent.
“…It smells like roast meat, Dad,” Morris whimpered. “I’m hungry.”
“Wait,” Lucas said, pushing aside a patch of grass and cautiously advancing toward the source.
There, on the ground, lay a man—covered in blood, clearly in agony. Burn marks scarred his skin, his hair almost completely singed.
Lucas studied him closely—then froze.
That’s the man from a few days ago… the one asking about the Acromantula nest. He said he was a vampire.
Lucas glanced back at the castle, seeing only endless trees and leaves.
No hesitation.
He dragged the man to his feet. Feeling for a pulse, he found it—faint, but there.
From his belt, he pulled out a crystal vial and carefully dripped a few drops into the man’s mouth.
The potion worked instantly.
The man coughed, groaned, and weakly opened his eyes.
“Hey, Thomas,” the werewolf said. “The spider negotiations didn’t go well?”
“Lucas… I’m so glad to see you,” Thomas said, staggering to his feet. “It was a complete failure… or at least, not what we hoped. The spider tribe is much smaller than we expected.”
“Smaller?” Lucas frowned. He remembered passing by just days ago—the nest teemed with spiders, countless numbers.
Before he could ask, Thomas suddenly held up a hand—silence.
They froze.
Morris stopped breathing.
Then, footsteps approached—clumsy, heavy, stomping closer—until they stopped.
(End of Chapter)
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