"Don't act like I'm already doomed, alright?" Midgard said with a half-laugh, half-grumble.
"Didn't Mr. Belby already run toxicity tests?"
"Better to be safe than sorry." Leonard blurted out the saying, then realized the two werewolves probably wouldn't understand. He paused, then added, "Either way, whether you're fine or not, Damocles still needs to be watched closely."
"Fine, let Marcus handle that." Midgard waved it off, picked up the potion, and gave it a glance. "Hey, this one feels different. Maybe it can cure werewolves outright?"
"Don't kid yourself. Damocles said the root of lycanthropy is magical. Even an improved Wolfsbane Potion can't cure it."
Leonard cut off her wishful thinking flatly. "Stop daydreaming."
"Tch. Can't you let me fantasize a little?" Midgard pouted, then, without hesitation, downed the silver potion.
As soon as she drank it, Leonard and Marcus tensed, keeping their eyes fixed on her for the slightest sign of something wrong.
If she showed poisoning symptoms, they were ready—induce vomiting, force-feed rue essence—enough to give her a fighting chance even if the potion was toxic.
Fortunately, nothing happened. Midgard just frowned and muttered in disgust, "Ugh. Tastes awful."
"Any effects?" Leonard asked.
"Nothing much. Just bitter." Midgard shook her head.
"No weakness?" Leonard pressed.
"None. My body feels normal." Midgard stretched her arms to make sure.
Leonard exhaled in relief. "So far, so good."
All the preparations with Marcus had turned out unnecessary, but that was a good problem to have. The rue essence they'd prepared would just be stored for emergencies—an organization should always have reserves.
"Then we're halfway there. The real test is the full moon." Midgard stretched lazily and stood. "I feel lighter already. I think I'll go for a walk."
"Forget it."
Leonard shut her down without hesitation. He pulled out a pocket watch, a stack of papers, a bottle of ink, and a quill, placing them neatly on the table.
"Now comes the observation period," Leonard said. "You're the only werewolf who drank that potion. That makes you the sole test subject. I need to record your condition constantly."
"Uh… Mr. Belby never said anything about this," Midgard said suspiciously.
"What does a potion master know about proper experimentation?" Leonard rolled his eyes. "Caution never hurts."
And so began Midgard's week of observation.
At first, she didn't notice anything odd. But soon she realized Leonard's scrutiny was excessive, with detailed notes and endless restrictions.
"You drank seven hundred milliliters more water today than yesterday. Were you unusually thirsty?"
"Huh? No, I was just bored, so I had two more glasses."
"You ate less today. No appetite?"
"No, just not moving around as much. Didn't feel hungry."
"No beer. In fact, no alcohol at all. Fermentation can leave trace sugars, even if it doesn't taste sweet."
"Ah, sorry, almost forgot."
"Now, about your bathroom visits today—"
"Leonard! That's enough!"
In the end, Midgard's fierce protests killed the observation report. Still, based on her condition, Damocles's new potion indeed had no obvious side effects.
But no side effects didn't prove success. The real measure would be the full moon—and how Midgard fared then.
...
The full moon soon arrived.
At dusk, the werewolf youths learning Wolfsbane from Leonard, along with Marcus, gathered in the courtyard to await the moonrise with him.
Their faces were pale. The potion had dulled their emotions and suppressed their physical strength, ensuring they wouldn't lose themselves when transformed.
They were all trustworthy, ready to protect Leonard if Midgard went berserk.
Meanwhile, Midgard sat chained hand and foot, links as thick as her arms, quietly waiting for the moon to rise.
"You don't need to be here," Midgard said, glancing at Leonard. "If it works, I'll tell you. If it doesn't, staying puts you in danger. These wolf cubs might not be able to hold me."
"Don't underestimate me. You'd better hope the potion works—otherwise you'll regret it when I give you a proper beating," Leonard said, wand in hand.
"Ha!" Midgard sneered, curling her lip. "With that scrawny frame of yours?"
Leonard didn't argue. He simply lifted his eyes toward the horizon, watching the last rays of sunlight sink behind the buildings.
As the sun dipped away, a full moon rose from the east.
"Awoo!"
A sudden wolf howl broke the stillness, marking the beginning of transformation.
Almost instantly, the werewolf youths, Marcus, and the chained Midgard all stiffened. Their bodies swelled with muscle, their faces stretched long, wild fur bursting from their pores.
Leonard instinctively stepped back. The sight of them all transforming together made him feel completely out of place.
Within moments, the courtyard was filled with towering, fur-covered werewolves. They turned to each other, eyes wide with astonishment.
They hadn't lost their sanity!
"Don't get carried away just yet," Leonard reminded the werewolves who had clearly forgotten their task, pointing at Midgard, who stood with her head lowered, her condition uncertain.
Marcus reacted first. He cautiously stepped forward and tapped Midgard on the shoulder.
Midgard, in her werewolf form, suddenly lifted her head. Her pale golden eyes were calm. "The potion works," she said, flexing her hands as she spoke in clear human words. "Help me out of these chains."
Marcus let out a sigh of relief and quickly signaled the others to undo her restraints.
Once freed, Midgard stood tall. Already over two meters in human form, she now reached nearly three. Her muscles were hard as stone, her claws sharp as blades, and she looked even more powerful than the other werewolves.
"My body feels great—no weakness at all." Midgard grinned at Leonard, baring her sharp fangs. "Too bad I can't control the transformation to change back."
"Be content with what you've got." Leonard tossed her an oversized cloak. "Cover up the fur. Let's go."
"Alright." Midgard rolled her shoulders, pulling the cloak on. "Let me join you on this little adventure."
...
By nightfall, Midgard had wrapped herself tightly in the cloak, appearing more like a hulking, mysterious man than a transformed werewolf.
Once they were ready, she pressed a heavy hand on Leonard's shoulder, watching as he drew a finely crafted Portkey from its ornate box.
"Ever traveled by Portkey before? Or Apparition?" Midgard asked suddenly, just as Leonard's fingers brushed the key.
"No." Leonard regretted the word instantly—his hand had already touched it. And then he remembered: Portkey travel was far from pleasant.
The key gave him no chance to take it back. The moment he touched it, a surge of force erupted, wrapping around him and Midgard, dragging them into an unseen passage.
Leonard felt as though he'd been flushed down a drain, his body spinning wildly.
Twisted lights and distorted images whirled around him, and he was like a fish on a hook—pulled forward, pained, and utterly helpless.
Then, suddenly, light flared ahead, and the solid feel of ground returned beneath his feet. Dizzy from the spin, Leonard shook his head until the world steadied, and only then realized he was standing in a grand hall.
It was decorated in the goblins' favorite style—lavish and gilded, gold gleaming everywhere.
At the center sat a goblin behind a counter, dressed in Gringotts' uniform, dozing lightly.
"Mm… not bad. Gringotts makes a good-quality Portkey," Midgard's deep voice rumbled.
"If this is 'good,' I don't even want to imagine what a wizard-made Portkey feels like," Leonard muttered, suppressing the nausea rising in his chest.
"Let me put it this way," Midgard said. "More than half of first-time Portkey users get sick enough to need a hospital."
"Then why didn't you warn me?" Leonard rolled his eyes.
"I forgot. With how cautious you are, I figured you'd ask first." Midgard shrugged innocently.
"I forgot too," Leonard admitted with a sigh, pressing his palm to his forehead.
He truly had. Portkeys weren't dangerous, so he'd ignored the uncomfortable side effects.
Midgard gave him a firm pat on the back, a brief attempt at comfort, before saying, "No time to waste. My transformation will end by morning. Right now, I'm strong—but without the moon, I can't change again."
"I get it. But maybe lycanthropy isn't a curse at all. You saw it yourself—when a werewolf wizard keeps their mind, they're powerful." Leonard glanced up at her towering figure.
"If we could change between man and wolf at will, then yes, it'd be just as you say—like some kind of super Animagus," Midgard sighed. "But we can't."
"There's always a solution. Maybe Damocles was right—maybe the cure lies in magic itself." Leonard straightened his robes. "For now, stop thinking about it. Come with me."
He led Midgard to the sleeping goblin. Midgard rapped her claw on the counter, then quickly stepped back into the shadows.
"Hm? Ah—welcome to Gringotts, honored customer." The goblin recited the greeting automatically before fully waking, then nearly jumped at the sight of Midgard's massive frame. Only afterward did he notice Leonard.
Compared to the towering, muscular Midgard, Leonard clearly looked more like the client.
"Please present your Portkey," the goblin said to Leonard.
Gringotts Portkeys had no return function; once used, they became ordinary keys.
Leonard handed it over, watching as the goblin noted its number before returning it. "Vault Twelve. Please follow me."
The goblin hopped down and led them to the cart waiting on the vault tracks.
This time, the ride lasted only thirteen minutes. That meant the hall they'd arrived in was somewhere deep underground.
Leonard hadn't come to rob Gringotts again—the timekeeping was just habit.
When the cart slowed to a stop, they stood before Vault Twelve.
The goblin stepped forward, opened the vault with magic, and turned back. "Honored guests, I'll be waiting at the entrance."
"Alright," Leonard replied, leading Midgard inside.
The vault looked exactly as it had when they left it last. Piles of gold coins were scattered across the floor, leaving barely any space to step.
But this time, they weren't here for Galleons. And besides, those coins were Leonard's own.
He kept his eyes fixed straight ahead, and Midgard didn't spare them a glance either.
At the far wall, Midgard inspected it closely, but no matter how she looked—up, down, side to side—she couldn't see anything unusual.
"Leonard, could you have been mistaken earlier?" Midgard pressed her hand against the wall. "I don't see any door or mysterious symbols here."
"I'm not so bored that I'd drag you out here on a full moon night just to stroll around," Leonard replied, pressing his palm to the wall and linking his sight with the Ancient Sprout.
At once, streams of magical colors unfolded before his eyes, and on the wall ahead, faint silver symbols and the outline of a great door began to appear.
"Hold onto my shoulder," Leonard told Midgard.
Though puzzled, Midgard placed her hand on him.
Leonard suspected the door might not be real at all, but rather a disguised Portkey. If that were the case, he wanted Midgard in contact with him—otherwise, if he vanished alone, it would be far too awkward to leave her behind.
After confirming her grip, Leonard set both hands on the doors and pushed.
From beneath his cuffs, the Ancient Sprout swayed and glowed. Silver lines of light flowed across his arms and body, linking into a cycle that resonated with him.
The moment the cycle completed, Leonard felt the doors shift.
With a faint, unreal creak, the great gate slowly opened, spilling a piercing light through the crack.
That was what Leonard saw.
From Midgard's perspective, however, Leonard's arms suddenly sank into the wall, and his whole body began to slip inside.
Startled, she grabbed hold of him, trying to pull him free—but the moment her hand touched the wall, a powerful suction seized her as well, dragging them both helplessly through.
When the light faded, Leonard opened his eyes first—and was stunned by the sight before him.
A vast hall stretched out around him. Still within his magical vision, he saw countless silver motes drifting through the air like living wisps.
The surrounding walls were etched with mysterious patterns, and the supporting columns were carved all over with sculptures of magical creatures.
The architecture was distinctly ancient British, strongly reminiscent of a cathedral. Beyond the strange symbols, every detail carried an elegant artistry of curves and lines. It was the kind of place that would drive any archaeologist mad with fascination.
But this was no Muggle cathedral—it was a wizard's hall. Even Leonard, who usually cared little for history, felt an irresistible urge to explore.
"What is this place?" Midgard's voice came from behind. She scratched her head, looking around.
"Looks like some kind of ruin. Be careful—there could be traps," Leonard warned, scanning the room.
The most striking sight was the massive, weathered statue at the center of the hall: a giant knight, kneeling on one knee and leaning on a longsword. Its surface had been worn by time and overgrown with plants.
It should have been no more than an artistic relic—but when Leonard's eyes fell on it, a chill shot down his spine.
Something was wrong.
Through his magical vision, he saw silver motes swarming toward the statue, clustering thickly around it. The sight immediately set him on edge.
"Watch that statue!" Leonard shouted.
"What?" Midgard froze.
Then the ground began to tremble. The ancient hall quaked violently, clouds of dust raining down.
Before their stunned eyes, the towering knight statue—at least thirty meters tall—rose slowly to its feet, bracing itself on its massive sword.
...
[Up to 50 chapters ahead for now]
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