Hogwarts' Golden Glory

Kane stopped immediately, his right hand hanging naturally at his side, just an inch from his wand.

"To the left," Moody said in a low voice, "thirty paces away, behind the pile of stones."

Kane didn't turn to look. He closed his eyes and activated his senses—not his vision, but his magical senses. Igor let out a soft cry, and a warm power flowed into his consciousness, as if increasing the contrast of a previously blurry image.

He "saw" it.

It wasn't a specific shape, but rather a chaotic, restless outline of magical energy, carrying the wildness characteristic of a beast, and... pain. That magic was highly unstable, like a powder keg ready to explode at any moment.

"An injured werewolf," Kane opened his eyes, "has just undergone an incomplete transformation, suffered a magical backlash, and is delirious."

Moody turned his head, a flicker of surprise in his true eye. "You can even tell that?"

"The werewolf's magic fluctuates peculiarly around the full moon, and an incomplete transformation leaves behind 'jagged' residue," Kane said calmly, as if stating a basic fact. "And it bleeds; the smell of blood is diluted by the rain, but you can still smell it."

Moody gave him a deep look, then turned to the pile of stones. "Come out, we know you're there."

There was no response. Only the sound of the wind blowing through the heather bushes.

Moody's wand was already in his hand—Kane hadn't even seen when he'd drawn it. "I'll count to three. One—"

A low, mournful wail came from behind the pile of stones, like the cry of a wounded beast. Then, a figure staggered out.

It was a man, or rather, a man who once was. His bare upper body was covered with old and new scars, and there was a deep, bone-revealing laceration on his left shoulder, still oozing dark red blood. His eyes were a cloudy yellow, the pupils changing wildly between contraction and dilation, and his fingers twitched involuntarily, his nails long and black, like the claws of a wild beast.

"The full moon is still five days away," Moody stared at him, "Why did you change your mind so early?"

The werewolf—or rather, the half-werewolf—made hoarse sounds in its throat, trying to speak, but only broken syllables came out: "...the medicine...they...forced me..."

"Who forced you?" Moody stepped forward, the tip of his wand glowing white—it was some kind of detection spell.

The werewolf suddenly clutched his head and screamed. His body began to convulse erratically, his muscles writhing beneath his skin as if about to deform again. "No...you can't...say..."

Kane walked forward.

"Stop!" Moody snapped, "He's in danger right now, he could transform completely at any moment—"

"He won't," Kane said. He had already walked three steps away from the werewolf, crouched down, and kept his eye level with the werewolf.

Igor flew off his shoulder and landed on a nearby rock. The phoenix's silver eyes stared at the werewolf, uttering a series of low, melodious syllables—not in human language, but in something far more ancient.

The werewolf's convulsions miraculously subsided. He struggled to focus his cloudy eyes, looking at Kane, then at Igor.

"Medicine," Kane said, taking a flat metal box from a small pouch at his waist. He opened it to reveal several small silver pills inside. "It will stabilize your magic, relieve pain, and prevent a second transformation."

The werewolf stared at the pill, making a longing gurgling sound in its throat, but its body shrank back as if afraid of a trap.

"I'm not one of Greyback's men," Kane said. "nor one of the Ministry of Magic. I'm just someone who can help you."

"Why...why?" the werewolf asked hoarsely.

"Because I feel you shouldn't be living like this." Kane took out a pill, placed it in his palm, and handed it over. "The choice is yours."

The werewolf stared at the silver pill for a long time. Rain lashed his wounds, causing sharp stings. Finally, the instinct for survival overcame his wariness. He reached out with trembling hands—his hand was half-werewolf, his nails black and curved—and carefully picked up the pill, putting it in his mouth.

The effects of the medicine were almost immediate. The werewolf let out a long, relieved sigh, and his body relaxed. The involuntary twitching stopped, and the cloudiness in his eyes cleared, restoring some of their human clarity.

"Thank you..." He slumped to the ground, leaning against the pile of stones, panting.

Moody approached, wand still in his hand, but the light had gone out. "What did you feed him?"

"An improved sedative, with added moonstone powder and unicorn hair extract, to neutralize the wolfsbane agitation." Kane stood up. "The effect only lasts for twenty-four hours, but that should be enough for him to recover."

"You carry something like this with you?" Moody's prosthetic eye spun wildly, as if reassessing the boy in front of him.

"Better safe than sorry." Kane turned to the werewolf. "Now, tell me what happened. Who forced you to transform prematurely?"

The werewolf closed his eyes, a flicker of pain crossing his face. "Greyborough...he said the Dark Lord needs 'test subjects'...to test a new drug that will allow us to transform at any time, unaffected by the moon..."

Kane and Moody exchanged a glance.

"Where did the medicine come from?" Moody asked.

“A…man in a black robe. I couldn’t see his face, and his voice was strange, like a snake hissing.” The werewolf shuddered. “He gave Graybury three vials of potion, telling the five strongest of us to drink them. I…I was the only one who survived. The other four…” He swallowed hard. “They exploded. They exploded from the inside, like a barrel full of dynamite.”

Moody cursed and looked at Kane: "Dark magic, forcibly catalyzing werewolf bloodlines. Voldemort's old tricks, he's creating controllable monsters."

“Not entirely.” Kane crouched down, examining the werewolf’s shoulder wound. The edges of the wound were charred, as if it had been corroded by some kind of corrosive magic. “This isn’t simple catalysis; it’s reshaping. Look here—” he pointed to the charred area, “magic seeping into flesh and blood, attempting to rewrite its life form. But the process is too brutal; the host can’t withstand it and will disintegrate.”

"You can tell?" Moody's voice was tinged with doubt.

“I’ve read similar theories in books. The medieval dark wizard ‘Bloodbone’ Mormont tried something similar, attempting to transform werewolves into war machines that would only obey him.” Kane stood up. “But he failed, I suspect, because he lacked a crucial stabilizer.”

Moody's prosthetic eye snapped towards Kane. "Is this what you wanted?"

Moody now deeply suspects the other party!

After all, he really doesn't know what Kane is thinking right now.

Would a Death Eater family really stand in the way of Voldemort's progress?

Could it be that the next Dark Lord, as people have been saying, will really obey Dumbledore's orders and run to such a dangerous place?

He must have his own unique purpose!

Now it seems very likely that the key is controlling these werewolves!

After all, werewolves have high magic resistance once they transform!

And once you can control these werewolves!