Hogwarts: Dumbledore reigned over the wizarding world.

Chapter 65 The Werewolf Wanderer

It was another early morning in the basement.

The hazy sunlight streamed in through the skylight, and the shadows of snow danced outside.

Vaughn lay sprawled on an experimental table, several lamps focusing their light in front of him, which was then magically gathered and spread out evenly, like a viscous liquid.

Countless, yet orderly, glass slabs floated around.

The crimson blood on the glass slide shimmered with a jewel-like luster, occasionally punctuated by a magical halo.

"Specimen number 763!"

As Warn muttered to himself, a glass slide floated to the side of the microscope, and slide 762 automatically withdrew, allowing it to take over under the objective lens.

Time slipped away in this tedious process of verifying specimen after specimen. By the time Warn straightened up to stretch his joints due to back pain, it was already broad daylight.

Rubbing his rumbling stomach, Vaughn didn't insist any longer. He pulled out his wand and waved it. A box on the lab table opened, and the floating glass slides around it automatically went inside. The microscope stretched out its arms and legs to cover itself with a dust cover.

With a snap of his fingers, sweaters, jackets, and velvet suits floated leisurely from the clothes rack in the corner.

His lab coat automatically detached, and he stuffed himself into the laundry tub next to him.

His everyday clothes rushed over and were put on him, and the thoughtful iron jumped up and down around him, as if looking for wrinkles.

This is the magic of this house.

Vaughn covered his mouth and yawned, muttering, "The professor certainly knows how to enjoy himself..."

He is now at Snape’s home, at 19 Spider’s End Lane, a remote suburb of the small town of Cokeworth.

As the town's name suggests, it belongs to the Muggle community (Coke means coke, representing industry). Looking out from the narrow skylight above the basement, you can see a huge chimney standing tall in the distance, overlooking the entire town.

After packing his things, Vaughn walked out of the basement.

There was no spacious and cozy living room, nor a hospitable host; when Vaughn pushed open the basement door and came up, all he could see was a small room.

A ring of candles hung from the ceiling lamps, but their dim light did little to brighten the room. The walls of the small room were crammed with books, making it feel even more cramped.

The remaining small space could barely accommodate an old sofa, an old recliner, and a wobbly table.

The furnishings all felt old, dark, and oppressive, with nothing that could bring joy.

Just like Snape sitting on that fuzzy sofa right now, his eyes vacant, seemingly lost in thought.

Vaughn, however, remained completely unaffected, waving and saying, "Hey, Professor, have you had breakfast?"

A flicker of light appeared in Snape's empty eyes, as if he were breaking free from his thoughts. He glanced at Vaughn, responding to his energy with a haughty indifference: "No!"

"So you didn't cook? Great! Give me some pounds, Professor, I'll eat out myself!"

Snape: "..."

The oppressive atmosphere in the room suddenly lightened a bit. Snape, his face stiff, fumbled in his pocket for a while before finally finding a crumpled five-pound note.

"The last one—"

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"Professor, this won't do. Living in a Muggle community, how can we not always have some Muggle currency on hand? There are still two days until Christmas. Are we going to be eating dirt tonight?"

Watching Vaughn drag away his money while grumbling and complaining, Snape almost couldn't resist drawing his wand.

There was food stored in the house, of course; normally, he could exchange tens of pounds each time he came back and still not spend it all.

But ever since he cooked a meal for Vaughn the day before yesterday, that wretched guy has started to dislike him.

The pounds he had exchanged in the summer were also starting to lose value rapidly.

"Shut up!"

"Okay... By the way, Professor, I'm going to check on the werewolves at the warehouse. Don't bother making my lunch. Of course, if you'd like to eat out, just let me know."

"roll!"

With a smile, Vaughn bid farewell to the nearly out-of-control Snape, then left the room and strolled around the remote, dilapidated town with his hands in his pockets.

The industry that was once vital to Muggles was withering away in the 90s due to England's economic transformation, and this small town named after coke naturally became a relic of the past.

In spring or summer, one might still see some vitality, but in the depths of winter, several feet of snow make the not-so-wide streets appear deserted.

Rows of dilapidated brick houses, their dark windows as lifeless as Snape's eyes.

The winding river that runs through the town is so dirty that even ice and snow cannot wash it away. Withered weeds droop forlornly on both banks, and piles of garbage lie on the riverbank, filling the air with a pungent smell.

"Is this where Snape and the Evans grew up?"

Vaughn shook his head. He remembered Kirkworth. Long ago, young Snape met Lily Evans by a pond near this town.

That must have been the happiest moment of Snape's life...

After all, he had a short-tempered, violent Muggle father. Snape's pure-blood beliefs were probably formed in his childhood—his mother, Erin Prince, was born into the Prince family and was a true pure-blood, a fact that his father disliked.

No one knows why a pure-blood witch would marry a grumpy Muggle, but there is no doubt that their relationship eventually broke down, and they vented their resentment on each other and their children.

During the few days Vaughn stayed at the cabin, he didn't see a single family photo.

Clearly, the trauma from his childhood hasn't faded from Snape's mind even now. Since returning, he has become increasingly depressed, often sitting on the sofa in a daze.

That kind of mentality is unhealthy, and Vaughn felt he should "lively" him up.

With a cheerful shrug of the 5 pounds in his hand, Vaughn walked a long way to a restaurant, the only place in town that served breakfast.

After buying a coffee, a sausage sandwich, and a fried egg, and slowly finishing his meal, Vaughn went to the other side of town, to a nearly abandoned warehouse.

The town's impending bankruptcy-ridden industries were no longer able to lease the space.

Vaughn rented one of the buildings to temporarily house his experimental subjects, his only worry being the Muggles disturbing them.

Because there isn't even a gatekeeper here.

I walked through the open gate of the warehouse area and arrived at my rented warehouse.

Vaughn saw a few Muggle thugs wandering around outside the warehouse in a daze.

With the combined effects of the Peaceful Guardian Charm, the Exorcising Charm, and the Confusion Charm, these Muggles were unable to get close to the warehouse or leave.

This is to prevent them from spreading any strange or supernatural stories.

Vaughn fabricated false memories for each of them before letting them leave.

Entering the warehouse, Vaughn turned on the lights, looked at the seven werewolves remaining in the empty warehouse, and asked with a smile, "Did everyone sleep well last night?"

The bright lights irritated his eyes, which had already adjusted. A middle-aged man dressed as a homeless person, who was closest to the door, got up and said with a wry smile:

"Not bad, at least they're still alive..."

Like the others around him, he was down on his luck.

The trench coat, which had been worn for who knows how long and was already faded and frayed, had more than a dozen patches, but it was still considered clean.

Since Vaughn exhausted all eight of Greyback's henchmen the day before yesterday, and brought the remaining seven wandering werewolves here, granting them limited freedom.

This middle-aged man began to take great care of himself, trying to make himself look like a human being, not livestock!

His eyes were no longer as numb as they had been at the beginning.

Because, through spending these past few days together, he had learned what Vaughn was doing—

When Vaughn and Snape talked, he never hid it from them.

He bowed slightly and said, "Greetings, Mr. Weasley."

After William White, the other homeless people greeted Vaughn one by one, their eyes shining just like William White's.

Vaughn observed the homeless people's changed attitude with a smile. "Gentlemen, have you finished filling out the forms I asked you to yesterday?"

"Yes, Mr. Weasley, they're all here."

William brought over a stack of forms and handed them to Vaughn with both hands.

The form wasn't complicated; it just asked them to fill in their biography and personal information. Vaughn casually flipped through it: "Hmm... Mr. White, you're a Muggle?"

"Yes, five years ago, on a full moon night, I was attacked and infected by a werewolf on my way home from get off work..." William White said, his gaunt face showing pain.

"Hmm, you said you have a wife and daughter on the form. How long has it been since you last visited them?"

"Five years... ever since I first transformed and almost hurt them..."

The weary middle-aged man, his thin shoulders trembling, shed tears.

Vaughn nodded, not wanting to reopen old wounds, and began looking through other people's files, occasionally asking a question.

Soon, the forms for all seven people had been reviewed.

Vaughn snapped his fingers, and a silent, staffless fire spell swiftly engulfed and burned them to ashes.

He paced back and forth in front of them, and the seven people watched him quietly, their eyes gleaming with an inexplicable light.

At one point, Vaughn stopped: "Gentlemen, I believe you understand what I'm doing. Yes, I'm trying to cure werewolves..."

Although they already knew this beforehand, the werewolf wanderers still whispered excitedly upon hearing Vaughn confirm the fact.

The youngest in the crowd, a werewolf named Little Barnal who was only 17 years old, couldn't help but cry out loud.

He has no surname because he was infected by Greyback at a very young age. Children don't understand their own abnormality and are unprepared. When he first transformed, his parents were bitten to death by him...

The others had similar experiences to Barnald Jr., but William White was actually the luckiest among them.

After waiting quietly for a moment, until they had all vented their emotions, Vaughn continued, "...Of course, this potion, which I named Wolfsbane Potion, is far from mature. The current formula will probably only keep you sane when you transform on a full moon night—"

"That's enough, Mr. Weasley."

William White couldn't help but interrupt, his cloudy eyes filled with tears, "We're not like those lunatics in Graybuck. Because we're afraid of losing control, afraid of hurting others, we don't dare live among people, we don't dare go near any populated places."

"For us, it's enough to stay rational. At least we don't have to be afraid of seeing the blood and flesh of innocent people all around us when we regain our senses."

"You are a noble person, and perhaps you have your own pursuits, but for people like us, being able to rationally navigate the transformation is enough."

"..."

Vaughn was speechless for a moment.

Was he noble? At least he didn't realize it himself. A noble person wouldn't develop magic potions in pursuit of fame and fortune, nor would they recklessly perform live dissections in order to develop magic potions.

However, it wouldn't be accurate to say he was completely selfish and devoid of goodwill; at least Vaughn knew that he sympathized with these homeless people.

Although the attitude might be a bit condescending.

But he also couldn't fully empathize with their pain.

However, this conversation gave Vaughn a deeper understanding of the despair of the werewolf wanderers, especially after he had dismembered eight Greyback's henchmen in front of them.

No normal person would ever call him a "noble person".

But in the eyes of these homeless people, Vaughn gave them hope, so his actions seem to be subconsciously glorified or forgotten.

How desperate must one be to be so urgent!

Feeling bewildered, Vaughn shook off his own thoughts and nodded to the seven men: "In that case, would you be willing to do me a favor?"

"Please speak."

"I'll let you go. Go and find as many werewolf wanderers as you think are worth saving, preferably werewolves who have been transformed by wizards. You can use that method to contact me later."

As he spoke, he took out a piece of parchment and handed it to William White.

"Have a wizard write words on it with his wand, and I will see them."

William White took the document with trembling hands, and asked with a mixture of trepidation and anticipation, "Sir, how can I convince those werewolves?"

Vaughn smiled: "You'll see it in the newspapers after Christmas."

William White, carrying a mission and hope, left with the other werewolves. Vaughn went to the administrator to return the warehouse. As he walked out of the warehouse area, he saw Snape standing like a ghost under a tree by the roadside.

He had previously cast a spell in that warehouse to control the test subjects, so of course he could sense the unusual activity.

He gazed in the direction the werewolves had left, his brow furrowing slightly. "What do you want to do?"

"Let them contact the other werewolves, that's all."

Clearly, Snape didn't think it was "just that," and he stared at Vaughn: "You know, does this remind me of someone?"

Vaughn shrugged: "Voldemort?"

"..." Snape took a deep breath, suppressing his unease. "Yes, just like when he sent the Death Eaters to gather the pure-blood families."

"But the purpose is different, Professor. I'm just doing this as a precaution."

"What do you mean?"

Instead of answering him directly, Vaughn countered with, "How do you think I can guarantee that werewolves will actually use the wolfsbane potion I develop?"

"They can buy..." Snape suddenly stopped, realizing the problem.

Vaughn sighed. "Yes, Professor, they can't afford it. You saw how these people live; they live in isolation, like savages. Where would they get the money to buy the potion?"

(End of this chapter)