Chapter 95: The Werewolf, Flowers, and the Maiden
In the darkness, the werewolf bolted on all fours, quickly fleeing the town and running wildly through the sprawling mountains. Finally, it plunged into a patch of grass dotted with small purple petals.
The juice from the leaves of this plant seemed to be highly poisonous, stinging its wound with intense burning sensations, but it also stopped the bleeding on its shoulder. Soon, only a numb tingling remained.
Wolfsbane—a highly poisonous magical plant. Many animals in the forest don't need to understand this knowledge; they instinctively find the herbs that can treat their ailments.
After a while, the werewolf slowly rose from the grass, leaped onto a nearby boulder, and howled at the full moon.
"Awoooo!"
Moonlight permeated the air, and mysterious power surged.
Its body twitched slightly. The raw flesh of the gash on its shoulder squirmed, pressing and growing together, the wound twisting grotesquely.
The werewolf panted heavily, its long, powerful forelimbs hanging loosely, its broad chest rapidly rising and falling.
The sensation was exceptionally wonderful.
Yes, wonderful.
After being injured and bleeding, the wildness within was completely unleashed, quickly spreading, clawing its way through every nerve and muscle in its body.
That persistent, ineffable restlessness seemed to find relief. It bathed in the moonlight, finally achieving a rare calm after its transformation into a werewolf.
Such tranquility seemed to make its spirit and flesh begin to align even more perfectly.
The werewolf's eyes narrowed slightly, feeling the gentle stir of the breeze and moonlight on its fluffy fur.
But soon, an inexplicable sluggishness, an indescribable disharmony, suddenly appeared throughout its entire body.
Its head began to rapidly shrink, and its body quickly shriveled.
"I..."
What the heck?!
Lockhart opened his eyes in disbelief, startled to find himself once again out of his werewolf form. The forgotten memories deep within his mind churned like boiling water, bubbling up in large amounts.
No!
Other wizards infected with lycanthropy tried everything they could to recover, but he could never enter the deepest werewolf state. Why?
He simply remained motionless, looking up at the full moon, feeling the moonlight and the breeze. He vaguely seemed to grasp something.
Mysterious power!
Yes, mysterious power!
This power was actually omnipresent, but humans always found it hard to perceive where it was. The more one tried to touch it, the further it receded. The more one tried to understand and ponder it, the more one realized they deviated from the mysterious.
Especially with modern wizards being disciplined in their use of magic, they increasingly lost their perception of nature.
Earth, forest, moonlight, lightning, rivers, oceans—mystery was everywhere, yet humans, in their social activities, increasingly distanced themselves from it.
But in truth, it never left. It accompanied every spell cast by a wizard, every potion brewed, every magical item crafted through alchemy, every action.
It was merely a matter of degree of participation.
It was an irrational force, requiring a more spiritual instinct.
Just like the spiritual essence of Luna Lovegood, Newt Scamander, or Professor Trelawney, or the spiritual essence that controlled the Obscurus, like Credence Barebone.
Lockhart had to admit that he didn't possess this unique wizarding spiritual essence; fundamentally, he was just a Muggle.
What to do?
Knowing the problem clearly made the solution obvious.
He quickly sifted through the memories in his mind and finally found a memory of a spell that was surprisingly compatible with a werewolf—the Flying Charm.
Yes, Tom Riddle's Flying Charm.
This sounded a bit absurd; flying and werewolves were completely different things.
But the interesting part was here: their underlying essences were perfectly compatible.
This spell, which only Voldemort and Snape in the current wizarding world knew, wasn't actually that complex. Its only requirement was a very unique state of mind as its foundation.
This state of mind was difficult to describe in words.
Empty, without reliance or support.
Like a ghost, filled with a pale apathy towards this world, yet not lost in it; instead, full of restlessness and a yearning for a touch of color in the world, a desire to pursue the rich tapestry of life.
Thus, without any incantation, the wizard would naturally fly.
Many spells in the wizarding world didn't require incantations, just like Animagus transformation. They simply formed naturally.
"I actually found an opportunity to assimilate Tom Riddle's spell at such a moment?"
Lockhart's expression was peculiar.
Although he always said, "Enter a fairy tale, and magic will naturally blossom," a werewolf and Tom seemed completely unrelated.
Pfft~
Regardless, having found a solution, he decisively began to experiment.
Silvery threads rapidly floated out from his head, transforming in mid-air into a shimmering silver liquid, like smoke or ripples, drifting in the moonlight and radiating a mysterious glow.
"Howl~~~"
He stretched his neck, puffed out his chest, and let out a cry.
This cry quickly changed from a human sound to a beast's sound, and his body once again transformed into a werewolf.
The werewolf bathed in the moonlight, its fur ruffled by the breeze, allowing the silvery liquid formed from its memories to swirl around it, allowing the mysterious power of the moonlight to influence the alignment of its spirit and flesh.
It was incredibly subtle; he had finally entered that deepest state of a werewolf.
The clamoring memories in his mind rapidly faded, disappearing little by little.
Yet at this moment, as the werewolf completely assimilated Tom's Flying Charm memory, another memory was left behind among those automatically hidden in his mind.
Lockhart's heart stirred. He let himself not interfere with this natural and mysterious change, waiting to see what would happen.
What remained was Tom's memory of the Killing Curse.
It was the cruelty within the werewolf's beastliness, Tom's insight into the Flying Charm, and the resonance generated with this memory.
"Awoooo~~~"
He howled at the full moon again, but this time, it was filled with an exceptionally unique sense of spiritual essence.
With the howl, flower after flower bloomed around him, and grey wolves, forest spirits, stepped out of the moonlight, accompanying him.
He didn't stop but continued to run wildly through the woods, galloping joyfully as if celebrating his new beginning.
His movements had lost some of the werewolf's wild abandon and gained a touch of agility, a hint of the Flying Charm's ethereal grace, and a bit of the Killing Curse's ruthlessness.
Accompanied by grey wolves, healing flowers bloomed in his wake.
This was a beast's journey.
Soon, birds flapped their wings and flew alongside him, following him all the way, yet also guiding his direction.
The werewolf finally arrived at a strangely shaped small wooden house deep in the forest, guided by the birds.
In the clearing in front of the wooden house stood an old witch adorned with various peculiar ornaments. She was currently stirring a large cauldron with both hands using a big wooden stick. A pungent odor emanated from it, and green bubbles gurgled in the pot, with purple smoke rising when they popped on the surface.
"You've arrived."
The old witch visibly relaxed when she saw him. She looked somewhat puzzled at the surrounding grey wolves and birds, then at the flowers covering the ground, and finally her gaze was drawn to his shoulder wound, her expression changing instantly. "You're injured?"
The werewolf panted heavily, baring its teeth at her, yet it didn't attack.
"Come here, my poor child."
She found a broken bowl, ladled out a portion of the potion from the large cauldron, and handed it to the werewolf. Then she hurried to the shelves inside the house to find herbs, tossing them directly into a small mortar. She quickly ground them into a paste and brought it out to apply to the werewolf's wound.
It was effective. The werewolf's wound miraculously healed, leaving no scar, as if it had simply been wiped away.
The werewolf just stared intently at her.
"Drink it; it's good for you," she urged.
The werewolf silently looked at the potion in the bowl and finally brought it to its lips.
Just then, the sound of galloping hooves echoed. The old witch looked nervously towards the sound's origin and saw a figure in a red cloak riding a horse swiftly approaching. She quickly pushed the werewolf.
"Quick, hide in the house! You don't want your daughter to see your ugly self, do you!"
The werewolf nodded, dropped the empty bowl, and quickly ran into the house. It ducked under the bed, pricking up its furry ears, carefully discerning the conversation outside.
"My poor granddaughter, you've finally returned," the old witch said to the maiden in the red cloak.
"Yes, Grandma, I really escaped from that monster's castle! You wouldn't believe what I went through!" The maiden sounded very excited, chattering away, and pulled the old witch into the small wooden house.
The fire in the fireplace inside the house dispelled the coldness of the falling snow outside. The maiden lowered the hood of her red cloak and excitedly recounted her interesting adventure.
The furniture in the castle moved on its own. Madame Wardrobe offered her fashion advice, Mrs. Teapot always spoke philosophically, and Mr. Grandfather Clock was like an old butler.
She also mentioned that the beast in the castle had a beautiful, frozen flower.
"You found that flower!" The old witch grew excited, gripping the maiden tightly.
The maiden nodded. "Grandma, if I get that flower, can I become a witch like you?"
Grandma smiled kindly. "Yes, my child, this is every witch's trial. We always have to endure hardships on the path to finding magic before we can truly touch its power."
"Things easily gained are always overlooked for their preciousness."
She stroked the maiden's thick, fluffy brown hair, gently tidying it after its journey, and released magic to make it smooth and shiny. "Child, you will become a very, very powerful witch."
.....
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