"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 375: An Official Invitation? Nothing But a Ruse!
Lorenzo let out a weary sigh, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "What's even worse is the distribution of the Wolfsbane Potion. Yes, the Ministry can produce it, but supplies are limited—and the quality is sharply divided.
Grade A potions—the kind invented by Damocles Belby—are absurdly expensive. Only a handful of model werewolves with close Ministry ties, or those from noble families, can even dream of affording them.
Most tribe members are left with nothing but the inferior Grade C potion. That stuff… the side effects are brutal, and some batches even contain hallucinogenic compounds. More than a few werewolves have lost their minds because of it—turning into living proof for the Vatican's tales of 'demonic retribution.'"
At the mention of "Grade C potion" and "hallucinogens," Lupin's face went ashen. His fists clenched so tightly his knuckles blanched, nails digging deep into his palms as if pain alone could hold back the storm of emotion rising inside him.
He could see it—werewolves driven mad by tainted potions, their agony layered atop his own memories. The outrage burned through him, raw and uncontainable.
A heavy silence settled over the conference room. Only Lupin's ragged, suppressed breathing disturbed the air— And the faint, rhythmic tapping of Douglas's fingers on the table.
Douglas had listened in silence until now. But when Lorenzo mentioned the hallucinogenic additives, his tapping paused for a heartbeat—almost too brief to notice.
A glint of ice-cold sharpness flickered in his eyes, as if he were already dissecting the potion's toxicology and, beyond that, the ugly intent lurking beneath this "solution."
His fingers stilled. He looked up, gaze calm yet piercing, locking onto Lorenzo's tired blue eyes.
"Lorenzo, if the Ministry knows how dangerous the Grade C potion is, why not stop distributing it?"
"Or at the very least, disclose the risks publicly?"
"Letting the Vatican turn this into a spectacle helps no one—not the Ministry, and certainly not the werewolves."
A faint, sardonic smile tugged at Douglas's lips. "Or is it some kind of tacit understanding between the Ministry and the Vatican? A trade, perhaps?"
Lorenzo's shoulders slumped even further. He raked a hand through his already wild hair, managing only a bitter smile. He lifted his coffee cup, trying to hide a flash of embarrassment behind the rim.
"A trade?" He gave a short, hollow laugh, setting the cup down with a soft clink. "Douglas, you never miss the mark."
He opened his mouth, as if to say more, but the words dissolved into a sigh—a sound filled with struggle and shame. "There's… too much tangled up in all this, Douglas. Sometimes, we really don't have a choice…"
Before he could finish, Isabella, silent until now, suddenly looked up. Her beautiful features twisted with anger.
"What else could it be? Necessary compromise!" She spat the words through clenched teeth, her voice hoarse with barely contained fury.
"Those Vatican fossils—this doctrine about werewolves being soulless is etched into their bones. And our Ministry, when it comes to certain international affairs, just happens to need their tacit approval."
She curled her lip, a flash of bitterness in her hazel eyes. "Take the recovery of ancient magical artifacts in the Muggle world, or stopping some fanatical religious group from 'purifying' our Ministry archives. For things like that, we have to play along.
So, the Grade C potion becomes the unspoken sacrifice in this little arrangement."
She paused, her tone leaden. "Personally, this kind of compromise makes me sick."
Lorenzo gave another bitter laugh, his voice dropping even lower, tinged with deep helplessness. "As for going public with the risks… You think we haven't considered it?
But the Vatican—how do you think they'd spin it?
They'd call the Ministry incompetent, unable to guarantee even basic potion safety. They'd preach that werewolves are cursed, divinely punished, and any attempt to interfere is evil. They'd turn public opinion until even the mild relief of the Grade C potion was outlawed completely."
He let out a long, heavy sigh, as if trying to empty his lungs of all the poison. He took another gulp of scalding coffee—perhaps the only thing keeping him upright.
"Isabella summed it up well."
Lupin had grown even paler. Their words were like a dull knife, sawing over and over at his heart. He understood the complexity—the powerlessness of politics. But to use his people's suffering as a bargaining chip? That, he could not accept.
His lips pressed into a bloodless line, Adam's apple bobbing as he swallowed back the words he wanted to scream. He knew—any outburst now would do no good. He didn't even know what Douglas truly wanted from this trip.
He'd thought, at first, that it was simply about luring Fenrir Greyback out of Britain, or maybe answering a friendly invitation from the British Ministry. But since stepping into Rome, he realized how little he truly knew about Douglas.
He dared not speak rashly anymore.
The anger still roiled in his chest, threatening to burn away his reason—but he forced himself to swallow every accusation, every howl of outrage.
Douglas's calm, all-seeing gaze made him realize: this Roman venture was far more dangerous—and far more complex—than he'd imagined. One careless word could topple whatever chessboard Douglas had already set in motion.
He had to trust Douglas. Just as he trusted the improved Wolfsbane Potion, he had to believe Douglas would find the key to break this deadlock.
If Douglas had brought him here, he knew there must be a reason—and it would not be to harm him.
But deep within, a bone-deep chill seeped through him at the systematic injustice and cold indifference of the Italian Ministry.
Lorenzo set his cup down, looking at Douglas with conflicted eyes. "Officially, there's only so much we can do. The werewolf issue in Italy has never been as simple as magical creature management."
He glanced at Lupin, sympathy flickering in his gaze before exhaustion took over. He rubbed his brow, as if to chase away the headache.
"Mr. Lupin, I'm sorry you had to hear all this. Italy's situation… is far more tangled than Britain's. The Vatican's roots run deep here—their influence seeps into everything."
He paused, choosing his words carefully, then cast a subtle glance at the closed door, checking the silencing charm.
"In truth, Douglas, Mr. Lupin—" Lorenzo's voice dropped to a near whisper. "Your visit isn't entirely an official Ministry invitation. Or rather, the official invitation… is just a cover."
Douglas arched an eyebrow, not the least bit surprised. In fact, a faint, knowing smile played at his lips. He picked up his tea, took a quiet sip, and nodded for Lorenzo to continue.
Lorenzo looked uneasy—almost desperate.
He cleared his throat and pressed on. "The real request came through… unconventional channels.
A werewolf tribe, isolated deep in the Apennines, managed to contact me through methods that were… well, let's just say not entirely legal. They asked me to invite you, Douglas Holmes.
They've heard about your work with the Wolfsbane Potion in Britain—and… some of your special history here in Italy."
At "special history," Lorenzo shot Douglas a loaded glance.
Douglas set down his teacup, his fingers drumming softly on the smooth obsidian table.
He didn't reply right away, falling instead into a thoughtful silence.
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