"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 393: Lupin—Brothers. Family. So Familiar, Yet So Far Away.
Lupin understood at once and stepped forward.
He dropped to one knee, lowering himself, and spoke softly in gentle Italian, "Don't be afraid. We're not your enemies. I'm... one of your kind."
As he spoke, he deliberately released a subtle, nonthreatening trace of werewolf aura from deep within his blood. For ordinary people, it meant nothing—but to the old man before them, it was like catching the scent of a familiar campfire in a world of snow and ice.
The old man felt it. His body, tense as forged iron, relaxed by a fraction. Yet the thick, unyielding fear and vigilance in his lone eye stayed locked on Lupin, and on Douglas, who was approaching from behind.
Douglas strode forward with calm assurance, producing a vial that glowed with a clear blue light.
"Calming draught," he said simply, handing the crystal bottle to Lupin with a meaningful glance. "My improved beginner's sedative potion. Minimal side effects. It'll help ease his nerves a little."
Lupin took the potion and carefully held it to the old man's cracked, peeling lips.
A cool, herbal fragrance drifted out, soothing and gentle.
At first, the old man turned his head away, growling in warning. But the pure kinship in Lupin's scent—and the unclouded sincerity in his gaze—made the bloodshot madness in the old man's eye flicker with a moment's struggle.
At last, he gave a defeated whimper and let his mouth fall open.
The cool potion slipped down his throat. Almost at once, his ragged breathing slowed; his violent trembling eased.
Only then did Douglas step forward, drawing a whistle from his pocket.
"This is the Moonspeaker's token."
He paused, his tone clear and unwavering:
"I am Douglas Holmes, from Hogwarts."
"Holmes!"
The name struck like a thunderclap. The dying old man jerked upright, his lone, clouded eye blazing with a sudden, wild light. He stared at the whistle, then up at Douglas, his cracked lips trembling as he forced out broken, half-choked syllables:
"Moonspeaker... Mr. Holmes..."
He shook with emotion, tears and snot running together as he struggled to reach for Douglas's hand—grasping for a lifeline—only to let his arm fall, too weak.
Seeing this, Lupin quickly added, "I'm Remus Lupin. If you know Douglas, then you might also—"
"New Wolfsbane Potion!"
The old man whipped his head around, summoning the last of his strength to shout, his voice sharp and desperate.
"Is it true?! Can it... can it really save us?"
That cry was pure longing—tinged with the last dregs of despair.
Lupin felt his heart twist. He reached out, gripping the old man's trembling shoulder, eyes shining with heavy compassion and a promise that brooked no doubt. "It's true. Professor Holmes's new potion works far better than anything before—it can cure the wolf curse completely. And... it's cheap."
"...Truly..."
The certainty in Lupin's voice hit like a hammer, shattering nerves that had been wound tight for decades.
The old man seemed to lose every bone in his body. He slumped, and the grief, pain, and despair he'd bottled up for half a lifetime burst forth in a flood.
He didn't scream or struggle anymore. He simply let out raw, animal sobs—survivor's tears.
Clouded tears mixed with dust and dried blood, carving two ragged tracks down his weathered cheeks.
At last, the storm ebbed.
The old man wiped his face with a callused, scarred hand. His voice was still hoarse, but now—finally—there was a spark of life in it.
"I... I'm Aldo. I was once... a wizard."
He panted, as if every memory was a fresh torment.
"Years ago, I was bitten in some damned accident. My family... my friends... everyone avoided me like the plague. I thought the Ministry would dispose of me like rubbish, or I'd go mad under the full moon. But then the Ashclaw Pack... they took me in."
At the mention of Ashclaw, a complex light flickered in Aldo's single eye—gratitude, nostalgia, but most of all a pain that cut to the bone.
"Ashclaw... wasn't like those savage packs hiding in the deep woods."
He gasped, every word seeming to tear open a wound, yet his eye burned with pride through the pain.
"In our pack, no one cared about pureblood nonsense, or whether you were born or bitten!"
"Whoever had the heart and the skill could lead! We stood back-to-back, guarding each other with claw and fang—never asking where anyone came from!"
"Not like those other bloody packs."
He tried to spit, but only coughed up blood, his gaze burning with hatred.
"They treat the bitten like slaves, cannon fodder, tools to be thrown away! But in Ashclaw, we were brothers. Family!"
His voice trembled with emotion, his single eye blazing with the fire of memory.
For a moment, the air in the mine seemed to freeze.
Aldo's final words were the stubborn flame of a soul battered by fate, yet refusing to go out.
Lupin felt himself dragged under by the force of that voice, spinning helplessly into a vortex.
He stayed kneeling, but it was as if something inside him had been hollowed out.
The world faded and blurred—Douglas's calm profile, the old man's bloodstained face, the flickering shadows on the stone wall—all became an unfocused backdrop.
The cold stone beneath him seemed to seep through his trousers, chilling him to the bone.
In his mind, only two words remained.
Brothers. Family.
So familiar, and yet so far away.
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