Harry Potter: Days Mixed in Hogwarts

The night deepened as a full white moon hung in the sky. Silver moonlight bathed the snow-covered land—mountains, trees, and the earth itself blending under the interplay of moonlight and snow, creating a scene of serene beauty.

Wrapped in a warm white fur blanket, Loren lay in the shelter he had built with tree branches, feeling a bit bored.

The silence of the night was suddenly shattered by a howl.

"Ugh…ah…"

"Ah!"

Bates' voice, filled with suppressed pain, echoed from the cave. It was deep and carried the sound of someone writhing on the ground in agony.

"Ah!"

The cries of pain grew sharper and more hoarse, as if mixed with a sense of release.

Then, silence.

"Awooo~"

A sharp wolf howl pierced through the mountains, its echoes resonating through the valleys.

Loren's face turned pale.

Scratch—

The sound of claws scraping against stone—inside the cave, the transformed werewolf was clawing at the walls. Then came the dull thuds of a body slamming against the rock, trying to break free.

Loren took a deep breath, suppressing his trembling, and decided it was best to leave first. No one knew if the out-of-control Bates would be able to escape or not.

After packing his belongings, he used the bright moonlight to make his way quickly back to the cabin.

His footsteps quickened until he was running across the snowy wilderness. Upon reaching home, he noticed that the wind-blocking tarp had been torn open.

Loren opened the door, scooped up a handful of snow, and placed it into the stove to melt. As the warmth gradually filled the room and a sip of water soothed his throat, he began sorting through his thoughts.

Bates was a werewolf. Every full moon, he would transform uncontrollably and had to spend the night in the mountains. Afterward, he would enter a period of weakness.

That explained his strange habits.

The bizarre rumors in town must have been spread by someone who knew the truth—or perhaps by Bates himself—to keep people away.

But solving one mystery only led to more questions.

Why would Bates choose to raise an orphan like him? Wouldn't life be easier if he were alone?

Were they truly related by blood? If not, what were the church and the government thinking when they sent Loren to him?

Was this world really the 1980s Britain he had once known?

If werewolves existed, what about vampires? What roles did the church and the government play in all of this?

One question led to another, and with them came even more doubts.

And more recently, the mysterious knowledge in those two books—was alchemy really just a myth? What was that strange bookseller's true purpose?

Most importantly, should he escape from Bates?

His tangled thoughts had no clear answer. But one thing was certain—a minor like him couldn't go far.

Bates' wrinkled face appeared in Loren's mind—the way he had smiled when he told Loren he would achieve great things, the way he had scolded him for playing in the snow with only a thin shirt, the way he looked so weak after returning from the mountains each month.

Without realizing it, so much time had passed.

Loren decided to wait. Bates deserved that trust.

As he lay in his small bed, sleep took him quickly.

The Next Day

Loren woke up to bright daylight. After heading to the sheep pen and milking the ewes, he boiled the fresh milk and let it cool before taking a sip. The warm drink refreshed him instantly.

All the chaotic thoughts from last night were pushed aside.

He decided to take things as they were. Complicated matters were beyond his ability to handle right now.

Bates was still Bates—his grandfather figure who had always treated him like family.

With this realization, Loren no longer felt troubled.

The clear sky shone over the white snow, reflecting light so bright it reached deep into his heart.

What an interesting world! Who knew? Maybe one day, he would come across other extraordinary beings—or even become one himself.

His mind wandered from vampire hunters to DC and Marvel superheroes, making him even more excited.

That afternoon, Bates dragged his exhausted body back down from the mountain.

"Grandpa, you're back!" Loren called out as soon as he saw him.

"Mm."

Bates looked at the boy, who was already growing into a young man. A wave of emotions—sighs, nostalgia, and complicated feelings—rose up, choking his words.

He recalled how small Loren had been when he first arrived, like a stray kitten. Now, at ten years old, he could climb the mountains on his own.

As Bates had left the cave earlier, he had noticed Loren's tracks. The shelter he had built was well-constructed—except for the lack of a fire.

Bates felt both comforted and worried.

He had always intended to take certain secrets to the grave, but he had underestimated the boy's intelligence. Now, he wondered how much had already been discovered—and how to begin explaining.

"I made lamb stew with potatoes and some macaroni," Loren said, not paying attention to Bates' unusual expression.

Bates sighed with relief. "Such a hardworking kid."

For now, he decided to enjoy the meal first—his body was still weak.

…

After swallowing the last piece of lamb, Bates let out a satisfied sigh. "Even with the same ingredients, your cooking is always better than mine."

Loren raised an eyebrow. "It's a talent."

They laughed, cleaned up, and sat on the porch, watching as moonlight draped the snowy mountains in a silver veil.

"Interested in hearing an old man's story?" Bates asked, his voice carrying a tone of release.

"Experience is wisdom," Loren replied.

"Forty years ago, when I was a young man…"

Bates recounted how he had served in World War II—not on the front lines, but still in dangerous situations.

One mission involved escorting supplies when their unit was ambushed by an elite enemy squad in the mountains.

His team got separated from the main force, wandering deeper into the mountains with the enemy closing in.

"We stumbled upon a mountain cabin, much like ours but much bigger." Bates glanced at his house, momentarily seeing his younger self and his comrades from decades ago.

Inside the cabin, aside from regular living necessities, one room was built like a cage.

A middle-aged woman lay inside, the door secured with several massive iron locks, as if she were a terrifying beast.

The keys were nearby. They unlocked the door and woke her up.

The woman claimed to be a werewolf, transforming uncontrollably every full moon. She had always lived in the mountains, locking herself up in advance.

Since it was another full moon that night, she urged them to leave quickly.

Some soldiers, young and reckless, had a dangerous idea: if they became werewolves, wouldn't they be able to fight back?

Three of them agreed. The others, including young Bates, refused to betray their faith and succumb to darkness.

Bates left the cabin with those who shared his beliefs.

The three who stayed behind used the woman's saliva to infect their wounds, waiting for the night and their enemies to arrive.

"And what happened next? How did you become a werewolf?" Loren asked.

"Fate never follows the path people expect," Bates said with a sigh.

The transformed werewolves slaughtered the enemy—and then turned on their own comrades.

"I watched them tear my friends to pieces under the blood-red moon." Bates covered his face, his voice trembling.

By dawn, the three soldiers regained their sanity. Unable to accept what they had done, they took their own lives.

Later, while tending to his wounds, Bates noticed a bite mark on his arm.

"I carried their letters and their final wishes back to Britain, along with my own fear."

After handling his comrades' affairs, he arrived at this town—on the night of his first full moon as a werewolf.