I Swung a Sword at Hogwarts

Inside the Belby Manor stood a structure reminiscent of a Roman Colosseum.

At its center was a sturdy iron cage, and moonlight began to trickle through the clouds above.

Tonight was a full moon, and the man inside the cage was in immense pain.

Curled up and trembling violently, his body hair was growing at a rapid rate.

"Look at this hideous creature. Neither truly wolf nor man."

Damoallex Belby held an ornate cane, and beside him, a Quick-Quotes Quill recorded his every word.

"The entire transformation takes about thirty seconds. You're about to witness a moment worthy of the history books."

Excitement laced Damoallex's voice. The successful development of the Wolfsbane Potion would be revolutionary.

He no longer pursued wealth — as a Potions Master, he had plenty. What he sought now was glory.

If this Wolfsbane Potion succeeded, he would at the very least be awarded a Second-Class Order of Merlin.

This was a wizard's highest honor — and a scholar's lifelong dream.

John was the first witness to this clinical trial, a sign that Damoallex already considered him an equal.

"To use the highly toxic Aconite as a base — such a genius idea. Every potion master before us avoided it due to its lethality."

The words flowed proudly from Damoallex's mouth, all praises for a groundbreaking innovation.

The key lay in dosage.

After experiments that left two werewolves paralyzed and turned three others into vegetative states, the precise balance felt as elusive as catching a golden snitch.

It was John who helped pinpoint that critical dosage. Without him, there would likely be several corpses buried beneath the manor.

John didn't find it too difficult — with the sensitivity of a Fire Dragon's tongue and a subtle sense for magical fluctuations, he could identify a potion's toxicity just by touching it.

Thirty seconds passed, and the man — bitten by a werewolf a year ago — completed his transformation into a bipedal werewolf. He looked dazed at first.

Damoallex tapped the iron cage with his cane and shouted, "Shelby! Can you understand me?"

The werewolf seemed confused, but after a few minutes, clarity returned to his eyes — none of the usual feral violence of a transformed werewolf remained.

He nodded and pointed to his mouth, painfully uttering one word: "Yes."

The Wolfsbane Potion had worked.

Damoallex couldn't hold back his cheer, and even John smiled, though he still needed further confirmation.

He stepped up to the cage. "Lord Damoallex Belby," he said calmly, "please open the cage."

"What?" Damoallex looked at John in disbelief.

"Are you joking? Even with Wolfsbane, we cannot fully trust these filthy things."

His words were dripping with disdain — the sad reality of all werewolves.

They were discriminated against throughout the magical world, even though most were unwilling victims of their curse.

"We can only call this a success if we can truly prove a werewolf can remain sane."

John remained firm. "Open the cage."

"If you hadn't helped perfect the potion, I'd swear you were insane." Damoallex grumbled but reluctantly complied.

With a tap of his cane on the floor, the cage creaked open.

The werewolf, Shelby, stepped out.

Damoallex immediately drew his wand and snapped, "Get back, you filthy mutt!"

John, however, stepped forward without hesitation, his hand ready to draw his wand if needed.

Standing before the towering werewolf, whose grotesque features looked even more monstrous in the moonlight, John spread his arms and softly said, "Shelby, show me you're really in control."

Damoallex shouted, "You're mad! You're going to hug a werewolf?!"

Even Shelby appeared stunned. Cautiously, he stepped forward — and to Damoallex's horror, gently embraced John like someone cradling fragile artwork.

"Gotta say," John chuckled, "werewolf fur's a bit prickly."

He silently exhaled in relief.

This wasn't about noble sacrifice for science — he simply wanted to test if a werewolf could truly maintain sanity.

Werewolves were feared because of their uncontrollable rage during the full moon. But if they could be controlled… they'd essentially become armored Animagi — living weapons.

A properly trained group of werewolves would be a devastating force.

Looking at the stunned Damoallex — who had even dropped his cane — John smiled. "Damoallex, we'll be remembered in magical history. We've changed the fate of a species."

Glory. That was Damoallex's deepest obsession. At those words, he beamed with pride.

John patted Shelby's arm — the werewolf's claws looked sharp enough to rip a throat out.

"Shelby, maybe we could be friends. Thank you for what you've done for the Wolfsbane Potion."

"It… it's my honor," Shelby replied hoarsely.

Since being bitten, he had endured endless discrimination. Former colleagues avoided him like a plague.

With no other options, he volunteered as a test subject. Though not fully restored, retaining his mind was already a miracle.

He was grateful — especially to John.

Unlike Damoallex, who looked at him with condescension, John had treated him like a person — a patient, not a monster.

After a year of cold shoulders, even a simple kind word could inspire someone to die for you.

And John hadn't drawn his wand — he'd embraced a werewolf during a full moon.

The full moon still hung in the sky as they continued observing Shelby.

By the time the moon vanished, Shelby had reverted back to his human form.

It was a complete success.

Shelby had shown no signs of aggression or irrationality all night.

John clenched his fists in triumph, while Damoallex was so ecstatic he stripped naked and ran laps around the manor in celebration.

Afterward, John handed Shelby some clothes and held out a hand. "Interested in a job? A hundred Galleons a month."

He needed a reliable bodyguard for his shop in Knockturn Alley — and Shelby seemed the perfect fit.

With gray-blue eyes, sunken cheeks, and a naturally intimidating air, Shelby resembled a wolf even in human form. His intense gaze made people feel like they were being judged.

That was no coincidence. Shelby used to be an Auror.

He was bitten during a mission, lost his job, and ended up on the streets.

Now, John's offer left him stunned.

"I'd be honored to take the job."

The pay might not match an Auror's salary, but for a werewolf, it was a dream.

Shelby felt deeply loyal to John, despite his youth — not many people had treated him like an equal.

John smiled and extended his hand. "John Wick. Though once we're at the shop, call me Johnny Silverhand. The guy running it is a thief — I'd like you to keep an eye on him."

Shelby clasped his hand and finally smiled. "Tommy Shelby. I believe that's something I'm quite good at."

The two sealed their partnership.

Damoallex, now dressed again, returned from his wild celebration and was also pleased with their collaboration.

Though he longed to take sole credit, John's contributions had been too significant to ignore.

But John declined the shared glory.

He smiled and said, "Damoallex, when one man creates something, it highlights the hardship and the legend. Two men might each earn a Second-Class Order, but one man… could get a First-Class Order."

Damoallex's eyes lit up. Who could resist a First-Class Order of Merlin?

He stared at John, waiting for the catch.

"I want exclusive selling rights to the Wolfsbane Potion. In return, I'll give you 50% of the profits."

John didn't care about fame — he wanted to use the Wolfsbane Potion to expand his store.

But Damoallex refused. He had no interest in money — his wealth would last generations.

"Keep it all. You know the formula anyway."

John was overjoyed. Potions Masters really were loaded.

Even though the profits wouldn't roll in immediately, the long-term potential was immense.

Damoallex's indifference to money left John envious.

In the end, they struck a deal:

John got exclusive sales rights to the Wolfsbane Potion.

Damoallex got the full credit and magical glory.

And with John's influence, the Wolfsbane Potion became far more powerful than before.

It was, truly, a blessing for werewolves.