Moony

Anton finally learned exactly what the Soul-Transferring Charm did.

As the spell activated, he felt as though an enormous hook had caught him by the forehead and dragged him forward along the light shooting from the spell.

Then, like a fish out of water plunging back in, he felt the pulling sensation ease once more.

After a moment of disorientation, he examined his body in astonishment.

A feeling of extreme age and frailty rose from deep within him. He struggled to look ahead and saw a young wizard standing before him.

That was him!

He had actually switched bodies with the old wizard!

Only then did he finally get a proper look at the body he had transmigrated into.

Red hair, a little paler than that of Ron's family, whom he had seen in Diagon Alley that day, with a platinum sheen. Pale blue eyes and fair skin.

Aside from the lack of freckles, he actually looked a little like Ron!

Were they related?

Anton did not know, but he finally understood why Ron had kept staring at him.

Before he could take a closer look, an overwhelming emptiness flooded through him. Like a rubber band stretched to its limit, he snapped straight back into his own body.

When he opened his eyes again, the old wizard hurried over and poured a cup of fruit wine into his mouth.

He gazed at Anton as though he were a priceless treasure. "Heh heh heh, you'll be my finest apprentice. With talent like that, you're so useful."

What did he mean by useful?

Still, at least the old wizard's attitude toward him had improved considerably. He even kindly told him to rest in a small bedroom on the first floor.

Except that he took back the old wand.

Anton slept for two whole days before he recovered.

A dull, stabbing pain still lingered in his head. He wondered whether it was because he had cast magic beyond his capabilities.

He could feel how weak he was and desperately wanted to crawl back into bed and sleep some more.

But he could not. He had gone hungry for two days. If he did not cook something soon, he would starve to death.

The old wizard had apparently just returned from an outing, carrying the faint scent of lamb chops and beer.

That only made Anton feel even hungrier.

With a sigh, he gave up any hope of the old wizard treating him to a decent meal. He cooked a simple bowl of knife-cut noodles, then squatted beside the stove and ate until sweat covered his forehead.

Sure enough, sleep and food were the best ways for a person to recover.

Feeling much more alert, he had barely left the kitchen when the sharp-eyed old wizard caught him and set him to processing the herbs piled in the corner.

"Only use the leaves of the bad bloodweed. Sort them carefully. Not a single scrap of root can get mixed in."

A mocking gleam shone in the old wizard's eyes. "Trust me, you don't want to die from massive blood loss after drinking the potion."

Anton was stunned. "This is for me?"

"Once you've sorted them, grind them up with the spotted tiger grass and pour them into the fire salamander blood. When it starts boiling, toss in this leech." The old wizard let out a boozy belch, stretched, and swayed as he grabbed the banister.

"Get moving, damn it. You've already wasted two days of my time. If you don't finish in time, you're dead."

Muttering, the old wizard went upstairs.

Anton curled his lip. If he's worried about running out of time, why can't he do it himself?

This potion was for him to drink? The assortment of bizarre ingredients sent a chill through him.

There was even a cage of mice and several caterpillars among them.

This would not be his first time drinking a potion. Once, Anton had drunk some strange, sticky concoction that covered his entire body in blisters and nearly killed him through dehydration.

I have to be patient.

Anton took a deep breath. He could not panic. Panic would lead to mistakes.

This old wizard was no good man. In these two short months alone, he had killed seven or eight people right in front of Anton.

Would he kill Anton too? There was hardly any question about it. This dark wizard had already killed more than one apprentice. On one occasion, it had been simply because he was in a bad mood.

Putting on his gloves, Anton silently ground the herbs.

Little by little, he ground the fear and murderous intent in his heart into a paste and buried it in the deepest recesses of his mind.

The complexity of this potion exceeded anything Anton had imagined.

It required preparing more than thirty ingredients. Some even had to be left under the blazing sun, while others had to be burned to ash.

There were also stages where it had to sit for one day or three days.

The old wizard brought over a large metal cross and chained the middle-aged man to it. "Tomorrow is the full moon. You're running out of time."

He was not speaking to the Werewolf, but to Anton.

Anton lowered his head without a word, silently stirring the potion with the old wand. He could feel his magic traveling along it, gradually being absorbed by the brew.

Thick bubbles rose from the dark green brew. Under the influence of his magic, thin threads of pale red spread through it.

As he maintained the flow of magic, he considered the only spell he knew, the Soul-Transferring Charm.

Having read the novels, he knew the incantations for several spells, but he did not know the wand movements or which emotions to draw upon.

He did not even know whether every spell required an emotion.

Then could the Soul-Transferring Charm be used directly as an attack?

What if I hit the old wizard with it again, then grabbed the knife on the table and slit his throat the instant I entered his body?

He did not know whether that would end with him dying while the old wizard gained a new life in his body.

Anton knew far too little about spells.

At last, the brew was complete.

Only a little clear, pale red liquid remained at the bottom of the cauldron, flecked with sparkling dark green specks. It looked beautiful.

"Ha ha!" The old wizard stared at the potion with delight.

"Quality this high requires the brewer's heart to be filled with malice." His expression was half teasing, half mocking.

"Only intense malice can produce such perfect quality." With an admiring sigh, the old wizard drew his wand.

"Now, what should I reward you with?"

"Cruciatus Curse!" The spell's light surged through the air and struck Anton's chest in an instant.

There was no time to react.

Countless tiny knives slashed madly inside his body.

Anton let out an agonized scream.

"Hhh... hhh..." He clawed at the gaps between the floorboards and gritted his teeth, refusing to let another cry of pain escape.

His gaze, fixed on the floor, turned utterly cold.

"Expelliarmus!"

The old wand flew from Anton's hand and landed in the old wizard's.

"You should learn to accept what fate has in store for you. Behave yourself."

Whistling, the old wizard sat down at his desk and packed his manuscripts into a suitcase.

He turned to the middle-aged man. "Only one last step remains. Ha ha, my experiment is almost complete."

The middle-aged man looked at Anton, who lay crumpled on the floor, and sighed. "You shouldn't treat a child like that."

"Ha ha." The old wizard laughed. "How curious. I caught you precisely because you were about to attack a young wizard."

"No. Once I transform into a werewolf, I can't control myself at all. I have no ill intent." Pain flickered in the middle-aged man's eyes. "I'd locked myself away, but someone tampered with the door and opened it, deliberately letting me out to hurt people."

The old wizard whistled. "Very good. You've moved me."

"I've decided to record your name in my research notes as a reward for your contribution to this great experiment. What's your name?"

The middle-aged man gave a self-mocking smile. "Moony."

"A wonderful name." Smiling, the old wizard picked up his quill.

Anton's eyes lit up as he lay twitching on the floor.

Moony?

Wasn't that Lupin?

He was no weakling. None of those chosen by Dumbledore to join the Order of the Phoenix were ordinary.

Then he might need a wand!