Hufflepuff's Typical and Atypical

Regulus didn't have a particular opinion about Hufflepuff; he neither looked down on it nor thought highly of it, considering it just an ordinary school.

But Professor Sprout, the Dean of Hufflepuff, was someone he genuinely respected.

The witch who squatted in the Greenhouse every day, her fingers stuck in the mud, talking to the Magical Plant, was the most dedicated person he had ever seen to a young wizard. He could almost imagine Professor Sprout's expression when he heard the news about this student—not disappointment or blame, but only sadness at not coming to find him sooner.

If someone from another college had fallen to this state, he might not have cared much, but a Hufflepuff, Professor Sprout's child, he was more willing to listen to. But none of that mattered. The key point was that the professor had helped him too much.

The origin of the Severing Charm was that Professor Sprout told him that the Magic Power property of Mandrake was decomposition.

The origin of the Disintegration Charm was that Professor Sprout told him that the Magic Power of the Whomping Willow was based on Conduction and vibration.

Even the concepts of feedback, connection, and giving in Natural Magic were explained to him by the professor.

Without these, the strongest spells he currently possesses might not even have taken shape.

Regulus looked at the young Werewolf, his tone flat, neither warm nor pitying. "Tell me."

Of course he wouldn't rush to help; what would that look like?

The professor had helped him so much that he was willing to look after a Hufflepuff for the professor, but only if the person himself was capable.

I can only help you if you tell me. If you don't say anything, then forget it.

The young Werewolf remained silent for a moment, then spoke.

His voice was dry and hoarse, as if he hadn't spoken properly to anyone in a long time; the sound seemed to get stuck in his throat before finally finding its way out.

He spoke haltingly, but his pronunciation was fairly clear, and his choice of words was far more refined than those of Greyback and his ilk.

"My name is Edgar Tom," he said, his Adam's apple bobbing. "I graduated last year."

He said he liked herbs and after graduating, he worked at a herb garden in another county, not far from home.

A few months ago, he was collecting herbs near a swamp in North Wales. It got dark and the moon was full, but he didn't pay attention.

A lone Werewolf pounced out of the bushes, bit him, and ran away.

He went home once, stood at the door for a long time, and saw his mother turning on the light in the Kitchen and his sister writing something at the table through the window. Then he turned and left.

He feared that on the night of the full moon, he would become that biting creature, wake up in that Kitchen, and taste blood in his mouth.

He went to St Mungo's's. A few people were waiting in line in the lobby. The receptionist glanced at the bite mark on his shoulder and told him to wait. He waited, waited for a long time, watching people come and go, thinking that he would be looked at with pity, wariness, and disgust for the rest of his life. He knew that after being bitten, everything was over.

He left again.

Later, he heard that there was a mining village north of Yorkshire where Greyback sheltered Werewolf, so he came.

I had it all planned out when I came here. I had nowhere else to go, and at least this place wouldn't kick me out.

When they arrived, they learned that the lone Werewolf had been sent out by Greyback's men to bite indiscriminately.

Regulus asked, "And then what happened?"

Edgar glanced back at Greyback.

The Magic Power barrier Regulus had erected was still suppressing their voices, so the wolf couldn't hear what they were saying, but its yellow eyes remained fixed on them, like two smoldering embers.

"I've settled in," Edgar said, turning back. "Everyone here is the same; nobody dislikes you."

His voice lowered. "Nobody asked who you were before."

In the entire Magic world, nowhere would a Werewolf be accepted, except here, at least no one looked at him differently, because everyone was the same. A kind of bleak compromise, existing, but not really surviving.

Regulus listened, somewhat surprised, but not entirely.

He had assumed that Greyback would bite people and then abduct them to expand the clan, but it turned out that Greyback came on his own.

But upon closer examination, it makes sense.

This is the predicament of Werewolf: rejected by the whole world, the only place they can find refuge in is a quagmire among their own kind. Even a quagmire is a place for someone with nowhere else to go.

He recalled the two Magic Power textures he had seen before; the newly transformed ones were still struggling, while the ones that had been transformed for a long time had stopped struggling.

The one in front of me is still struggling, still tearing, still trying to confirm who it is by washing its nails and removing its stitches.

Compared to the empty house I had just seen in Greyback's mind, this house still had people inside, the lights were still on, but the doors and windows were being squeezed in from the outside, and the people inside were still desperately holding on.

One is the endgame, already over; the other is the ongoing battle.

He was faced with two extreme stages of the same disease at the same time.

Of the live samples, this one is more vibrant.

"Stay here," Regulus asked, "Or leave?"

After asking the question, he first thought about himself.

If he were in a different situation, the first thing he would do in this predicament would definitely be to find the professor.

Sprout, Dumbledore, Flitwick, Slughorn, McGonagall —none of them would abandon their responsibilities.

But then he thought the assumption was pointless; he would never actually end up like that.

Werewolf are a threat to wizards, but as long as one isn't completely incompetent, encountering one, blocking the attack, catching Apparition away isn't difficult. Not everyone can cast the complete Shield Charm, but Apparition is a life-saving technique that any decent graduate knows.

For a wizard who has attended school for seven years to be bitten by Werewolf at close range demonstrates that his skills are extremely poor.

The guy in front of me is really not very good.

Edgar was stunned, a glint of light flashing in his eyes.

Someone was willing to take him away from this godforsaken place—something he had long since dared not even think about anymore.

Then the light went out.

He lowered his head, staring at the cleaned undersides of his fingernails, as if checking to make sure there were no normal parts left on his body.

His voice was even hoarser than before. "We can't leave."

Regulus didn't respond, but glanced over, waiting for him to continue.

There was a moment of silence.

"Full Moon," he sighed, as if resigned to his fate, "When I transformed, I wasn't thinking clearly. My mind wasn't mine, and my body wasn't mine either. Here, it doesn't matter who I bite. There's no one I care about."

His voice deepened. "Going home means being closer to my parents, closer to the living. If I can't hold on during a full moon, that's my mother, my sister. I'd rather rot here."

"Why didn't you go find a professor?" Regulus looked at him. "Professor Sprout, or anyone else, Hogwarts won't abandon you." Edgar was silent for a long time, then said, "I went to the entrance of Hogwarts, stood outside the Castle, and saw the lights on in the Great Hall, and people laughing inside."

His Adam's apple bobbed. "I stood there thinking for a long time. Even if the professor were willing to take me in, what would the school offer a Werewolf who has already graduated? What would I offer to make the school make an exception for me?"

Her voice lowered further. "Besides, this disease is incurable, even a professor can't cure it."

This is true.

At this time, the Wolfsbane Potion had not yet been invented, and the Werewolf transformation could not be suppressed. The only way was to lock oneself up on the night of the full moon, endure it, and transform back at dawn.

Lupin has the Shrieking Shack and the Whomping Willow to protect him, Dumbledore has specially arranged protection for him, and someone watches over him every full moon. A Hufflepuff who has graduated doesn't have any of that.

Dumbledore could protect one student at school, but he couldn't protect everyone who was bitten and never returned.

Regulus looked at him.

I just thought this was an atypical Hufflepuff, but now he's so down on his luck, so pathetic, so resigned to his fate, so utterly cowardly.

Now it's flipped over.

He desperately wanted to go back, yet he prioritized the safety of others over his own survival.

There was a way out, but he blocked it himself so as not to implicate anyone.

This logic is flawed and can be easily dissected from any angle, but he clings to it and refuses to let go.

Unlike Gryffindor, who are brave, bravery is about plunging headlong into something and charging forward recklessly.

They're not as clever as Ravenclaw, whose cleverness lies in finding a way around a blocked path.

He knew perfectly well that this path was a dead end, but he still finished his work every day, washed his nails, and endured it all in a place where no one could see him, waiting for the most typical Hufflepuff.

A certain thought was ignited in Regulus's mind.

He had originally planned to leave after viewing the empty house in Greyback.

This situation gave him a pretext to take action.

The obstacle that this wolf couldn't overcome—its transformation into a dangerous creature—was precisely the one he wanted to try, and perhaps could solve.

Regulus said, "I can try to help you."

Edgar looked up abruptly.

"Let me make it clear what we're going to try first."

Regulus said calmly, "If I can't cure you, you'll always be Werewolf. But on the night you can transform, I can make sure you don't lose your mind and hurt people. Maybe I can try that."

He changed the subject, saying, "Whether it works out or not, I can't guarantee it. But if it does, you might still have to come back someday."

Edgar's eyes lit up immediately, and this time they didn't dim.

He opened his mouth, but no sound came out; his lips trembled violently. In the end, he just nodded several times emphatically.

Lucius listened from the side, his brow furrowing slightly, his gaze lingering on Regulus's face for a moment.

He wouldn't deign to help a Werewolf; he wouldn't even consider getting involved with Werewolf.

But he took Regulus's words to heart and understood what they meant.

With profound mental Magic and the ability to intervene at the level of will, how many wizards in all of UK can suppress Werewolf's transformation?

Regulus was only thirteen years old.

Lucius combined this statement with the blows he had just dealt to Greyback and arrived at what he thought was a correct conclusion.

Regulus wasn't trying to help anyone.

He was conducting an experiment, using this Hufflepuff Werewolf to test his unseen methods.

Just like with Greyback, find a younger sample and measure different things.

Lucius's gaze towards Regulus subtly shifted, taking on a knowing, as if he had seen a kindred spirit.

At the Christmas Banquet, the Regulus who exuded gray Magic Power and whose staff glowed green was the real Regulus —Black cold, efficient, and everything else was just a facade.

Someone capable of wielding that level of Dark Arts —can you really expect him to be a kind person who softens at the sight of pitiful people?

It's laughable just thinking about it.

What I just said to Hufflepuff was nothing more than polite words to coax the experimental subjects into cooperating.

Thinking this way, Lucius much more at ease and on the right track.

Regulus ignored what Lucius was thinking.

He did it; it was still Legilimency, entering Edgar's spirit.

But unlike the previous method, Greyback forced his way in, smashing through any obstacles in his path.

Edgar did not resist; in fact, he welcomed him and opened himself up to let him in.

He wants this.

Regulus also restrained his strength, advancing gently and slowly, pushing his mental power in gradually, but the result was the same; he went in in an instant. He searched within Edgar's mind, looking for the most steadfast and unyielding element in the layer of humanity.

I've moved past the fear of being bitten, past the nightmares of full moon nights, and past the nights when I was so homesick I went crazy.

None of these are strong enough; they will all be washed away.

Further in, they found it; several items were intertwined.

His family members he cared about: his mother's silhouette as she turned on the Kitchen light, and his younger sister's hair whorl as she did her homework at the table.

He still remembered who he was: Edgar Tom, last year's Hufflepuff, a herb lover, someone who didn't want to become a monster. At the very bottom of all was the heaviest thing: he'd rather rot himself than harm an innocent person.

This is it.

Hufflepuff has its own unique traits: clumsy, heavy, stubborn, but incredibly resilient.

A smarter person would have already prepared an escape route; this little bit of stuff isn't strong enough.

This quality is useless in a place like Greyback, but for Regulus, it's exactly what serves as an anchor.

Regulus pulled out the anchor point, lit it, and reinforced it.

A hint of deep blue appeared in his eyes.

The light of Bellatrix.