What a move—so hands-on.
Tonks's fists itched to hit someone.
Who does that?! No warning, no heads-up, just shoves her straight into a hallucination. And in that illusion, Harry wasn't the steady, reliable young man he'd become—he was just a regular Gryffindor kid. Sirius hadn't matured either; he was the same reckless soul he'd been right after graduating from Hogwarts, even after escaping Azkaban.
In the vision, Sirius died in the Ministry's chaos.
Without him or Harry, her relationship with Lupin had never grown this close.
In the end, Lupin died defending Hogwarts, and she lived on, alone and hollow.
Just remembering the vision twisted her insides in agony.
Drip.
A crystal-clear teardrop fell, rippling the potion's surface like diluted elixir. In an instant, the complex potion transformed into something pure—like spring water, transparent and clear.
Harry passed the potion over.
Lupin took it without hesitation and drank it in one gulp.
The same wondrous light enveloped him.
A thick black mist erupted from his body—massive, waist-high, with a slim waist and a sorrowful expression, crowned with Lupin's face. His eyes were bottomless wells of grief, reflecting the pain and sorrow of three decades.
Lupin, in his wolf form, smiled.
He knew exactly what was happening.
"Goodbye, Remus," he whispered.
The mist-wolf dispersed, evaporating in the blink of an eye.
His coarse fur shed, his ears shrank, his bones cracked painfully as his transformation reversed. It wasn't gentle—more like tearing out a root that had been growing for over thirty years.
To become a werewolf took only one bite.
To become human again? Just a breath.
Within the iron cage, amid howls and sharp cries, Remus Lupin turned back into a man—completely bare. His clothes had been torn apart during transformation, leaving only the magically protected pocket hanging from his waist.
Tonks stared unabashedly.
This was relevant to their future, after all.
Lupin scrambled to cover himself. "Harry—clothes?"
"None," Harry said, shaking his head.
"I can share my robes," Tonks offered, stripping off her tattered outer cloak.
Lupin quickly pulled it on. "Thanks."
But Tonks wasn't as tall as Lupin. What had been baggy on her barely fit him. The hem barely reached his knees, cinching tightly around his chest.
He looked ridiculous.
Tonks burst into unrestrained laughter.
"Harry, I know your hat's got clothes in it," Lupin grumbled, tugging at the hem.
Harry gave him a strange look.
Lupin returned it with equal confusion.
Then Harry said, gently, "You can do magic now. You're not a werewolf anymore."
The realization hit Lupin like a bolt.
He pulled his wand from the magically-expanded pocket and gave it a flick.
Immediately, the ill-fitting robe transformed into a well-fitted garment.
"Much better," Lupin sighed, stretching his limbs. "Thanks, Harry. I—"
He couldn't finish.
The curse was truly gone.
He'd seen Harry obsess over this for years. How he badgered Snape into helping, even though they could barely stand each other. How he'd tried everything.
Lupin had hoped.
But lycanthropy was older than Hogwarts itself, older than Merlin's legend. No one knew its origin, and for thousands of years, no one had solved it.
He believed Harry might do it—but in ten, twenty, even thirty years…
And yet—here it was.
Gone.
And he had love, too.
It felt like a beggar waking up a millionaire, too fast, too unreal.
Harry waved it off. "Thank Tonks. And as for me, Uncle Remus—we're family."
Lupin swallowed his emotional speech, smiled brightly. "What about the rest of the werewolves?"
"We leave them here until morning," Harry said.
He waved his wand again.
The caged werewolves were separated.
Even in confinement, they were violent—biting, clawing each other.
"Aunt Tonks, contact the Ministry," Harry instructed gently. "Have them send people to keep watch. When the sun rises, I'll come pick the ones I want."
The last part had an unmistakable edge.
Tonks nodded and pulled out a two-way mirror.
This one was linked to Scrimgeour.
She gave him the situation, and the young Minister groaned. To meet Harry's request, it wasn't enough to send ordinary staff—they lacked the numbers and skill. The Department of Magical Law Enforcement had to handle it, but that meant dealing with Thicknesse.
Surprisingly, Thicknesse agreed immediately, without hesitation. Even when Scrimgeour insisted on coming personally to prevent sabotage, Thicknesse agreed without complaint.
Once the Aurors arrived, Harry and the others Disapparated back to Hogsmeade and returned to Hogwarts.
Flitwick took Lupin and Tonks to the infirmary.
Harry headed to Snape's office.
He knocked, didn't wait for an answer, and entered directly.
"Mr. Potter," Snape said, putting down his quill with irritation. "I don't recall assigning you detention this term."
"We found the cure for lycanthropy," Harry said quietly.
Snape froze, narrowing his eyes. "Slughorn?"
Harry shook his head. "No, it was… unexpected."
He paused. "You remember the werewolf gathering Crouch mentioned this year?"
Snape glanced at the calendar—it still showed October 19th. With a flick of his wand, he tore off the old pages and checked the current date. Then he nodded.
"Tonks was bitten," Harry said. "While Lupin was giving her the potion, his tears mixed in—and it cured her."
"Werewolf tears?" Snape jumped in.
They'd tried that before. Useless.
Harry shook his head. "No. Lover's tears."
Snape went silent.
"Love," Harry added. "That thing Dumbledore always talked about."
Then he recited, solemnly:
"For richer or poorer, in sickness and in health, in hardship or happiness, for life and beyond, I will not leave you."
"And so, the curse upon the body was broken."
Snape didn't speak.
"I'm almost twenty," Harry said abruptly.
Still, no reply.
"I plan to publish this in Potioneering Monthly. Professor, do you want your name on it?"
It was the top journal in magical pharmacology—like Transfiguration Today in its field.
"You should credit Lupin and Tonks," Snape sneered. "Think, Potter. Crouch already suspects me. Publishing this will just hand him evidence."
"I still need to write it up," Harry murmured. "I'm not experienced."
Snape banged the desk. "Potter, I taught you Potions for five years. Open your eyes and look at your schedule. Who's your Potions professor now?"
Harry didn't reply.
Snape waved him off. "Thank Merlin, I'm finally free. Get out of my office, Potter!"
"I'm preparing next week's class."
"It's Friday," Harry reminded.
"Then next week's class!" Snape snarled.
"OUT!"
"Ten points from Gryffindor!"
Harry backed out, but just before the door closed, he peeked back in. "Professor—I'm almost twenty."
"Twenty points from Gryffindor!" was Snape's cold response.
Harry left.
Snape sat there for a long time.
The notebook before him was Slughorn's lycanthropy research—his and Snape's ideas interwoven, sparking brilliance.
But none of it had worked.
Because the answer wasn't an ingredient.
It was an emotion.
"Love is the oldest, strongest magic," Dumbledore's voice echoed in his mind. He'd said it more than once.
Snape had never really believed it.
Power came from spells, from knowledge, from skill. Harry, Dumbledore, even Voldemort—all had it through tangible means.
But now…
Now it was undeniable.
Snape reached for his own notes. At the very end, he scrawled a crooked, four-letter word.
Love.
Lupin had returned to a man. Tonks was his cure.
He was clean—free of lycanthropy.
Snape dropped his quill, opened his lowest drawer.
Inside were two photo frames.
One held a picture of Lily, young and smiling.
The other—a painting, magically copied from Harry's memory, of Lily in her wedding dress. Alone. No James. Just her.
He finally understood why Harry had emphasized his age.
But…
Minor poisons can be cured with bezoars.
Stronger ones, with universal antidotes.
But a poison distilled by time, regret, longing—a poison brewed over decades?
Only one cure exists.
Snape sat there, unmoving, until dawn.
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Powerstones?
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