St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries, Long-term Ward.
To everyone's surprise, when Takesi Sung put the proposition to Lockhart—would he be willing to travel to Japan with him—Lockhart's first question was this: "If I go to your place, will I still be able to write books?"
Takesi Sung was visibly caught off guard.
Sherlock and Hermione exchanged a glance.
Harry and Cho Chang shared a look of equal surprise.
Given what they knew of Lockhart, they had expected him to ask about his job title, his responsibilities, his salary. Fame and fortune had always been the man's compass.
Though, come to think of it—wasn't this question also about fame and fortune, in its way?
Takesi Sung hesitated for a moment, then nodded. "The hospital I work in places no restriction on such things. On the contrary—if your work spreads some knowledge, we would welcome it."
"Then we have no problem!"
Lockhart's eyes lit up on the instant. He agreed without a second's further pondering.
That decisiveness left Dumbledore and Lupin, both of whom had been quietly bracing themselves, thoroughly at a loss.
All the same, the outcome was a good one, and the atmosphere in the ward eased again.
"Gilderoy, I think you ought to let your two sisters know."
Dumbledore, after a moment's thought, said what was on his mind.
The honest truth was that this journey to Japan might well be permanent. Out of consideration for various things not least Lockhart's feelings—he said nothing about the two years of silence, the empty bed, the letters from admirers that had been the only correspondence the ward ever received.
Lockhart, whose opinion of himself remained impeccably high, agreed at once without a second thought.
The remaining arrangements were settled quickly. Dumbledore would set out first, following the leads Lockhart provided, in search of the old wizard rumoured to be living in seclusion in Armenia—
Once there was news, he would send word to Takesi and the two of them would go together to retrieve the critical memory. Lockhart, meanwhile, would remain at St. Mungo's. He was to wait until the matter was fully resolved before returning to Japan with Takesi Sung.
"This is wonderful!"
When they stepped out of St. Mungo's and back onto the London streets, Harry's voice was bright with joy, and his step was lighter than it had been all day.
Almost without thinking, he reached out and took Cho Chang's hand.
The gesture made her start slightly.
A lazy summer wind moved through the street; even the clouds looked warm.
Cho's cheeks flushed red. She looked at Harry and said, "Someone as remarkable as Professor Lupin shouldn't be trapped by something he was born with."
Behind them, Cho's parents walked together.
Mrs. Chang expression was gentle.
Mr. Chang, who had always thought well of Harry, found something unaccountable stirring in his chest at the sight of their joined hands.
"Dear," he said, after a moment, "what do you make of what Takesi said earlier?"
"What will be, will be," Mrs. Chang said quietly. "What comes for us, comes for us. It's not as if we turned back for that kind of reason, back then."
Mr. Chang had no answer to that.
Meanwhile, Hermione turned to Sherlock beside her. "Do you think this will actually fix everything for Professor Lupin?"
"The odds are good."
Sherlock was genuinely satisfied with how things had gone. After all, it had been his idea from the start—the insight that Lockhart was the point of leverage.
What no one had anticipated was that when Lockhart woke, Dumbledore would find himself unable to extract the critical spell from him directly. At the crucial moment, it had been the thread Cho Chang brought on Harry's birthday that had turned everything around.
For Harry, that had been worth more than any birthday present.
This time, there were no further complications.
What followed moved faster than anyone had dared hope. Within three days of leaving St. Mungo's, Dumbledore had drawn on his vast network of connections throughout the wizarding world and located the old Armenian wizard.
He sent word to Takesi immediately, and they set out together.
As Dumbledore had suspected, Takesi Sung's intervention proved necessary in the end.
In part, this was because Lockhart's Obliviating had been genuinely skilful. Despite having been Obliviated, the old wizard had lived his life with almost no disruption—almost, because there was one small thing. He could no longer do for others in a werewolf's path what he once had.
But the other reason was simply that Dumbledore was a good man.
Voldemort had been able to pull information from Bertha Jorkins whose memory had been Obliviated by Barty Crouch—partly because Crouch's charm, though powerful, lacked finesse, and partly because the Dark Lord had never cared what became of those he used. He took what he wanted and left the wreckage behind. Bertha Jorkins had been left broken, and eventually killed—and in her murder, Voldemort had made Nagini his final Horcrux.
Dumbledore was not capable of that.
This was where Takesi Sung came in. As he had done with Lockhart, he used the Soul-Setting Charm to anchor the old wizard's spirit, and then carefully restored the memories the Obliviation had erased.
At last, Dumbledore had the spell—the one that could change Lupin's life.
The first full moon came quickly.
London's night sky was unusually clear, a few scattered stars set into the deep blue. Grimmauld Place No. 12 loomed in the darkness, its weathered outline traced in shadow, the fire in the hearth crackling and throwing shifting shapes across the stone walls.
Everyone connected to this matter had gathered in the sitting room. The mood was tense, expectant.
Remus Lupin sat on the edge of the sofa, both hands gripping his knees, his knuckles pale with the pressure.
Beside him, Sirius wore his usual air of casualness, but the worry in his eyes gave him away completely.
Sherlock, who had been the first to propose a solution to all of this, stood by the window looking out at the street, his thoughts unreadable.
Harry and Cho Chang stood together in a corner, speaking quietly.
Gemma and Hermione had drifted together, and every now and then one of them would glance in Sherlock's direction.
There was also Nymphadora Tonks.
She had only recently qualified as an Auror, and was now working with Kingsley Shacklebolt as a covert operative inside the Ministry, feeding information to the Order of the Phoenix. Tonight's gathering hadn't originally included her, but she'd come to pass along news, and then simply stayed.
"If this works," Sirius said, clapping Lupin on the shoulder, "you'll be able to cast the spell yourself every month. No more having the greasy bat take your classes whenever the moon's full."
Lupin managed a smile, though it cost him something.
At that moment, the sitting room door swung open, and Snape stepped in, trailing the cold night air behind him. His black robes swept the floor as he moved, and it was, frankly, rather difficult not to think of a large bat.
The instant Sirius saw him, his expression dropped. The ease he'd managed vanished, and his brow was back to its familiar knot.
They had promised Professor McGonagall to coexist peacefully—and since Voldemort's return, both had joined the reformed Order of the Phoenix but the old wounds from their schooldays had never fully closed. Every encounter still ended in barbs.
"What are you here for?" Sirius crossed his arms, not bothering to conceal his hostility.
"Sirius, don't—" Lupin pressed a hand to Sirius's arm, looking pained. "Severus finished brewing the Wolfsbane Potion for me just two days ago."
"Quite right, Lupin. You've always been more reliably functional than a certain dog-brained acquaintance of ours."
Snape's smile was cold.
"Who are you calling dog-brained?" Sirius wrenched free of Lupin's hand and his wand was out with a sharp crack.
"Whoever answers to it." Snape crossed his arms and held his ground without flinching.
"Why you—"
Sirius had gone red in the face and was a moment from letting something fly when a voice, clear and sharp with authority, cut across everything.
"Enough."
Sirius turned in astonishment. Even Snape's eyes widened slightly.
Because the one who had stopped Sirius was Harry—Harry, who had never had a kind word to spare for Snape.
Harry drew a breath. His voice was slightly unsteady, but his gaze was steady enough when he looked at Sirius. "Professor Snape is here to help. The Wolfsbane Potion he brewed has made an enormous difference for Professor Lupin. We should be thanking him."
Dumbledore, listening from his chair, felt the lines of his face ease into a warm, quiet smile.
The chosen one. He had truly grown.
Something flickered through Snape's eyes—complicated, unreadable and then he let out a soft sound that was almost a laugh, turned his face away, and said nothing more.
Sherlock's gaze moved between Harry and Snape. He watched the exchange settle, and something in it made him smile to himself.
Hermione had drifted to Sherlock's side when Snape came in. Catching that smile now, she looked at him curiously. "What are you laughing about?"
"Something that pleases me."
"What sort of thing?"
"Never mind. Did you bring what I asked you to bring?"
"Yes."
"Good. We'll need it shortly." Sherlock nodded.
"All right—it's nearly time."
Dumbledore rose to his feet and looked at Lupin. "Remus—you've taken the Wolfsbane Potion?"
Lupin nodded. "Just before."
"Not that it matters either way," Snape said, from his place propped against the doorframe. "If he loses control, we give him a thorough thrashing and test the new spell all the same."
The edge hadn't left his voice, but Sherlock noted, with interest, that the real hostility from earlier was gone.
"Nobody asked you!" Sirius shot back.
"Godfather." Harry's voice was minimal, almost a plea.
"Fine, fine." Sirius spread his hands and rolled his shoulders. "Not another word from me."
He still didn't understand why Harry was suddenly standing up for Snape, but the word godfather carried weight enough to hold him.
"Don't be nervous, Moony." He turned back to Lupin and delivered a firm, affectionate thump between the shoulder blades. "Even if the spell doesn't work, it doesn't matter. With the Wolfsbane Potion, at least you won't suffer the way you used to."
Lupin looked at his oldest friend with an expression of mild suffering.
That was not exactly a comfort. And after all you've just said about the Wolfsbane Potion—daring to keep Snape at arm's length—do you have any idea what kind of position that puts me in?
Still, Lupin knew Sirius well enough. He'd always been like this—easy, unruly, ungovernable. Back at Hogwarts, he and James had been even worse; Lily had refused to take James seriously for years because of it. It was only when James began to change that she'd started to look at him differently—and marriage had steadied him further still.
Sirius had never quite changed in the same way. He was still, in many respects, a boy who hadn't grown up—until Azkaban had taken some of it out of him. And then his name was cleared, and the old irrepressible energy had come flooding back.
Lupin smiled at the thought, glancing at Harry.
Strange, really. By rights, Harry was the one he should be protecting and guiding. And yet somehow, it was Harry who'd become the person capable of reining in his own godfather.
The world had gotten itself slightly turned around somewhere.
But Lupin had little time to dwell on that feeling, because something was already moving through him. A restlessness. A pull.
The full moon had finally edged out from behind its cloud cover. Silver light poured through the windows like water, pooling on the open floor of the sitting room.
When the moon's cold glow fell fully over Lupin, a low, strangled sound came from his throat, and his body began to shake beyond his control.
His skull stretched and elongated. The lines of his face blurred. His shoulders hunched high and sharp, as though something enormous were pressing down on him. Dense grey-brown fur rose across his face and hands, his fingers curling into claws that caught the light, his teeth pushing through his gums as his jaw extended. A low growl spilled from the corner of his mouth.
Then, finally, stillness.
After a long moment, Lupin—the werewolf—steadied. He raised one clawed hand with visible effort and gave Dumbledore a slow nod.
Watching from across the room, Sherlock nodded to himself quietly. Wolfsbane truly was a remarkable potion.
"Remus is ready."
Dumbledore's gaze moved around the room. After a brief pause, he named four people. "Severus. Sirius. Sherlock. Harry. Come with me."
The four of them followed Dumbledore and the werewolf into the adjoining room.
"Why didn't he call us?"
Tonks looked perplexed.
Hermione, Gemma, and Cho Chang all turned to look at her with identically peculiar expressions.
"What? Did I say something wrong?"
"Professor Lupin's clothes didn't quite survive the transformation," Cho said delicately. "So, if he changes back…"
"Oh!"
It landed.
Tonks pressed her hand to her mouth.
That explained why they hadn't called the girls.
There was a blankness in her dark eyes.
In the other room, Dumbledore turned to Lupin once more.
"Remus. Are you ready?"
The werewolf head dipped in a nod.
Dumbledore raised his wand without further hesitation. He pointed it at Lupin, and with clear, deliberate enunciation, spoke the spell that Lockhart had once begun and never finished:
"Hakuna Matata!"
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