The moment Dumbledore cast the Homorphous Charm, a warm, pale-golden ribbon of light drifted from the tip of his wand and wound itself around Lupin's body.
Before the astonished eyes of those gathered, Lupin let out a sudden howl.
The sound was a tangle of heart-rending agony and overwhelming relief. His knuckles whitened as he clawed at the floor, leaving deep gouges in the carpet.
Then, in the next instant, the transformation began.
The dense grey-brown fur that covered his arms receded like a withdrawing tide, flowing back along the grain of his skin to reveal the pale, smooth flesh beneath.
The fingernails sharp as talons only moments ago trembled faintly against his palms as they drew back in, the pads of his fingers rounding once more into something human.
His elongated, distorted bones gave a series of faint clicks. The hunched spine straightened slowly, the silhouette of a man gradually restating itself.
The pointed fangs at the corners of his mouth retracted into his gums, and as they did, the savage lines of his face softened.
At last, Lupin sank to his knees on the carpet, utterly spent, wrapped in nothing but a few shreds of torn cloth, his chest was heaving with ragged breaths.
"It worked?"
He lowered his head slowly and stared at his own hands.
They were a human's hands. Between the fingers, small cuts remained from where he'd clawed the floor.
But the fingertips carried a warmth he had not felt in a long time, trembling.
Hesitantly, he raised one hand and brushed his fingertips across his cheek.
No coarse fur. No sharp angles. The skin had the fine texture of a person's.
His head snapped up. His eyes were already red, tears sliding down his face, his voice was so choked it barely held its shape: "It actually worked?"
A flicker of satisfaction crossed Dumbledore's eyes. He exchanged a glance with Snape, and the two walked side by side to where Lupin knelt.
Snape's thin lips pressed into a line. His gaze moved like a cold probe—swift and precisely across Lupin's arms, his neck, his fingertips. After a brief assessment, he gave Dumbledore a small nod.
At this, Dumbledore raised his wand in a gentle flick. The robes that had been torn to rags were instantly restored.
He reached down and helped Lupin to his feet; his voice was full of wonder: "What a remarkable man you are. A spell like this—it gives hope to every werewolf alive."
Harry's eyes stung at the sight. He turned away quickly, but couldn't stop himself from reaching up to brush the corner of one eye.
Sirius, beside him, clapped a firm hand on Harry's shoulder. His throat moved. Whatever he had meant to say lodged there, and came out instead as a long, smiling exhale.
Lupin could stay at Hogwarts now—legitimately, openly.
And more than that: the curse that had shadowed most of his life finally had a chance of being broken.
"Don't celebrate too soon."
Snape spoke then, without warning. His tone was cold, each word landing like a stone dropped into still water.
What he said next was no less stimulating: "From what I can observe, this Homorphous Charm is temporary in its effect. When the next full moon rises, he will transform again."
"That is enough."
Lupin smiled gently. His voice was soft, but there was determination in it.
He looked at Snape with no resentment in his eyes, only gratitude. "Severus. In the days ahead, I will practice casting the Homorphous Charm on myself while in wolf form."
"Do as you like."
Snape gave a cold snort and turned to leave—but Dumbledore stopped him. "Severus, one moment. There is something I need to say to you."
Snape's steps faltered. His brow creased, barely perceptibly. But he stayed.
Sirius and Harry had moved to support the weakened Lupin on either side. Both were careful, cautious—handling him as though he might shatter.
Sherlock had been following them toward the door when Dumbledore's voice reached him again: "Sherlock, if you wouldn't mind—please stay as well."
Harry, hand already on the doorknob, stopped mid-motion. Sirius turned back, puzzlement plain on his face.
Snape's brow furrowed sharply. The look he trained on Sherlock sharpened with something close to wariness.
A moment later, the three of them each looked away.
Only Harry, as he slipped out the door, couldn't help glancing back once at the three who remained.
"It worked—it actually worked! This is wonderful!"
The moment they stepped out of the room, everyone who had been waiting in the corridor surged forward at once.
Seeing that Lupin had been restored, the crowd broke into joyful smiles.
Tonks, cheeks flushed crimson with excitement, grabbed Harry by the hair and gave it a vigorous tousle.
The force of it drew a hiss from Harry.
"Brilliant, Harry—the spell worked, it really worked!"
Harry looked at Tonks, mildly startled. Her eyes were blazing just then, bright as stars.
Strange. When had they grown this close?
He smoothed down his rumpled hair. Still, the corner of his mouth curved up.
Hermione and Gemma were equally elated.
Gemma had been in her seventh year when Lupin first came to Hogwarts as a professor—which meant she had experienced firsthand what he could do in the classroom, especially compared to the parade of dreadful predecessors.
Cho Chang's reaction was a little more restrained than the other three women, though she too watched the scene with quiet, genuine happiness.
"Cho, thank you—I—"
"No more thanks," Cho said, meeting Harry's gaze and shaking her head with a smile. "This is a result we all wanted to see."
Gemma nodded. "Cho's exactly right."
Hermione, though, let out a small sigh. "Such a powerful spell—and Lockhart used it only for himself, then wiped his own memory of it…"
She thought back to how she had once idolized him. The sheer foolishness of it made her wince.
'How could I ever have admired someone like that?'
"No one cares about werewolves—unless someone they love becomes one."
Harry and Sirius had just helped Lupin settle onto a bench in the corridor when he accepted a piece of chocolate from Tonks and spoke in a tone laced with bitterness: "That's always been the way of it. People's attitude toward werewolves never changes—including my own father's.
"Unless their family is directly affected, most people never spare a thought for giving werewolves their humanity back.
Damocles invented the Wolfsbane Potion because a loved one of his became a werewolf.
You all see me here in the Order, or at Hogwarts, sheltered by Dumbledore's protection. You don't see what it looks like for the rest of my kind.
When people find out about my condition, almost none of them will speak to me anymore—"
The words fell into silence. No one had anything to say.
Lupin's voice was soft, but it worked like a needle pressed into each of their chests.
Tonks looked at Lupin with his eyes cast down, and something in her chest felt suddenly, inexplicably tight.
She caught herself and quickly spoke, pitching her voice toward lightness and mild curiosity: "I wonder what Professor Dumbledore and Professor Snape and Holmes are still talking about in there? How long are they going to be?"
"He said he had something to tell Sherlock and Snape," Harry offered.
Tonks's deflection had worked.
Or perhaps the others had been curious about that too.
"It does seem odd," Sirius said, genuinely puzzled. "What could possibly need to be said to just those two?"
Back inside the room.
"I imagine you're both wondering why I asked you to stay."
After Harry, Sirius, and Remus had gone, Dumbledore turned to Sherlock and Snape.
"Dumbledore, I know why you kept me. What I don't understand," Snape said, throwing a sharp glance at Sherlock, "is why him. I don't see why the conversation that follows should involve him at all."
"On the contrary, Severus."
Dumbledore flicked his wand, and two armchairs slid across the floor to settle behind them.
"Sit. Standing makes conversation tiresome."
Snape's expression deepened with suspicion, but he sat.
Sherlock smiled faintly and took his seat.
"You once told me," Dumbledore began, "that if I truly put on that ring, even you could only give me another year or so at best."
Snape glanced at Sherlock. "On that point alone, his mind is rather clearer than yours."
"Precisely—and what I mean to say is this: where I once had less than a year to act, I now have time to spare."
Dumbledore raised the hand that had once reached for Marvolo Gaunt's ring and studied it with attention as a collector might examine a curious antique.
"I am fortunate. Extraordinarily fortunate, to have you both near me. Sherlock. Severus."
"Get to the point," Snape said flatly, tugging at his black robes with barely restrained irritation. Whatever patience he possessed was nearly exhausted.
Since Harry, Sirius, and Remus had left, Sherlock had been observing him with blatant interest. And though Snape had quietly reinforced his Occlumency shields, he had the unsettling sense that it had done absolutely nothing.
It felt as though Sherlock's gaze carried some power of its own—one that could strip his secrets bare.
"I mentioned previously that I hoped you would teach Harry Occlumency," Dumbledore said, turning to face Snape. There was something almost like pleading in his tone.
"Ha. The boy is his father made flesh—arrogant, self-important, and mediocre. I have no reason to believe he could ever learn—"
"In appearance, perhaps. But at his core, he takes after his mother."
"I'm afraid I must disagree. Apart from those eyes, I see nothing of Lily in him whatsoever."
The last traces of warmth drained from Snape's voice. He turned his face away, unwilling to summon her image.
"Trust me, Severus. Spend enough time with the boy, and you'll see it."
Snape answered with only a contemptuous exhale.
"I have found another lead on a Horcrux. I had intended to pursue it with you both, but Gilderoy's sudden recovery threw off my plans."
Snape's lip curled, scorn filled his eyes. "Yes—your great and boundless compassion. You'll throw yourself at every soul not yet entirely beyond saving, and yet you've never once stopped to consider my soul."
"Helping an old man escape pain and humiliation will not damage your soul, Severus."
Dumbledore's voice carried a note of plea, and the gaze he fixed on Snape was worn through with exhaustion. "If I'm honest, I would rather end things quickly and without suffering than drag on and on, dying in pieces—like a useless old branch rotting where it stands."
"Whether you fear death or not is none of my concern. What I care about is the promise you made me!"
Snape's voice turned rough. "Last time you gave me your word, and then—and then—"
"She and James placed their trust in the wrong person."
Dumbledore's eyes held a flicker of sorrow. "As did you, Severus—didn't you? You once believed Voldemort would spare her."
Snape went stiff. He turned instantly to look at Sherlock.
"There's no need. He already knows all of it." Dumbledore said, quite calmly.
"You swore to me you would tell no one!"
Snape's voice pitched high up. He seemed to catch himself a moment later—his wand swept sharply through the air.
And just like that, Sherlock found he could no longer hear a word of their conversation.
Which, ultimately, made little difference.
He leaned back slightly in his chair, watching the two of them with quiet, absorbed interest. Observation alone was more than sufficient.
"You swore—you told me it would stay between us! That no one else would ever know—especially not Potter's son!"
Snape was on his feet now, his expression was a collision of fury and despair.
"Compose yourself, Severus."
"If I weren't composed, I'd have already—"
Snape's lips moved rapidly. He stepped forward, closing the distance between them until he was nearly in Dumbledore's face.
"Given me an Avada Kedavra, is that it?"
Dumbledore smiled, it was a slight, self-deprecating smile. "Believe me or not, Severus, I will tell you plainly: I kept my oath. I never told anyone. Not once. Not voluntarily.
"The boy worked it out himself."
"Impossible." Snape flinched a full step. "Absolutely impossible."
He turned his head and fixed Sherlock with a stare.
And Sherlock caught it clearly—that expression of sheer disbelief across Snape's face.
"Face the truth, Severus. And it is precisely why I asked him to stay today—because he knows everything. And furthermore—"
Dumbledore's tone lightened, though those sharp blue eyes locked onto Snape like a hawk's: "If you truly didn't believe it possible, why have you been avoiding him all this time?
Have you forgotten? Every time you see him, you instinctively look away. You manufacture reasons to leave early.
You're afraid. Afraid he'll uncover your secret.
Aren't you?"
Snape: …
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