With a flick of the wand, the heavy drapes parted silently on either side of the floor-to-ceiling window.

  Moonlight poured into the room like a silvery tide.

  Remus Lupin’s eyes flew open, panic crashing over him as he caught sight of the full moon outside. “No. No—please, don’t do this. Don’t!”

  The old wizard chuckled, a raspy, gurgling sound. “Rex.”

  Thick fur began to ripple over Lupin’s body. He let out a strangled cry as his head thrashed—his mind now like a frenzied rabbit trapped in a cage, smming itself against the walls.

  Then came the transformation. Bones snapped. Muscles twisted. The human head twisted into a massive lupine snout.

  Lupin, suspended halfway in mid-air by heavy chains, grew enormous. His feet smmed against the ground, cws scraping as he strained, making the iron bindings rattle and scream.

  “A perfect magical Animagus,” the old wizard breathed, his voice reverent as though admiring a masterpiece. “Do you see it?”

  He spun toward Anton with wild eyes, bloodshot and bulging with manic delight. “They don’t understand—none of them do! This is the ultimate magical Animagus. The only magical creature humans can become! A weapon of war—infinitely replicable, horrifying in its power!”

  “Diffindo!”

  The Severing Charm fshed like lightning and struck the werewolf. A few tufts of fur scattered into the air, revealing nothing more than a superficial scratch.

  “Look at that. Just look at it!”

  The old wizard clicked his tongue in awe. “Fwless.”

  “Praise the ancient wizards!” he cried, ughing madly. “Praise their glorious invention—the only magical Animagus in existence!”

  “Praise Damocles Belby, who invented the Wolfsbane Potion and fixed the werewolf’s fatal fw—irrational bloodlust!”

  “Praise Alex Fiennes—me! I shall perfect this magic. I’ll make it so anyone, anywhere, can become a werewolf!”

  The werewolf howled. The wizard howled louder, his voice shrill and cracked with feverish ecstasy.

  He swung his wand and pointed it at Anton. “Drink the Wizard’s Eye potion. Now!”

  Anton hesitated.

  Then, wordlessly, he raised the vial and downed it in one swift gulp.

  Cold surged through his skull like icy currents. He blinked, confused.

  And realized—he could see more.

  Another eye.

  The old wizard stood before him like a glowing silhouette, his body a swirling patchwork of brownish-gray overid with streaks of ink-green. The green threads shimmered like torn fractures—and if Anton looked closely enough, he could make out three intricate patterns.

  The exact same ones inked into the runes on his wrist.

  Looking down, he saw what y beneath the cracked wooden floorboards: a pulsing, glowing web of brown blocks and green threads, forming the structure of an enormous magical array.

  He gnced back up—inside Lupin’s body, pale blue lines surged and churned like a violent sea, twisted and coiled into unrelenting motion.

  It was beautiful. Horrifying.

  And every new detail he took in felt like a hammer to his skull.

  He staggered, nausea rising in his throat, and dry-heaved violently.

  The old wizard cackled, completely unbothered. “Fascinating, isn’t it? My potion’s a miracle of magical innovation!”

  “Now! Cast the Possession Charm on the werewolf!”

  He shoved an old wand into Anton’s hand, eyes burning with anticipation.

  Anton stared at him calmly. “If this potion’s so miraculous, why don’t you drink it?”

  Over the st two months, Anton had learned: ask the right question at the right moment, and the madman either explodes—or blurts out exactly what you need.

  And right now, the old wizard needed him alive.

  “The Wizard’s Eye requires immense physical endurance! My body is barely clinging to bance as it is,” he snapped. “Even one drop would destroy me!”

  “Now, my brilliant apprentice—do it! Cast the charm! Let us begin the final stage of this glorious experiment!”

  Anton gave a thin smile.

  He raised his wand toward Lupin. “Spiritus Eximo!”

  The charm ignited between him and the werewolf, a formless force linking their minds.

  “Yes! That’s it!” the old wizard excimed, seizing a page from the table—a diagram drawn in strange, oily green ink.

  “Quickly! Close your eyes—use the Wizard’s Eye to look inward. Tell me: what threads are missing?”

  Under the joint effect of the Possession Charm and the potion, Anton’s entire world convulsed.

  He felt like he was spiraling through a tornado of light and lines and chaos. Threads whipped past his vision—twisting, snapping, expanding.

  His stomach churned. His skull throbbed.

  But he’d lived through the Cruciatus Curse—many times. He’d learned how to endure.

  He clenched his jaw and forced his focus inward, toward the swirling storm of lines inside him. At st, he saw it—dark green fissures moving like threads, stretching and colpsing in strange rhythms.

  Beautiful. Terrifying.

  He felt something pull.

  Like a taut rubber band finally reaching its limit.

  And then he was flung backward—violently.

  Gasping. Wheezing. Like he hadn’t drawn breath in hours.

  Maybe he hadn’t.

  He stared at the sunlight pouring through the window. At Lupin, now human again.

  It was noon.

  But to Anton, it felt like minutes had passed.

  “Hurry!” the old wizard shouted, shoving a worn piece of parchment under his nose. “While it’s fresh—draw the rest of the diagram!”

  The parchment was stained and scribbled on dozens of times, the ink faded and inconsistent.

  Anton pressed his lips together and took the quill, carefully completing the pattern.

  “Brilliant! Perfect!” the old wizard cried, marveling at the lines. Then his brow furrowed. “Wait. No. This connection—what is this supposed to mean?”

  Anton grinned to himself.

  That line? I drew it wrong on purpose.

  He watched the old man’s expression twist in confusion.

  Two months of study had taught him everything about this lunatic—this dark wizard who’d sacrifice anything for magical research. When stuck on a problem, he’d stand still, motionless, for hours, trying to work it out.

  And this—

  This was his moment.

  Anton slowly picked up the potion bottle he’d pced behind him earlier—deliberately positioned so the old man wouldn’t notice.

  Just a few drops left.

  The old wizard, still muttering, tilted his head, staring into space as he tried to decipher the diagram.

  Perfect.

  You said your body can’t handle even a drop, right?

  Anton’s eyes glinted.

  “Well then—good news.”

  The old man let out a startled gurgle as Anton poured the remaining potion into his mouth. Most of it spilled out, but enough went down.

  The old wizard’s eyes bulged. “You!” he choked, staring at the empty vial.

  Anton gave a calm smile.

  His other hand darted upward, grabbing the wand from the old wizard’s grip and yanking it free.

  He rolled across the floor and nded beside the iron frame that had restrained Lupin.

  “No! No!” the old wizard screamed. Jagged green cracks began to spread across his body. “Noooo!”

  The fractures deepened—glowing lines of magic surged beneath his skin, one running straight from beneath his colr and splitting his skull in two.

  And yet—he still didn’t die.

  “You gave me the potion, you idiot! You cursed little brat—AHHH!”

  His scream pierced the room like a banshee’s wail, louder than any Anton had ever made under torture.

  “Give me back my wand!”

  He thrust out a hand—just his hand.

  A fsh of magic burst forth.

  Shit—wandless casting!

  It was fast. Way too fast to dodge.

  Anton barely stumbled out of the way before it hit him square in the chest.

  He fell hard—but his eyes lit up.

  “The Cruciatus Curse?”

  It hurt, yes—but not nearly as much as usual.

  After two months of near-daily sessions, his body was practically acclimated to it.

  He gritted his teeth, crawled to his knees, and shoved the wand into Lupin’s hand.

  …

  Lupin stared at the chaos around him, stunned.

  He lifted the wand and gave it a cautious flick—his chains cttered to the ground.

  Another wave of the wand, and the Cruciatus flying toward them was batted away like a paper ball.

  Then he turned, smiling gently at the boy on the floor.

  “My name,” he said, “is Remus Lupin.”