The slacker professor at Hogwarts

Chapter 96 Werewolf, Flowers, and Girl

In the darkness, the werewolf ran wildly, using both hands and feet, fleeing the town and running across the rolling mountains in the wilderness, finally plunging headfirst into a patch of grass with small purple petals.

The sap from the plant's leaves seemed to be highly poisonous, irritating his wound and causing a burning sensation, but it also stopped the bleeding from the wound on his shoulder, leaving only a tingling, slightly itchy feeling after a short while.

Wolfsbane and aconite are highly poisonous magical plants. Many animals in the forest don't need to know this; they will naturally have an instinct to find herbs that can cure their problems.

After a while, the werewolf slowly stood up from the grass, jumped onto a large rock to the side, and howled at the full moon in the sky.

"Roar"

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Moonlight filled the air, and a mysterious power surged within.

His body twitched slightly, and the granulation tissue in the split wound on his shoulder wriggled and grew, pressing against each other, the wound twisting together in a ferocious manner.

The werewolf was panting heavily, his long, powerful arms hanging limply, his broad chest heaving rapidly.

He felt exceptionally wonderful.

Yes, wonderful.

After being injured and bleeding, the wildness in his heart was completely unleashed, spreading rapidly and wildly through every nerve and muscle in his body.

The lingering, indescribable restlessness seemed to be soothed. Bathed in the moonlight, he finally experienced a rare moment of peace after his transformation.

This tranquility seemed to bring his spirit and body into greater harmony.

The wolf squinted, feeling the gentle breeze and moonlight light softly ruffling its fluffy fur.

But soon, an indescribable sluggishness and disharmony suddenly appeared in his entire body.

His head began to collapse and shrink rapidly, and his body also shrank rapidly.

"I."

I'm fucking idiot!

Lockhart opened his eyes in disbelief, only to find himself once again detached from his wolf-like state. The forgotten memories deep within his mind bubbled up like boiling water.

No!

Other wizards infected with wolfsbane tried everything but couldn't recover, so why couldn't he ever enter the deepest werewolf state?

He simply remained still, looking up at the full moon in the sky, feeling the moonlight and the breeze, and vaguely seemed to have grasped something.

Mysterious power!

Yes, a mysterious force!

This power is actually always omnipresent, but humans always find it difficult to perceive where it is. The more they try to touch it, the further away they get from it. The more they try to understand and figure it out, the further they find themselves from the mystery.

Especially in the modern wizarding world, where magic has been disciplined, the perception of nature has been increasingly lost.

The earth, forests, moonlight, lightning, rivers, and oceans are mysteriously everywhere, yet in the course of social activities, humankind has increasingly distanced itself from them.

But in reality, it never left, accompanying the wizard in every spell he casts, every potion he adjusts, every alchemy he makes to create magical items, and every action he takes.

It's just a matter of how much participation there is.

It is an irrational force that requires a more spiritual instinct.

Like the spirituality of Luna, Newt, or Professor Trelawney, or the spirituality of Cresten wielding the power of the Obscurus.

Lockhart had to realize that he didn't actually possess that unique wizarding spirituality; at his core, he was just a Muggle.

What should I do?

Once you clearly understand the problem, it becomes much easier to solve.

He quickly sifted through his memories and finally found a magical memory that perfectly suited the werewolf – the Flight Spell.

Yes, Tom Riddle's Flying Spell.

This sounds a bit far-fetched; flying and werewolves are completely different things.

But here's the interesting part—their underlying colors match so perfectly.

This spell, which only Voldemort and Snape know in the wizarding world today, is actually not very complicated. All it requires is a very unique mental state to support it.

This state of mind is hard to describe in words.

Empty and desolate, without any support or basis.

Like a ghost, filled with a pale indifference to this world, yet not indulging in it, full of restlessness and longing for that touch of color in the world, yearning to chase after the world's rich and colorful moments.

Thus, without any incantation, the wizard naturally took to the air.

In the magical world, many spells do not require incantations, just like the Animagus's Transfiguration, which is formed naturally.

"I actually found the opportunity to process Tom Riddle's magic at this very moment?"

Lockhart's expression was strange.

Although he always says, "Step into the fairy tale and magic will naturally unfold," werewolves and Tom are completely unrelated.

喷~

In any case, having found a solution, he decisively began to try it.

Streaks of silver threads rapidly emerged from his head, transforming in mid-air into a silver liquid that resembled both smoke and water ripples, shimmering in the moonlight and exuding a mysterious aura.

"Chirp~~~"

He stretched his neck, puffed out his chest, and shouted.

The cry quickly changed from a human voice to a beast's cry, and his body transformed back into a werewolf.

Bathed in moonlight, the werewolf's fur rippled in the gentle breeze, as the silvery liquid formed from his memories swirled around him, allowing the mysterious power of the moonlight to influence the union of his spirit and flesh.

It was quite subtle; he finally entered the deepest level of that werewolf state.

The tumultuous memories in my mind are quickly forgotten, disappearing little by little.

But at this moment, as the werewolf completely digested Tom's memories of the flight spell, another memory was left in his mind that had been automatically hidden.

Lockhart's heart stirred, and he decided to let himself not interfere with this natural and mysterious change, and observe it quietly.

What remains is Tom's memory of the Killing Curse.

That was the cruelty of the werewolf's bestial nature, Tom's understanding of the flying spell, and the resonance with this memory.

"Roar~~"

He howled at the full moon in the sky again, this time with a unique spiritual feeling.

As he howled, flowers bloomed all around him, and gray wolves, forest spirits, stepped out from the moonlight to accompany him.

He didn't stop, and ran wildly through the woods again, running around as if he were rejoicing in his new life.

His movements had less of the werewolf's wild and untamed nature, but more of agility, more of the elegance of a flying spell, and more of the ruthlessness of a killing spell.

Accompanied by gray wolves, healing flowers bloom along the way.

This is a journey for wild beasts.

Soon, birds fluttered their wings and flew to accompany him, following him all the way and guiding his direction.

Guided by the birds, the werewolf eventually arrived at a strangely shaped wooden cabin deep in the forest.

Standing in the open space in front of the wooden house was an old witch covered with all sorts of strange decorations. She was stirring a large pot with a big wooden stick in both hands, and an extremely pungent smell was coming out of it. Green bubbles were bubbling in the pot, and purple smoke would rise up after they broke on the surface.

"You've arrived."

The old witch saw him visibly relax, glanced suspiciously at the gray wolves and birds around him, then at the flowers scattered on the ground, before her gaze was drawn to the wound on his shoulder. Her expression immediately changed. "You're injured?"

The werewolf was panting heavily, baring its teeth at her, but didn't attack.

"Come here quickly, my poor child."

She found a broken bowl, poured out a portion of the decoction from the large pot, and handed it to the werewolf. Then she hurriedly went to the shelf in the house to look for herbs, threw them into a small pot, quickly ground them into a paste, and applied it to the werewolf's wounds.

This was very useful; the werewolf's wounds miraculously healed, leaving no trace of the scars, as if they had been directly smeared away.

The werewolf just stared straight at her.

"Drink it, it'll do you good," she urged.

The werewolf glanced silently at the soup in the bowl, and finally brought it to his lips.

Just then, the sound of horses clattering rang out. The old witch looked in a panic toward the direction of the sound and saw a figure in a red cloak riding a horse rapidly approaching. She quickly pushed and rubbed the werewolf.

"Get inside and hide! You don't want your daughter to see you looking like this, do you?"

The werewolf nodded, threw away the empty bowl in his hand, quickly ran into the house, crawled under the bed, and pricked up his furry ears to carefully listen to the conversation outside.

"My poor granddaughter, you've finally returned," the old witch said to the girl in the red cloak.

"Yes, Grandma, I really did escape from that monster's castle! You have no idea what I went through!" The girl sounded very excited as she chattered on and on, pulling the old witch into the cabin.

The fire in the fireplace inside dispelled the chill of the falling snow outside. The girl lowered the hood of her red cloak and excitedly recounted her exciting adventure.

The furniture in the castle moves on its own; Lady Wardrobe offers her outfit suggestions; Lady Teapot always speaks philosophically.

The clockmaker was an old butler or something like that.

They also said that the beast in the castle had a beautiful flower frozen in ice.

"You've found the flower!" the old witch exclaimed excitedly, grabbing the girl tightly.

The girl nodded. "Grandma, if I get that flower, will I be able to become a witch like you?"

Grandma smiled kindly, "Yes, my child, this is the trial of every witch. We always have to go through great hardships to embark on the path of magic in order to truly touch the power of magic."

Things that come easily are often overlooked because they are not precious.

She stroked the girl's thick, fluffy brown hair, gently tidying it up after her journey, releasing her magic to make it smooth and shiny. "Child, you will become a very, very powerful witch."