Chapter 176: Moonrise And Moonset
“Mother, why is the moon different every day?”
Someone whispered softly in the dark night.
The sound seemed to come from a very distant place, indistinct and somewhat familiar.
“Mother doesn’t know. Do you know? Tell Mother about it.” The witch said softly, especially gentle.
“The book says the moon doesn’t actually glow; it reflects the sun’s light, but it’s also orbiting us. Sometimes only part of it is illuminated by the sun, so only part reflects light, making it look different every day.”
“Is that so? Mother’s darling is so clever! Then what kind of moon do you like?”
“I like the round moon; it looks pretty!”
“……”
Remus heard their conversation and felt warmth in his heart, as if he were back in his childhood, lying in his mother’s arms, noisily asking some silly questions to pass sleepless nights.
The voices by his ear gradually faded, his consciousness blurred, and Remus sank back into boundless darkness.
Morning light shone through the window; the person lying in the shadows slowly got up, removed the towel from his mouth, untied the heavy iron chains wrapped around his body, leaned on the sofa, and let out a long breath.
Looking out the window, the neighbor’s house was already bustling. The witch named Liza put a lunchbox into her schoolbag and handed it to the chubby child, kissing his cheek before heading out.
The little boy was a bit shy, his face slightly red. He mumbled a few words as if complaining, then ran with big steps toward the school bus parked at the end of the street, waving goodbye to his mother.
“……”
Seeing this scene, Remus couldn’t help but smile, which tugged at the bruises on his body, making him grimace in pain.
He reached out and gently pressed; from his right shoulder to his left abdomen, there was a wound from the iron chain, mixed with a few scrapes, probably from struggling too hard. There were also some bruises on his abdomen and knee, unclear how they happened, but they hurt anyway.
These were nothing; the main issue was that his clothes were torn again, looking like claw marks from wolf claws. The Repairing Charm didn’t work, so he could only mend them when he got back in the evening.
Remus frowned in annoyance, walked into the bathroom, and scooped up a handful of cold water to wash his face.
“Hoo…”
In the thawing icy weather, the cold water made him shiver. His face had been somewhat listless from lack of rest, but now he was instantly alert. Remus examined himself carefully in the mirror; aside from a pale face and sore jaw muscles, there were no obvious wounds.
It shouldn’t arouse his employer’s suspicion; he could keep his job as a handyman at the owl specialty store.
Remus breathed a sigh of relief; the taut string in his mind fully relaxed. He washed up carefully, changed into clothes with patches inside, and began enjoying the canned fish and jam bread he brought back last night.
The bread had a good texture, the near-expiry jam had no off taste, and the canned fish was delicious.
These small joys provided some comfort to his weary, difficult life.
After breakfast, he packed up the iron chains, gathered the trash into a bag, and Remus stepped out with light footsteps.
Lycanthropy, also known as mad wolf disease, is a dangerous contagious disease similar to dragon pox. Wizards infected with wolf transformation symptoms turn into wolf form when the full moon rises. This form of werewolf differs from ordinary wild wolves but is also a cruel, bloodthirsty beast.
Werewolves cannot choose whether to transform; after transforming, they forget their identity, lose all reason, and may even kill their own loved ones if given the chance. Most cruelly, werewolves can still recall everything they experienced during the transformation the next day after their bloodlust.
Mixing silver powder and White Fresh and applying it to fresh werewolf bite wounds can heal them, but many victims prefer suicide over living as werewolves.
Outside of full moons, those infected with lycanthropy differ from ordinary people; their senses are sharper, they are especially sensitive to raw meat and blood, and they can hear sounds from dozens of feet away.
Because of this, Remus could hear the neighbor couple’s discussion hiding behind their window.
“Do you think he could be one of those?”
“Probably not. Remus is a kind, pitiful man.”
“That’s how he is when he’s not having an episode. Who knows what he’s like during one?”
“Enough, Liza. Don’t slander others.”
“How is this slandering? Last night he refused to come over, saying he had to get up early. Did he?”
“Maybe he was just being lazy, sleeping a few extra minutes. That’s normal.”
“What if he was transforming? Who knows what he was doing?”
“Don’t talk nonsense!”
“I hope he’s not, but what if he is? We have a child!”
“This…”
“Call the Department of Magical Law Enforcement to check it out. Worst case, I’ll apologize later.”
“……”
Remus, not yet far away, paused his steps, casually tossed the trash into the bin, and turned back the way he came.
Back home, he pulled out his suitcase from the corner of the wall, packed the patched, worn clothes, stuffed the iron chains inside, hesitated a moment, and added the leftover jam and black bread.
A wandering wizard’s luggage packs up very simply, and with wand assistance, it only took two or three minutes before he set out again with his suitcase.
The balding wizard next door was stunned for a moment and poked his head out: “Remus, are you going on a long trip?”
“Mm…”
Remus forced a faint smile: “The boss sent me to Durham to pick up a batch of trained owls. I was supposed to leave early, but packing delayed me.”
“I see! Safe travels then!”
“Thanks! Goodbye!”
“Goodbye!”
“……”
Remus lowered his head, hiding his dark expression, and dragged his suitcase along the path.
At the end of the street, the public school bus was parked on the roadside, seemingly broken down from the cold winter, engine off. The bus driver, a burly middle-aged man, was hunched over the open hood tinkering, his clothes stained with motor oil, all dirty.
The children didn’t want to sit in the bus waiting; they braved the cold wind to play outside, giggling, hoping to be late for school.
The chubby neighbor kid was also by the roadside. Seeing Remus pass by, his eyes lit up, and he ran over hurriedly: “Mr. Lupin, I need help!”
Remus stopped, half-squatted down, looking at the Muggle-born little boy: “What help do you need?”
“The teacher wants us to prepare a mythology about the moon, but yesterday I was watching the projection mirror and forgot.” The boy scratched his head, embarrassed. “Mr. Lupin, do you know any stories related to the moon?”
Remus thought for a moment: “In Northern Europe mythology, the moon is pulled by a carriage. The horse is named Alsvid, and the god driving the carriage is named Mani.”
“Why do they have to keep pulling the moon without stopping?”
“They don’t want to run either; they’re very tired, but they can’t stop.” Remus said softly. “Because a giant wolf follows behind them, named Skoll, originally living in the Iron Forest. If it catches up, the moon, Alsvid, and Mani will all be devoured by it.”
……
Friday.
One week into the term, the new semester was on track.
Morning had Muggle Studies class, for seventh years.
Melvin didn’t consider himself a lax professor; even with four months until exams, he didn’t ease up on students. So in the first week back, he gave a pop quiz.
He had students swap papers to grade, and during the review, made those who got questions wrong stand and explain themselves.
With little effort, he tormented the students, eased his own load, and filled the class.
No Muggle Studies in the afternoon, but there was Defence Against the Dark Arts, same as last year—Professor Lockhart’s mess shared among other professors. Per Professor McGonagall’s arrangement, Melvin handled second year.
In the last two weeks of last term, Lockhart taught using other wizards’ memories, which actually worked well. Plus, second-year knowledge was simple enough that these lower years hadn’t fallen too far behind.
Per the revised syllabus, Melvin jokingly covered the lesson’s content, with half an hour left until the bell.
Might as well call on students to answer questions; those who couldn’t came forward to embarrass themselves. Those not called didn’t need to worry—he announced ahead there’d be more next week, ensuring every student deeply remembered the lesson’s points.
Five minutes to the bell, Melvin casually asked: “Any questions?”
No sooner had he spoken than Seamus raised his hand: “Professor Levent, can we still watch projection mirror programs from now on?”
“News on Sunday nights for you.”
“Just news? Can’t we watch other programs?”
“No.”
“Oh, no!”
Ignoring their deliberately dramatic wails, Melvin said offhandedly: “You’re students. Students at school should study hard, not always think about playing. Every night before bed, ask yourself: Did I memorize today’s knowledge? Did I finish my homework? Did I preview tomorrow’s lessons? Remember, in twenty weeks, you’ll have exams.”
Seamus and Dean covered their ears, making pained faces like they’d been attacked by a banshee.
Harry chuckled along with them, then turned to Hermione and dropped his smile.
The little witch pursed her lips, her pretty eyebrows slightly furrowed, writing the professor’s advice in her notebook, looking thoughtful.
Harry: ……
She wouldn’t take it seriously, would she?
At exactly five in the afternoon, the bell rang.
Melvin grabbed his pre-packed textbook and left the classroom with light steps.
……
Hogwarts’ class bells and dismissal bells are copper bell chimes, rung by Mr. Filch the caretaker. The small bell sounds carry throughout the castle. The melody is simple: the starting bell tight and lively, urging stragglers to hurry; the dismissal bell relaxed and drawn out, letting descending students take it slow.
Students went downstairs as usual, heading to the Great Hall for dinner.
They were surprised to find a crowd around the marble staircase base; the usually quiet notice board was lively today.
Dark-skinned Lee Jordan stood before the notice board, cleared his throat, and beckoned everyone closer—he was about to read the announcement.
“This Friday at eight p.m., the Dueling Club’s second session will proceed as normal. All interested students welcome. Instructor is—” Lee Jordan paused dramatically—”Professor Filius Flitwick!”
Surrounding students immediately buzzed with chatter.
“I knew it! With Lockhart gone, the Dueling Club needs a new instructor!”
“Ah… Professor Flitwick? I thought it’d be Professor Levent.”
“Professor Flitwick was a dueling champion in his youth; it should be him.”
“Professor Levent’s no slouch either. Remember that exhibition match last Dueling lesson?” A little witch’s eyes sparkled. “I bet that wasn’t his full strength!”
“By that logic, Professor Snape’s amazing too.”
“……”
Thinking of that cold expression and gaze, nearby students shivered and quickly quieted: “Better Professor Flitwick then.”
Listening to their banter, Harry, Ron, and Hermione followed the crowd toward the Great Hall.
Harry gripped his wand, eager: “This time I’ll properly thrash Malfoy!”
Ron scratched his head; who was his last dueling opponent? Glared at by the basilisk, he lay in the Hospital Wing for days, head still fuzzy.
Whatever—food first.
……
Eight p.m.
Professor Flitwick’s dueling lesson differed from Lockhart’s—no gilded stage, no velvet carpet, just a simple platform. Leftover candles floated midair, the magical dome cast bright moonlight, illuminating the entire Great Hall.
House tables were cleared away; the Great Hall felt vast tonight.
Short-statured Professor Flitwick stood on a stool, clapped to draw everyone closer, then turned to the two assistant teachers by the platform, winking playfully.
Why him and Snape as assistants again?
Melvin grumbled inwardly while stepping forward onto the stage.
Beside him, Snape’s black robe billowed as he moved, like a giant bat. Greasy black hair hung over his shoulders, half-hiding his face, expressionless, with faint glints in his dark eyes.
“Last time’s dueling lesson by Professor Lockhart was rushed and underprepared. Though we saw a splendid duel, and Professors Snape and Levent slowed their movements as much as possible, their gap with you students was too great for good teaching. So this time, I’ll use a different teaching method: specific spells instead of general dueling, with paired practice. It should be more effective.
“Today, Iron Armor Charm and Disarming Charm. Soon, the two professors will demonstrate, then you’ll practice in groups.
“Those who’ve mastered both charms, step back and make room up front for those who haven’t.”
Students around the platform shuffled, then quieted; the front filled with more lower years.
Next came Professor Flitwick’s specialty: spell explanation. Unlike Charms class, this focused on practice—casting gestures and incantations—skipping spell origins, history, Latin grammar, and such theory.
Professor Flitwick explained meticulously, taking front-row questions anytime, better than a normal class.
Disarming Charm is mid-level, not too hard; many mid-to-upper years knew it, just not fluently. Iron Armor Charm is advanced, tough; only a few sixth- and seventh-years had tried it.
“Any more questions?
“If not, the two professors will demonstrate.”
“……”
Melvin looked up, meeting Snape’s gaze across from him.
