In the wizarding world, werewolves are undeniably one of the most unique creatures.
In Newt Scamander's Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them, werewolves are listed among magical creatures. In fact, across various Ministries of Magic, werewolves fall under the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures, though the specific offices handling them differ by country.
But here's where things get interesting.
In the fields of Potions and Magical History, werewolves are considered a case of a "wizard illness" known as lycanthropy. The most famous breakthrough in this area is Damocles Belby's invention of the Wolfsbane Potion. In Charms, werewolves are classified as "cursed wizards," similar to cases like blood-cursed beastmen (like Nagini) or curses that permanently affect bloodlines, creating new magical species—a phenomenon well-documented in wizarding history. In Transfiguration, werewolves are seen as a "magical accident," where a human's transformation goes so wrong they can't revert back. The strongest evidence? The Transfiguration spell Homorphus Charm can restore a werewolf to human form.
But to dark creature experts and astronomers, werewolves are textbook dark magical creatures.
They touch every major discipline, yet don't neatly fit into any when you get strict about it. Magic doesn't always have clear-cut categories—its boundaries are blurry—but werewolves are the only case that seems to straddle every perspective.
Right now, Lockhart was studying werewolves from the angle of "Defense Against Dark Creatures." It was the only angle he could tackle—he wasn't skilled enough to improve the Homorphus Charm or invent a potion better than Wolfsbane.
To dark creature experts, werewolves exhibit classic dark creature traits: their phenomenon. Werewolves only truly manifest on the night of a full moon. After that night, the condition vanishes. Their infectious bite follows the same pattern—outside the full moon, the infection lies dormant, leaving only a mild craving for rare, bloody meat. But that's no big deal; even Muggle Europeans enjoy a medium-rare steak.
In Defense Against the Dark Arts, this shifting state—tied to time, celestial cycles, and their effects on behavior and infectivity—is called a "phased phenomenon" or "phased non-existence." It's like haunted castles that only get spooky at midnight, leaving no trace to study by day.
This is what makes studying werewolves so tricky. You only get one night a month to work with.
But Lockhart had stumbled onto something unique: werewolf wizards' magic felt different from regular wizards'. It was subtle, almost a gut feeling. Honestly, if he hadn't gone through his wild journey of magical discovery—sensing raw magical chaos, bonding with a wand, connecting with nature as a "child of the forest," amplifying his perception with mind-connection spells, and analyzing the magical signatures of over a dozen powerful wizards—he never would've noticed it.
To him, it was glaringly obvious.
Unlike the harmonious, natural flow of a "child of the forest," werewolf magic carried a faint but intense wildness, a restless pulse of life. No, that wasn't quite right—it was too surface-level. To tackle dark creatures, you had to dig into their core essence, or you'd never find a targeted solution.
He sifted through his mental catalog of werewolf facts, hunting for overlooked details:
Werewolves almost always target humans, posing little threat to other animals. They'll attack and infect Muggles but prefer wizards because they "taste" different. With no targets or animals nearby, werewolves will desperately attack themselves. During transformation, they lose the ability to think, but afterward, they remember everything.
Passion overriding reason, an urge to forcibly turn others into their kind, self-destruction in the absence of companionship… It clicked.
"A lonely, desperate howl?" Lockhart sat up straight, mulling over this new perspective.
If he was onto something, this was fascinating—a completely different path from the farmer in the "sack cloak." The farmer hid from the world, shedding his sack to don a vibrant red robe, blending in with a false identity. Werewolves, though, craved connection, yearning to make others like them, only to shed their claws and fur to blend in as wizards—a facade.
This flipped the usual view: everyone assumed werewolves were wizards who turned into beasts on full moons. But what if they were always werewolves, merely masquerading as wizards outside those nights? In Defense Against the Dark Arts, it's not about tracing origins but exploring the phenomenon—using it to understand reality, not explain it.
From this angle, a solution emerged: werewolves needed to embrace their identity as werewolves, then choose to abandon that self to fully integrate as humans. It sounded tragic. A werewolf enters the human world, hoping to find kin, only to find nothing. To belong, they'd have to rip out their claws, shed their fur, break their fangs, and, despite still looking strange, earn a sliver of acceptance.
Wasn't that a reflection of so many people's struggles?
Lockhart clicked his tongue, searching his memories for a case that might fit. There was one, though not certain: Remus Lupin. He'd met Nymphadora Tonks, fled from her due to his werewolf identity, but later craved acceptance and blended in. Their son, Teddy, showed no werewolf traits—only his mother's. Many saw this as a relief, but from a werewolf's perspective, it was a quiet tragedy. By blending in as a wizard, Lupin left nothing of his werewolf self behind.
Could this angle break the curse? Lockhart frowned, realizing he'd need to experience a werewolf's transformation firsthand to understand the magic's surge. But the next full moon was over ten days away, on the second night of the Christmas holidays.
Then something shifted. A restless unease stirred in him, his magic roiling, sparking emotional turbulence. In Defense terms, it was the precursor to dark magic twisting and eroding the mind. He downed an entire pot of tea, yet a strange thirst and agitation lingered.
Realizing something, he yanked open the heavy, light-blocking curtains by the fireplace. The moon outside was rapidly shifting from crescent to full. This was the dark creature's phenomenon manipulating time! It explained why Hermione and the others looked years older—the creature was digesting them. If they aged here until their minds and vitality withered, it would consume them entirely.
Fascinating! Lockhart's lips curled into a grin. As long as things kept moving, possibilities abounded. Then pain hit, searing through him. His body itched, his head swelled, his spine stretched painfully, and his fingers elongated, sprouting coarse black fur and sharp claws.
Not here! Not with the kids around! he screamed inwardly, hoping to transform elsewhere. But the change was unstoppable. His thoughts drowned in a flood of restless emotions, leaving no room for reason.
Fine. Sorry, Draco, Ron—you might be out of the game.
With his last shred of clarity, he focused on the transformation, confirming it was classic dark magic eroding the mind. Then, his thoughts vanished entirely.
But it wasn't like the stories said—werewolves didn't lose consciousness. His awareness was simply overwhelmed by wildness and agitation. Beneath that beastly surface, he sensed it: a desperate howl for connection, rage at being unaccepted.
His now-massive, hulking werewolf body turned slowly, his wolfish eyes locking onto Draco and Ron with urgency. I'm so lonely. Become werewolves. Join me. You'll understand me, accept me—we'll be the same.
Draco sensed something off. A faint animal scent, like a pet's, hit him—a smell his mother despised, which was why he'd never had pets. He thought it was the firewood, poking at it with tongs, only to find the fire had gone out.
Then a terrifying shadow loomed over him, cast by moonlight, its massive form creeping closer across the fireplace and wall.
A monster!
It was coming!
Support me by leaving a comment, voting, and visiting my Patreon at ilham20