With a flick of his wand, the heavy velvet curtains swept open, revealing the full moon hanging large and brilliant in the sky. Lupin's eyes widened in pure terror.
"No! Don't do this!"
Fiennes chuckled, a cold sound that hung in the air. "Relax."
Moments later, the transformation began. Thick, coarse fur burst forth, his limbs lengthening and twisting. His face contorted hideously, twitching violently before snapping into the shape of a wolf's skull. Suspended by the chains, the massive beast thrashed and roared, its immense weight straining the iron links until they groaned and rattled under the pressure.
"Magnificent!" Fiennes breathed, his voice trembling with manic delight, as if viewing a work of art. "A perfect transformation. Did you know?" He turned to Anton, eyes blazing. "They are fools. This is the pinnacle of magic—a living weapon, easily replicated!"
"Confringo!"
A blast of red light struck the lycan squarely in the chest. Fur flew in clumps, but the tough skin held, leaving nothing more than superficial scratches.
"See? Perfect!" he chortled, his voice rising with hysteria. "Praise the ancient wizards! They created the ultimate magical creature—the Basilisk!"
He drew a dramatic breath. "Praise Democritus Belby, inventor of the Wolfsbane Potion, who tamed the beast's mind!"
His voice boomed through the hall, wild with triumph. "And praise Alex Fiennes! For I shall perfect it! To transform at will, anywhere, anytime!"
Over the werewolf's furious howls, Fiennes's manic laughter echoed. He turned his wand on Anton. "Drink the potion."
Anton hesitated only a second before lifting the crucible and draining it. A wave of icy cold flooded his mind, followed by a strange, jarring shift—as if he had suddenly gained a third eye.
Through this new vision, Fiennes appeared as a glowing mass of grey-brown energy, crisscrossed by dark green filaments that looked fractured and worn. And within those cracks, he saw three distinct patterns—exactly matching the ones carved into his own wrist!
Glancing down, he realized the plain wooden floor was actually a massive sigil, pulsing with the same grey and green light. Above, the werewolf glowed with swirling streams of brilliant blue energy, moving like deep ocean currents.
It was a world seen through in an entirely different view.
Trying to process the flood of details felt like his skull was being split open, crushed under the unbearable weight of information. The sensory overload made him dizzy, and a wave of nausea rose, forcing him to retch violently.
"Hahaha!" Fiennes cackled, trembling with delight. "My potion is truly magnificent!"
He thrust the wand back into Anton's hand, his eyes blazing. "Quickly! Cast the Animus Charm on the beast!"
Anton met his gaze steadily. "Master, if this potion is so remarkable… why don't you drink it?"
He knew the signs—that look meant trouble. He was betting the old man was terrified of becoming the next victim himself.
"The Visual Acutus Potion demands exceptional physical resilience," Fiennes admitted, his voice tight with anxiety. "My old frame is far too frail to withstand even a single drop."
"Quickly, boy! Cast the spell! Let us reach the final stage of this masterpiece!"
"Very well," Anton replied smoothly, a faint smile touching his lips. He raised his wand, aiming it squarely at the beast.
"Animus Transferro!"
The spell took hold instantly, an invisible link snapping taut between them.
"Excellent!" Fiennes grabbed a parchment glowing with strange, dark green patterns. "Close your eyes! Use your new sight to scan his body—tell me which lines are missing!"
The dual strain wracked his mind, vision exploding into a blinding whirlwind of light. Dizziness seized him, and the nausea rose, choking and violent.
Hardened by pain, he forced himself to focus. He saw the dark green fissures for what they truly were—magical pathways expanding and contracting in a rhythmic pulse, forming a complex, living circuit.
Then, with a sudden snap, the link broke. Like a taut rubber band springing free, he was hurled violently back into his own body.
He gasped, breaking the surface as if drowning. Blinking away the haze, he saw sunlight flooding the room. Lupin lay still in human form. It was midday. Hours had passed, yet it felt like mere moments.
"Quickly!" Fiennes hissed, slamming a parchment onto the table. "Before it fades! Help me complete the pattern!"
The parchment was a jumble of old notes and failed attempts. Anton bit his lip, dipped his quill, and drew with painstaking precision—secretly inserting a subtle, deliberate error into the pattern.
"Excellent! Perfect!" Fiennes breathed, tracing the new lines. Then his eyes narrowed on the false connection. "Wait… why does it link here? What does this signify?"
'Because it's wrong,' Anton thought, a silent smirk playing on his lips. 'I hope that little mistake drives you absolutely mad.'
Two months of watching him had taught Anton well. Fiennes was brilliant, yes, but utterly mad. When he became obsessed with a puzzle, he would fixate on it for hours, blind to everything else.
And now…
Anton's hand moved silently behind his back, closing around the vial he had hidden there moments before. A small amount of the shimmering potion still swirled inside.
"No, no," Fiennes muttered, still staring at the diagram. Then his voice dropped to an icy growl. "What in Merlin's name…"
His eyes bulged as they locked onto the vial.
"What… have you done?"
Anton smiled faintly, his hand trembling slightly as he raised his wand.
He wasn't even sure if he was saying it right, but he roared the incantation anyway. "Sectumsempra!"
To his own shock, it worked perfectly.
"No! Stop!"
Deep, bleeding gashes exploded across Fiennes's body as if sliced open by invisible blades. Blood sprayed instantly, soaking his robes and pooling darkly across the floorboards.
"No!"
The wounds gaped open, slicing through flesh and sinew, splitting his skin from throat to jaw. Anton lunged, snatching the wand from his slack hand. He should have been dead, yet somehow he still breathed.
"You…you cut me! You infernal little..." A shriek, even louder than Anton's tortured cries, ripped from his throat, blood frothing at his lips. "Give me back my wand!"
Even bleeding out, Fiennes lashed out. A blinding jet of light shot from his empty hand.
'Wandless magic!' Anton's mind raced. The spell struck before he could even blink, hurling him to the floor. Agony burned through his nerves.
"Cruciatus?" he gritted through clenched teeth.
But the pain felt dulled, almost manageable. Two months of torture had forged him into something almost immune to it.
Scrambling up, he ignored the ache and thrust the stolen wand into Lupin's bound hands. "Your turn, Moony. Show him what you're made of!"
Stunned but quick to react, Lupin gave the wand a sharp flick. The iron restraints binding him snapped and shattered instantly. With a second wave, he deflected the next burst of magic aimed at them.
He turned to Anton, a wry smile on his face. "Call me Remus."