"HP: Too Late, System!"Chapter 402: My Help Comes with a Price
"No, not the Church." Douglas shook his head, his gaze settling on Marco with a cool, measured intensity.
"Someone wants me here in Italy."
"To be more precise, they want to see me and the Church clash—right here, on Italian soil. And you, the Ashclaw tribe... you just happened to be in the path. You might not even count as pawns on their chessboard."
Marco's breath grew ragged.
"A werewolf tribe, persecuted over and over by the Church, driven to desperation, reaches out to me—a British wizard who improved the Wolfsbane Potion—for help. So I come, and by helping you, I inevitably end up at odds with the Church's so-called Adam Project."
"Whether I suffer for it, or the Church loses face because of my interference, either outcome is a win for whoever's pulling the strings behind the scenes."
His words swept through the cave like a Siberian chill, slicing through the firelight and burrowing into Marco's bones. The composure he wore as a leader began to fracture under the weight of this brutal truth.
Marco forced himself to think. A dreadful suspicion crept in: "Is it... someone inside the Ministry?"
"You're close," Douglas said, his eyes darkening. "Or rather, that's exactly what Lorenzo wants me to believe."
"Lorenzo Dino—my old friend. Maybe he genuinely wants me to help you. But just as much, he wants to use my presence to stir up Italy's stagnant waters, to make trouble for his superiors and the Church alike."
"An uncontrollable Hogwarts professor running wild in their backyard—no matter how it ends, someone will be left scrambling."
He let out a cold, sardonic laugh. "Stirring up trouble in Italy might sound amusing, but my time is far too valuable to waste on a show that has nothing to do with me."
He returned to the stone table and sat, his eyes meeting Marco's with a sharp, mercantile clarity. All warmth had vanished.
"Don't forget why you invited me here."
"And I'm not here for charity."
The words were like a cold key turning in a lock—snapping the fragile warmth in the cave back to harsh reality.
Marco froze.
So did Lupin.
Even the wind outside seemed to hold its breath. Only the fire continued its restless dance, casting their shadows long and monstrous across the stone walls.
Douglas spoke with a calm, surgical precision, every word marking his boundaries as clearly as oil dropped on water.
"Isabella calls me a lighthouse in the darkness."
"But a lighthouse burns oil."
"My help comes with a price."
His tone was emotionless, yet heavier than any roar. It yanked Marco out of his guilt and shock, forcing him to confront a harsher question—how to keep this one, flickering light from vanishing.
Marco's imposing figure trembled. He met Douglas's gaze—those eyes held no sympathy, only the promise of a transaction.
Slowly, almost ceremonially, Marco reached inside his cloak.
He'd practiced this gesture countless times, intending it as a gesture of gratitude after hope was secured and an agreement reached.
Now, it was his last, desperate gamble.
He produced a small box, tightly wrapped in thick oilcloth, its corners polished by years of handling. With reverent care, he peeled away the layers, as if performing a sacred rite.
When the box opened, a gentle, silvery glow spilled out—like moonlight crushed in his scarred hands, illuminating the unwavering resolve in his eyes.
Inside lay a stone, the size of a dove's egg, radiating a soft, soothing light. Within, something like liquid starlight seemed to flow—a fragment of a peaceful galaxy, captured and stilled.
A Moonstone Heart.
"Professor Holmes," Marco rasped, voice raw but unshakable. "This is the Moonstone Heart, passed down through our tribe for generations."
He slid the wooden box across the rough stone table, stopping it before Douglas.
"For coming here at the most dangerous moment, for saving Aldo, for your courage—I trust your abilities even more."
"So, as agreed... it now belongs to you."
Lupin understood the message. The Moonstone Heart was meant as payment after success—the most precious thing the Ashclaw could offer. But now, Marco was giving it up in advance.
A desperate wager. An act of absolute trust.
But Douglas didn't touch the box. His hands remained on his knees; his gaze never lingered on the moonlit stone.
He looked only at Marco, at the hope burning in the werewolf chief's eyes.
"Chief Marco, I didn't come here for that."
Douglas's words left Marco's hand frozen in midair.
"I'll do my best with the Wolfsbane Potion."
His tone shifted again—no longer a shrewd merchant, but something darker, heavier.
His gaze slid past Marco to Lupin, who'd been silent, his eyes stormy with emotion.
"My true reason for coming to Italy is something else."
"Or rather... someone else."
Lupin drew a deep breath, his chest rising. He pulled himself from the tide of kinship and admiration, and a hunter's fire flared in his gentle eyes.
He addressed Marco with solemn gravity:
"Chief Marco, our primary mission here is to lure out and destroy an extremely dangerous werewolf."
Every word was deliberate, each syllable weighted with resolve.
"Fenrir Greyback."
The name left Lupin's lips and the cave seemed to empty of air.
Marco's pupils shrank to pinpricks, as if stabbed by a needle. For the first time, his composure visibly cracked; a surge of loathing twisted his features.
Douglas finally reached out—not to take the Moonstone Heart, but to gently push the box back toward Marco. He tapped the lid with one finger, a crisp sound echoing in the silence.
"Chief Marco, there's no such thing as a free lunch."
"Helping the Ashclaw tribe through this crisis, healing your wounded, even offering some protection—"
"That's our payment for your help in hunting down and dealing with Greyback."
Douglas redefined the deal.
He wasn't here to collect a reward—he was here to offer one.
What he offered was survival.
But what he wanted in return was something far greater.
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