Douglas strode to Elena's side and, with gentle curiosity, pointed at the herbal paste in her stone bowl.
"This is agave root and buckthorn leaves, isn't it?"
A flicker of surprise crossed Elena's clouded eyes. She nodded. "With some Alpine rock lichen for hemostasis," she added.
"Good thinking," Douglas nodded, his tone both approving and precise. "Agave sap cools the 'fiery poison' of holy light burns, and the polysaccharides in rock lichen help basic healing."
His analysis was professional—nothing like an outsider's guesswork.
"But it won't counteract the high-frequency energy left by sacred binding spells, nor neutralize the dark magic of putrefying curses."
He turned to Marco, his tone shifting.
"With this many patients, potions alone are too slow—and I don't have enough supplies for your whole tribe."
From his robes, he produced a small notebook and a quill. In a heartbeat, the shrewd negotiator had become a meticulous scholar. He scribbled a list onto parchment.
"I need you to gather these."
He handed the list over.
Marco and Elena bent close, reading by firelight.
The first few items made sense:
All common in the Apennine forests—some with minor magical properties, familiar to any Sicilian witch or herbalist.
But the next lines froze their expressions:
For a long moment, the cave was silent.
Every conscious werewolf stared at the list in disbelief.
Marco's lips parted, but no words came. This looked… more like a feast menu than a lifesaving prescription.
A young werewolf, arm wrapped in a bloodied bandage, rasped to his mate, "Is he… is he making us a last supper?"
His voice was low, but it reached every ear in the cave.
The mood turned awkward—almost surreal.
A faint smile flickered across Lupin's face. He remembered his own shock the first time he'd seen the original version of the new Wolfsbane Potion—before it was refined into something more… palatable.
If only the world had seen that first recipe…
Douglas didn't bat an eye. He tucked away his notebook, a sly smile playing at his lips.
"A last meal? No—this is called food therapy."
He looked directly at the young werewolf. "Trust me, my cooking's far better than anything you'll get at St. Mungo's."
Despite the mountain of doubt in his heart, Marco met Douglas's confident gaze—and chose to trust. It was his only wager.
"Do as the Professor says!" he barked at his tribe. "Now! Gather everything on that list!"
He sent his best hunters into the woods for herbs and game. Another team slipped down to a secret Muggle village, bartering furs for onions, garlic, and cheese.
By late afternoon, as the sun slid westward, a vibrant pile of ingredients filled the cave's center—so full of life, so out of place among the dying moans.
Douglas rolled up his sleeves and reached into his seemingly ordinary pocket.
Out came a massive, black cast-iron pot—big enough to stew an entire sheep. When it hit the fire, it let out a deep, resonant hum, like some ancient beast stirring from sleep.
Next: a wide-bladed chef's knife, gleaming coldly, and a thick wooden cutting board.
He looked less like a wizard than a seasoned chef, ready to dazzle at a grand banquet.
Douglas placed a huge slab of wild pheasant on the board. The knife fell.
Thud! The first chop rang out like a battle drum.
The steady, rhythmic chopping soon drowned out the wounded's groans—like an invisible blade slicing through the cave's despair.
He used no magic—only his hands.
The chicken was swiftly portioned and tossed into a clay basin with salt, black pepper, and two spoonfuls of golden olive oil. He massaged the meat, movements gentle and focused.
"Olive oil forms a protective energy barrier," Douglas explained, his voice suddenly that of a Hogwarts kitchen instructor lecturing house-elves. "It keeps the meat tender and, when stewed, helps shield life force from holy magic's damage."
He moved on to the wild porcini mushrooms—soaked in warm salt water, squeezed dry, diced.
"Mushrooms are the soul of the forest. Their polysaccharides boost magical resistance, countering the rot of dark magic."
Red onions were sliced, garlic crushed. Rosemary and sage chopped, oregano torn, dandelion greens blanched and chopped.
Every movement was precise and elegant—more master chef than wizard.
A snap of his fingers.
The fire roared under the pot.
With a sizzle, olive oil hit the hot iron. The aroma of onions and garlic exploded, driving away the cave's stench of blood and decay.
Douglas moved with a strange, mesmerizing rhythm. He was no longer the calculating professor or cunning negotiator. He was in his element—relaxed, even humming a little tune.
"Professor, will this really… work?" Elena asked, watching him stir-fry the marinated chicken until golden.
"Of course," Douglas replied without looking up. "Back at Hogwarts, I proposed the theory of culinary-magical unity."
He added the diced porcini and cherry tomatoes, giving the pot a quick toss.
"Simply put, the logic behind potion-making and the properties of ingredients is the same. Both use the symbolism of nature to effect healing."
He poured in the mushroom soaking water. The rich, earthy aroma filled the cave.
"Your wounds—half come from the Church's holy magic: burning, binding. The other half, from dark curses: stagnation, decay."
"So, we counter with the right ingredients."
He tossed in rosemary, sage, oregano, and water, clapping the heavy lid on the pot.
"Rosemary's sharp scent disrupts the high-frequency vibrations of holy spells. Dandelion's coolness soothes burning. That's balancing yin and yang."
"Oregano and garlic inhibit the putrefying bacteria of dark magic. Porcini polysaccharides boost your magical resistance, clearing stagnant dark energy. That's supporting the righteous and dispelling evil."
He spoke these earth-shaking theories as if he were describing a family stew.
"My old Potions Professor, Severus Snape—if he heard this, he'd probably slam a cauldron over my head."
Douglas shrugged, a fond smile on his lips.
"Well, to be fair, he did kick me out of class and made me peel toads for two days… But he never knew that, for those two days, the Hufflepuff common room enjoyed extra helpings of braised toad, stewed toad, toad porridge… every toad dish you can imagine. Delicious!"
P.S. If you're interested, here's a simple, non-magical version of the Italian Mountain Stew:
Preparation:
Cooking:
Stewing:
Finishing:
Note: You can substitute farm chicken for wild, and dried or regular mushrooms for wild porcini. Perfect for home cooks or lovers of Italian flavors.
Tip: This warm, healing stew is perfect for autumn and winter, especially with a glass of red wine. For an even more authentic touch, add a splash of white wine while stewing, or grind in some fresh black pepper for extra depth.
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