Chapter 205. Ageing
Adrian Wesson spent the whole night studying Remus Lupin's werewolf form.
Aside from being a little unsightly and carrying a slight feral instinct, there were almost no drawbacks to a werewolf's body.
As for those instincts, it was only a desire to eat raw meat and to howl a few times. They could be completely suppressed by human reason.
And the advantages were obvious.
Extraordinary constitution, formidable resilience, and astonishing pain tolerance.
Most importantly, it did not affect spellcasting ability.
As the dawn light dispelled the moonlight, Lupin returned to human form.
Unfortunately, the after-effects of the transformation still remained. Lupin's face was ashen, and he looked terribly weak, barely able to stand.
"It seems the transformation drained too much of your magic and strength," Wesson said, frowning.
Lupin could only give a helpless smile. He was so exhausted he didn't even want to speak.
In fact, he was like this after every transformation.
At that moment, Dobby appeared before them—Dobby had cleared out a corner of the storeroom to use as his living space.
Although Wesson had set Dobby a normal work schedule, he always started working of his own accord at first light.
As a result, by the time Lupin arrived for work as usual, Dobby had already taken over almost all the morning tasks.
Of course, Wesson had no objection.
As a competent employer, he couldn't very well dampen an employee's enthusiasm for work.
Dobby approached Wesson cautiously and said, trembling, "Dobby… Dobby heard a very frightening sound last night. Dobby didn't dare come out…"
"Ah, you needn't worry," Wesson said. "It was probably a wild beast in the nearby forest. Nothing serious. Our security won't let them get close."
"Really?" Dobby was still a bit frightened.
To him, that chilling cry hadn't sounded like an ordinary beast.
Wesson nodded, then said to Dobby, "Please look after Lupin today—there's something wrong with his health."
"Dobby promises to carry out your orders!" The house-elf immediately straightened his back.
Looking at Dobby, a question popped into Wesson's mind.
Why was it that house-elves like Dobby, or other magical beings, were not infected by lycanthropy?
However, Wesson was merely curious and had no desire to delve deeper into that subject.
In the afternoon, Wesson stood before an ordinary wooden house on the edge of Hogsmeade and knocked on the door.
The sun was blazing; after standing for just a moment, Wesson felt a little light-headed.
This was Professor Kettleburn's residence in Hogsmeade. He had heard Professor McGonagall mention that Professor Kettleburn's health had been poor of late, so he had made a special trip today to visit.
About a minute after he knocked, there was finally some movement inside.
The wooden door creaked heavily and slowly swung inward.
A gust of air smelling of herbs mixed with potions washed over him.
Professor Kettleburn stood in the doorway—but the sight of him made Wesson frown.
The once vigorous Care of Magical Creatures professor did not look well: sunken eye sockets, dishevelled hair, and an unhealthy sallow cast to his face. Only his eyes still gleamed when he saw Wesson.
The instant he caught sight of Wesson, he said happily, "Little Ade, you've come to see me. Do come in."
Wesson entered the cottage, and the herbal smell grew stronger.
The sitting room was unexpectedly tidy. A few opened magazines and newspapers lay on a coffee table, with a quill and a pair of reading spectacles beside them.
What stood out was a small box next to the coffee table, filled with constantly wriggling Flobberworms.
Clearly, Professor Kettleburn was looking after them.
"Have a seat, have a seat."
Professor Kettleburn greeted him warmly; with a light wave of his wand, the teapot floated up and poured Wesson a cup of tea.
Wesson accepted the tea, his expression turning worried.
Although Professor Kettleburn acted as if nothing were wrong, Wesson still sensed the frailty in him.
"Professor," Wesson set the cup down softly, looking at the smiling old man before him. "Professor McGonagall told me your health hasn't been good lately. And now… it does seem so. What happened?"
Professor Kettleburn's smile froze. He cradled his teacup and sighed. "It's nothing, Little Ade. Just a few minor ailments… getting on in years, you know. At my age, most people are already gone."
"Is it really just minor ailments?"
Wesson asked, doubt on his face.
He knew Professor Kettleburn was indeed getting on in years, but just last year he'd still been lively and energetic; his health seemed to have declined rather quickly.
"Ah, yes. Ageing… no one can avoid it," Professor Kettleburn said with a wry smile, tapping his left hand. "At this point, the healthiest part of these old bones might be the prosthetic you gave me."
As he spoke, he held his prosthetic out for Wesson to see. "Thanks to this, I can still move about like a normal person."
Wesson's expression darkened; from Professor Kettleburn's description, his condition was indeed not good.
But there wasn't much he could do.
Time was the most merciless magic. Only those at the very pinnacle of wizardry could scrape by under its erosion.
Just then, Professor Kettleburn suddenly burst out laughing.
"Don't worry about me, Little Ade," he said cheerfully. "You'll understand when you reach my age; it's nothing so dreadful. Besides, it's not as bad as you imagine. I promise I can live a few more years yet."
At that, Wesson could only nod.
He was still young; he couldn't truly grasp such feelings.
At that moment, the face of Nicolas Flamel suddenly surfaced in his mind.
News of Nicolas Flamel's death had been circulating since last year, at the age of six hundred and sixty-five.
But who could say?
No one knew what lay in the heart of a six-hundred-and-sixty-five-year-old sage—Wesson, at least, did not.
Perhaps he was even now in some corner of the world, living under a new identity, a new name, beginning a new life. Or perhaps, as he himself had said, he had embarked upon an entirely new adventure called "death."
Wesson suddenly realised how shallow his understanding of death truly was.
But if the opportunity for immortality were really set before him, he knew he would pursue it without the slightest hesitation.
Of course, that did not include evil methods such as creating Horcruxes.
The thought startled even Wesson himself.
Clearly, he still feared death.
But that was normal, too. If one could, who wouldn't want to live on?
Unless… living was more painful than death.
"Ah, right."
Professor Kettleburn's voice pulled Wesson back to himself.
"Could you buy me some Dreamless Sleep Potion?" He blinked. "I've been having some unpleasant dreams lately. Oh, and Invigoration Draught as well; my stock is nearly gone."
These were very common potions.
The Dreamless Sleep Potion could plunge the drinker into a dreamless sleep, while the Invigoration Draught could restore one's energy.
"Of course."
Wesson immediately took a few bottles of Dreamless Sleep Potion and a large box of Invigoration Draught from the pocket he always carried with him.
If there was one thing he never lacked, it was potions.
If he wished, he could practically drink Invigoration Draught like water.
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