The Daily Prophet for once had done its job properly and ensured that the entire wizarding world was aware of the glorious miracle that had taken place thanks to Master Belby. The topic was on everyone's lips by late afternoon as more information was printed in the evening paper regarding how to register with the Ministry of Magic to receive the cure.
It was early evening when a large group of exhausted-looking men and women gathered. They all bore the tattle tell signs of the terrible night they had before and still had before for the next two days. The full moon this time would thankfully only be for three days rather than four. It was always exhausting for these men and women when there were four days of back-to-back transformations to deal with.
They all had gathered early in the evening to have plenty of time to make their way to their dungeons, locked rooms, or other secure areas, which they used to transform safely and not harm one another. Having been afflicted, most werewolves did their best not to create any more of their kind with the exception of those few like Greyback.
Among them were plenty of figures of youths and children with their parents. In these cases, those afflicted were not the parents but rather their children. And the parents, oftentimes desperate for aid would seek out other older werewolves asking for advice on how to care for their suffering children.
A rare older werewolf with grizzled silver hair and bright eyes clears his throat. (Not many werewolves lived to see old age, either because of the curse or losing themselves to the madness of the wolf.) In a raspy voice, he says, "It's good to see you all this evening. I do believe that you are all aware, why we have dared to gather on the evening of a full moon."
The other werewolves grunt in reply as they all uneasily gaze at each other. Their normally colored eyes all have an animal-like tint to them that normally wasn't present except during this time of the month. It was when the wolf was closest to the surface.
A werewolf with close-cropped hair sneers flashing yellow canine-like teeth. "Surely, you don't believe the load of garbage that the Daily Prophet published, Heskel? It's just another trick of the Ministry of Magic trying to get at us!" The werewolf spat as voices chimed in agreement.
"I am well aware of your opinions, Leeroy," said, the grizzled silver-haired werewolf named Heskel.
Leeroy bared his yellow canine teeth at Heskel, but Heskel bared his teeth back with a low growl. Sensing that the old werewolf was still stronger than him despite his age, Leeroy takes a step back and cocks his head to his side showing his neck in submission.
The wolfish glint in Heskel's eyes slowly fades away as he shakes his head as if to clear his head. "Now then, I know that many of you are afraid, but I believe that this morning's announcement may very well be true. I've heard from several werewolves that Master Belby had been working on a cure ever since he attended Hogwarts. I do not believe that a potion master of Master Belby's caliber would willing to participate in such a farce."
The werewolves glance at each other as youths and children glance up at their parents. Their parent's grasp on their children tightened as their eyes begin to fill with desperate hope. For they were so very desperate to believe that there finally might be a cure for their loved ones.
Before the werewolves can speak more on the subject, a knock is heard at the door. Heskel lifts his head and sniffs the air. Finding the scents rather familiar, he walks to the door and cautiously removes the door bar. The group behind him stiffens anxiously waiting to see who it was. It was a common Ministry of Magic practice to attempt to infiltrate their meetings and corral them like the vicious animals the public believed they were.
Heskel with ease despite his old age removes the heavy wooden door bar and allows for four individuals to enter. The entire room holds their breath as they see the men enter. The first is a man with piercing eyes and is rather burly. The second is a tired-looking man with a friendly smile on his face. The third is a rather ordinary-looking man with a gentle demeanor about him. And the last is a fierce-looking young man with reddish-golden hair.
One of the children loudly exclaims, "Mummy, it's the four werewolves from the newspaper! It's Twizzle, Banks, Smythe, and Glackin."
The mother hushes her child and wraps her arms around her child as if wary of the appearance of these four men. Could they be in cahoots with the Ministry of Magic? It wasn't that uncommon. Werewolves had betrayed others of their own kind to save their own hide.
There is a moment of tense silence until the fiery, Glackin points at Leeroy. "Heh, nothing to say now, eh, you loud-mouthed dog?" Leeroy snarls in reply but remained silent.
Smythe seeing Glackin ready to try to rile up Leeroy again places his arm on Glackin's shoulder in warning. Glackin rolls his eyes and shrugs the gentle men's reminder. "I'm just teasing, Smythe," Glackin whined.
Twizzle turns his piercing eyes towards Glackin and flexes his burly arms in warning at Glackin. Knowing better than to push Twizzle's buttons, Glackin ducks his head down and remained quiet. Twizzle tended to use muggle, brute force rather than magic. It must come from being muggleborn.
Banks, the tired-looking man with a kind expression says, "We've come to prove the truth of this morning's claims."
"It's true?" Whispered a parent with vibrant hope in their eyes.
"Aye, it's all thanks to Master Belby," Banks reverently replied.
All four men stepped back as the entire integrants of the room hold their breath. Suddenly, the four men are gone and in their place are four large wolves. The wolves let out yips and barks of joy, before transforming back into men.
Tears can suddenly be seen in the eyes of parents as they hug their children with such hope, while other men and women can finally see the light at the end of the tunnel. Heskel is the first to recover and asks, "What must we do?"
"The former werewolf registration department is being converted to the werewolf integration department," Banks slowly explained. "All that is needed is to fill out the same type of forms, in order to receive the first batch of the cure that will be brewed and given out during the next full moon."
Banks took a deep breath and said, "Master Belby has done us a favor that we can never repay. And our Minister of Magic. Eugenia Jenkins could have charged us for the cure, but instead is asking that we merely register to receive the cure."
"Bahh, this must be some sort of trick," Leeroy barked unconvinced causing a few other werewolves to look uneasy at his words. What if there was some sort of nefarious condition in the mix?
"There is no trick," Banks solemnly replied. "However, the Minister of Magic will require that no further werewolves be created. The creation of any more werewolves will involve said werewolf being sent to Azkaban after the cure is administered."
Heskel lets out a sigh of relief and says, "I'll speak to the other wolf pack Alphas' that I'm still in contact with. They'll have to know, it's either adapt or perish."
Heskel glanced around in solemn expression and adds, "And to anyone else in contact with other packs, I ask that you pass the word along."
Turning to glance at the rapidly darkening sky, Heskel says, "I think that we've all had a long day and have an even longer night waiting for us. Let us all go and rest for those that can and rise early tomorrow to present ourselves in unison before the Ministry of Magic."
A chorus of wide, amazed, still cautious gazes and replies are seen throughout the room. Before they can start moving a light-haired boy that looked about ten years old interrupted and asked, "Does it hurt?"
There is an expectant pause as the werewolves wait for an answer. Smiling at the young werewolf, Banks sincerely answered, "No, it does not, but the cure does taste rather awful."
The boy makes a wry face and says, "As long as it doesn't taste like Brussel Sprouts."
Choruses of laughter of relief and joy fill the room at the boy's response, while the boy's mother looks embarrassed. Quickly the group dispersed as some floo away, and others apparate away.
Once the room is empty save for Heskel, and the four newly cured men, Heskel says, "Thank you."
"Whatever for, old man?" Barked Glackin.
Twizzle no longer restraining himself smacks Glackin on the back of the head causing Glackin to let out a loud yelp. Twizzle merely glares Glackin into submission causing Glackin to put the snickering form of Smythe between him and Twizzle. Why the need for such violence?
"You've given us hope," Heskel said with moisture in his eyes. "I never thought I'd ever live to see the day in my own lifetime."
"It wasn't us, Heskel," Banks argued. "T'was all Master Belly's doing. All our gratitude should go to him."
"Aye, all of us owe him a debt of gratitude that can never be repaid," Heskel reverently said. "Now run along, you brats. These old bones have to make their way to the cellar, and I'm sure that all of your families are waiting eagerly for the four of you."
Heskel watches the bravest, most unselfish young werewolves he'd ever met make their way out. For they were truly courageous by wholly trusting a potion's master not to betray them and to experiment on them in order to find a cure. So many things, but they hadn't. And from the unselfish actions a miracle had been born. And would become heroes in the eyes of all the poor suffering werewolves throughout the world.