Under the Cursed Moon - CH - 67

Life in Forks settled into a comfortable rhythm for Harry and his family. After the chaos of their time in Britain, the battles against the Dark Lady, and the war with the Volturi, the peaceful days in Forks felt like a well-earned respite. But neither Harry nor Hermione were the type to simply relax. They were warriors, scholars, and innovators, and they thrived in the pursuit of knowledge.

Every morning, before Teddy even woke up for school, Harry and Hermione would step into the magically reinforced training grounds hidden deep within their estate. Their duels were no longer mere spellcasting competitions but a true test of their abilities. Harry, with his lycan strength, reflexes, and unparalleled combat instincts, pushed Hermione to be more unpredictable, more precise, and faster with her spellwork.

"Expelliarmus!" Hermione cast, but Harry dodged effortlessly, flipping midair and landing silently behind her.

"Too slow, 'Mione," Harry smirked.

Hermione rolled her eyes, already preparing her next move. "Accio pebbles!"

From the ground, hundreds of tiny stones lifted into the air, swarming like angry bees. With a flick of her wrist, she sent them flying toward Harry in unpredictable patterns, forcing him to deflect them one by one.

"Better," he admitted before vanishing from her sight with a Disillusionment Charm.

Hermione grinned. "Still predictable."

She raised her wand and sent a Mist Detection Spell outward, and sure enough, the mist wrapped around Harry, revealing his position.

"Stupefy!" she shouted.

The red bolt of light shot toward Harry, but instead of dodging, he caught it with a counter-spell, redirecting it back at her. Hermione barely deflected it before grinning at him.

"You're getting creative," she said.

"Have to, if I want to keep up with you," he replied, panting slightly.

They both knew that if another threat emerged—whether it was from the wizarding world or beyond—they needed to be ready. And so, they trained. Hard.

Meanwhile, Leah found herself growing restless. As much as she loved training and being a part of their magical family, she didn’t have the ability with spellcraft and research that Harry and Hermione did. She needed something to do, something tangible.

That was when Harry suggested she take over Phoenix Sports Equipments.

At first, Leah had scoffed at the idea. "Me? Running a company? I'm a warrior, not a businesswoman."

But Harry had smirked. "Business is just another kind of battlefield, Leah. And trust me, I think you'd love it."

And so, she took on the challenge.

Leah quickly realized that managing a company wasn't so different from leading a pack. She had to be strong, decisive, and handle conflicts between different teams of employees. What she lacked in business experience, she made up for with pure determination and strategic thinking.

Harry visited the office occasionally, but he left most of the operations to her. He trusted Leah completely, and she, in turn, relished the challenge.

Teddy, now fully settled into his life in Forks, loved school. While he was smarter than most of his classmates, he enjoyed learning and making friends. The Cullens often visited, and he adored playing with Renesmee, who, despite her rapid growth, was still a child at heart like him.

However, there was one small problem.

Teddy was a natural-born troublemaker.

One afternoon, when Harry went to pick him up from school, he found Teddy sitting in the principal’s office, grinning cheekily.

"What did you do this time, cub?" Harry sighed, crossing his arms.

The principal, a kind but strict woman, shook her head. "Mr. Black, your son somehow made all the classroom lights flicker during a group presentation."

Harry fought the urge to laugh. "And how exactly did that happen?"

Teddy shrugged. "I don't know! It just… happened."

Hermione, who had arrived just behind Harry, sighed. "We'll have to teach him better control."

Despite the minor incidents, Teddy was flourishing. He had friends, a normal childhood, and a loving home. And that was all Harry and Hermione ever wanted for him.

Despite all their magical research, their dueling, and their business ventures, life in Forks felt oddly normal. And for Harry, that was something he had never experienced before.

Deep in the heart of the Black Mansion in Forks, in a laboratory Hermione had meticulously designed, the culmination of years of relentless research had finally borne fruit. The air was thick with the scent of crushed silverleaf, wolfsbane extract, and the faint metallic tang of dragon's blood. Countless books lined the walls, filled with notes, calculations, and theories Hermione had developed over time. This was no ordinary potion—it was the cure for Lycanthropy.

Harry stood beside her, his sharp green eyes scanning the final vial that shimmered in an ethereal silver-blue glow. It had taken years of research, thousands of trials, and countless failed experiments, but they had finally cracked it.

Hermione held the vial up to the dim light of the room, her voice barely above a whisper. "It’s done."

Harry exhaled deeply, rubbing the back of his neck. "This… This will change everything."

The potion had been a personal project for both of them, but especially for Hermione. Ever since Teddy had been turned into a werewolf as a baby, she had made it her mission to find a cure—not just for him, since his transformation had been painless under her modified Wolfsbane potion, but for the thousands of werewolves around the world who had no choice in their fate.

Some had accepted their condition. Many had not.

For centuries, lycanthropy had been seen as a curse, an affliction that forced people to transform against their will, bringing pain, isolation, and fear. Many werewolves had no desire to be monsters once a month.

And now… Now they had a choice.

Before making any grand announcement, they had to test it on a willing subject.

"I think we should reach out to Fenrir Greyback’s old victims," Hermione suggested as she set the potion down gently. "Many of them never wanted to be werewolves in the first place. We should give them the first chance to reclaim their lives."

Harry nodded in agreement. "Lupin would have wanted this," he murmured, thinking of Remus Lupin, Teddy's biological father. He could still remember the pain in Remus’s voice whenever he spoke about his condition, the prejudice he had faced, the sacrifices he had to make.

Hermione placed a hand on Harry's arm, squeezing it. "This is for him, too."

It didn’t take long for the news to spread.

Once they confirmed the potion was safe and effective, Hermione sent out official letters to magical newspapers, medical institutions, and the governing bodies of the wizarding world. Within hours, it was international news.

"Groundbreaking Discovery: A Cure for Lycanthropy?"

For centuries, Lycanthropy has plagued the wizarding world, with no cure in sight. Now, in a historic breakthrough, Hermione Potter, former war hero and one of the brightest minds of her generation, has announced that she and her husband, Harry Potter, have successfully developed a potion that can completely cure the affliction. The potion, tested under strict magical regulations, is said to restore a werewolf’s natural human state without any lingering effects. The implications of this discovery are monumental…"


Hermione barely had time to breathe before letters started arriving in waves.

Desperate werewolves from all over the world sent requests, hoping to be among the first to receive the cure. The Ministry of Magic reached out, requesting samples for evaluation and approval. Wizarding medical organizations demanded more information.

Even governments from different countries were eager to discuss the impact of this cure.

Some, however, were not pleased.

The werewolf community had always been divided. There were those who had always wanted a cure—those who suffered under the stigma and pain of forced transformation. But there were also werewolf packs who saw their condition as a gift, a way of life.

The leader of one such pack, Ronan Greyskin, a former follower of Fenrir Greyback, sent a strongly worded response through the Daily Prophet:

"We are not diseased. We are not cursed. We are powerful, and we will not allow our kind to be erased because wizards fear what they do not understand. Any werewolf who chooses to take this 'cure' is turning their back on their true nature."

Harry threw the newspaper onto the table with a snort. "Of course, there would be opposition."

Hermione sighed, rubbing her temples. "We’re not forcing anyone to take it. It’s a choice."

"Exactly," Harry said, crossing his arms. "If some werewolves are happy with their condition, fine. But there are plenty who aren’t. They deserve the chance to be human again."

"Still…" Hermione hesitated. "Some of these packs… They’re not just going to sit back and let this happen. They thrive on making new werewolves. This cure threatens them."

Harry met her gaze. "Let them come. I’m not afraid of a fight."

And they both knew—it was only a matter of time before trouble came knocking.

Three days after the announcement, their first volunteer arrived at the Potter Cottage in Britain.

Her name was Martha Simmons, a middle-aged woman who had been turned into a werewolf when she was just sixteen. She had spent decades living with the condition, hiding from the world, shunned by family and friends.

"This… this is real, isn’t it?" she whispered, holding the vial Hermione handed to her. "It’s not some false hope?"

"It’s real," Hermione said gently. "You don’t have to take it if you’re not ready. But if you do, we’ll be here every step of the way."

Martha hesitated only a moment before downing the potion in one gulp.

The transformation was instantaneous.

A deep silver glow surrounded her, her body shaking as magic rewrote her very essence. A soft, almost musical hum filled the air, the magic working its way through her bloodstream.

Then, as the glow faded, Martha sank to her knees.

Harry rushed forward, steadying her. "Are you alright?"

Tears filled her eyes. "I… I can’t hear the wolf anymore."

For the first time in decades, she was free.

As more werewolves stepped forward, each experiencing the same miraculous transformation, the wizarding world shifted.

Some celebrated, hailing Harry and Hermione as saviors. Others condemned them, claiming they were erasing a part of magical history.

Despite the controversy, the demand for the cure grew.

Governments started requesting mass production. St. Mungo’s and other magical hospitals across the world began stockpiling the potion. Some werewolf packs, previously thought to be dangerous and unapproachable, sent envoys to negotiate access to the cure.

But not everyone was willing to accept this change peacefully.

There were still those who saw this cure as a threat to their way of life. Packs that had ruled through fear, packs that thrived on turning others, packs that saw lycanthropy as power.

And they were not going to let it go without a fight.


The sun was setting behind the dense forests of Forks, painting the sky in hues of deep orange and violet. Inside the Black Mansion, a quiet moment of triumph settled over Harry and Hermione as they stood in the large study, stacks of parchment scattered across Hermione’s desk. The air was thick with ink, old scrolls, and the remnants of years of research—thousands of calculations, failed attempts, and breakthroughs.

And in Hermione’s hands was the final piece of their work, a book bound in deep burgundy leather, embossed in gold with the title:

"1,227 Fails and 1 Success: The Cure to Lycanthropy"
By Hermione Jane Potter

This was their legacy—not just a cure, but the knowledge of how to create it.

Harry leaned against the desk, arms crossed as he watched Hermione run her fingers over the title of the book.

"You sure about this?" he asked softly. "You could have patented the potion, kept control over it."

Hermione shook her head. "I don’t want power over this, Harry. I don’t want any werewolf or government thinking we’re withholding something for personal gain. If we keep the recipe to ourselves, we’ll have to distribute the cure on our terms, and that means we’ll always be a target."

Harry sighed, running a hand through his messy hair. He had already seen what power struggles in the wizarding world could do. The werewolves who wanted to stay werewolves—packs like Ronan Greyskin’s—would see them as enemies. Governments would try to control the supply, ration it, use it as leverage.

But if the knowledge was public, if anyone could learn to brew the cure, then no one could control it.

"They’ll never be able to stop it now," Harry murmured.

Hermione smiled. "Exactly."

Without hesitation, she pulled out her wand and duplicated the book. Dozens of copies appeared in neat stacks, ready to be sent to magical publishers, hospitals, and libraries across the wizarding world.

"We’re sending it to every magical institution," Hermione said. "Every wizarding school, every hospital, and every independent potioneer. The moment it hits the shelves, anyone who wants to make it will have the instructions."

Harry smirked. "We’re basically throwing an Unforgivable at the werewolf extremists, aren’t we?"

Hermione laughed. "Let them be angry. If they attack us, it’ll be out of fear, not power. They know they can’t stop a cure once the world has it."

In the quiet of the mansion, Teddy sat cross-legged on the floor, staring at the silver-blue potion in his hands. The vial was small, but it held years of work—years of pain, transformations, and isolation.

He had never truly suffered like some werewolves. His transformations were painless, thanks to mother’s modified Wolfsbane potion. But even then, there was something inside him, something primal that made him feel separate from others.

And now, for the first time, he had a choice.

"Are you ready, Teddy?" Hermione asked gently, kneeling beside him.

Teddy swallowed, looking up at her and then at Harry, who sat on his other side. "I think so."

"You don’t have to do this," Harry reminded him. "You’re not in pain when you transform. You don’t have to take it just because we made it."

Teddy looked down at the vial. He had thought about this moment for months. Ever since Hermione had perfected the cure, he had wondered if he should take it.

"It’s not about pain," he murmured. "I just… I don’t want to change anymore. I want to be normal."

A simple wish.

Harry reached out and ruffled Teddy’s blue hair. "Then drink up, kiddo."

With one final breath, Teddy uncorked the vial and swallowed the potion in one gulp.

Immediately, silver magic swirled around him, wrapping him in soft, luminous tendrils. His body trembled as the magic seeped into every part of him, rewriting his very essence. He could feel something breaking apart inside him—the wolf, the primal nature that had been in his blood since birth.

And then, just as quickly as it started, it was over.

The silver light faded, and Teddy looked down at his hands, flexing his fingers. He felt… lighter.

"I don’t feel any different," he admitted.

"That’s because the full moon isn’t here yet," Hermione explained with a smile. "But you will. When the moon rises next time, you won’t change."

For the first time in his life, Teddy grinned in relief.

He was free.

Within days, the book had been distributed worldwide.

The reactions were immediate and explosive.

St. Mungo’s issued a statement, confirming that the potion was effective and would be added to their official medical treatments.

The Ministry of Magic publicly endorsed the book, declaring it the greatest magical breakthrough in modern history.

Werewolf Rights Groups were divided—some celebrated the news, others condemned it, calling it "a betrayal of their kind".

The International Confederation of Wizards sent out a decree allowing werewolves to take the cure freely in every magical country, with no restrictions.

But there were threats, too.

Ronan Greyskin's pack declared war on any werewolf who took the cure, calling them "traitors to their own blood."

Anti-Muggleborn factions claimed this was another attempt by "lesser blood" to control wizarding society.

Some governments tried to regulate the potion, demanding it only be available in hospitals under strict supervision.

But it didn’t matter.

The knowledge was out there, free for all. No one could stop it.

As Harry and Hermione sat together that evening, watching the fireplace crackle, they realized that—for once—they had done something that no one could take away.

No war.
No prophecy.
No Dark Lords or corrupt Ministries.

They had changed the world not with a battle, but with a book.