A Cure for Lycanthropy? Mysterious Healer Blackwood Claims the Impossible!
By Rita Skeeter
For centuries, the wizarding world has lived with a grim reality—Lycanthropy, the dreaded affliction that transforms its victims into savage beasts under the full moon, has remained incurable. Countless potioneers, Healers, and researchers have tried and failed to break the curse that has plagued wizardkind for generations. But now, in what could be the most astounding development in magical medicine, whispers of a cure have begun to surface.
Yes, dear readers, you heard it right—a cure! And at the heart of this shocking revelation is none other than Mr. Severus Blackwood, the enigmatic young Healer whose name has been making headlinesin recent weeks.
A highly placed source at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries has confirmed to the Daily Prophet that an experimental potion—one theorized and developed under Mr Blackwood's guidance—is now undergoing trials. Though the exact details of the potion remain a closely guarded secret, one thing is clear: its intended purpose is nothing short of revolutionary. The potion aims for a permanent eradication of Lycanthropy!
It seems there is no stopping young Blackwood. Despite being a mere intern at St. Mungo's, he has already accomplished feats that many seasoned Healers could only dream of. Lest we forget, it was Blackwood who miraculously saved the life of Miss Fleur Delacour, the radiant Beauxbatons Champion, following a fatal encounter during the Triwizard Tournament. Miss Delacour had been dead, yet thanks to Blackwood's intervention, she was not only revived but restored to perfect health!
Now, in an even greater stroke of brilliance, he has turned his attention to one of the most persistent and devastating curses in wizarding history.
The potion, still in its early stages, has reportedly been presentedto the Ministry of Magic for formal testing. In a bold and decisive move, the Ministry has agreed to conduct a live trial on the upcoming full moon, set to take place next week.
The trial of the potion is a first true hope in Millennia in the field of Lycanthropy.
For thousands of years, werewolves have been ostracized, feared, andshunned. Many have lived in despair, knowing that their affliction would never leave them.
But now, for the first time in recorded history, there is hope.
Could this be the miracle the wizarding world has been waiting for? Could Severus Blackwood succeed where all others have failed? Is he better than the previous wizardsand witches who had tried?
Mr. Blackwood himself has remained tight-lipped about the exact workings of his potion, but sources within the medical community whisper of "dark, ancient magic" woven into his research. Skeptics have expressed concern over this, noting that while Blackwood's methods have yielded results, they remain largely unconventional—some might even say dangerous.
And yet, his supporters claim that true progress requires risk.
"If anyone can do it, it'sMr. Blackwood," said one anonymous Healer at St. Mungo's. "His understanding of magic is unlike anything I've ever seen. It's as if he knows things the rest of us don't."
We can say that the potion is as shrouded in secrecy, as its creator. Of course, this is not the first time questions have arisen about Mr. Blackwood's origins.
Despite his youth, his knowledge of magic—especially ancient, long-forgotten spells—is eerily advanced. Many have speculated about his lineage, though little is known for certain. He has no recorded family in the wizarding world, no documented heritage, and yet his grasp of spells and magical theory surpasses even those twice his age.
And now, this mysterious young manhas supposedly uncovered the key to Lycanthropy—an affliction whose very origins are lost to time.
This raises a far more intriguing and perhaps uncomfortable question:
Could Mr. Blackwood know more about the origins of werewolves than he lets on?
Lycanthropy's first recorded appearance in wizarding history dates back to the earliest magical civilizations. Historians agree that the spell or curse that first created werewolves was deliberately cast, though the original spell has been lost for centuries.
Could it be that Mr. Blackwood—a man whose knowledge of magic seemingly has no limits—possesses insight into these long-forgotten spells? Could it be that his family, his ancestors, once held the knowledge that created the first werewolf?
If so, is this new cure truly his discovery… or merely a long-hidden secret being revealed at last?
One thing is for sure. This trial will be a trial like no other.
Despite these tantalizing mysteries, the wizarding world watches with bated breath as the Ministry prepares to oversee the first-ever live trial of the potion. The trial will take place next week, on the full moon, and will be conducted understrict supervision. The subject? A volunteer werewolf, whose identity remains undisclosed for now.
Should the potion prove successful, it will mark one of the greatest medical advancements in wizarding history. But should it fail… well, what happens then?
And if it does succeed, one mustask—how did Severus Blackwood accomplish what thousands before him could not?
For now, the wizarding world can only wait. Hope lingers in the air, but so too does curiosity, and perhaps a hint of unease.
After all, if Mr. Blackwood has indeed found the cure for werewolves… then onemust wonder: What else does he know?
_________
The morning sun streamed through the enchanted ceiling of the Great Hall, casting a golden glow over the rows of long tables filled with students enjoying their breakfast. Plates piled high with toast, eggs, and sausages, goblets brimming with pumpkin juice, and the steady clinking of silverware against porcelain created the usual morning atmosphere of Hogwarts. The scent of fresh pastries lingered in the air, mingling with the soft hum of conversation.
Yet, on this particular morning, the air carried something more than the usual murmurs of sleepy students discussing their classes or weekend plans. Instead, it was alive with a different kind of energy—one of curiosity, excitement, and speculation.
"A Cure for Lycanthropy? Mysterious Healer Blackwood Claims the Impossible!"
Albus Dumbledore, seated at the head of the staff table, lowered his goblet of tea and looked up his own copy of the newspaper. His keen blue eyes, twinkling with their usual knowing light, scanned the page with quiet intrigue.
He had been expecting something of this nature.
After all, he had heard whispers—subtle murmurs at the Ministry, hushed discussions at St. Mungo's. The request for potion trials had already crossed his desk two days prior, so the revelation itself was not entirely unexpected. Albeit Miss Skeeter had left no rooms for exaggerations. The potion was not a total cure for Lycanthropy, according to the papers submitted. It only helped to control the mind of the victims.
However, the manner in which the article was written, its exaggerated tone, its theatrical claims, and, most importantly, its focus on Severus Blackwood, was what truly caught his attention.
Across the hall, students were buzzing with excitement. The news of a potential cure for Lycanthropy was monumental, perhaps historic, even. Werewolves had long been one of the most feared and shunned members of wizarding society. They were burdened with a curse that forced them into a life of isolation and suffering.
A true cure? The mere possibility of it was enough to send the students in the Great Hall into chaotic discussion.
He enjoyed it with a soft and genuine smile. It would be good for them to be curious. Perhaps they needed to frequent ideas like these more. He silently took in the students' reactions before returning his gaze to the article.
Severus Blackwood.
A name that had begun to intrigue him more and more.
At first, the boy had been a mystery, arriving out of nowhere, bearing no known lineage, and yet possessing an uncanny talent for healing and magic. A boy of exceptional intellect, whose past was as shrouded in secrecy as his future was laden with potential.
Much like another boy Dumbledore had once known.
His thoughts turned, unbidden, to Tom Riddle.
A young orphan. Brilliant. Charismatic. Incredibly gifted.
And yet, unlike Tom, Blackwood had chosen a different path.
Dumbledore had observed him closely during the first task of the Triwizard Tournament.
Blackwood had done something remarkable. He not only saved Fleur Delacour's life but immediately turned his attention elsewhere, seeking out the dragon handlers, asking about the injured Chinese Fireball.
That moment had stuck with Dumbledore.
The boy hadn't needed to do that.
He could have basked in the moment, taken in the applause, sought recognition.
Instead, he had done something few others would.
He had gone to undo what was considered permanent.
The Conjunctivitis Curse was a well-known but irreversible affliction when applied in its permanent form. And yet, Blackwood had reversed it.
How?
Where had he learned such magic?
And now, this cure?
Dumbledore folded the newspaper and set it down beside his plate.
His fingers lightly drummed against the table as he mulled over his thoughts.
He was, truly, impressed.
But he was also deeply curious.
Severus Blackwood was more than just a talented young healer.
He was an enigma. A boy with an uncanny grasp of magic that even some of the greatest minds in history had failed to comprehend. And he could occlude well. Dumbledore had felt the mental presence, the domineering strength in the mind arts. It was truly remarkable.
And now, if the article was to be believed, he was on the verge of solving one of the greatest mysteries of all time—Lycanthropy.
The world would soon turn its eyes to Blackwood.
But so, too, would Dumbledore.
Because when magic this powerful surfaced, it was rarely without consequence. Perhaps, it was time he acted on this matter. A few nudges won't be wrong afterall.
Seated near the middle of the Gryffindor table, Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, and Ron Weasley had barely touched their breakfast, too caught up in the article spread open between them. Across from them sat Aurelius Black, the son of Sirius Black. Iris Potter and her girlfriends all in their third year. Iris was still finishing her toast but had one eye fixed on the paper as she read the news again and again.
"Blimey," Ron muttered, setting down his fork.
Ron had read the words out loud for what felt like the tenth time, shaking his head in disbelief. His plate of eggs remained untouched as he scanned the article again. "That's mad, that is. If it's true… I mean, no one's ever done it before, right?"
As a child, he had grown up hearing horror stories of werewolves and vampires. He had bloody well faced a werewolf even. Even if he loved Remus Lupin as a teacher, the bloke was dangerous as a werewolf. Ron had thanked Merlin over and over since that encounter for not being turned into a werewolf.
Hermione let out a frustrated sigh from besides him. "It says right here that it's in testing," she pointed out, tapping the parchment. "So we don't know yet if it works. But if it does…"
"Well, the word is 'If'. Better wish luck to Blackwood." Aurelius Black spoke up with a wistful smile.
The weight of that realization hit him, Harry and Iris hard.
Remus Lupin had been a part of their lives since childhood. He had been Uncle Remus, the kind and soft-spoken man who always had a book in hand, who had taught them little spells when their parents weren't looking. He had always smiled and brushed things off when they asked about his condition.
But Harry remembered the scars.
He remembered how tired Lupin always looked after the full moon. The way Sirius had once raged about the Ministry's treatment of werewolves.
Iris, who had been quietly absorbing everything, finally spoke up. She was always better at reading things according to her mum. "It says it's being tested during the next full moon," she said, pointing to a paragraph. "That's next week, isn't it?"
Neville who had been listening with his arms crossed, gave a small nod. "Yeah. That's fast." As a boy growing up in wizarding world and learning about the various protocols, he still knew that the whole thing was too fast.
Aurelius' eyes were clouded with thought. He had grown up watching his father and Remus Lupin together—partners in crime, always watching out for each other. His father had told him stories about how difficult things had been for Remus, how Hogwarts had been the only place where he had felt normal.
And now, this article…
"What do you lot think of this Blackwood bloke?" Aurelius asked suddenly. He was actually getting anxious with the recent news. The man had the surname Blackwood. There was certainly a 'Black' in it.
Harry frowned hard, still staring at the page, at the picture of Severus Blackwood from the side angle. "I don't know," he admitted. "He saved the Beauxbatons champion. That's all I really know about him."
Ron snorted from besides him. "And he's a bloody mystery, that's for sure. How does an intern at St. Mungo's come up with a cure for Lycanthropy? Even famous Potions Masters haven't cracked it!"
"That's what makes it interesting," Hermione mused with an excited smile. "He's only 17 and he has displayed magic far more advanced than other 17 year olds. Remember, when he single handedly took down the dragon with one spell. If he has figured something out, that means he knows something we don't."
It was clear to everyone that Hermione was adoring him. She wasn't the only one. Even Iris, inwardly knew that she found his magical feats very much impressive. He was handsome too. The side photo of him did posed him in a handsome way. And he was only 17. She was 13. That wasn't too much of an age gap.
Aurelius gave Hermione a sideways look. "Or he knows something no one was ever meant to know."
A beat of silence followed that statement. The words were unsettling. Even Iris looked wary. "You mean like… ancient magic?" she asked, voice hushed and curiouser than ever.
Aurelius exhaled slowly. "Maybe." He shrugged. Who knew that?
Harry suddenly pointed at a section of the article."Rita Skeeter hints that Blackwood may possess knowledge of the first werewolves… maybe even knowledge of how they were created in the first place."
The table fell silent again.The implications of that were huge.
"So, wait," Ron said, lowering his voice a little. "Are we saying Blackwood might know who made the first werewolf?..... Could you reckon his family were the ones behind the first werewolf? I mean, he does create spells. What if his family were the first ones who made people werewolves with one of their newly invented spells?"
There were various expressions around the table. Some people looked disgusted, wary and terrified of the thing. Ron had actually a point as the earlier news articles pointed Mr Blackwood to be a genius spell creator. His words and logic weren't too far off.
"That's just Skeeter trying to stir up trouble," Hermione said, though she didn't sound completely convinced. "But if he really did find something old—something lost to time…"
"Then maybe he really can cure them," Neville finished with a smile.
"Well, it's in testing. Better not get our hopes high." Verdona Black spoke up from besides Ginny with a roll of her eyes. She was founding their seriousness too much. It was just in trial. Not done yet. Why waste their few braincells worrying over unfinished things?
They all sat there for a moment, absorbing the weight of the news and Verdona's words.
If this potion worked…
If it was real…
Then people like Professor Lupin would be free.
And that was worth believing in.
Over at the Slytherin table, however, the reaction was mixed.
Some students scoffed at the sensationalism of the article, doubting the claims made by Blackwood. Others, particularly those from old pureblood families, murmured about how Lycanthropy was a curse that should remain as it is—natural selection at work, they claimed.
Draco Malfoy leaned back slightly, eyebrows raised as he skimmed the article.
"Blackwood?" he mused aloud. "Never heard of him before the tournament. But now, suddenly, he's everywhere, isn't he?"
"If this works, he'll be famous," Pansy Parkinson remarked with an arched brow from infront of him.
"Or dead," murmured Theodore Nott, flipping his newspaper. "Werewolves aren't exactly a peaceful lot. If they don't want a cure, they'll make sure it never sees the light of day."
"So," Draco drawled, scanning the article with a smirk. "Who's willing to bet that this Blackwood fellow is full of dragon dung? Father says that he is halfblood though."
A few students chuckled at that. They all had heard about the recent murmurings about Blackwood and the ancient magic he wielded. Too bad that he was a halfblood. Besides as Purebloods they knew that he was uninfluential. There was no ancient family known as Blackwood. If they existed ever, there would surely be records of it somewhere.
"I wouldn't be so quick to dismiss it." Blaise murmured, his sharp eyes scanning the article again. "The Ministry is actually testing it next week. That means someone there believes in it."
Pansy arched an eyebrow at the exotic pureblood. "And if it works?"
Blaise replied with a smirk. "Then he becomes famous. Simple as that."
"He's already famous," Theodore pointed out. "He saved the veela girl. Now he's curing werewolves. The real question is—who the hell is he?"
That was the real mystery.
None of them had ever heard of Severus Blackwood before this year.
And yet, here he was, making headlines. Even Blackwood wasn't a pureblood house in any record. It made the whole thing more mysterious.
"His magic is strange," Draco muttered with a frown. He wasn't an idiot to dismiss it though. "You saw what he did to the Hungarian Horntail, didn't you?"
"Reversed the Conjunctivitis Curse," Theodore added, his voice more thoughtful. "That's supposed to be impossible."
"Exactly," Aurora Malfoy, the younger sister of Draco spoke up excitedly. "But what if Blackwood knows something no one else does? Something ancient?"
The conversation suddenly shifted as that possibility sank in.
A boy with lost knowledge…
A boy who could reverse the irreversible…
A boy who was now curing werewolves.
"Where does someone even learn magic like that?" Pansy mused with a frown. As a pureblood through and through, it had always been drilled to their heads that knowledge was power. To learn of someone possessing ancient magic was certainly an intriguing thought.
"Better question," Theodore murmured, eyes narrowing. "Who taught him?"
______________________________________
Fleur Delacour had long learned to tune out the useless gossip of others, but today, she found herself listening.
She didn't need to ask what the topic was. She already knew.
A cure for Lycanthropy.
She wasn't sure why she still felt surprised when he did something extraordinary. She should have expected it.
Her fingers traced the rim of her goblet as she listened to the whispers floating around the Beauxbatons students.
Fleur's lips curled slightly. She took a delicate sip of pumpkin juice before shaking her head. A small thrill ran through her at the thought. She could already picture the expressions on their faces when they finally saw him—when they realized that the man who had defied death itself, the man who was now on the brink of curing werewolves, was also her date to the Yule Ball.
A perfect little slap to all the ones who had pitied her.
She had seen the way people looked at her since her return. The stares. The pitying glances, as if she were something fragile, as if she had been brought back from the dead but had lost a part of herself in the process.
She loathed it.
She was not some tragic little thing. She was Fleur Delacour.
And she would remind them.
The second task would be her stage. And the Yule Ball…Well, the Yule Ball would be his.
She had been impressed by him the moment he had walked into her room in St. Mungo's, a young, dark-eyed mystery wrapped in effortless confidence. She had thought he was another Healer, one of the dozens who had poked and prodded at her as if she were a puzzle they couldn't solve.
But he had solved it.
No, more than that.
He had brought her back.
And not with some grand spell, not with flashy magic or reckless desperation. No, he had done it with knowledge. With precise, methodical, controlled expertise that left no room for doubt.
Fleur had always admired intelligence.
But his was something else entirely.
He was not just brilliant; he was dangerous in his brilliance.
And it called to her.
Her Veela blood recognized power in a way human blood did not. It was why men were drawn to Veela, why they lost themselves so easily in their allure. Magic calls to magic.
And he…
He had resisted.
That was when she had truly noticed him.
There had been something undeniably thrilling about it—the way he had looked at her, unmoved by her allure, his dark eyes knowing and unimpressed. As if he saw right through it.
"Is that all?"
His words had been teasing, but there had been something undercutting in them. Something that had sent a shiver down her spine.
No, he did not resist her because he was immune.
He resisted because he chose to.
And that…
That was more dangerous than anything else.
A quiet warmth curled in her stomach as she thought of him, as she remembered his voice, his smirk, the dark amusement in his gaze when he had asked for 'compensation.'
Her cheeks flushed at the memory.
She knew what he had meant.
And she knew that she had wanted it too.
There was something about him that set fire to her. Not just his power, not just his mystery—but the way he looked at her.
Not with worship, not with the hunger of lesser men. But with understanding.
Like he knew exactly what she was. Exactly what she wanted. And exactly how much it would take before she gave in.
Her mother had warned her, hadn't she? Had seen it before Fleur had even realized it herself.
Severus Blackwood could not be taken. That was why her magic sang for him. That was why her blood burned for him.
The thought sent another rush of warmth through her, and she quickly reached for her goblet, taking another sip of pumpkin juice to cool herself.
She could not afford to think of him here.
Not with so many watching eyes.
Not when just the thought of him already had her pulse racing and her nether regions getting wet. She bit her lips. The thought of him only made her throb in desire.
The fire was still there, coiled and waiting.
But there was time.
And when the time came, she knew—
She wouldn't resist if he wanted it too.