"Minister Dentis?"
Professor McGonagall looked puzzled.
"I'm not sure what level of magic Minister Dentis has reached, but the Werewolf Curse has plagued the Wizarding World for centuries with no solution. Can he really help? And he's a Minister and a billionaire—will he even make a special trip for a Hogwarts student?"
Lucius Malfoy immediately answered, "Count Dentis is a good friend of mine. When he first established himself in Britain, I introduced him. If I ask, he will definitely come."
Dumbledore added calmly, "Minerva, if you invite him to Hogwarts, I believe he will accept."
Professor McGonagall frowned, clearly confused. Dumbledore explained, "Because you now represent the best Wizarding School in the world, your invitation carries weight."
Though she didn't fully understand his reasoning, McGonagall still wrote to Minister Dentis. Draco Malfoy was her student, and if there was any chance to save him, she couldn't ignore it.
When Minister Dentis arrived at Hogwarts, Professor McGonagall was unsurprised, though still impressed. Dumbledore had been right—Dana had even summoned McGonagall's deceased husband to repay her kindness, so helping a young wizard with a curse seemed almost routine for Dentis.
In the infirmary, Draco Malfoy was awake, propped weakly against the bed. Learning he had contracted the Werewolf Curse was cruel enough for a 14-year-old, and neither Lucius nor Narcissa's presence offered much comfort.
The moment McGonagall led Dentis into the room, Draco's eyes brightened slightly.
"Uncle Dentis!"
To Draco, this man—who had built Merlin City into a commercial marvel and defeated the Fire Serpent Party—was a living legend. His mother had even said Dumbledore himself admitted Dentis's power exceeded his own.
Count Dentis acknowledged the Malfoys politely before addressing McGonagall. "What happened to the Werewolf who bit Draco?"
"He's been contained," McGonagall replied. "Actually, he drank the wrong potion—he's a good person. Can he avoid Azkaban?"
She worried for Lupin, the Werewolf, whose actions were technically criminal under Ministry law. Dentis, now the Minister for Magic, was her only hope.
"I trust you, Professor McGonagall. Just file a statement to Director Scrimgeour later; it shouldn't be an issue."
Narcissa suddenly protested, "Impossible! The Werewolf who hurt Draco cannot escape Azkaban, even if he avoids the Dementor's Kiss!"
Dentis glanced at her coolly. "Narcissa, are you instructing me now? Without your family's help when I first arrived in Britain, I might have left entirely after such insolence."
Bran immediately shot his wife a warning glance. Though gentle at home, outside the patriarch still commanded authority. Challenging Dentis's patience, especially after their past favors, would be foolish.
"Narcissa, Minister Dentis has a plan. Right now, what matters is Draco."
Lucius quickly softened his tone. "Minister Dentis, please examine Draco immediately!"
Dentis nodded and stepped forward. Draco's face was pale, lips trembling. He hoped Dentis could lift the curse, yet feared a grim outcome.
Dentis waved his hand, and magical particles in the air transformed into a glowing circle of light. It was intricate, connecting countless delicate lines across Draco's body. Two seconds later, the lines changed color—some black, some red.
The Count dispersed the circle. The Malfoys watched anxiously, and McGonagall leaned forward expectantly.
"It can be cured. The problem isn't serious," Dentis said.
The Malfoys exhaled in relief, and McGonagall allowed herself a sigh.
"When can you remove the curse?" Lucius asked.
Dentis tilted his head. "Remove the curse? When did I say I could remove it? Even the ancient wizards could not."
Confusion filled the room. "Then how can Draco be cured?"
"Does curing necessarily mean destroying the curse?" Dentis said cryptically.
Before anyone could respond, he chanted softly, "Piertotum Locomotor."
As a fifth founder, Dentis controlled the Hogwarts statues with incredible precision. Moments later, one pushed open the infirmary door and positioned itself before the group. McGonagall was bewildered—how could he activate Piertotum Locomotor? It defied logic.
Dentis instructed Draco, "It will hurt. Bear with it."
"I will," Draco said, though his body trembled. Pride kept him upright, but fear coursed through every nerve.
The Werewolf Curse intertwined with the soul, making it notoriously hard to treat. Yet Dana had absorbed all of Merlin's magical knowledge and Morgana's notes, surpassing the current Wizarding World's understanding. Draco had just contracted the curse, and his soul had integrated with it by less than 1%. Removing this fragment would have negligible effect—far less than the repercussions faced by someone splitting their soul into seven parts.
Dentis reconstructed a magic circle in the infirmary's center. Draco lay within it. A flash of red light engulfed him, and his physical form dissolved—he now stood in soul form.
The room was silent. Every gaze focused on him, realizing Dentis was operating on a level far beyond conventional magic.
"Draco," Dentis said, "I need to separate the curse from your soul fragment. You may feel pain, but it's temporary."
Draco clenched his fists, trying to steady himself. "I understand, Uncle Dentis."
As magic coursed through him, Draco felt an unfamiliar sensation—a tug at the very essence of his being. Pain flared briefly, sharp yet not unbearable. He gritted his teeth, unwilling to cry out in front of Dentis and the Malfoys.
Dentis's voice echoed through the room, calm and commanding. "Soul fragment separated. Now, reintegration of your true self."
Draco's soul shimmered, then began to coalesce, the curse's influence retreating. Light suffused his form, and slowly, his body returned to the bed—alive, intact, and visibly stronger.
McGonagall exhaled sharply. "He… he's alright!"
Lucius and Narcissa rushed to his side, holding him tightly. Relief and joy washed over them, though Narcissa still looked somewhat wary of Dentis.
Dentis stepped back, observing the boy. "The curse remains, but its hold over Draco is negligible. He can live a normal life, though precautions are still necessary during full moons."
Draco finally looked at Dentis, awe evident in his eyes. "Thank you, Uncle Dentis… I—"
Dentis raised a hand. "No thanks needed. Your strength and will aided the process as much as any spell."
The Malfoys were overwhelmed, Lucius bowing slightly, Narcissa clinging to Draco, and even McGonagall could not hide her admiration. Dentis, the man who had conquered Merlin City and created commercial miracles, had shown a level of magic the world rarely saw.
Bran's expression was neutral, yet the message was clear: no one could argue with Count Dentis's authority or wisdom.
The boy who had once feared his fate now sat in the infirmary, partially trembling but alive, and more importantly, free from the shadow of the Werewolf Curse.
Magic like this was rare—beyond the grasp of the most skilled wizards and beyond the reach of even the Ministry. Dentis had not destroyed the curse but neutralized it, a solution both practical and miraculous.
Draco Malfoy would walk out of that infirmary changed—not just freed from a curse, but with a new understanding of what it meant to be powerful, and how strength was measured not only in magic, but in courage and trust.
And as the room slowly settled back into routine, the presence of Count Dentis lingered—a quiet reminder that some legends were far closer to reality than anyone could imagine.
For more chapters
patreon.com/Liamlivingstone