Sorry, the electricity was cut off yesterday. Everything is fine now (I hope so)

Saturday is my day off as usual. Next chapters on Sunday. ? ?

On the subject of lycanthropy, Max has one month to resolve this issue.

Will he manage to solve it in time and will everything go as he plans? You will find out in the near future :)

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"Wulfnera Sanentur," I began to point my wand on the wounds, even though I stopped the bleeding with hemomancy. However, if I lose consciousness, then along with it and control over the ability, and I will bleed out. Spell returns blood to the body and closes wounds even from dark magic. Closes but does not heal.

There are traces of someone else's blood in the snow - mine has returned. Throwing the bag into the snow, I opened it and began to look for all sorts of flasks. I have many empty ones - from butchering, the basilisk remained. Taking out one of them, with the help of telekinesis through a wand, I threw in it some snow, soaked in someone else's blood. I'll find and kill this bastard. Unfortunately, I cannot do this right now.

Limping, I got to Black, which was gradually coming to his senses. I took Pettigrew's head out of the bag hanging over my left shoulder and threw it in front of Sirius, which was looking at it with a misty gaze.

"Why do I have to do everything myself," my voice turned out to be a little hoarse and the words abrupt. It hurts to breathe. "From you, Black, permission to pass the ring."

Taking a ring out of my pocket, I showed it to him.

"Argh... Damn Death Eaters son..." Black wheezed, rolling over onto his back. "I abdicate, take it and get out..."

The clear feeling of the ring's magic in my hand changed slightly, and I realized one simple thing: It's mine now. There was an equally clear understanding of which finger to put it on - the ring finger of my left hand. I immediately put on the ring. Nothing much happened. Only the ring was slightly reduced to fit the size of the finger.

The voices of people began to come to my ears.

"Don't die, Black," I took Pettigrew's wand out of my bag and tossed it in front of Black. historical

Without saying goodbye, I cast a concealing charm on myself and ran to the castle under the intensification of hemomancy, trying to keep my distance from my pursuers by ear. With each passing minute, it became harder to move, and the growing pain became unbearable.

The castle gates remained as open as before, and I easily made my way back through, hurrying toward the Chamber of Secrets.

Only when I got into the same room with a floor of bones, I gave vent to my feelings, hitting the wall with magic and blood with my right hand. Crackling walls, blood tapes, stone crumbs, and a cloud of dust.

"Damn it ... Control yourself. Without emotions. Without emotions, just mind."

Having once again examined the wounds left by the werewolf's jaws, I began to literally pour over myself various charms for disinfection and healing - not from lycanthropy, from banal mud. Infection with lycanthropy is inevitable, and treatment will only mitigate the consequences - I will get sick once a month. I will become such a magical and physical invalid. However, the absence of treatment will not do this, and as for the very fact of turning into a wolf, I have a month. A month to resolve this issue.

*****

The coldness of the Chamber of Secrets' dungeons receded as I made my way toward the main hall. It receded, but it did not leave. Only in the hall itself, in the immediate vicinity of the butchered basilisk carcass that lay there without a couple of internal organs and skin, did the cold become bearable, and the winter clothes saved me.

After reaching directly to the carcass, I materialized the Sword of Spirit and sliced a couple of large chunks of the still fresh, still unfrozen meat.

"Why don't they like masters working with the flesh...." I whispered to myself, dragging the pieces away from the carcass. My strength was melting before my eyes. "Why don't they like black healers..."

I collapsed on the cold floor of the gloomy and dark hall, took a breath, and pointed my wand at the pieces of flesh, clearly imagining the process of forming and activating the magical constructs of spells from the Grimoire.

"And the answer is simple..." I didn't have the strength to pronounce the verbal form in an unknown language, but it was unnecessary.

There were no flashes or visual effects - it was as if the pieces of basilisk meat had turned to liquid, retaining their texture, streaming toward my injuries. A sharp pain shot through the right side of my body, and with it, an unbearable itch. Just a few seconds and the pieces were gone - the spells had completely disintegrated them into tissue regeneration materials.

The pain receded along with the itching, and I just sprawled out on the stone floor. Water murmured in the distance, making my brain uncomfortable - it shouldn't be flowing at this temperature. But that wasn't what was bothering me right now. There was no point in examining the body - the scars would remain. At least until I find a way. Right now, I need to work on the issue of my own healing.

The hand with the ring went up in front of my face. It was quite simple, white gold with a couple of monograms and a flat black stone engraved with a skull. There was a distinct sense of magic from the ring, becoming more mine by the second, if I may say so. So far, there didn't seem to be any need for any additional rituals or anything like that. How many troubles from one ring and one idiot? Okay, two idiots - I'm no better myself.

What do I know about werewolves and lycanthropy? Almost nothing - so far, I have not come across literature on this topic. And that means I need to search. So, in the morning to the library - I'm too exhausted right now anyway.