Galpalott was only one of a few people who knew his friend Joseph was a werewolf. Joseph dealt with his infirmity in two ways: The first was to lock
himself in a crypt the nights of the full moon, and the second was Butterbeer.
Joseph had kept his affliction both secret, and safe from the world his whole life, as far as Galpalott knew.
He had invited Joseph out for drinks at the local wizarding pub who accepted to nobodies surprise. They weren't even a whole crate of the sweet brews
into the evening when Josephs usual pale skin, hidden by large swaths of sideburns turned ghostly white and slick with perspiration.
It had only been that one moment before Joseph fell off his chair, inciting a raucous laughter throughout the bar at old Joseph who'd been known for
decades to drink everyone ELSE under the table kind of guy finally sack before his friends.
Galpolott knelt down and examined his friend, saw Josephs lips were pursed, and the veins purple and angry. Feeling his own, he found they were
inflamed as well. But he wasn't feeling sick.
They'd drank the same amount of beers from the same crate. The only difference was Josephs little secret.
Putting his nose to his bottle he quickly smelled traces of powdered root of asphodel, and as he suspected, Wolfsbane. This was no ordinary brew, those
were primary ingredients in The Draught of the Living Death, and Wiggenweld Potion. When taken separately, one was a poison, and the other was the
cure. When drank together they act as a slow burning poison against one another. Consider the Wolfsbane, and any werewolf drinking these brews
would drop faster than a normal man.
Galpalott wracked his brain, running the ingredients list of the two potions down his mind, until it clicked: Sloth brain was the only common ingredient
between them. The two potions: one a poison, one a cure, adding in alcohol content means there's only one cure. One last concoction from sloth brains
that could save the dying were-man on the floor of the pub.
Joseph was fading fast, and the other barflies were starting to notice ol' Jo wasn't getting up.
Without asking permission, Galpolott ran into the bars storage closet, and retrieved a bag from the gardening supplies.
'A bag in every gardeners aresenal.' he thought hastily while ignoring the shouts from the bartender.
Shoving the other patrons who'd gathered around Joseph's unconscious form, Galpalott slid into his friends side on his knees while ripping the bag open.
"I'm sorry that I have to do this in front of all your friends, Joseph, but it's the only way!" Galpolott reached into the bag of Dragon Dung Fertilizer,
grasped a fistful, and shoved it into his friends mouth.
A rather loud protestation of disgust mixed with drunken hysterical laughter exploded among the bar.
Galpolott saw Joseph instinctually try to eject the only known mixture containing sloth brain that could counteract the mixture of poisons within his body,
but Galpolott covered Joseph's mouth until he saw the rancid substance go down his throat.
After a few moments, Joseph's lips cleared up and his skin deepened back to its usual pale Irish white and he was able to get back up.
"Merlin's Beard, Gal, what was that-"
"Don't ask!" Galpolott cut him off before he could finish his sentence and get them thrown out.
The bartender threw out the bad batch of Butterbeer and Joseph never lived that night down.