𝐁𝐞𝐥𝐥𝐞 𝐀𝐦𝐞 | 𝐇.𝐏.

𝐲𝐞𝐚𝐫 𝟑 - 𝟒

Autumn had completely transformed the grounds. Dry leaves scattered the grass, the Black Lake was chilly and grey, and the Whomping Willow had almost dropped all of its leaves. Only the scraggly tips of pine trees were left, piercing the sky.

We had sat down for another Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, waiting for Professor Lupin, when the door slammed open. Professor Snape whisked in, loudly closing the shutter to every window in the classroom.

He pulled down the projector screen with a snap, and then turned to face the class. "Turn to page 394," he said emotionlessly. 

With much rustling and many confused looks, books were taken out. 

"Excuse me, sir?" Potter asked. "Where's Professor Lupin?"

Snape stopped in front of him. "That's really not your concern, is it, Potter?" He replied harshly. "Suffice it to say that your professor finds himself incapable of teaching at the present time."

Then again, now at the back of the room, "Turn to page 394."

Next to me Weasley was flipping through his book page by page. With an aggravated flick of his wand, Snape sent Weasley's book flying to the correct number. 

"Werewolves?" He asked after skimming the paragraph.

"But, sir, we've just begun learning about Red Caps and Hinkypucks," Hermione protested. "We're not meant to start nocturnal beasts for weeks."

"Quiet."

"When did she come in?" Weasley said, aghast. "Did you see her come in?" He asked me. I shrugged.

"Now, which one of you can tell me the difference between an Animagus and a werewolf?" Snape began.

Hermione raised her hand.

"No one? How disappointing," he said, as pictures began to roll onto the screen.

"Please, sir," Hermione said. "An Animagus is a wizard who elects to turn into an animal. A werewolf has no choice. With each full moon, when he transforms, he no longer remembers who he is. He'd kill his best friend if he crossed his path. Furthermore, the werewolf only responds to the call of its own kind."

Draco howled, and the Slytherins snickered.

"Thank you, Mr. Malfoy," Snape said drily. "That is the second time you have spoken out in turn, Miss. Granger. Are you incapable of restraining yourself or do you take pride in being an insufferable know-it-all?" 

Hermione sucked in a breath behind me, and I threw the dirtiest glare I could at Snape, knowing full well that he could notify my father at any time.

"He's got a point you know," Weasley muttered to Potter.

"Weasley," I hissed.

"Five points from Gryffindor," Snape announced. "As an antidote to your ignorance, and on my desk by Monday morning, two rolls of parchment on the werewolf," there were groans from all students, "with particular emphasis on recognizing it."

"Sir, there's Quidditch tomorrow," Potter complained.

Snape leaned over the desk to him. "Then I suggest you take extra care, Mr. Potter. Loss of limb will not excuse you. Page 394."

Then he straightened and clipped away. "The term werewolf is a contraction of the Anglo-Saxon word "were," which means man, and "wolf," translating to "man-wolf."

Beside me, a paper bird landed in front of Potter. I looked over in the direction of where it came from to see Draco smirking. Potter opened it carefully. Drawn inside was an animated image of Potter getting whacked in the head with a Bludger at tomorrow's match.