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He raised his hand, intending to answer Professor Snape's question.
"Potter," Snape sneered, his teeth bared in a mocking grin, clearly delighted to see Harry volunteering to answer—not just any question, but this one. "Go ahead."
"Werewolf," Harry began, "sometimes called Lycanthrope, refers to a human who transforms into a wolf-like form under a full moon, caused by an infection known as lycanthropy. Though werewolves take on a wolf's shape, they differ from ordinary wolves in several ways.
"They cannot choose whether to transform and, during the change, lose all sense of their human identity, even attacking their closest friends if given the chance. However, once they revert to human form, they can recall everything they experienced during the transformation."
Pausing, Harry continued with distinguishing traits. "Compared to regular wolves, a werewolf in animal form has a slightly shorter snout and smaller pupils, resembling a human more closely. Additionally, their tail fur grows in tufts, and they instinctively attack humans.
"When not transformed, they appear as ordinary people but often look older and grow paler as the full moon approaches."
At this, Professor Snape began to clap.
No one could believe it—Snape, clapping for Harry? The man who seemed to relish the thought of tearing Harry's face off?
"Well done, Potter," Snape said, his voice dripping with sarcasm, his lips curling into a smirk that could rival the swoosh of a Muggle sportswear brand—Nike, to be precise.
"I'm pleased to see such… progress in your studies. But I must warn you: keep your eyes sharp. Who knows? A werewolf might be among you."
"Why do you say that, Professor?" Harry asked, curiosity piqued.
Snape, unusually patient, leaned in with a measured tone. "I merely suggest you exercise utmost caution in all matters. If you wish to excel in Defense Against the Dark Arts, you'll need not only keen perception but a healthy skepticism of everything—and everyone."
"I understand!" Harry stood abruptly, drawing his wand and pointing it at Snape. "For instance, I should probably suspect… that you're a werewolf!"
Snape's face darkened instantly.
"Gryffindor will lose ten points for your insolence, Potter!" he roared.
"But Professor, you told me to suspect everything," Harry said, his tone exasperated. "I did, and now you're upset…"
"Another ten points from Gryffindor!" Snape snapped coldly. "For Mr. Potter's backtalk in class!"
Harry wisely shut his mouth, though his hand twitched, itching to cast a spell—perhaps one to dangle Snape upside down and scrub that sneering mouth clean.
As class ended, the students buzzed with excitement over the exchange.
"Merlin's beard, that old…" Ron swallowed the word bat just in time, "…professor. Why's he got it in for Professor Lupin? Just because of that Boggart incident?"
"He's so petty," Hermione said, shaking her head. "Honestly, even if he's angry, targeting Lupin like that? I mean, saying Lupin's incompetent, trying to get him sacked… I've seen Lupin's robes, you know. They're patched, frayed at the edges. He's clearly not well off."
"Tell me about it," Ron said, shrugging. "But if I were you, I'd save this talk for the common room. You forgot my curse: every time I badmouth that old… professor, he appears behind me."
"Quite self-aware, Weasley," Snape's icy voice drawled from behind.
Ron spun around, trembling, and met Snape's cold, dark eyes.
"Since this isn't class, I won't award points," Snape said with a mocking smile. He turned to Hermione. "Foolish girl—if everything were as simple as it seems, perhaps you'd have started in seventh year, wouldn't you, Miss Know-It-All?"
With a dramatic flourish of his robes, Snape strode away.
"You were right, Ron," Hermione said, heart pounding. "Merlin, not getting points docked was… unexpected."
"Tell me about it," Ron nodded fervently.
On October 2nd, a sunny weekend, Veratia decided to enjoy the holiday, returning to Hogwarts from the Muggle world. She sought out Harry and suggested they sit by the Black Lake to take advantage of the pleasant weather.
Halfway there, they spotted Cassandra entering from the Great Hall.
"Hey, Cassandra," Harry called out cheerfully. "Want to join us by the Black Lake?"
"No thanks, I'd rather not intrude on your little date," Cassandra said with a huff.
As she turned to leave, Harry persisted. "Come on, I recall you last recharged your energy at the start of last month. Isn't it about time again?"
Cassandra, who'd been reluctant, softened at Harry's offered excuse. "Fine, if you insist—along with this magic-drained sneaky cat?" she said, glancing at Veratia.
"Saves time," Harry replied succinctly.
"You're so… greedy," Cassandra muttered, lifting her chin. "Lead the way, you two."
Veratia opened her mouth to protest, but Harry whispered, "Veratia…"
"Alright," Veratia relented, nodding. She understood Harry didn't want her clashing with Cassandra and scaring her off. Besides, she had no real objections—Cassandra and Harry were childhood friends, practically raised together. Harry was like Cassandra's personal golden pig, sustaining her. Forcing him to cut her off could make Harry resent her, and Veratia wasn't about to risk that.
The trio walked to the Black Lake, Harry and Veratia in front, Cassandra trailing behind. Harry plopped onto the grass first, followed by Veratia, who happily looped her arm through his and leaned against his right side.
"Cassandra," Harry said, patting the grass to his left. "What're you standing there for?"
"Hmph," Cassandra scoffed but sat down beside him, though her expression suggested she'd rather be anywhere else.
Veratia braced for a snide remark from the sneaky cat, but to her surprise, Cassandra stayed silent.
"Never thought Grindelwald would let me touch her little boyfriend," Cassandra quipped, her tongue still sharp.
"Oh, we can't just let some people die, can we?" Veratia replied with a sweet smile, letting the "boyfriend" comment slide.
"Ahem, Cassandra, don't get the wrong idea," Harry said, attempting to balance things out. "Veratia and I aren't… you know, together."
The air grew chilly.
"Oh? Really?" Cassandra's tone lightened, sensing Veratia's irritation.
She grabbed Harry's arm, and the three fell into an awkward silence, staring ahead, eyes locked in a tense standoff.
"Let's lie down," Harry suggested, reclining onto the grass. The earthy scent filled his nostrils.
Caught off guard, Cassandra toppled back with him.
"Look," Harry said, pointing at a cloud. "Doesn't that look like… Hogwarts Castle?"
He knew he was grasping at straws—the cloud looked nothing like a castle, more like a shapeless blob.
"Mhm," Veratia hummed distractedly, clearly not looking.
Cassandra didn't respond, her mind seemingly frozen.
Unbeknownst to them, a large black dog watched from a distance. Tears welled in its eyes as it pressed its head to the ground, whimpering and pawing at the dirt.
Prongs! Padfoot! Lily!
I've failed you!
Harry!
Harry's not just with one Slytherin girl—he's got TWO!
I've let you down, Prongs!
I shouldn't have shirked my duty in Azkaban! I should've been there for Harry!
Then he wouldn't have been fooled by these scheming women!
With that, Sirius resolved to act. He bolted forward, barking furiously at the trio.
"Woof! Woof! Woof!"
Even without understanding dog language, the venom in his barks was unmistakable.
Veratia and Cassandra snapped to attention, turning to see a bear-like black dog snarling at them.
"What's wrong with this dog?" Veratia muttered, confused. It was the same dog that had ruined things last time.
But as she drew her wand, the dog let out a final "Woof!" and bolted, giving her no chance to cast a spell.
You better hope I don't see you again, Veratia thought darkly.
The dog's outburst ruined their lakeside mood. Cassandra let go of Harry's arm and stood, hands spread. "I'm heading back. Got assignments to finish."
"Divination homework?" Veratia asked pointedly. "I heard Professor Trelawney say some people's souls are so dry they've got no knack for it…"
Cassandra's forehead twitched, a vein pulsing. That was a sore spot—over a century ago, Cassandra Trelawney had predicted her lack of divinatory talent, leaving her in tears over a soaked letter. It was her dark past.
"Oh, better than having a gift for divination but missing a friend's accident," Cassandra shot back. "I wonder if she hid that on purpose."
The two girls locked eyes, sparks practically flying.
"I think we should head back!" Harry interjected. "Let's grab dinner in the Great Hall tonight."
"With Grindelwald?" Cassandra said with a half-smile. "Pass—I've got other plans. Another time."
With that, she sauntered off.
Once Cassandra was gone, Veratia eyed her retreating figure, then turned to Harry suspiciously. "Why do I feel like you're up to something?"
"What? No way!" Harry said, avoiding her gaze and staring at the castle.
Inwardly, he thought, Time to practice Occlumency.
He'd wanted to learn it a century ago, but Cassandra and Veratia always found excuses not to teach him, and Ominis and Sebastian didn't know the spell. So, Harry was still clueless.
Thinking of Ominis reminded him of the plan he'd discussed with Dumbledore…
He wondered if Dumbledore had gotten Bellatrix Lestrange's hair yet.
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