Magic is a very strange thing. It is all encompassing in its possibilities and multifaceted in its diversity. Just when it seems like you have crossed a line and already seen everything, life immediately throws another surprise your way. Who could have imagined that the world has days when ethereal, otherworldly entities and all sorts of unclean things can cross into reality? The fragments had no memory of such days, and they had lived in extremely diverse worlds. And yet, here you go. By next Halloween, I would need to study this phenomenon as thoroughly as possible.
But be that as it may, what happened should not affect my academic schedule in any way.
Friday Transfiguration, the first Transfiguration class in November, passed calmly and routinely. McGonagall delivered the material rather dryly, drew diagrams, occasionally called on someone, after which we completed the practical portion.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was open. For most students there was no choice between waiting in the corridor or sitting inside at desks, so we quickly took our seats and, chatting about everyday trivialities, began waiting for Professor Lupin.
The classroom door slammed shut unexpectedly, and the students who turned toward the sound could see Professor Snape in his flowing black robes. He strode briskly between the rows toward the teacher's platform, snapping his wand to close the shutters on the tall windows, plunging the room into semidarkness. Each shutter closing sounded like a judge's gavel condemning the students to a long and agonizing death. That was exactly what could be read on the faces of some students, flinching at every sound.
The professor reached a conditional spot in front of us all, spun sharply, and tugged a cord, lowering a white screen like one for a projector.
"Page three hundred ninety four," Snape said dryly instead of greeting us, and slowly walked between the rows, waiting for everyone to open the correct page.
"Excuse me, sir…" Potter could not hold back, but I had already grown used to such Gryffindor impulsiveness.
In Defense classes, I, like the other students from my house, tried to take seats far back by the window, and now I had a full view of what was happening in the classroom.
Snape stopped, looking at Potter.
"And where is Professor Lupin?"
"That is none of your concern, Mr. Potter," Snape walked toward the back of the classroom, where a rather extravagant looking slide projector stood.
Extravagant, like all wizarding devices that somehow worked both on magic and with quite ordinary mechanics, physics, and even optics. Without calculations, or at least an understanding of refraction principles, it is impossible to build a device with a whole array of lenses and a wide range of settings.
"I will only say that Professor Lupin cannot attend the lesson at the moment," Snape tapped the projector a couple of times with his wand, and it came to life, casting a plain white light onto the screen for now. "And now, page three hundred ninety four."
We were skipping quite dramatically from topic to topic, since werewolves were still a long way off.
"Werewolves?" Weasley exclaimed loudly, though the rest simply opened their textbooks and prepared to listen.
"But sir!" Hermione protested at once. "We have only just finished kappas and grindylows. It is too early to move on to werewolves…"
"Miss Granger, I did not ask what you have covered, and if I wished to know, I would look in Professor Lupin's journal," Snape looked at Hermione rather sternly, making her avert her gaze from him to her textbook. "But how could I forget? Professor Lupin does not keep a journal. Such negligence…"
A dark skinned Gryffindor boy practically jumped up from his seat.
"Lupin is the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!"
For a moment, I saw something in Snape's eyes that could be interpreted as brushing it off like a mosquito, but in the next instant he became serious and slightly irritated. It seems to me that he simply enjoys infuriating everyone to the point of grinding teeth, achieving universal hatred for himself. My inner psychologist, without experience and with a superficial education in the field, supposedly put two and two together, slamming a fist into his palm. He hates himself! And reinforces the justice of his own hatred through universal loathing. Consciously. What a devious and carefully constructed self deception.
"You are easily pleased. It is enough to simply not assign homework. So then, as you may have noticed, today we will be studying werewolves…"
The projector mechanism stirred, and the first slide appeared on the screen. A fresco depicting a werewolf attacking a defenseless peasant.
"But werewolves are still too far ahead," Hermione could not restrain herself again.
"Miss Granger," Snape turned to her. "As far as I am aware, I am the teacher here, not you."
Snape walked halfway across the classroom.
"So, who can tell me what a werewolf is and why it is dangerous?"
Everyone was silent, no hands raised, except Hermione, the restless girl, who stretched her arm as if hoping to reach the ceiling. She is amusing. She will surely get a reprimand from Snape and then be hurt in her best feelings. And she has certainly received such reprimands before.
"No one," Snape almost reached the screen. "Your silence, it seems, means that Professor Lupin has not explained even the basic distinctions to you…"
"You were told," an Indian Gryffindor girl jumped up, "that we have not gotten to werewolves yet!"
"Silence!" Snape mirrored her intonation. "Living in the wizarding world and not taking an interest in its most dangerous inhabitant. I never thought there were third years incapable of…"
"Sir," Hermione spoke up, not lowering her hand. "A werewolf differs from an ordinary wolf only slightly. Its snout…"
"Miss Granger," Snape looked at her as if she were an interesting and unusual potion. "This is the second time you have jumped up with an answer when you were not called on. For three years now, you do this every time you are not asked voluntarily. For three years you receive the same negative reaction, and judging by your expression, you expect some sort of change or praise."
Hermione wilted. I would not say Snape was entirely wrong in his criticism. She does have that flaw.
"Once I was told," he continued, not taking his eyes off Hermione, "that insanity is repeating the same action over and over, hoping for a different result. Tell me, Miss Granger, are you insane?"
Hermione only shook her head. I shook my head as well, as if saying, no, she is fine.
"Then finally take the trouble to understand that a teacher does not need an answer for the sake of an answer. The teacher already knows it. Allow yourself, at least for a second, to assume that the teacher has absolutely no need to question someone who quotes books by the paragraph. Let us continue…"
The slide changed, now showing an ancient vessel with the same theme, a werewolf attacking a human.
"A werewolf is the most dangerous creature among all, magical and nonmagical alike. Why is that? Mr. Granger."