"Many believe that if a broom is faster, then it is better. Last year, Malfoy senior gifted the Slytherins new Nimbus brooms. The game became much livelier, but…" Cedric trailed off.
"But only in a straight line," Herbert finished for him. "All right. Enough about brooms. It is an eternal topic."
While changing, I intensely brought myself back to normal using life magic. I would need to sort out the psychological limitations caused by the "base" consciousness of an ordinary human. If magic had long ceased to be a question or source of doubt, then the brain's capabilities were clearly under the oppression of psychological "cannot" and "impossible." In everyday life this did not matter, but under extreme load I tired far too much.
Entering the Great Hall, I could not help noticing a small feast at our house table. There were some representatives of other houses, but no Gryffindors. No surprise. Two girls were injured due to their overconfidence, Potter had been "bitten" by a Dementor, and in general nearly half the team was in the hospital wing, and the loss was too crushing.
The table groaned under food, everyone was celebrating, praising us in every way. The Ravenclaw team congratulated us in a rather specific way. They approached with polite smiles, shook hands, and said something like, "A great team you have. We are glad that one more team will be able to use tactics more complex than 'hit them all and let our Seeker grab the Snitch.'"
After the feast, the guys dispersed to their activities, classmates went to clubs, and Justin and I went to do a bit of homework and practice charms and spells in our abandoned classroom.
As evening fell, right after dinner, the weather calmed down, but that largely did not matter. I was heading to extra Potions lessons, which were going to turn into cauldron scrubbing.
Knocking on Snape's classroom door, I received permission to enter.
The professor, as always, was clearing piles of parchment with homework assignments with a displeased look. Daphne was already there, but judging by the fact that she had not yet finished arranging her supplies on the table, she had arrived only a little earlier than I had.
"Greengrass."
"Granger."
"Are you not tired of this?"
"Of what exactly?" we asked simultaneously, looking at the professor.
Snape studied us carefully.
"I have changed my mind, continue. Today you will brew only two potions, the recipes are on the board. When you are done, I will check them. After I check them, you will scrub cauldrons."
We prepared the ingredients quickly, the potions brewed well, but as promised, we had to scrub cauldrons. Without magic, with brushes and ordinary chemical agents.
"Listen, Greengrass…"
"Yes?"
While we brewed potions at the first table, closest to the professor, we scrubbed cauldrons in the far part of the classroom.
"What do you think is the reason the professor started talking about werewolves?"
"On a whim?" By Daphne's eyes, it was clear she herself was asking that question.
"I may be new here, but over these two months I have heard, seen, and understood a lot myself. The professor respects the academic schedule too much. He would not change it on a whim. And incidentally, in other years he followed the program exactly when substituting for Lupin."
"So you can ask him directly right now, Granger. What is all this about?" Daphne smirked, continuing to scrub her cauldron diligently.
"No, that is not interesting. Look. Lupin set Snape up," I began reasoning, "making him look bad using Neville."
"That happened."
"And at the first opportunity, Snape carries out this sort of diversion. And only with us. And without any visible reason. Except that Lupin is supposedly incompetent and so on."
"That is your reason," Daphne shrugged, but glanced at me with barely noticeable anticipation.
A strand of hair slipped loose behind her ear, too smooth and full to cling to anything. She wanted to fix it, but her hands were in gloves, and the gloves were in cauldron filth.
"No, Greengrass, that is too petty. The professor is smart enough to insult and humiliate someone he dislikes right out in the open…"
"I am glad," Snape appeared beside us, speaking evenly, "that you value my intellectual abilities so highly. What topic of conversation turned out to be more important than poorly washed cauldrons?"
"About non accidental coincidences, professor."
"Curious," Snape pulled up a chair and sat nearby. "I might listen."
"Greengrass, how is your Latin?"
"Not bad," Daphne replied, not distracted from scrubbing.
"There you go. So, I was thinking… too many interesting coincidences. Professor Lupin did not attend the Great Hall three days a month, during the full moon phase. He did not teach during that time. Only with us did Professor Snape substitute for him once. For some years, twice. Lupin is a strange surname in itself."
"Is it? Oh, that is true," Daphne even stopped scrubbing.
"The common wolf?"
"Canis lupus. Lupus means wolf. Also the Libman Sachs disease."
"Exactly," I nodded. "Plus the fact that Professor Snape surely knows quite a bit about werewolves."
"What makes you think that, Mr. Granger?" Snape tilted his head slightly.
"In one of the old issues of the Potioneer's Herald it is said that you received the rank of master potioneer for improving the Wolfsbane Potion. Plus your age. Though in the magical world one can look any age. But if we discard magical possibilities, you are roughly the same age as Professor Lupin. If that is so, and if Lupin is a werewolf, then you could have learned this while still at Hogwarts. From there, motivation to improve the potion could arise. Most likely, you hoped to invent a full cure. But that is speculation, with too many 'ifs' and assumptions."
"Sounds logical. But it is not enough."
"Hm… a couple of days before the full moon, there was a faint smell coming from you. Something sharp, radish… no, horseradish. That is how aconite smells, also known as monkshood. I only realized it now, to my shame."
"You are observant."
"And you usually do not allow yourself to be careless with smells. That was the first ingredient smell. A hint?"
"What nonsense, Mr. Granger. Your conclusions are fairly consistent, but superficial," without saying anything more, the professor stood up and, with a sweep of his robes, returned to his desk.
"So Lupin is a werewolf?" Daphne frowned, though again her eyes suggested not ignorance, but conjecture.
"It seems so."
Finishing the cauldrons, we gathered our things and left the classroom.
"So what now?"
"Nothing," I shrugged. "He seems safe. If Lupin is here, then some measures are being taken. At least the fact that Professor Snape brews the Wolfsbane Potion."
"But it is better not to walk around at night."
"Were you planning to?"
"No. See you soon, Granger."
"See you."
Lupin is a werewolf. Though that changes nothing at all. Only if he takes the potion, of course. But that is not the biggest problem. Another appearance of Dementors relentlessly pushes my thoughts toward a radical solution to this problem. I need to think it through. Those creatures interfere with life far too much.