BANG.
The classroom door slammed open from the back, the sound sharp and sudden. A flurry of black robes swept through as Professor Snape glided down the aisle, his expression unreadable, cape billowing behind him like a shadow.
A few students flinched. Others stiffened.
Ron leaned into Harry, voice low. "Why is he here?"
Harry didn't answer right away. He was just as surprised, and not in a good way.
If there was one person he didn't want to see at the front of a classroom, it was Severus Snape.
Not here.
Not now.
Not when this class was supposed to be Professor Lupin's.
Lupin had been the best Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher Harry had ever had. Calm, smart, fair. He actually taught them without favouritism or cruelty.
But Snape?
Snape never missed a chance to make Harry's life miserable. Sure, Harry now knew that in first year, Snape had been protecting him, not trying to curse him during the Quidditch match like he'd originally thought, but that didn't change the last two years of constant insults, snide remarks, and point deductions for the pettiest of reasons.
He didn't just criticise Harry. He tore into him.
Even Hermione, who normally tried to give teachers the benefit of the doubt, had stopped defending him. She had long since given up protesting whenever Snape unfairly docked Gryffindor points. It was pointless. Everyone knew how he operated.
And now here he was, sweeping into Lupin's classroom like he owned the place.
Snape strode to the front, flicking his wand. With a practiced gesture, he slammed the parchment screen into place. He turned, voice low but hushed.
"Open your books to page 394."
A hush rolled across the room. Pens paused. Students fumbled with parchment.
Harry's voice slipped out in a whisper before he could stop himself.
"Excuse me, sir… where's Professor Lupin?"
Snape's eyes flicked toward him, black and sharp as obsidian.
"That is not your concern, Potter," he said coolly. "Suffice it to say your professor is indisposed."
His gaze swept the room, cold and calculating.
"Turn to page three hundred and ninety-four," he repeated, the words slicing through the silence like a blade.
Ron, flipping through his textbook with sluggish fingers, frowned. "What's even—"
Snape's wand flicked with a snap. Ron's pages turned themselves in a gust of motion.
He glanced down, brow furrowed.
"Werewolves?" he muttered, confused.
Hermione's hand shot up. "But sir, we've only just begun hinkypunks and redcaps. Werewolves aren't scheduled until—"
"Quiet," Snape snapped, the word ringing off the stone walls.
He began to pace slowly down the aisle, his robes whispering behind him.
"Who among you," he said silkily, "can tell me the difference between an Animagus and a werewolf?"
Hermione's hand went up immediately. So did Draco Malfoy's.
Snape didn't even glance at Hermione.
"Speak, Mr Malfoy," he said smoothly.
"An Animagus is a witch or wizard who can transform into an animal at will. It's a learned magical ability. For example, Professor McGonagall, whose Animagus form is a cat."
He paused briefly, then continued, voice steady.
"A werewolf, on the other hand, has no choice. It's a curse. They transform involuntarily during the full moon and, generally speaking, lose all sense of self."
Snape gave the faintest nod, his expression unreadable.
"Four points to Slytherin."
Hermione's hand dropped silently back to her desk, her lips pursed tightly.
Ron leaned sideways, muttering to Harry under his breath.
Snape paced slowly between the rows, his black robes billowing faintly with each step.
"When a werewolf bites a person," he began, voice cool and detached, "the saliva left behind, mingled with blood, causes the curse to take root in the victim. That is, if the victim survives the initial attack."
A hush fell over the class.
Snape turned his head slightly. "Most do not."
"Should they survive," he continued, "the transformation begins with the next full moon. Unlike an Animagus, a werewolf loses all rational thought. They become feral. Dangerous. Utterly uncontrollable."
His eyes flicked once, briefly, to Harry. A pause.
Harry met the gaze without flinching.
From the side, Draco observed quietly, arms crossed, eyes narrowing just a fraction.
This love and hate thing must be bloody torturous for Snape, he thought. Still, it was obvious he was trying to send Potter a message. A warning, maybe. Stay back if you see a werewolf.
Draco's gaze drifted to the page again.
Werewolves.
He remembered the film well. Lupin had forgotten to take the Wolfsbane Potion. Lost control. Became a mindless beast in the Forbidden Forest.
Draco frowned.
If something like that happens here, he needed to be prepared. Not caught off guard like some wide-eyed third year.
The thought crept in unbidden.
If he killed him to protect himself, would he be held guilty?
Draco shook his head slightly, trying to dispel it.
No. Snape wouldn't allow it. Lucius definitely wouldn't. And if something did go wrong, most parents would be too busy cursing Dumbledore for allowing a werewolf into Hogwarts in the first place.
The truth was plain, even if no one said it aloud.
The discrimination wasn't just about bloodlines or superiority. Sometimes it was about fear. About survival.
No one wanted to wake up to find they had mauled a friend. Or worse, a sibling. No one wanted to turn into a mindless monster every full moon.
They say tolerance is noble. But it doesn't count for much when your throat is being ripped out.
Unless someone finds a cure, something that can reverse the transformation or at least stop it altogether, werewolves will never truly live with dignity. Not really.
Even the Wolfsbane Potion, as rare and difficult as it is, only helps them keep their mind. It doesn't stop the transformation. It doesn't fix what's broken.
And it's expensive. Too expensive. The kind of thing only a few can afford, assuming they can even find someone skilled enough to brew it properly. Snape, maybe. But who else?
What happens to the rest? The ones without connections, without Galleons, without luck?
They hide. Or they starve. Or they go feral and get hunted down like rabid dogs.
That's the truth behind all the whispers. All the laws. All the fear.
Not just prejudice. Practicality.
And it's not going to change unless someone changes it.
************
No time tuner plot