Magic is a very strange thing. It is all-encompassing in its possibilities and comprehensive in its diversity. When it seems to you that the line has been crossed and you have already seen everything, life immediately presents you with another surprise. Well, who could have thought that the world has such days when ethereal entities, otherworldly, and other evil spirits can pass into reality? There were no such days in the memory of the shards, and they lived in very diverse worlds. And here—please! By the next Halloween, we will need to study this issue in as much detail as possible.
But, be that as it may, what happened should not affect my academic schedule in any way.
Friday's Transfiguration, the first Transfiguration in November, was calm and routine. McGonagall gave the material rather dryly, drew diagrams, occasionally asking someone, after which we did the practical part.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom was open. For most of the students, there was no choice between waiting in the corridor or inside, sitting at the desks, and so we quickly took our places and, talking about all sorts of everyday trifles, began to wait for Professor Lupin.
The door to the classroom suddenly slammed shut, and the students who turned around at the sound could see Professor Snape in his black robe fluttering. He was moving briskly between the rows on his way to the teacher's place, closing the shutters on the high windows with a wave of his wand, plunging the classroom into semi-darkness. Each closing of the shutters was like the blow of a hammer in a court that sentenced the students to a long and painful death—this was exactly what could be read on the faces of some of the students, who flinched with each sound.
The professor reached a certain designated place in front of us all, turned around abruptly, and pulled a string, lowering a white screen, like for a projector.
"Page three hundred and ninety-four," Snape said dryly instead of greeting, and slowly walked between the rows, waiting for everyone to open the right page.
"Excuse me, sir…" Potter couldn't help but say, but I was already used to this lack of restraint from Gryffindors.
During the DADA classes, I, like the other guys from the faculty, tried to take the far seats 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 shouldn't concern you, Mr. Potter," Snape walked to the back of the classroom, where a rather extravagant-looking slide projector stood.
Extravagant, like all the devices of wizards, one way or another working both on magic and with the use of quite ordinary mechanics, physics, and… Yes, take at least optics—without calculations, or at least an understanding of the principles of refraction, it is impossible to build a device with a whole bunch of lenses and with a large variability of settings.
"I'll just say that Professor Lupin is unable to attend class at the moment," Snape tapped the projector with his wand a couple of times, and it started working, sending just white light onto the screen for now. "And now, page three hundred and ninety-four."
We will jump from topic to topic very significantly, because we are still quite far from werewolves.
"Werewolves?" Weasley said loudly, although the others simply opened their textbooks and prepared to listen.
"But sir!" Hermione immediately protested. "We've only just finished the bog lurkers and grindylows. It's too early to move on to werewolves…"
"Miss Granger, I didn't ask what you'd covered, and if I'd wanted to know, I'd have looked at Professor Lupin's journal," Snape looked at Hermione rather sternly, forcing her to look at her textbook instead of at him. "But how could I have forgotten? Professor Lupin doesn't keep a journal. What carelessness…"
The mulatto from Gryffindor almost jumped up from his seat.
"Lupin is the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher!"
In Snape's gaze, I saw for a moment something that could be interpreted as "swatted away like a mosquito," but at the same moment, he became serious and a little angry. It seems to me that he just likes to irritate everyone to the point of gnashing their teeth, achieving universal hatred for himself. My inner psychologist, with no experience and a superficial education in this area, supposedly put two and two together, slamming his fist into his palm—he hates himself! And with universal hatred, he reinforces the justice of his own! Consciously… What a cunning and thoughtful self-deception!
"You are easy to please. It is enough to simply not assign homework. So, as you have noticed, today we will be studying werewolves…"
The projector mechanism started moving, and the first slide appeared on the screen. A slide with a fresco depicting a werewolf attacking a defenseless peasant.
"But we're still too far away from werewolves," Hermione couldn't help but say again.
"Miss Granger," Snape turned to her, "as far as I know, I am the teacher here, not you."
Snape walked halfway through the class.
"So, who can tell me what a werewolf is and why he is dangerous?"
Everyone was silent; no one raised their hands, except Hermione, the restless girl, who stretched out her hand as if she hoped to touch the ceiling. She was funny. She would probably get a reprimand from Snape, and then be offended in her best feelings. And she had probably received similar reprimands before.
"No one," Snape almost reached the screen. "Your silence, apparently, means that Professor Lupin did not explain to you even the basic differences…"
"But you were told…" the Indian Gryffindor jumped up from her seat, "that we haven't gotten to the werewolves yet!"
"Silence!" Snape mirrored the girl's intonation. "To live in a magical world and not take an interest in its most dangerous inhabitant. I never thought there were third-year students who weren't capable of…"
"Sir," Hermione said, not lowering her hand. "A werewolf differs from a regular wolf in very few ways. His nose…"
"Miss Granger," Snape looked at her as if she were an interesting and unusual potion. "This is the second time you have jumped up to answer when you were not called upon. This is the third year you have done this every time you are not asked voluntarily. This is the third year you have received the same negative reaction, and judging by your face, you expect some kind of change or praise."
Hermione drooped. I wouldn't say Snape was so wrong in his claims—she was guilty of that.
"I was once told," he continued, still looking at Hermione, "that madness is doing the same thing over and over again, expecting a different result. Tell me, Miss Granger, are you mad?"
Hermione just shook her head. I shook my head too, as if to say, "No, she's fine."
"Then try to finally understand that the teacher doesn't need an answer for the sake of an answer. The teacher already knows it. Just admit for a second that the teacher has absolutely no reason to ask someone who already quotes books in paragraphs. Let's continue…"
The slide changed, and now it showed an ancient vessel with the same theme—a werewolf attacking a man.
"The werewolf is the most dangerous creature of all—magical and non-magical. Why is that? Mr. Granger."