The Last Black (Hermione Granger x Male Reader) Vol.2

CHAPTER THIRTEEN: October 1995

Bridgett and I sat at the back of the potions classroom as Professor Snape began to wrap up his lesson. We'd finally moved on from learning about the draft of living death, and now we needed to read up on Golpalott's Third Law in preparation for our next lesson. "I hate theory work," Bridgett groaned as she packed away her equipment into her school bag. I let out a mumbled hum in agreement as I followed her lead and stashed away my inkwell and quill, as well as the notes I had made.

"Mr Black," Professor Snape's cold voice cut through the dungeon classroom, causing every student to stare at me. Had it been a year ago I would have gotten quite annoyed by the staring, but I was completely at ease with it now.

As soon as we had all returned to Hogwarts for school, the staring began. Nobody ever asked me about what had happened; perhaps they had sensible parents who'd taught them that it was rude to pry into other people's business. Most people stared. Maybe it was because I looked rough now, with longer, messier, hair and an untrimmed stubble – I was more focused on trying to be happy again than shaving every other morning and dealing with things so mundane such as regular haircuts.

The unwanted attention had gotten worse ever since the full moon though. Madam Pomfrey had been correct; the scars on my face and chest did not leave, although they had changed from a scabby shade of red to a deep pinkish colour. Some students whispered as I passed them, others would turn to look away. They probably thought I was some sort of freak – which I kind of was now. 

"Professor?" I answered, pretending to be surprised.

"Stay behind please, I'd like to speak to you," he sneered before flapping his robes as he turned on his heel and made his way towards his office.

"What does he want?" Bridgett asked me curiously.

"I have no idea," I lied. There were only two things it could be: 1) the wolfsbane potion, and 2) my absence on Friday night prefect patrols.

"Should I wait outside for you?"

"Nah, might take a while; I'll meet you in The Great Hall," I told her, and she nodded her head before leaving the classroom with the other students.

The Potion Master's office was dark and cold. I'd been in there a few times since my first year, and never once had I seen the fire on. Snape stood over his work bench, where he was carefully ladling out a strange smelling potion from his large cauldron. A pale blue smoke rose from the cauldron and then it began to rise from the beaker he had just poured the potion into. He strutted over to his desk and took a seat. "Well sit down Black," he ordered sharply. I did as he told me and tucked my chair in closer to his desk.

"What's that?" I asked, pointing towards the glass beaker which held the potion.

"Wolfsbane potion," replied Snape, "drink it." I picked up the glass and starred at the peculiar smelling liquid, my eyes watering a little bit as the smoke made contact with them. "Drink it!" Snape repeated, a little harsher this time.

I nodded my head cautiously and then began to drink from the cup. The taste was completely vile. There were really no words to describe it. It was thick, but smooth, and almost choked me as I swallowed it down. Once I had drank the lot and wiped away the remanets from the corners of my lips, Snape took out his wand and levitated the beaker over to the rusty looking sink beside his workstation. "So, I need to drink that every day?" I gagged.

"Unless you would prefer to turn into a blood-thirsty beast for the third time?" He remarked.

I bit my lip, holding back the urge to right hook his oversized nose. His tone was really beginning to test my patience. I never used to have an issue with my head of house. But maybe that was because I hadn't known what he once was.