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Snap! Snape pulls down a screen over the blackboard, turns.
"Turn to page 394."
As the students eye Snape with guarded curiosity, Malfoy finishes scrawling something on a bit of parchment and balls it up in his hands. As he opens them, a moth flutters from his palms.
"Excuse me, sir, but... where's Professor Lupin?" Harry questions.
"That's not really your concern, is it, Potter? Suffice it to say, your Professor finds himself incapable of teaching at the present time. Page 394." Snape waves the moth away, blows out a candle and a slideshow begins. An ancient woodcut of a Werewolf flickers at the front of the room.
Ron frowns down at his book. "Werewolves?"
"But, sir, we've only just begun learning about Red Caps and Hinkypunks. We're not meant to start nocturnal beasts for weeks-" Hermione protests.
"Quiet!" Snape snarls.
Ron turns to Harry. "When did she come in? Did you see her come in..."
"Now. Which of you can tell me the difference between an Animagus and a werewolf?" Snape questions and Aubery looks up, then looks away.
As the class stares mutely at a slide of an attacking werewolf, Hermione waiting desperately for someone to respond to Snape's question, the moth flutters by Harry. Swat! He pins it to his desk. A tiny cloud of moth dust mushrooms into the air and Harry lifts his palm. Malfoy's parchment has reappeared.
"No one? How... disappointing." Snape drawls.
"Please, sir, an Animagus is a wizard or witch who elects to turn into an animal. A werewolf has no choice in the matter. Furthermore, the werewolf actively hunts humans and responds only to the call of its own kind-" Hermione answers.
Malfoy lets out a low howl.
"Quiet, Malfoy! Though one must admit to feeling your pain. That is the second time you have spoken out of turn, Miss Granger. Tell me. Are you incapable of restraining yourself? Or do you take pride in being an insufferable know-it-all?" Snape questions.
"Well, what's the point of not answering a question when you know it?" Ron asks.
Harry stares at the parchment. Draco has drawn a crude caricature of Harry in his Quidditch robes being struck by lightning over and over.
"Five points from Gryffindor! As an antidote to your ignorance, I prescribe two rolls of parchment on the werewolf by Monday morning, with particular emphasis placed on recognizing it." Snape stares at Harry. "Passing notes, Potter?"
Snape snatches the drawing from under Harry's nose and eyes it. "Not exactly Picasso, are you? I hope you demonstrate more talent on the Quidditch pitch this weekend than you do as an artist. If not, I fear you'll perish, given the weather forecast. Until that time, however, you'll forgive me if I don't let you off homework. Should you die, I assure you... you need not hand it in."
