( 𝔳𝔬𝔩𝔲𝔪𝔢 𝔦, 𝖈𝖍𝖆𝖕𝖙𝖊𝖗 𝖋𝖎𝖛𝖊 ) — the ways of a werewolf

''Where is Professor Lupin?'' Evangeline inquired, meeting Snape's deep, black eyes.

''He says he is feeling to ill to teach today,'' the man told her with a twisted smile. ''You mustn't worry about such frivolous matters at this stage of your life, Miss Rosier. To your seat, now, please.''

''A professor's health is not particularly improper, Professor,'' she retorted, narrowing her eyes, but nevertheless navigated herself back to the desk at which Apollo sat. Evangeline waited a couple seconds before putting her hand up in the air, patient and innocent, until Snape rolled his eyes and called on her.

''Yes, Miss Rosier?''

''What is the matter with Professor Lupin?''

''Nothing life-threatening,'' he dismissed, clenching his jaw lightly. Evangeline was a star student, and a Slytherin for that matter, but her newfound interest in the Defence Against the Dark Arts professor irked Snape, who had the perfect window into her primped and polished mind. ''As I was saying, Professor Lupin has not left any record of the topics you have covered so far—''

''Please, sir, we've done Boggarts, Dementors, Poltergeists and Manticores,'' Percy informed, ''and we're just about to start—''

''Be quiet,'' Snape snapped coldly, ''I did not ask for information. I was merely commenting on Professor Lupin's lack of organisation. Today we shall discuss werewolves.''

''But, sir,'' Percy began, seemingly unable to restrain himself, ''we're not supposed to do werewolves, it isn't included on the seventh year curriculum—''

''Mr Weasley,'' his voice was deadly calm, ''I was under the impression that I was taking this lesson, not you. And, I am telling you all to turn to page three hundred and ninety-four,'' he glanced around, noting everyone's lack of movement. ''All of you! Now!''

After many bitter sidelong looks and sullen muttering at repeating a third-year topic, the class opened the textbooks that had been handed out strategically. Evangeline smoothed the well-preserved page of her and Apollo's shared book, whilst Oliver Wood, a Gryffindor, stared at his defaced information distastefully.

''Which of you can tell me how we distinguish between the werewolf and the true wolf?''

Everyone sat in motionless silence; everyone except Evangeline, Sylvia, and Penelope.

''Anyone?'' Snape wondered, ignoring the three girls. ''Are you telling me that Professor Lupin hasn't even taught you the basic distinction between—''

''We told you,'' Sylvia interrupted suddenly, ''werewolves aren't on the seventh year curriculum, we did them in third year when we hadn't even heard of Professor—''

''Silence!'' Snape snarled. The class gawked at his foul mood, which was nothing out of the ordinary, but never directed at a member of the green and silver house. ''Well, well, well, I never thought I would meet a seventh year class who wouldn't remember how to recognise a werewolf when they saw one. I shall make a point of informing Professor Dumbledore how very behind you all are . . . ''

''Sir,'' Oliver implored, after Penelope had whispered the answer into his ear, ''the werewolf differs from the true wolf in several small ways. The snout of the werewolf—''

''You are speaking out of your turn, Mr Wood. Five points from Gryffindor and ten points from Ravenclaw for entertaining an insufferable know-it-all such as Miss Clearwater.''

Penelope burned bright red and stared at the floor, tears pooling in her eyes. Sylvia, who had frequently turned the other way when Juliet shot pointed comments at the Ravenclaw in the castle halls, barked out loudly. ''You asked us a question and she knows the answer! Why ask if you don't want to be told?''

Snape advanced on Sylvia slowly, and the room held its breath. His black robes were trailing behind him menacingly, like they would swallow anything and everything that came in their way.

''Detention, Fawley,'' Snape said silkily, ''and if I ever hear you or your peers criticise the way I teach a class again, you will all be very sorry indeed.''

A peep wasn't heard out of anyone for the remainder of the lesson. They sat and made notes on werewolves from the textbook, whilst Snape prowled up and down the rows of desks, examining the previous work they had done with Professor Lupin.

''Very poorly explained . . . that is incorrect, the Manticore is more commonly found Macedonia . . . Professor Lupin gave this nine out of ten? I wouldn't have given it two . . . '' 

When the bell finally rang, Snape held everyone back, enjoying the misery he was bringing upon the students. ''You will each write an essay, to be handed in to me, one the way you recognise and kill werewolves. I want two roles of parchment on the subject, and I want them by Monday morning. It is time somebody took this class in hand. Fawley, stay behind, we need to arrange your detention.''

In the black heavens, upon the clear night, the whole moon spun in its dappled beauty in perfect synchrony with the twinkling stars. Evangeline had entered the silent hospital wing, bathed in a warm, milky glow, courtesy of her stance before a great window.

Sylvia thought her friend looked angelic.

The blonde snapped out of her trance as the brunette approached her, careful to not alert Madame Pomfrey of her presence. ''Fancy seeing you here, Fawley.''

''How did you know I was scrubbing bedpans in the hospital wing magic-free, Rosier?''

''I overheard Peeves mocking the whole ordeal,'' Evangeline admitted, smiling at the use of each others last names, ''I've completed all my homework already, so I thought I'd come by and keep you company.''

''Believe me, it is much appreciated, if I'm left alone with my own thoughts for any longer and not share them, I'll go insane — even if Snape does want the position, he has never had such a hatred for any of the other Defence Against the Dark Arts professors. What is the problem with Lupin? Could it be the whole staff room and Boggart fiasco?''

''I doubt its something as feeble as that, although Snape hates most, with or without reason. As for Professor Lupin, it could be because he's a Gryffindor, or Snape thought he'd finally had a chance at retiring from Potions Master and moving up to Defence Against the Dark Arts, or maybe it is an entirely different matter which would not even cross our minds.''

''Yes, you may be right . . . but has it ever occured to you that Snape and Lupin look quite close age-wise? They could have been class mates once upon a time, and Snape's still holding a school-boy grudge?''

''Anything is possible at Hogwarts, Sylvia. But Professor Lupin is far more handsome than Snape, you could not convince me they're the same age.''

''Eve!'' Sylvia scolded, hurt glinting in her eyes, ''He is our teacher! You can not be calling men sixteen years your senior handsome.''

''Careful, you're starting to sound Juliet,'' Evangeline joked, admiring the full moon, ''In all seriousness though, how do you know how old he is?''

''I heard Fred and George Weasley talking about it,'' Sylvia shrugged, ''but please do not tell me I remind you of Juliet ever again, it has to be the detention getting to me.''

''Well, then hurry up. The sooner we leave this hospital wing, the better. I feel like I'm contracting Dragon Pox just sitting here.''

''Now you're starting to sound like Juliet,'' the blonde chuckled, carrying on with her cleaning. A couple of seconds of silence ensued, before Sylvia turned to look at Evangeline again, drawing a deep breath. ''Can I ask you something, and it will stay between us?''

Evangeline met her eyes, surprised by her friend's studious demeanor. ''Of course.''

''What would you do if you were head over heels for someone you knew you could never be with? Where every fiber in your body ached and longed to love that person unconditionally, but not even a prophecy could unite the two of you?''

''That is . . . a very thoughtful question,'' Evangeline remarked, thinking over her answer carefully. ''In all honesty, I haven't the faintest idea. Why do you ask such a question?''

For a while, Sylvia didn't give her an answer. Instead, she burned her gaze into the bedpan she was scrubbing, forcefully grating the sponge over and over the metal. ''I think . . . I think that may be the case for me. I think I am deeply in love with someone, and have been for a while. But I know, deep down, it is not returned, and even if it was, it is written in the stars that we would not be able to be together.''

''Oh, Sylvia,'' Evangeline sighed, brushing her hand over Sylvia's shoulder, sending sparks straight to her core, ''Unrequited love is not your fault, nor is it the other persons. It just is and always will be a cause of heartache in which you will drown, but only until you find someone else who loves you enough to save you from your own sea of tears.''