Chapter 136: That Werewolf is Me

Just two days later, a fully recovered Sherlock Forester once more graced the confines of his classroom. On his entrance, the classroom filled with the murmurs of disgruntled sixth year students before the professor even had a chance to speak.

"We were made to study werewolves in excruciating detail, Professor!" one of them protested.

Holming his hand to his temple, Sherlock gave a measured response, "Didn't anyone think to inform Snape that we've already covered werewolves extensively?"

"Of course we did, Professor. But he wouldn't give in, even going so far as to insist that you were insufficiently knowledgeable about werewolves, saying he felt it was his duty to teach us how to actually hunt and kill them!"

"And we never had the opportunity to answer any of his questions! Instead, he forced us to continuously review material we have already mastered!"

"We tried to explain to him that we were supposed to have a practical lesson, because we've already covered all the theory, but Professor Snape refused to listen to us!"

"He even demanded two rolls of parchment filled with werewolf essays! As if we don't have enough tests already to occupy our time!"

During the previous two days of Snape's takeover of Sherlock's Defense Against the Dark Arts classes, the students had been left in a constant state of frustration. Snape strayed from the regular curriculum, even resorting to educating first years, barely proficient in the levitation charm, on the gruesome techniques for hunting werewolves. To Sherlock, the entire thing reeked of suspicious ulterior motives.

He had his suspicions when he and Lupin requested Snape to cover their classes. But he wasn't prepared for the chaos Snape would leave behind. In hindsight, perhaps he should have just left the students with revision exercises or conducted tests instead. He gave a gentle shake of his head and announced, "Alright, alright, I get it! I had planned to revise the summer test today, but it seems we need to make up for the previous practical class that went.. well it didn't happen."

Oh, how the class erupted in cheers at these words. But some students were still anxious.

"What about those two-parchment-long essays on werewolves, professor?" one of them ventured.

Sherlock simply waved them away, "There is no need to complete Professor Snape's assignment. I will talk it out with him." The students' cheers couldn't help but grow louder.

The practical class for the sixth years didn't proceed as rapidly as for the seventh, with Sherlock focusing more on teaching practical applications of spells rather than intense dueling. Advanced applications of generic counter-curses and Shield Charms took priority.

On the day that Sherlock returned to his class, Harry Potter also emerged from the hospital wing, after a rest period enforced by Madam Pomfrey. All things considered, he was no worse for wear, having regained his strength on the very first day. It was the loss of his precious broom, however, that turned out to be the real tragedy. Tossed about in the gusts of wind, his broom had ended up wrecked beyond repair by the Whomping Willow. Harry found losing his Nimbus 2000, the cherished gift from Professor McGonagall upon his admission to the Gryffindor Quidditch team, considerably more heartbreaking than his fall.

Concurrently, Professor Lupin, too, returned to his class, bringing with him the news that he had cancelled Snape's assignment. To the students' relief, he resumed the original teaching schedule, carrying on from where they had left off– studying Grindylows, magical creatures indigenous to the water world.

Snape's exit from the Defense Against the Dark Arts class was greeted with universal relief, his self-proclaimed 'good intentions' having caused more harm than good. In the aftermath it seemed no one questioned his strange obsession with werewolves, save for Sherlock.

Upon conclusion of his class, Lupin asked to speak with Harry in private, addressing his concerns on the events of the Quidditch match.

Lupin, who hadn't witnessed the game, was only made aware of the Dementor-stirred fiasco that occurred afterwards. Harry's vulnerability was not without merit; after all, it stemmed from his harrowing life experiences.

The memory of his mother's death, replaying itself just before he passed out on the pitch, haunted Harry. "You repelled the Dementor on the train with a spell," he said abruptly.

"There are indeed ways to protect oneself and others from Dementors," admitted Lupin, "but on the train, there was only one of them. The difficulty grows along with their numbers."

"What's the spell called?" Harry asked eagerly. "Will you teach me?"

Lupin chuckled at his zealousness. "Honestly, Harry, while I may be a teacher, I'm far from an expert in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Dementors are not easy creatures to handle, let alone teach someone to deal with. And you're only in your third year!"

"But if I can learn to defend myself, then I won't have to fear them anymore!" Harry insisted with a determined glint in his eye.

Seeing Harry's determination, Lupin hesitated, and then suggested, "If you're truyl serious about this, then I would recommend your seek out Professor Forester. When it comes to Dementors he is among the top of the field, not just in Britain, he's recognized globally. In fact before I started this year, I found myself learning a lot just from reading his books on the matter."

Harry looked taken aback. "Professor Forester is an expert on Dementors? I had no idea."

"Yes, he is truly gifted. A rising star in the field of Defense Against the Dark Arts. Moreover, I have some other matters at hand before Christmas, I really chose an inconvenient time to fall ill. So I'm sorry, Harry, I wish I could help you, but I can't."

Harry considered the idea carefully. Of all the professors in the castle, he was arguably closest to Sherlock. But being close to Sherlock also meant understanding that unless it was for something of utmost importance, you avoid seeking him out. Unnecessary company usually just earned you a series of unwanted `blessings`.

However, this time Harry was seriously determined to master the spell to repel Dementors. Therefore, heeding Lupin's suggestion, he decided to ask Sherlock for help.

Arriving at the office, Harry found Sherlock engrossed in marking the papers of fifth-year students. On hearing Harry's request he looked up, puzzled. "What made you think of seeking me out?"

"Professor Lupin suggested it. He said you were the best expert in Defense Against the Dark Arts in the entire world. At first I wanted him to teach me, since he's the one teaching the third year, but he said he wasn't well-equipped to deal with Dementors, and that he was rather preoccupied with other things." Harry explained.

Sherlock bypassed Harry's praises, his attention caught by the latter part of the boy's statement. "Lupin mentioned having other things to attend to?" he questioned, resting his chin on his hand.

Unsure of why Sherlock was focused on this, Harry nodded and simply replied, "Yes, Professor Lupin said he had fallen ill at a rather inconvenient time."

After a moment's thoughtful silence, Sherlock set his gaze firmly on Harry. "Did he look unusually pale and frail?"

Remembering Lupin's condition, Harry responded, "Indeed Professor, he did seem rather weak and his face was quite pale."

Sherlock mused to himself, "It does seem highly likely, but could it really be..."

"Could what be, Professor?" an increasingly confused Harry asked.

"Nothing," Sherlock brushed off the question, shifting his attention back to Harry. "There's no reason for me not to help you. However, you must comprehend that the Patronus Charm isn't simply another defensive spell – it's unusually hard to master and you should prepare yourself for a long learning process."

Harry's resolve didn't falter. "You needn't worry, Professor. I won't quit midway."

"Very well. Your lessons start this weekend. From now you must visit my office every Saturday, understood?"

Having set a time for the lessons with Harry, Sherlock retreated into his thoughts, eventually deciding it was better to find answers rather than waste time guessing.

Around lunchtime, Sherlock left his office and discovered a significantly weakened Lupin.

"How about joining me for some lunch in the Great Hall?" Sherlock suggested, leaning casually against the doorway.

"No, no, you carry on. I still have some tasks to attend to." Lupin declined with a chuckle.

"Actually, there's something I wanted to discuss."

Lupin's expression shifted at Sherlock's words. He appeared to anticipate what was coming. His grin took a slight bitter tinge as he sighed and rose from his chair, managing to squeeze out an agreement, "Sure, we can talk over lunch."

They ambled over to the Great Hall in silence, it was nearly empty, being just ahead of the lunchtime rush.

Most professors preferred their meals to be served in their offices, so they could eat while working, and thus the Great Hall scarcely saw a more than a few professors at a time.

Sherlock and Lupin found a cosy corner, far from the few scattered students present.

"Professor Snape's stand-in teaching had an unusual focus on werewolves, don't you think? I've had nothing but complaints from my students, they were all convinced Snape held a personal grudge against a werewolf." Sherlock brought up.

Lupin remained calm and composed as he continued to sip his pumpkin soup.

"You once told me that there was something you had done to Snape that you now deeply regret. Would you care to specify if his perceived grudge is directed towards you?"

The table fell ominously silent. After what felt like a long pause, Lupin, still clutching his bowl of pumpkin soup, spoke softly.

"I didn't think you'd confront me head on."

Sherlock simply shrugged. "I don't favour beating around the bush. If there's something bothering me, I either deal with it upfront or wait for the right moment to address it."

"I suppose you're right. Directness eliminates doubt." Lupin conceded with a sigh.

"That werewolf that Snape wants the students to hunt down... is me." Lupin declared finally.