Harry Potter: A Typical Man(SI OC)

If second year was chaotic, third year at Hogwarts was downright ludicrous—equal parts trial, triumph, and teenage disaster.

The year began like any other, except with more dementors, more drama, and slightly less pumpkin juice thanks to Draco's ongoing protest against wizarding drinks. It was weird, really—starting the term already so deep into things. Most people spent their first month settling in, but not us.

We had storm clouds, secret marriages, devil fruit powers, and emotional trauma hand-delivered before the start-of-term feast. Welcome to Hogwarts.

Daphne and I found a rhythm early on. Classes together, late-night study sessions by the fire in the common room, and just... being around each other. She had this way of grounding me with a look—soft but sharp, like a knife hidden in silk.

Third year also meant electives. I took Ancient Runes and Arithmancy, hoping to understand magical systems better for my research under Snape. Daphne went with Care of Magical Creatures, which she later regretted deeply after nearly losing a shoe (and a toe) to a fire crab incident.

We spent weekends in the library. Or more truthfully, I spent weekends researching in the library while Daphne pretended to study but really just teased me from across the table.

There were moments—quiet ones—that meant more than anything. Like when we snuck out one night to the Astronomy Tower and just sat in silence, her head on my shoulder, the stars above, no words needed. Just warmth.

And chaos. Always chaos.

Astoria, now in Slytherin, was carving out a reputation as a tiny queen of controlled mischief. She and Vajra the thunderbird were inseparable, and I got no end of flack from the professors every time she snuck the bird into the greenhouses.

Draco was… well, Draco. He was still snarky, stylish, and totally not into Hermione Granger (according to him). But his magic had grown stronger. The peacock Patronus wasn't a fluke—he had real talent. And under Snape's informal guidance (and mine, unofficially), he was flourishing along with his control over his lighting form now he can transform his full body into lighting and can charge attack up to 50kv.

There were fights too. With other students. With teachers. With ourselves. There were tears, not always visible. The weight of being different, powerful, or simply too aware of the world.

Dumbledore kept a closer eye on us than we liked. Snape pretended he didn't care, but gave me extra assignments disguised as detentions. Lupin turned out to be a brilliant DADA teacher, and even Snape (reluctantly) acknowledged that.

And through it all, Daphne was my constant.

By spring, it was like breathing next to her—easy, natural, right. We never had to say we were together. Everyone just... knew. She'd squeeze my hand under the table, and I'd smirk like a fool. Slytherins rolled their eyes. Ravenclaws tried not to be nosy. Gryffindors didn't matter.

Final exams came and went. I aced Potions, obviously. Snape wrote a single word on my final parchment: Impressive.

Daphne kissed me outside the dungeons after grades were posted. Not for show. Just for us.

And that was how third year went.

A storm. A bond. A year that changed everything.

Well that's it for me but for Snape that's a complete another story.

Severus's POV:

The Whomping Willow. That cursed, blasted tree. It swayed in the wind, docile only due to a simple knot on its base. A door to a tunnel. A tunnel to a shack. A shack where monsters had once gathered. And where monsters gathered again tonight.

I moved quickly, robes snapping around my boots as I descended beneath the roots. The air was thick—earthy, ancient, and humming with an electricity I couldn't quite place. My fingers curled instinctively, my wand already drawn.

I wasn't supposed to be here. Not tonight.

I was supposed to be grading idiotic essays about Mooncalf migration patterns.

Instead, I was hunting a fugitive and chasing ghosts.

And a werewolf.

That part hadn't been on the syllabus.

I entered the Shrieking Shack just in time to hear Potter shout something idiotic—again—and see Black rise from the shadows like some wild specter. Lupin followed behind, disheveled but calm. For now. The children—Potter, Granger, Weasley—stood huddled in confusion, half horror, half intrigue.

And there he was. Peter bloody Pettigrew. Somehow alive. Somehow sniveling.

It unraveled quickly after that.

Truths spilled like potions knocked from a shelf. Pettigrew was the traitor. Sirius had been innocent. And Lupin—my former classmate—was seconds away from losing control under the full moon.

But before the transformation, before the fury, another betrayal.

Potter stepped forward, wand raised between me and Black. "Professor, stop! He's telling the truth! He didn't betray them—Peter did!"

"He tried to murder me," I growled. "And you expect me to believe his word now?"

Harry's eyes flicked to Sirius, then back to me. The distrust in his face was unmistakable.

I extended a hand toward him. "Give me your wand. You'll follow me. All of you."

He hesitated. Then made the same mistake his father would've.

"Expelliarmus!"

The spell hit.

And passed through me.

Right through a hole of flame that bloomed in the center of my chest—my body rippling like liquid fire. Their jaws dropped as the spell whizzed through me and fizzled out harmlessly against the wall behind.

Ron choked. "Bloody hell—"

Hermione gasped. "It went through him."

Sirius looked like someone had slapped him with a dictionary. "He's… he's not even solid."

I let the flames ripple again, reforming my chest as I stepped forward, embers trailing from my boots.

"Now do you understand?" I said, voice smooth and lethal. "That is why I am a professor. And you are still incompetent children."

Their eyes were wide. Potter lowered his wand with trembling fingers.

I sneered. "Let's try that again. Give. Me. Your wand."

His hand moved slowly.

Then came the final insult.

In the brief moment Potter fired the spell—and as it passed harmlessly through me like a breeze over flame—Pettigrew vanished.

The rat. The coward. Gone.

I turned sharply, eyes wide, flame curling up my arms with fury. "NO!"

Sirius snarled. "He—he ran!"

I wheeled on him. "While you all argued, while Potter tried hexing the one person keeping you alive—your precious Peter crawled back to the shadows!"

The flames surged. The temperature rose. The walls themselves groaned with the heat.

And then—

The moonlight hit Lupin.

He shifted.

"Just like your father," I spat. "Quick to hex. Quick to judge. You have no idea what you've just done."

Sirius chuckled behind him. "Still can't handle a schoolboy spell, Snivellus?"

I turned on him, eyes narrowing into slits. "You've barely survived Azkaban and still have the gall to mock me?"

Hermione's voice wavered. "Professor—your hands... they're... on fire."

"Is he burning?" Ron gawked.

"No," Sirius muttered, blinking in disbelief. "He's controlling it. Merlin's beard—he's actually—"

I stepped forward slowly, like a prowling flame. The children backed away.

"How—how are you doing that?" Harry asked.

I sneered. "That is why I am a professor. And you are still incompetent children."

Then came the transformation. The moment the moonlight caught Lupin's skin.

He shifted.

Bones snapped. Flesh contorted. Fur erupted like cursed flames.

The students screamed. Sirius transformed in a flash of black fur and fury, but he was injured, unsteady, still recovering from Azkaban's curse.

The wolf lunged.

And then—I moved.

I stepped between them all, wand in hand, coat billowing as I grabbed the three students and Black with one sharp flick of my free arm, dragging them behind me. I was the shield. The firewall. The fury.

Lupin's wolf-form screeched, salivating, yellow eyes glowing with primal rage.

He was never my friend. None of them were. Not Potter, not Black, and certainly not Lupin—the quiet coward who watched it all happen with a bowed head and averted eyes. They called themselves Marauders, but I knew what they really were. If I was fire now, it was because they forged me in it.

"Behind me," I said, voice cold and quiet.

"What the—Professor?" Potter croaked. "Is that—you're—you're—"

"SHUT UP, POTTER," I hissed.

And then I set my hands on fire.

Twin plumes of flame erupted from my palms, licking the air like hungry dragons. My sleeves burned away in ribbons, exposing my arms covered in scars and runes inked with precision. The heat cast shadows against the old wood walls. I let the flames wrap up my forearms and crackle like serpents.

"What the bloody hell?" Ron muttered.

"Is he on fire?" Hermione gasped.

"Oh, come off it," Sirius barked, rolling his eyes. "What, am I supposed to call you Professor Snape now?"

I raised an eyebrow, flames curling around my knuckles.

"Considering I'm currently the only thing standing between you and a rabid werewolf, you can call me sir, Black."

I smirked. "Magic."

I didn't give them more. No explanations. No confessions. My secret—my fire—was not theirs to question.

Lupin-wolf leapt.

I didn't flinch.

He came at me like a storm of fur and fang—but I was the inferno. I was fire itself.

He hit nothing.

The moment his claws reached my chest, I let my body become flame. He passed through me—literally—his momentum carrying him straight through a roaring pillar of heat that singed the tips of his fur and earned a shocked, strangled yelp. He landed hard on the other side, skidding through a broken bench.

I reformed in a flash of fire, stepping forward with the echo of embers trailing behind. My eyes locked with his.

"I've burned through worse things than you," I muttered.

He growled, enraged—but I wasn't done.

I lunged forward, faster than he expected. My flaming fist slammed into his side, sending him flying into the far wall. Wood cracked. Dust rained from the ceiling.

He recovered faster than I anticipated.

Snarling, he circled me.

I rotated my shoulders and let the fire intensify. This wasn't just magic. This was control. This was rage. This was Jon's training flowing through my limbs—sweat-soaked sparring, broken bones healed over hours, and his infuriating commentary about my form.

"Lead with your left! Pivot! You're not a skeleton, you can move!"

Merlin help me, the brat was right.

I moved like fire. Fast. Unrelenting. I struck Lupin's knee, forcing him to stagger. I launched forward, twisting into a roundhouse engulfed in flame that singed the fur from his chest.

The room shook.

I was winning.

The students stared.

"Holy hell," Ron whispered. "Snape's beating the crap out of a werewolf."

"Why is he—on fire?" Hermione repeated, as though asking would make sense of it.

"Bloody awesome," Sirius muttered, coughing.

Another roar from the wolf. Another charge.

I let the flames climb higher. My body screamed under the pressure—but I'd trained for this. Jon had made sure of it.

I planted my heel, summoned everything I had, and released it.

"GET—DOWN!"

The fire roared like a tidal wave. My arms spread wide, and an arc of flame engulfed the wolf, not to kill—but to drive him back. The heat singed the walls, melted dust into glass. The wolf yelped, staggering toward the exit, fur smoking.

And then he fled.

Panting. Limping. Burned.

I stood in the silence that followed, smoke curling from my fingertips.

The room smelled like ash and wet wood.

"Professor Snape," Hermione finally said, breathless, "you just—you just fought off a werewolf with your bare hands."

"Flaming bare hands," Ron clarified.

"Are you alright?" Harry asked, his voice laced with something that sounded suspiciously like respect.

I straightened my coat.

"I am unharmed."

"How did you—" Sirius began.

I turned slowly to them.

"Magic."

Their expressions were priceless. Wide eyes. Slack jaws. Complete and utter disbelief.

I turned, flames retreating into skin.

"Come," I said. "We have a matter to deliver to the Ministry."

And behind me, as they followed—no longer defiant, no longer skeptical—I walked with my boots crunching over broken wood, smoke trailing behind me like a shadow made of fire.

They would never look at me the same again.

Good.

-------

The hospital wing reeked of antiseptic potions and the faintest traces of ash. I sat stiffly in a high-backed chair near the hearth, where Madam Pomfrey had tried—twice—to fuss over my singed coat and minor bruises. I waved her off both times. My flames had protected me better than any hospital ward ever could.

The silence was grating.

Dumbledore stood across from me, leaning heavily on his staff, his eyes not twinkling, but sharp and glassy. He hadn't spoken yet. Good. I was in no mood for sentiment or speeches.

The door opened behind us, and two aurors stepped in, accompanied by Amelia Bones and a younger scribe from the Ministry. Their expressions ranged from curious to outright terrified. They'd all heard. About the flames. About the werewolf. About the professor who turned to fire and beat a monster into retreat.

Dumbledore gestured for them to wait.

"Leave us," he told them calmly. "Just a few minutes."

To my surprise, they obeyed. The room emptied.

He turned to me. The silence hung, brittle.

"You're not going to ask how I did it?" I said, voice flat.

"No," Dumbledore replied, folding his hands. "I know better than to expect an answer when you've already decided it's none of my business."

Smart man.

"You stopped a werewolf from killing children," he added, almost softly. "You protected them."

"Of course I did," I snapped. "You think I would have let him harm them because of old grudges? I am many things, Headmaster, but I am not a fool."

He tilted his head slightly, that searching look in his eyes. "And yet you're refusing to rejoin the Order."

"Yes."

"We need you."

"No," I said, more sharply. "You need a spy. You want your double agent back. You want me to play the pawn again. I won't."

Dumbledore blinked. "Severus, if Voldemort—"

"If he returns," I said coldly, rising to my feet, "then he will face me directly. I will burn him from the inside out. I don't need to slither in the dark to fight monsters. Not anymore."

The fire crackled behind me. I did not miss the irony.

Dumbledore was silent again.

"You wonder about my power," I continued, eyes narrowing. "Don't. Don't ever pry, Headmaster. I am what I am because the world made me this way. You may not like it, but you will respect it."

He opened his mouth to speak again.

I didn't let him.

I raised my wand.

A single silver glow erupted from its tip, slow and radiant. The room grew brighter—quieter—as a shimmering doe stepped from my wand's light and walked across the floor.

Dumbledore's breath caught.

He recognized it instantly. Of course he did.

A tear fell from his eye.

"After all this time?" he whispered.

My throat was tight.

My voice, when it came, was barely audible.

"Always."

The doe lingered a moment longer, then faded.

I turned from him. "We're done here."

Point of View: Harry Potter

Harry sat in the far corner of the hospital wing, elbows on his knees, staring at the floor like it would suddenly explain everything.

Ron was beside him, unusually quiet.

Hermione looked like she'd swallowed an entire encyclopedia and still couldn't find the right page.

"He… turned into fire," Harry muttered.

"Actual fire," Ron said. "Like... the spell just passed through him."

"That's not just magic," Hermione whispered. "That's—elemental. It's like he's... he's not human. Or he's more than."

Harry nodded slowly. "And he saved us. He pulled us behind him. He fought off Lupin—as a werewolf."

Ron's mouth twisted. "With his bare hands. Flaming ones."

Harry didn't say it out loud, but something in him had definitely flipped upside down and back again.

He rubbed his eyes. "Okay, but seriously—did anyone else see him just stand there while a werewolf tried to kill us?"

"Mate," Ron said, voice hushed in reverence and disbelief, "he literally turned into fire. I think the werewolf bounced off him."

Hermione was blinking furiously. "It was like something out of a muggle spy film—except with fire fists and sarcastic insults."

"Right?!" Harry leaned forward. "Like, I expected Snape to hiss and vanish into his coat. Not go full James Bond meets flaming Batman. What even was that?!"

"He didn't even flinch," Ron said. "The spell passed through him. Like—poof—hole in his chest. Reformed. Still sneering."

Hermione nodded slowly. "It's terrifying. And also... kind of impressive. I mean, he was the coolest person in the room."

"Don't say that too loud," Ron muttered. "You'll summon him."

"Next thing we know he's riding a flaming motorcycle through the dungeons," Harry added.

"Stopping for a cup of disappointment and a fresh batch of sarcastic remarks," Hermione finished, stifling a giggle.

Ron grinned. "Who knew the greasy bat was secretly a superhero?"

"I'm not ready for this timeline," Harry said, collapsing back onto his pillows.

But even as they joked, there was an unspoken agreement in the air:

Professor Snape had just saved their lives.

And that changed everything.