This story is based on the footnote from Page 41 of Fantastic Beasts & Where to Find Them:
"For a heartrending account of one wizard's battle with lycanthropy, see the classic Hairy Snout, Human Heart by an anonymous author." (Whizz Hard Books, 1975)
HAIRY SNOUT, HUMAN HEART
~ kittykittyhunter ~
I am sat a third of the way up the stairwell. Though my parents are usually cautious, tonight, they are too fraught with nerves, too racked with anxiety, to notice that they have left the door of our little apothecary slightly ajar. My mother, an impressive witch, is an expert on antidotes – however, I cannot say more on the matter.
"How can this be?" my mother murmurs faintly, for she is respectable and does not wail, even when discovering the worst news. "How could this have happened?"
My father's quiet grief is restrained. In any situation, he is a wizard who can be trusted to calm hysteria.
I make it no secret that I am privileged. Towards my parents, I have the utmost respect and gratitude, for, without their support and guidance, I would have fallen prey to the eventual fate that so many of my kind succumb to. Those who suffer my affliction are outcasts: we cannot walk freely among our magical brethren, nor can we actively seek one another for fear of being discovered. However, now I shall say it both openly and discreetly, in a manner that befits the truth.
I am a werewolf.
The reader may sneer at my 'hypocrisy'. Yes, I am willing to declare that I am beastly, cursed, diseased – but beyond that? I refuse to divulge my name, or any details that hint at my actual identity. I am confident that my kind will never be accepted by the wider community, despite the fact that, at our core, we are no different to the others who frequent Diagon Alley. As such, I have no wish to besmirch my family's honour, especially after the sacrifices they made.
My parents continue to speak, exchanging concerns. My noble father raises the important question. "What about Hogwarts?"
It is as though my organs are imploding. Such is the pain ricocheting through my systems, pounding on my skeleton. To have all my prospects – snatched! To have all my ambitions – trampled! I am young, but I am not naïve. The solution my parents will come to is clear, and, to a certain extent, I am oddly grateful. Better that the shame should affect me now, rather than when I had established myself, made friends, settled in. Instead, I will have no one at all.
Three nights ago, I was savaged by a werewolf. I do not fully recall what happened, but I am a risk. At some point, the Ministry must be informed. Yet, what hurts most is that I will never go that place where the good become great: Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
A minute later, my father confirms my fear.
"He'll be home-schooled."