Harry Potter: The Beast Wizard

The stone corridors sloped downward, colder and damper with every step. The torches flickered low, as if even fire was reluctant to linger in the dungeons. A faint smell of mildew, burnt herbs, and something suspiciously like pickled troll toes clung to the air.

"Honestly," Hermione huffed, glancing over her shoulder, "if you hadn't walked past the third staircase again, we'd already be there."

"I knew where we were going," Inosuke replied confidently, stepping over a trick stair that had swallowed Neville's shoe earlier. "I was just scouting alternate attack paths."

"This isn't a battlefield!"

"Everywhere is a battlefield if you're awake enough!"

Hermione groaned. Ever since Dumbledore had officially tasked her with helping Inosuke "acclimate" to Hogwarts, she'd taken her new responsibility seriously—perhaps too seriously. Which is why, now, she was marching to Potions class with one hand on her bag and the other firmly wrapped around Inosuke's wrist like he was a toddler prone to sprinting off into traffic.

"You're not climbing through any more windows," she hissed as they reached the dungeon steps. "No punching anything unless it punches you first. And for Merlin's sake, keep your cauldron on the table."

"I wasn't going to punch the class," Inosuke grumbled. "Unless the potions try to eat me."

"That's not how Potions work!"

They reached the dungeon door just as the Gryffindor first-years were filing in. Ron looked up from his seat beside Harry and blinked.

"You actually brought him."

"Like dragging a screaming Mandrake uphill in a thunderstorm," Hermione muttered.

The Potions classroom was as bleak as ever—lined with shelves of strange ingredients: floating eyeballs, preserved roots, and the occasional blinking organ. The stone tables were already set with cauldrons.

"This place smells like dragon bile and expired goblin cheese," Ron whispered.

Hermione yanked Inosuke into the seat beside her before he could storm to the front of the room and declare it his "battle podium."

He folded himself onto the bench cross-legged like a jungle beast on a perch, boar mask slightly fogged by the dungeon humidity.

From across the aisle, Malfoy wrinkled his nose. "Still shirtless? What's he got against clothes?"

Pansy Parkinson smirked. "Probably abandoned in the forest by his mudblood parents."

Inosuke's head whipped around.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, YOU LITTLE BITCH?!" he roared, standing up with fists clenched.

Hermione clamped a hand on his arm. "No! Sit!"

Before chaos could erupt further, the classroom door opened again—this time with cold, calculated menace. Professor Snape swept into the room, black robes trailing like a storm cloud, his expression already promising suffering.

The room fell silent.

Even Inosuke paused. He tilted his head slightly and sniffed the air.

"This one smells like poison... and dead leaves."

Snape stopped.

"Mr. Hashibira, I presume," he said, voice like slow-dripping venom. "The one who assaulted the Sorting Hat and The Slytherin Table. Who climbed the castle walls. And who seems to believe shirts are optional."

Inosuke crossed his arms. "I go where strength takes me. Cloth is weakness."

A few Slytherins snickered. Crabbe let out a low, gurgling laugh.

Snape did not.

Instead, he turned to the class, his voice silky and low. "There will be no foolish wand-waving in this class. No loud incantations. I expect precision, control, and discipline."

He prowled past their desks like a stalking snake.

"Potions," he continued, "can grant power over life and death. The ability to stop time, silence pain, brew fame… or create something so potent it burns the soul."

Hermione's eyes lit up.

Inosuke raised his hand.

"No," Snape said instantly.

"I didn't even say anything yet."

"I'm preemptively refusing to acknowledge your nonsense," Snape said with a sneer. "Now."

His eyes fell on Harry, who had straightened up as if bracing for impact.

"Potter. What would I get if I added powdered root of asphodel to an infusion of wormwood?"

Harry blinked. "I… I don't know, sir."

Snape's lip curled. "Clearly, fame doesn't equal intelligence."

Hermione's hand was up, shaking.

Snape ignored her. "Let's try again. Where would you look if I told you to find me a bezoar?"

Harry shook his head slowly. "I don't know, sir."

More laughter from the Slytherins.

Snape's voice dropped to a whisper. "And what is the difference between monkshood and wolfsbane?"

"I… don't know that either."

Snape stood still for a long moment. "Pity. And here I thought the Boy-Who-Lived might be able to read."

Hermione was practically vibrating.

Then Snape turned, dark eyes falling on Inosuke like a predator spotting prey.

"And you," he said, enunciating each word like a curse. "What use is a cauldron to a wild animal who doesn't even know how to write his name?"

The Slytherins burst into laughter. Draco Malfoy let out a theatrical gasp and smirked. "Ooooh—"

Inosuke stood up so fast his stool rocketed backward and clattered to the floor.

"WHAT DID YOU SAY, GREASY BAT?!" he bellowed, veins popping in his neck, the boar mask glinting under the flickering dungeon light.

Snape narrowed his eyes, lips curled in a cruel smirk. "Ah… struck a nerve, did I?" he said smoothly, his voice cold as frost. "It must be difficult to take offense when one barely qualifies as human."

"And fifteen points from Gryffindor," Snape added, with venomous relish, "for insulting a professor, threatening violence, and turning this classroom into a circus."

The Slytherin side of the room erupted with laughter. Crabbe was howling the loudest, practically doubled over—

Until. Inosuke picked up his cauldron and hurled it straight at Crabbe who was laughing the hardest.

THWANG!

It smacked Crabbe square in the chest, knocking him backward off his bench and into Goyle. Both landed on the stone floor in a tangled heap.

Gasps erupted.

Draco leapt up, backing away. "He just threw a cauldron!"

Snape's face twisted with fury.

"YOU INSOLENT BRUTE!" he roared, whipping out his wand. "Stupe—"

But Inosuke was already moving.

He spun toward the potion shelves, grabbed a fistful of powdered unicorn horn, a pinch of fire-newt skin, and a ladle of pickled doxy wings.

"INOSUKE, NO—!" Hermione screamed.

"STRENGTH DUST!!!" he bellowed and flung the mixture into Snape's face.

PSSSHHHHH!

A pink mist exploded in all directions.

Snape staggered backward, coughing violently as glittery dust coated his robes.

"MY EYES!" he rasped. "What in Merlin's—cough—what did you—?!"

"I BLINDED THE DARKNESS WITH MY MIGHT!" Inosuke roared triumphantly.

Snape flailed, tripped over a bench, and crashed into a pile of overturned cauldrons behind him.

".." Gryffindor.

".." Slytherin.

Hermione looked like she was having an aneurysm.

Inosuke stood atop a table, arms wide.

"LET THIS BE A LESSON TO ALL DARK CLOAKED MOCKERS—YOU CANNOT DEFEAT INOSUKE!"

Ten minutes later—

Professor McGonagall stormed into the dungeon, red-faced and dragging Inosuke by the ear with enough force to bend steel.

"I SHOULD EXPEL YOU RIGHT NOW!" she snapped, her tartan robes flaring like battle flags. "You assaulted a professor with potion ingredients, injured a student with a cauldron, and set off a magical dust explosion!"

"He insulted my glorious chest!" Inosuke protested. "And they mocked my name!"

"YOU SHOULD HAVE JUST BEHAVE!"

Behind her, Dumbledore arrived with Madam Pomfrey. Snape, now resting on a conjured cot, was still coughing up glitter.

The Headmaster raised a calming hand.

"Severus will recover," he said gently, though his eyes twinkled with barely hidden amusement. "Mr. Hashibira is… still adjusting to our customs."

"Adjusting? He fought the class," McGonagall snapped. "Again!"

Dumbledore turned to Inosuke.

"Inosuke, please. Try to attend classes without physically incapacitating the staff."

"I can't promise that."

Dumbledore raised a brow. "Try."

"...Fine."

A/N

[Power Stone Please]