"Are you really that concussed?" he asked incredulously.
"There are people in that school dropping like flies losing their magic left and right cursed to be no better than a squib. Lycanthropy can't be suppressed. There is no cure, no immunity. There is no one infected that can feel truly at peace around those not afflicted, and internalize that isolation to feel lesser. They feel outcast and monstrous, afraid of themselves. Hugs and high fives could wound the only people kind enough to still try for them."
"The masses have stripped away acceptance of anything that isn't a pure blood witch or wizard bound for a job in the Ministry. That bitch Umbridge wanted werewolves and centaurs executed for being what they are. She will be utterly alone, cursed, crippled. Instead, I am going to ensure that some of you will survive this damn plague and be there for each other. Can you choke your dogmatic teaching down for a moment to consider what is best for once?"