Posted originally on the Archive_of_Our_Own at https://archiveofourown.org/
works/10937484.
  Rating:
      Explicit
  Archive Warning:
      Underage
  Category:
      M/M
  Fandom:
      Harry_Potter_-_J._K._Rowling
  Relationship:
      Remus_Lupin/Harry_Potter, Lucius_Malfoy/Percy_Weasley, Draco_Malfoy/
      Oliver_Wood, Percy_Weasley/Oliver_Wood, re, Sirius_Black/Remus_Lupin,
      James_Potter/Lily_Evans_Potter, Remus_Lupin/James_Potter
  Character:
      Harry_Potter, Remus_Lupin, Draco_Malfoy, Albus_Dumbledore, Hermione
      Granger, Ron_Weasley, Percy_Weasley, Lucius_Malfoy, Rubeus_Hagrid
  Additional Tags:
      Fluff_and_Smut, Hurt/Comfort, Book_3:_Harry_Potter_and_the_Prisoner_of
      Azkaban, Canon_Rewrite, Manipulative_Dumbledore, Dumbledore_Bashing, Evil
      Dumbledore, Bad_Dumbledore, Dumbledore_Being_a_Dick, Mpreg, Marriage,
      Marriage_Proposal, Cute, Cute_Ending, Cute_Harry, Sassy_Harry_Potter,
      Bottom_Harry_Potter
  Stats:
      Published: 2017-05-18 Chapters: 2/? Words: 10863
****** Harry Potter and the Werewolf's Curse ******
by Ultimate_Fandom_Queen
Summary
     Harry Potter wants nothing more than a normal year at his magical
     school. Unfortunately, nothing normal ever happens to the boy who
     lived. As he enters his third year,a nefarious criminal escapes from
     the wizard prison, bent on killing Harry. On top of that, puberty
     seems to be playing with his mind, as he feels things he doesn't
     quite understand for his ew Defense against the dark arts teacher.
     Follows the timeline of Book 3: Harry Potter and the Prisoner of
     Azkaban
     Includes some love triangles as Percy Weasley has trouble with his
     sexuality and Oliver Wood comes to terms with his feelings for him.
     Also, Evil Dumbledore.
     This will also eventually go pretty far into the future, so....
     marriage? mpreg? Idk. Just a whole lotta cuteness. And some angst
     along the way because I feel like it.
***** The Dementor/ His Knight in.... a Patched Suit? *****
Harry Potter was a highly unusual boy in many ways. For one thing, he hated the
summer holidays more than any other time of year. For another, he really wanted
to do his homework but was forced to do it in secret, in the dead of night. And
he also happened to be a wizard. Today was September the first, a say Harry had
been looking forward to for the past two months because it meant the start of a
new term at his school, Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry.
Unfortunately, Harry was unable to enjoy this awaited day due to a little
problem: one of the most dangerous known criminals in the entire wizarding
world, a follower of the man who murdered Harry’s parents and attempted to
murder him as well when he was only just barely a year old, had recently become
the first criminal known to make a successful escape from Azkaban, the wizard
prison, and, according to the conversation he overheard last night from his
best friend Ron’s parents, said criminal was now bent on killing Harry.
"Ah, there's Penelope!" said Percy, one of Ron’s five older brothers, smoothing
his hair and going slightly pink. Ginny, Ron's only sister and the youngest of
the Weasley’s, caught Harry's eye, and they both turned away to hide their
laughter as Percy strode over to a girl with long, curly hair, walking with his
chest thrown out so that she couldn't miss his shiny Head Boy badge, an award
given to one exceptional boy in their seventh and final year at Hogwarts, and
stood back to let him on. Percy, while exceptionally bright and rather handsome
if anyone was completely honest, was also rather pompous and vain.
Not that Harry ever noticed, of course. He never really had time in to think
about things like dating or his own sexuality with the whole trapped- with-
abusive- relatives- turned- expected- savior- of- a- world- he- never- knew-
existed thing. If he had, he may have noticed that he found himself admiring
both the attractive femininity of girls just as much as the masculine
sturdiness of guys.
They leaned out of the window and waved at Mr. and Mrs. Weasley until the train
turned a corner and blocked them from view.
"I need to talk to you in private," Harry muttered to Ron and Hermione, Harry’s
female best friend, as the train picked up speed.
"Go away, Ginny," said Ron.
"Oh, that's nice," said Ginny huffily, and she stalked off.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione set off down the corridor, looking for an empty
compartment, but all were full except for the one at the very end of the train.
This had only one occupant, a man sitting fast asleep next to the window.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione checked on the threshold. The Hogwarts Express was
usually reserved for students and they had never seen an adult there before,
except for the witch who pushed the food cart.
The stranger was wearing an extremely shabby set of wizard's robes that had
been darned in several places. He looked ill and exhausted, but Harry couldn't
help but notice a certain classic handsomeness to his features. Though quite
young, his light brown hair was flecked with gray, giving him an aged and
somehow widened look. His skin was smooth with only very few wrinkles just
around his eyes. His eyes were closed, but his lashes were long and dark, and
Harry couldn't help but wonder what color those eyes would be. His skin was
pale, almost too much to be healthy, and he had dark circles under his eyes.
Harry had the unexplainable urge to gently stroke the man's face, to sooth the
worry lines along his brow and help him rest at ease, to lighten those dark
circles with a restful night safe knowing Harry was there. Harry knew all too
well what it was like to have sleep tormented with nightmares and restlessness.
"Who d'you reckon he is?" Ron hissed as they sat down and slid the door shut,
taking the seats farthest away from the window and pulling Harry from his
thoughts.
"Professor R. J. Lupin," whispered Hermione at once.
"How d'you know that?"
"It's on his case," she replied, pointing at the luggage rack over the man's
head, where there was a small, battered case held together with a
large quantity of neatly knotted string. The name Professor R. J. Lupin was
stamped across one corner in peeling letters.
"Wonder what he teaches?" said Ron, frowning at Professor Lupin's pallid
profile.
"That's obvious," whispered Hermione. "There's only one vacancy, isn't there?
Defense Against the Dark Arts."
Harry, Ron, and Hermione had already had two Defense Against the Dark Arts
teachers, both of whom had lasted only one year. There were rumors that the job
was jinxed.
"Well, I hope he's up to it," said Ron doubtfully. "He looks like a good hex
would finish him off, doesn't he? Anyway..." He turned to Harry. "What were you
going to tell us?"
Harry explained all about Mr. and Mrs. Weasley's argument and the warning Mr.
Weasley had just given him. When he'd finished, Ron looked thunderstruck, and
Hermione had her hands over her mouth. She finally lowered them to say, "Sirius
Black escaped to come after you? Oh, Harry... you'll have to be really, really
careful. don't go looking for trouble, Harry --"
"I Don't go looking for trouble," said Harry, a bit snappier than he meant to.
"Trouble usually finds me."
"How thick would Harry have to be, to go looking for a nutter who wants to kill
him?" said Ron shakily.
They were taking the news worse than Harry had expected. Both Ron and Hermione
seemed to be much more frightened of Black than he was.
"No one knows how he got out of Azkaban," said Ron uncomfortably. "No one's
ever done it before. And he was a top-security prisoner too."
"But they'll catch him, won't they?" said Hermione earnestly. "I Mean, they've
got all the Muggles looking out for him too...."
"What's that noise?" said Ron suddenly.
A faint, tinny sort of whistle was coming from somewhere. They looked all
around the compartment.
"It's coming from your trunk, Harry," said Ron, standing up and reaching into
the luggage rack. A moment later he had pulled the Pocket Sneakoscope out from
between Harry's robes. It was spinning very fast in the palm of Ron's hand and
glowing brilliantly.
"Is that a Sneakoscope?" said Hermione interestedly, standing up for a better
look.
"Yeah... mind you, it's a very cheap one," Ron said. "It went haywire just as I
was tying it to Errol's leg to send it to Harry."
"Were you doing anything untrustworthy at the time?" said Hermione shrewdly.
"No! Well... I wasn't supposed to be using Errol. You know he's not really up
to long journeys... but how else was I supposed to get Harry's present to him?"
"Stick it back in the trunk," Harry advised as the Sneakoscope whistled
piercingly, "or it'll wake him up."
He nodded toward Professor Lupin, not wanting to wake the man when he already
looked so exhausted. Harry once again had to resist the urge to pet the man as
Ron stuffed the Sneakoscope into a particularly horrible pair of Uncle Vernon's
old socks, which deadened the sound, then closed the lid of the trunk on it.
"We could get it checked in Hogsmeade," said Ron, sitting back down.
"They sell that sort of thing in Dervish and Banges, magical instruments and
stuff. Fred and George told me."
"Do you know much about Hogsmeade?" asked Hermione keenly. "I've read it's the
only entirely non-Muggle settlement in Britain --"
"Yeah, I think it is," said Ron in an offhand sort of way.
"But that's not why I want to go. I just want to get inside Honey Dukes."
"What's that?" said Hermione, and Harry turned away from the man he had once
again been staring at to pay attention to the conversation at hand.
"It's this sweetshop," said Ron, a dreamy look coming over his face, "where
they've got everything... Pepper Imps -- they make you smoke at the mouth -
- and great fat Chocoballs full of strawberry mousse and clotted cream, and
really excellent sugar quills, which you can suck in class and just look like
you're thinking what to write next --"
"But Hogsmeade's a very interesting place, isn't it?" Hermione pressed on
eagerly. "In Sites of Historical Sorcery it says the inn was the headquarters
for the 1612 goblin rebellion, and the Shrieking Shades supposed to be the most
severely haunted building in Britain --"
"-- and massive sherbert balls that make you levitate a few inches off the
ground while you're sucking them," said Ron, who was plainly not listening to a
word Hermione was saying.
Hermione looked around at Harry. "Won't it be nice to get out of school for a
bit and explore Hogsmeade?"
"'Spect it will," said Harry heavily. "You'll have to tell me when you've found
out."
"What d'you mean?" said Ron.
"I can't go. The Dursleys didn't sign my permission form, and Fudge wouldn't
either."
Ron looked horrified.
"You're not allowed to come? But -- no way -- McGonagall or someone will give
you permission -- "
"Well, look who it is, Potty and Weasel." said Malfoy, another boy in their
year from a very rich family, in his usual lazy drawl, pulling open the
compartment door. Malfoy believed his family superior to most others because
they were pure bloods, meaning all their ancestors were wizards with no non-
magical muggles anywhere in the line. Malfoy was another example of someone
Harry might have noticed was attractive if not for his stress and loneliness.
And Malfoy being such a pompous jerk, of course.
Crabbe and Goyle, Malfoy’s lackeys with a lot of brawn and very little brain,
chuckled trollishly.
"I heard your father finally got his hands on some gold this summer, Weasley,"
said Malfoy. "Did your mother die of shock?"
Ron stood up so quickly he knocked Crookshanks's basket to the floor.
Professor Lupin gave a snort.
"Who's that?" said Malfoy, taking an automatic step backward as he spotted
Lupin.
"New teacher," said Harry, who got to his feet, too, in case he needed to hold
Ron back. At least, that was the most reasonable reason for his standing, the
reason he told himself. The protective stance he took in front of the sleeping
professor was purely coincidental. "What were you saying, Malfoy?"
Malfoy's pale eyes narrowed; he wasn't fool enough to pick a fight right under
a teacher's nose.
"C'mon," he muttered resentfully to Crabbe and Goyle, and they disappeared.
Harry and Ron sat down again, Ron massaging his knuckles.
"I'm not going to take any crap from Malfoy this year," he said angrily. "I
mean it. If he makes one more crack about my family, I'm going to get hold of
his head and --"
Ron made a violent gesture in midair.
"Ron," hissed Hermione, pointing at Professor Lupin, "be careful..."
But Professor Lupin was still fast asleep.
The rain thickened as the train sped yet farther north; the windows were now a
solid, shimmering gray, which gradually darkened until lanterns flickered into
life all along the corridors and over the luggage racks.
The train rattled, the rain hammered, the wind roared, but still, Professor
Lupin slept.
"We must be nearly there," said Ron, leaning forward to look past Professor
Lupin at the now completely black window, and Harry found himself for some
reason regretting sitting beside Hermione across from the teacher rather than
beside him.
The words had hardly left Ron when the train started to slow down.
"Great," said Ron, getting up and walking carefully past Professor Lupin to try
and see outside. "I'm starving. I want to get to the feast..."We can't be there
yet," said Hermione, checking her watch.
"So why're we stopping?"
The train was getting slower and slower. As the noise of the pistons
fell away, the wind and rain sounded louder than ever against the windows.
Harry got up to look into the corridor. All along the carriage, heads were
sticking curiously out of their compartments.
The train came to a stop with a jolt, and distant thuds and bangs told them
that luggage had fallen out of the racks. Then, without warning,all the lamps
went out and they were plunged into total darkness.
"'What's going on?" said Ron's voice from behind Harry.
"Ouch!" gasped Hermione. "Ron, that was my foot!"
Harry felt his way back to his seat, jumping back a bit when his hand brushed
against something and hoping it wasn't the Professor, though unsure why he
should be so self conscious about touching the man, especially as he was
asleep. "D'you think we've broken down?"
"Dunno..."
There was a squeaking sound, and Harry saw the dim black outline of Ron, wiping
a patch clean on the window and peering out.
"There's something moving out there," Ron said. "I think people are coming
aboard...."
The compartment door suddenly opened and someone fell painfully over Harry's
legs.
"Sorry -- d'you know what's going on? -- Ouch -- sorry.”
"Hullo, Neville," said Harry, feeling around in the dark and pulling Neville up
by his cloak.
"Harry? Is that you? What's happening?"
"No idea -- sit down --"
There was a loud hissing and a yelp of pain; Neville had tried to sit on
Crookshanks.
"I'm going to go and ask the driver what's going on," came Hermione's voice.
Harry felt her pass him, heard the door slide open again, and then a thud and
two loud squeals of pain.
"Who's that?"
"Who's that?"
"Ginny?"
"Hermione?"
"What are you doing?"
"I was looking for Ron --"
"Come in and sit down --"
"Not here!" said Harry hurriedly. "I'm here!"
"Ouch!" said Neville.
"Quiet!" said a hoarse voice suddenly.
Professor Lupin appeared to have woken up at last. Harry could hear movements
in his corner, and immediately shut his mouth, chalking his obedience up to
simply the need to listen to a teacher.
None of them spoke.
There was a soft, crackling noise, and a shivering light filled the
compartment. Professor Lupin appeared to be holding a handful of flames.
The new, dim light simmered across the elder man’s face, making it seem to
almost glow in its ghostly paleness; the tips of his chocolate brown hair
gleamed gold against it. His eyes were a soft green color, like some dense,
mystic forest, with flecks of grey in them that reminded harry of moonlight. He
was utterly beautiful.
Which was a pretty weird thing for a teenaged boy to think about his thirty
something professor, but Harry still knew it to be true.
"Stay where you are," the man said in the same hoarse voice, and he got slowly
to his feet with his handful of fire held out in front of him.
But the door slid slowly open before Lupin could reach it.
Standing in the doorway, illuminated by the shivering flames in Lupin's hand,
was a cloaked figure that towered to the ceiling. Its face was completely
hidden beneath its hood. Harry's eyes darted downward, and what he saw made his
stomach contract. There was a hand protruding from the cloak and it was
glistening, grayish, slimy-looking, and scabbed,
like something dead that had decayed in water...
But it was visible only for a split second. As though the creature beneath the
cloak sensed Harry's gaze, the hand was suddenly withdrawn
into the folds of its black cloak. And then the thing beneath the hood,
whatever it was, drew a long, slow, rattling breath, as though it were trying
to suck something more than air from its surroundings.
An intense cold swept over them all. Harry felt his own breath catch in his
chest. The cold went deeper than his skin. It was inside his chest, it was
inside his very heart....
Harry's eyes rolled up into his head. He couldn't see. He was drowning in cold.
There was a rushing in his ears as though of water. He was being dragged
downward, the roaring growing louder…
And then, from far away, he heard screaming, terrible, terrified, pleading
screams. He wanted to help whoever it was, he tried to move his
arms, but couldn't... a thick white fog was swirling around him, inside him -
"Harry! Harry! Are you all right?"
Someone was slapping his face.
"W -- what?"
Harry opened his eyes; there were lanterns above him, and the floor was shaking
-- the Hogwarts Express was moving again and the lights had come back on. He
seemed to have slid out of his seat onto the floor. Ron and
Hermione were kneeling next to him, and above them he could see Neville and
Professor Lupin watching. Harry felt very sick; when he put up his hand to push
his glasses back on, he felt cold sweat on his face; surely he was too pale
from his ailment for anyone to notice the light flush on his face from the
intense gaze the teacher had on him.
Ron and Hermione heaved him back onto his seat. "Are you okay?" Ron asked
nervously.
"Yeah," said Harry, looking quickly toward the door. The hooded creature had
vanished. "What happened? Where's that -- that thing? Who screamed?"
"No one screamed," said Ron, more nervously still.
Harry looked around the bright compartment. Ginny and Neville looked back at
him, both very pale.
"But I heard screaming --"
A loud snap made them all jump. Professor Lupin was breaking an enormous slab
of chocolate into pieces.
"Here," he said to Harry, handing him a particularly large piece. "Eat it.
It'll help."
Harry took the chocolate but didn't eat it. He looked down at his hands, sure
now that his blush would be visible if he didn't keep his face down. A strange
feeling seemed to have spread through him, a mixture of the cold from the
creature and warmth from the older man, and he wondered what sort of calming
magic the Professor must be using on him to make him feel that way. "What was
that thing?" he asked Lupin, still not looking at the man.
"A dementor," said Lupin, who was now giving chocolate to everyone else, though
notably smaller pieces. "One of the dementors of Azkaban." Everyone stared at
him. Professor Lupin crumpled up the empty chocolate wrapper and put it in his
pocket. "Eat," he repeated. "It'll help. I need to speak to the driver, excuse
me…”
He strolled past Harry, making the boy freeze in his seat as he brushed past
him, and disappeared into the corridor.
"Are you sure you're okay, Harry?" said Hermione, watching Harry anxiously as
she pulled him from his thoughts.
"I don't get it.... What happened?" said Harry,wiping more sweat off his face.
"Well -- that thing -- the dementor -- stood there and looked around (I mean, I
think it did, I couldn't see its face) -- and you -- you”
"I thought you were having a fit or something," said Ron, who still looked
scared. "You went sort of rigid and fell out of your seat and
started twitching --”
"And Professor Lupin stepped over you, and walked toward the dementor, and
pulled out his wand," said Hermione, "and he said, 'None of us is hiding Sirius
Black under our cloaks. Go.' But the dementor didn't move, so Lupin muttered
something, and a silvery thing shot out of his wand at it, and it turned around
and sort of glided away.... "
"It was horrible," said Neville, in a higher voice than usual. "Did YOU feel
how cold it got when it came in?"
“I felt weird," said Ron, shifting his shoulders uncomfortably. "Like I'd never
be cheerful again...."
Ginny, who was huddled in her corner looking nearly as bad as Harry felt, gave
a small sob; Hermione went over and put a comforting arm
around her.
"But didn't any of you -- fall off your seats?" said Harry awkwardly.
"No," said Ron, looking anxiously at Harry again. "Ginny was shaking like mad,
though...."
Harry didn't understand. He felt weak and shivery, as though he were recovering
from a bad bout of flu; he also felt the beginnings of shame. Why had he gone
to pieces like that, when no one else had?
Professor Lupin came back, making Harry feel even more ashamed as he realized
that this man also saw his horrific reaction. He paused as he entered, looked
around, and said, with a small smile, "I haven't poisoned that chocolate, you
know...."
Harry took a bite and to his great surprise felt warmth spread suddenly to the
tips of his fingers and toes almost immediately, though the feeling of shame
still hadn't faded away.
"We'll be at Hogwarts in ten minutes," said Professor Lupin. "Are you alright,
Harry?"
Harry didn't ask how Professor Lupin knew his name. "Fine," he muttered,
embarrassed. They didn't talk much during the remainder of the journey. At long
last, the train stopped at Hogsmeade station, and there was a great scramble to
get outside; owls hooted, cats meowed, and Neville's pet toad croaked loudly
from under his hat. It was freezing on the tiny platform; rain was driving down
in icy sheets.
"Firs' years this way!" called a familiar voice. Harry, Ron, and Hermione
turned and saw the gigantic outline of Hagrid at the other end of the platform,
beckoning the terrified-looking new students forward for their traditional
journey across the lake. "All right, you three?" Hagrid yelled over the heads
of the crowd. They waved at him, but had no chance to speak to him because the
mass of people around them was shunting them away along the platform. Harry,
Ron, and Hermione followed the rest of the school along the platform and out
onto a rough mud track, where at least a hundred stagecoaches awaited the
remaining students, each pulled, Harry could only assume, by an invisible
horse, because when they climbed inside and shut the door, the coach set off
all by itself, bumping and swaying in procession.
The coach smelled faintly of mold and straw. Harry felt better since the
chocolate, but still weak. Ron and Hermione kept looking at him sideways, as
though frightened he might collapse again. As the carriage trundled toward a
pair of magnificent wrought iron gates, flanked with stone columns topped with
winged boars, Harry saw two more towering, hooded dementors, standing guard on
either side. A wave of cold sickness threatened to engulf him again; he leaned
back into the lumpy seat and closed his eyes until they had passed the gates,
surprised to find himself wishing that Professor Lupin was there with him. Or
at least some of his chocolate. The carriage picked up speed on the long,
sloping drive up to the castle; Hermione was leaning out of the tiny window,
watching the many turrets and towers draw nearer. At last, the carriage swayed
to a halt, and Hermione and Ron got out. As Harry stepped down, a drawling,
delighted voice sounded in his ear.
"You fainted, Potter? Is Longbottorn telling the truth? You actualy fainted?"
Malfoy elbowed past Hermione to block Harry's way up the stone steps to the
castle, his face gleeful and his pale eyes glinting maliciously.
"Shove off, Malfoy," said Ron, whose jaw was clenched.
"Did you faint as well, Weasley?" said Malfoy loudly. "Did the scary old
dementor frighten you too, Weasley?"
"Is there a problem?" said a mild voice. Professor Lupin had just gotten out of
the next carriage. Malfoy gave Professor Lupin an insolent stare, which took in
the patches on his robes and the dilapidated suitcase. With a tiny hint of
sarcasm in his voice, he said, "Oh, no -- er -- Professor," then he smirked at
Crabbe and Goyle and led them up the steps into the castle. Harry tightened his
hands into fists, his jaw clenching in fury. How dare Malfoy look at Professor
Lupin in such a way? Harry took a step towards Malfoy with every intention of
putting him in his place, and probably would have if Hermione hadn't prodded
him and Ron in the back to make them hurry inside the castle, and the three of
them joined the crowd swarming up the steps, through the giant oak front doors,
into the cavernous entrance hall, which was lit with flaming torches, and
housed a magnificent marble staircase that led to the upper floors.
The door into the Great Hall stood open at the right; Harry followed the crowd
toward it, but had barely glimpsed the enchanted ceiling, which was black and
cloudy tonight, when a voice called, "Potter! Granger! I want to see you both!"
Harry and Hermione turned around, surprised. Professor McGonagall,
Transfiguration teacher and head of Gryffindor House, was calling over the
heads of the crowd. She was a stern looking witch who wore her hair in a tight
bun; her sharp eyes were framed with square spectacles. Harry fought his way
over to her with a feeling of foreboding: Professor McGonagall had a way of
making him feel he must have done something wrong.
"There's no need to look so worried -- I just want a word in my office," she
told them. "Move along there, Weasley." Ron stared as Professor McGonagall
ushered Harry and Hermione away from the chattering crowd; they accompanied her
across the entrance hall, up the marble staircase, and along a corridor.
Once they were in her office, a small room with a large, welcoming fire,
Professor McGonagall motioned Harry and Hermione to sit down. She settled
herself behind her desk and said abruptly, "Professor Lupin sent an owl ahead
to say that you were taken ill on the train, Potter."
Harry felt his face flush in embarrassment, a mixture of shame that the other
teacher had thought he needed some sort of special treatment because of his
weakness and gratitude that he cared enough to do so, but before Harry could
reply, there was a soft knock on the door and Madam Pomfrey, the nurse, came
bustling in. Harry felt himself going even redder in the face. It was bad
enough that he'd passed out, or whatever he had done, without everyone making
all this fuss.
"I'm fine," he said, "I don't need anything "Oh, it's you, is it?" said Madam
Pomfrey, ignoring this and bending down to stare closely at him. "I suppose
you've been doing something dangerous again?"
"It was a dementor, Poppy," said Professor McGonagall. They exchanged a dark
look, and Madam Pomfrey clucked disapprovingly.
"Setting dementors around a school,” she muttered, pushing back Harry's hair
and feeling his forehead. "He won't be the last one who collapses. Yes, he's
all clammy. Terrible things, they are, and the effect they have on people who
are already delicate.”
"I'm not delicate!" said Harry crossly, his face flaming redder than Ron's
hair.
"Of course you're not," said Madam Pomfrey absentmindedly, now taking his
pulse.
"What does he need?" said Professor McGonagall crisply. "Bed rest? Should he
perhaps spend tonight in the hospital wing?"
"I'm fine!" said Harry, jumping up. The thought of what Draco Malfoy would say
if he had to go to the hospital wing was torture, not to mention how foolish he
would look to Professor Lupin.
"Well, he should have some chocolate, at the very least," said Madam Pomfrey,
who was now trying to peer into Harry's eyes. "I've already had some," said
Harry. "Professor Lupin gave me some. He gave it to all of us."
"Did he, now?" said Madam Pomfrey approvingly. "So we've finally got a Defense
Against the Dark Arts teacher who knows his remedies?"
"Are you sure you feel all right, Potter?" Professor McGonagall said sharply.
"Yes, "said Harry.
"Very well. Kindly wait outside while I have a quick word with Miss Granger
about her course schedule, then we can go down to the feast together."
Harry went back into the corridor with Madam Pomfrey, who left for the hospital
wing, muttering to herself. He had to wait only a few minutes; then Hermione
emerged looking very happy about something, followed by Professor McGonagall,
and the three of them made their way back down the marble staircase to the
Great Hall. It was a sea of pointed black hats; each of the long House tables
was lined with students, their faces glimmering by the light of thousands of
candles, which were floating over the tables in midair. Professor Flitwick, who
was a tiny little wizard with a shock of white hair, was carrying an ancient
hat and a three-legged stool out of the hall. "Oh," said Hermione softly,
"we've missed the Sorting!" New students at Hogwarts were sorted into Houses by
trying on the sorting Hat, which shouted out the House they were best suited to
(Gryffindor, Ravenclaw, Hufflepuff, or Slytherin). Professor McGonagall strode
off toward her empty seat at the staff table, and Harry and Hermione set off in
the other direction, as quietly as possible, toward the Gryffindor table.
People looked around at them as they passed along the back of the hall, and a
few of them pointed at Harry. Had the story of his collapsing in front of the
dementor traveled that fast? He and Hermione sat down on either side of Ron,
who had saved them seats.
"What was all that about?" he muttered to Harry.
Harry started to explain in a whisper, but at that moment the headmaster stood
up to speak, and he broke off. Professor Dumbledore, though very old, always
gave an impression of great energy. He had several feet of long silver hair and
beard, half-moon spectacles, and an extremely crooked nose. He was often
described as the greatest wizard of the age.
"Welcome!" said Dumbledore, the candlelight shimmering on his beard.
"Welcome to another year at Hogwarts! I have a few things to say to you all,
and as one of them is very serious, I think it best to get it out of the way
before you become befuddled by our excellent feast...."
Dumbledore cleared his throat and continued, "As you will all be aware after
their search of the Hogwarts Express, our school is presently playing host to
some of the dementors of Azkaban, who are here on Ministry of Magic business."
He paused, and Harry remembered what Mr. Weasley had said about Dumbledore not
being happy with the dementors guarding the school. "They are stationed at
every entrance to the grounds," Dumbledore continued, "and while they are with
us, I must make it plain that nobody is to leave school without permission.
Dementors are not to be fooled by tricks or disguises -- or even Invisibility
Cloaks," he added blandly, and Harry and Ron glanced at each other. "It is not
in the nature of a dementor to understand pleading or excuses. I therefore warn
each and every one of you to give them no reason to harm you. I look to the
prefects, and our new Head Boy and Girl, to make sure that no student runs
afoul of the dementors," he said. Percy, who was sitting a few seats down from
Harry, puffed out his chest again and stared around impressively. Harry
suddenly found him much less handsome than he thought earlier, now noticing the
way his nose crinkle unflatteringly as he sneered in a condescending way at
anyone who have him a look of disrespect or disdain, and the way his overly
neat hair made his head look rather pointed, and how small and mouse like his
eyes were. Dumbledore paused again; he looked very seriously around the hall,
and nobody moved or made a sound.
"On a happier note," he continued, I am pleased to welcome two new teachers to
our ranks this year. "First, Professor Lupin, who has kindly consented to fill
the post of Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher."
There was some scattered, rather unenthusiastic applause. Only those who had
been in the compartment on the train with Professor Lupin clapped hard, Harry
among them, more enthusiastically than any. Professor Lupin looked particularly
shabby next to all the other teachers in their best robes.
"Look at Snape!" Ron hissed in Harry's ear.
Professor Snape, the Potions master, was staring along the staff table at
Professor Lupin. It was common knowledge that Snape, wanted the Defense Against
the Dark Arts job, but even Harry, who hated Snape, was startled at the
expression twisting his thin, sallow face. it was beyond anger: it was
loathing. Harry knew that expression only too well; it was the look Snape wore
every time he set eyes on Harry.
"As to our second new appointment," Dumbledore continued as the lukewarm
applause for Professor Lupin died away. "Well, I am sorry to tell you that
Professor Kettleburn, our Care of Magical Creatures teacher, retired at the end
of last year in order to enjoy more time with his remaining limbs. However, I
am delighted to say that his place will be filled by none other than Rubeus
Hagrid, who has agreed to take on this teaching job in addition to his
gamekeeping duties." Harry, Ron, and Hermione stared at one another, stunned.
Then they joined in with the applause, which was tumultuous at the Gryffindor
table in particular. Harry leaned forward to see Hagrid, who was ruby-red in
the face and staring down at his enormous hands, his wide grin hidden in the
tangle of his black beard. "We should've known!" Ron roared, pounding the
table. "Who else would have assigned us a biting book?" Harry, Ron, and
Hermione were the last to stop clapping, and as Professor Dumbledore started
speaking again, they saw that Hagrid was wiping his eyes on the tablecloth.
"Well, I think that's everything of importance," said Dumbledore. "Let the
feast begin!"
The golden plates and goblets before them filled suddenly with food and drink.
Harry, suddenly ravenous, helped himself to everything he could reach and began
to eat.
It was a delicious feast; the hall echoed with talk, laughter, and the clatter
of knives and forks. Harry, Ron, and Hermione, however, were eager for it to
finish so that they could talk to Hagrid (as well as the other new professor,
if Harry happened to see him). They knew how much being made a teacher would
mean to him. Hagrid wasn't a fully qualified wizard; he had been expelled from
Hogwarts in his third year for a crime he had not committed. It had been Harry,
Ron, and Hermione who had cleared Hagrid's name last year. At long last, when
the last morsels of pumpkin tart had melted from the golden platters,
Dumbledore gave the word that it was time for them all to go to bed, and they
got their chance.
"Congratulations, Hagrid!" Hermione squealed as they reached the teachers'
table.
"All down ter you three," said Hagrid, wiping his shining face on his napkin as
he looked up at them. "Can' believe it... great man, Dumbledore... came
straight down to me hut after Professor Kettleburn said he'd had enough....
It's what I always wanted. --" Overcome with emotion, he buried his face in his
napkin, and Professor McGonagall shooed them away, much to Harry's
disappointment as he saw Professor Lupin retreating out the door, heading to
his own office.
Harry, Ron, and Hermione joined the Gryffindors streaming up the marble
staircase and, very tired now, along more corridors, UP more and more stairs,
to the hidden entrance to Gryffindor Tower's large portrait of a fat lady in a
pink dress asked them, "Password?"
"Coming through, coming through!" Percy called from behind the crowd. "The new
password is 'Fortuna Major'!"
"Oh no," said Neville Longbottom sadly. He always had trouble remembering the
passwords.
Through the portrait hole and across the common room, the girls and boys
divided toward their separate staircases. Harry climbed the spiral stair with
only two thoughts in his head: how glad he was to be back, and the face of his
new Defense Against the Dark Arts Professor. They reached their familiar,
circular dormitory with its five four-poster beds, and Harry, looking around,
felt he was home at last.
***** The Boggart in the Wardrobe (and the Secrets in his Heart) *****
Chapter Summary
     Harry's first DADA class
Harry had had one hell of a first week of third year so far. First, the
entirety of Slytherin made fun of him for fainting on the train earlier. Of
course, it did make him feel a little better when he found out how frightened
Draco had ben of the dementors. Apparently, he had run screaming into Fred and
George Weasley's compartment, as well as the reminder that the first Quidditch
game of the season would be Gryffindor vs. Slytherin. That would be the perfect
opportunity to show up Draco. Then there was the meeting with Sir Cadogan, a
very clumsy painted knight who assisted them in finding their class.... then,
of course, he had his death predicted in Divination, a prospect which Professor
McGonagall simply brushed aside as Professor Trewalney wanting to cause
excitement among the students, but Harry wasn't so convinced. And then there
was their first Care of Magical Creatures class. Harry had already been
apprehensive, wondering what sort of monster Hagrid might bring to class, and
was quite surprised to find that it was a Hippogriff, a very beautiful
creature. The animal, Buckbeak, seemed to take a liking to Harry, and even let
him ride him. It was amazing... until it was Malfoy's turn.
At first, everything seemed to be going well. Malfoy bowed, as did Buckbeak. He
even let him pet him..... and then Malfoy had to ruin it by calling Buckbeak
ugly. The creature slashed Draco's arm. Though the wound was shallow, Malfoy
milked that line of blood for everything it was worth. In fact, Malfoy didn’t
reappear in classes until late on Thursday morning, when the Slytherins and
Gryffindors were halfway through double Potions. He swaggered into the dungeon,
his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting, in Harry’s
opinion, as though he were the heroic survivor of some dreadful battle. “How is
it, Draco?” simpered Pansy Parkinson. “Does it hurt much?” “Yeah,” said Malfoy,
putting on a brave sort of grimace. But Harry saw him wink at Crabbe and Goyle
when Pansy had looked away.
Handsome bloody git.
“Settle down, settle down,” said Professor Snape idly.
Harry and Ron scowled at each other; Snape wouldn’t have said “settle down” if
they’d walked in late, he’d have given them detention. But Malfoy had always
been able to get away with anything in Snape’s classes; Snape was head of
Slytherin House, and generally favored his own students above all others. They
were making a new potion today, a Shrinking Solution. Malfoy set up his
cauldron right next to Harry and Ron, so that they were preparing their
ingredients on the same table. “Sir,” Malfoy called, “sir, I’ll need help
cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm —”
“Weasley, cut up Malfoy’s roots for him,” said Snape without looking up.
Ron went brick red.
“There’s nothing wrong with your arm,” he hissed at Malfoy.
Malfoy smirked across the table. “Weasley, you heard Professor Snape; cut up
these roots.”
Ron seized his knife, pulled Malfoy’s roots toward him, and began to chop them
roughly, so that they were all different sizes.
“Professor,” drawled Malfoy, “Weasley’s mutilating my roots, sir.”
Snape approached their table, stared down his hooked nose at the roots, then
gave Ron an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair.
“Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley.”
“But, sir — !” Ron had spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding
his own roots into exactly equal pieces.
“Now,” said Snape in his most dangerous voice.
Ron shoved his own beautifully cut roots across the table at Malfoy, then took
up the knife again.
“And, sir, I’ll need this shrivelfig skinned,” said Malfoy, his voice full of
malicious laughter.
“Potter, you can skin Malfoy’s shrivelfig,” said Snape, giving Harry the look
of loathing he always reserved just for him.
Harry took Malfoy’s shrivelfig as Ron began trying to repair the damage to the
roots he now had to use. Harry skinned the shrivelfig as fast as he could and
flung it back across the table at Malfoy without speaking. Malfoy was smirking
more broadly than ever.
“Seen your pal Hagrid lately?” he asked them quietly.
“None of your business,” said Ron jerkily, without looking up.
“I’m afraid he won’t be a teacher much longer,” said Malfoy in a tone of mock
sorrow. “Father’s not very happy about my injury —”
“Keep talking, Malfoy, and I’ll give you a real injury,” snarled Ron.
“— he’s complained to the school governors. And to the Ministry of Magic.
Father’s got a lot of influence, you know. And a lasting injury like this” — he
gave a huge, fake sigh — “who knows if my arm’ll ever be the same again?”
“So that’s why you’re putting it on,” said Harry, accidentally beheading a dead
caterpillar because his hand was shaking in anger. “To try to get Hagrid
fired.”
“Well,” said Malfoy, lowering his voice to a whisper, “partly, Potter. But
there are other benefits too. Weasley, slice my caterpillars for me.”
A few cauldrons away, Neville was in trouble. Neville regularly went to pieces
in Potions lessons; it was his worst subject, and his great fear of Professor
Snape made things ten times worse. His potion, which was supposed to be a
bright, acid green, had turned —
“Orange, Longbottom,” said Snape, ladling some up and allowing it to splash
back into the cauldron, so that everyone could see.
“Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours?
Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed?
Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have
to do to make you understand, Longbottom?”
Neville was pink and trembling. He looked as though he was on the verge of
tears.
“Please, sir,” said Hermione, “please, I could help Neville put it right —”
“I don’t remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger,” said
Snape coldly, and Hermione went as pink as Neville. “Longbottom, at the end of
this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what
happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.”
Snape moved away, leaving Neville breathless with fear.
“Help me!” he moaned to Hermione.
“Hey, Harry,” said Seamus Finnigan, leaning over to borrow
Harry’s brass scales, “have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning- they reckon
Sirius Black’s been sighted.”
“Where?” said Harry and Ron quickly. On the other side of the table, Malfoy
looked up, listening closely.
“Not too far from here,” said Seamus, who looked excited. “It was a Muggle who
saw him. ’Course, she didn’t really understand. The Muggles think he’s just an
ordinary criminal, don’t they? So she phoned the telephone hot line. By the
time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone.”
"Not too far from here . . . ,” Ron repeated, looking significantly at Harry.
He turned around and saw Malfoy watching closely. “What, Malfoy? Need something
else skinned?”
But Malfoy’s eyes were shining malevolently, and they were fixed on Harry. He
leaned across the table.
“Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?”
“Yeah, that’s right,” said Harry offhandedly.
Malfoy’s thin mouth was curving in a mean smile. “Of course, if it was me,” he
said quietly, “I’d have done something before now. I wouldn’t be staying in
school like a good boy, I’d be out there looking for him.”
“What are you talking about, Malfoy?” said Ron roughly.
“Don’t you know, Potter?” breathed Malfoy, his pale eyes narrowed.
“Know what?”
Malfoy let out a low, sneering laugh. “Maybe you’d rather not risk your neck,”
he said. “Want to leave it to the dementors, do you? But if it was me, I’d want
revenge. I’d hunt him down myself.”
“What are you talking about?” said Harry angrily, but at that moment Snape
called, “You should have finished adding your ingredients by now; this potion
needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then
we’ll test Longbottom’s. . . .”
Crabbe and Goyle laughed openly, watching Neville sweat as he stirred his
potion feverishly. Hermione was muttering instructions to him out of the corner
of her mouth, so that Snape wouldn’t see.
Harry and Ron packed away their unused ingredients and went to wash their hands
and ladles in the stone basin in the corner.
“What did Malfoy mean?” Harry muttered to Ron as he stuck his hands under the
icy jet that poured from the gargoyle’s mouth.
“Why would I want revenge on Black? He hasn’t done anything to me — yet.”
“He’s making it up,” said Ron savagely. “He’s trying to make you do something
stupid. . . .”
The end of the lesson in sight, Snape strode over to Neville, who was cowering
by his cauldron. “Everyone gather ’round,” said Snape, his black eyes
glittering, “and watch what happens to Longbottom’s toad. If he has managed to
produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don’t
doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned.”
The Gryffindors watched fearfully. The Slytherins looked excited. Snape picked
up Trevor the toad in his left hand and dipped a small spoon into Neville’s
potion, which was now green. He trickled a few drops down Trevor’s throat.
There was a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulped; then there was a
small pop, and Trevor the tadpole was wriggling in Snape’s palm.
The Gryffindors burst into applause. Snape, looking sour, pulled a small bottle
from the pocket of his robe, poured a few drops on top of Trevor, and he
reappeared suddenly, fully grown. “Five points from Gryffindor,” said Snape,
which wiped the smiles from every face. “I told you not to help him, Miss
Granger. Class dismissed.”
Harry, Ron, and Hermione climbed the steps to the entrance hall. Harry was
still thinking about what Malfoy had said, while Ron was seething about Snape.
“Five points from Gryffindor because the potion was all right! Why didn’t you
lie, Hermione? You should’ve said Neville did it all by himself!” Hermione
didn’t answer. Ron looked around. “Where is she?” Harry turned too. They were
at the top of the steps now, watching the rest of the class pass them, heading
for the Great Hall and lunch. “She was right behind us,” said Ron, frowning.
Malfoy passed them, walking between Crabbe and Goyle. He smirked at Harry and
disappeared.
“There she is,” said Harry. Hermione was panting slightly, hurrying up the
stairs; one hand clutched her bag, the other seemed to be tucking something
down the front of her robes.
“How did you do that?” said Ron.
“What?” said Hermione, joining them.
“One minute you were right behind us, the next moment, you were back at the
bottom of the stairs again.”
“What?” Hermione looked slightly confused. “Oh — I had to go back for
something. Oh no —”
A seam had split on Hermione’s bag. Harry wasn’t surprised; he could see that
it was crammed with at least a dozen large and heavy books.
“Why are you carrying all these around with you?” Ron asked her.
“You know how many subjects I’m taking,” said Hermione
breathlessly. “Couldn’t hold these for me, could you?”
“But —” Ron was turning over the books she had handed him, looking at the
covers. “You haven’t got any of these subjects today. It’s only Defense Against
the Dark Arts this afternoon.”
“Oh yes,” said Hermione vaguely, but she packed all the books back into her bag
just the same. “I hope there’s something good for lunch, I’m starving,” she
added, and she marched off toward the Great Hall.
“D’you get the feeling Hermione’s not telling us something?” Ron asked Harry.
Professor Lupin wasn’t there when they arrived at his first Defense Against the
Dark Arts lesson, much to harry's disappointment. After the week he had, he was
so looking forward to this lesson, and to seeing the man from the train again.
Professor R. J. Lupin. What a mysterious man. Harry found himself strangely
drawn to him, wanting to know more about him. Why did he feel such a strange
combination of safety and apprehension when they were together for those brief
moments? What was the strange feeing in his stomach he felt every time he
thought of him? Why did he look so painfully familiar?
They all sat down, took out their books, quills, and parchment, and were
talking when he finally entered the room. Harry sat up straight in his seat,
giving his complete attention to the teacher as Lupin smiled vaguely and placed
his tatty old briefcase on the teacher’s desk. He was as shabby as ever but
looked healthier than he had on the train, as though he had had a few square
meals, which wasn't surprising since he had been at Hogwarts for the past week.
Harry found himself feeling strangely relieved by this revelation.
“Good afternoon,” Lupin said. “Would you please put all your books back in your
bags. Today’s will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands.”
A few curious looks were exchanged as the class put away their books. They had
never had a practical Defense Against the Dark Arts before, unless you counted
the memorable class last year when their old teacher had brought a cage full of
pixies to class and set them loose. “Right then,” said Professor Lupin, when
everyone was ready. “If you’d follow me.”
Puzzled but interested, the class got to its feet and followed Professor Lupin
out of the classroom. He led them along the deserted corridor and around a
corner, where the first thing they saw was Peeves the Poltergeist, who was
floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing
gum. Peeves didn’t look up until Professor Lupin was two feet away; then he
wiggled his curly-toed feet and broke into song. “Loony, loopy Lupin,” Peeves
sang. “Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin —” Rude and unmanageable as he
almost always was, Peeves usually showed some respect toward the teachers.
Everyone looked quickly at Professor Lupin to see how he would take this; to
their surprise, he was still smiling.
“I’d take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves,” he said
pleasantly. “Mr. Filch won’t be able to get in to his brooms.”
Filch was the Hogwarts caretaker, a bad-tempered, failed wizard who waged a
constant war against the students and, indeed, Peeves.
However, Peeves paid no attention to Professor Lupin’s words, except to blow a
loud wet raspberry.
Professor Lupin gave a small sigh and took out his wand. “This is a useful
little spell,” he told the class over his shoulder. “Please watch closely.”
Harry wasn't sure he had done anything but watch the man closely all class. Not
that he would say as much, especially with how cool the man looked right now,
speaking to them so casually. He raised the wand to shoulder height, said,
“Waddiwasi!” and pointed it at Peeves.
With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and
straight down Peeves’s left nostril; he whirled up right and zoomed away,
cursing.
“Cool, sir!” said Dean Thomas in amazement, and Harry was speechless in
amazement.
“Thank you, Dean,” said Professor Lupin, putting his wand away again. “Shall we
proceed?”
They set off again, the class looking at shabby Professor Lupin with increased
respect. He led them down a second corridor and stopped, right outside the
staffroom door. “Inside, please,” said Professor Lupin, opening it and standing
back.
The staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty
except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he
looked around as the class filed in. His eyes were glittering and there was a
nasty sneer playing around his mouth. As Professor Lupin came in and made to
close the door behind him, Snape said, “Leave it open, Lupin. I’d rather not
witness this.” He got to his feet and strode past the class, his black robes
billowing behind him. At the doorway he turned on his heel and said, “Possibly
no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would
advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger
is hissing instructions in his ear.”
Neville went scarlet. Harry glared at Snape; it was bad enough that he bullied
Neville in his own classes, let alone doing it in front of other teachers.
Professor Lupin had raised his eyebrows. “I was hoping that Neville would
assist me with the first stage of the operation,” he said, “and I am sure he
will perform it admirably.”
Neville’s face went, if possible, even redder. Snape’s lip curled, but he left,
shutting the door with a snap.
“Now, then,” said Professor Lupin, beckoning the class toward the end of the
room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their
spare robes. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a
sudden wobble, banging off the wall. “Nothing to worry about,” said Professor
Lupin calmly because a few people had jumped backward in alarm. “There’s a
boggart in there.” Most people seemed to feel that this was something to worry
about. Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan
eyed the now rattling doorknob apprehensively. “Boggarts like dark, enclosed
spaces,” said Professor Lupin. "Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards
under sinks — I’ve even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock.
This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff
would leave it to give my third years some practice. “So, the first question we
must ask ourselves is, what is a boggart?”
Hermione put up her hand, and Harry found himself feeling very sheepish for not
knowing the answer, wanting to impress his professor. “It’s a shape-shifter,”
she said. “It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Professor Lupin, and Hermione glowed
while Harry glared at the ground. “So the boggart sitting in the darkness
within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the
person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like
when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever
each of us most fears. “This means,” said Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore
Neville’s small sputter of terror, “that we have a huge advantage over the
boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?”
Harry looked up, surprised but seeing this as his chance to prove himself to
this teacher. Trying to answer a question with Hermione next to him, bobbing up
and down on the balls of her feet with her hand in the air, was very off-
putting, but Harry had a go, trying to sound seem as confident in himself as
Professor Lupin appeared to be in him. “Er — because there are so many of us,
it won’t know what shape it should be?”
“Precisely,” said Professor Lupin, and Hermione put her hand down, looking a
little disappointed. Harry smiled, feeling very proud and a little smug. “It’s
always best to have company when you’re dealing with a boggart. He becomes
confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I
once saw a boggart make that very mistake — tried to frighten two people at
once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening. The charm
that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the
thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force
it to assume a shape that you find amusing. We will practice the charm without
wands first. After me, please . . . riddikulus!”
“Riddikulus!” said the class together, Harry just a tad louder and clearer than
everyone else.
“Good,” said Professor Lupin. “Very good. But that was the easy part, I’m
afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in,
Neville.” The wardrobe shook again, though not as much as Neville, who walked
forward as though he were heading for the gallows. “Right, Neville,” said
Professor Lupin. “First things first: what would you say is the thing that
frightens you most in the world?” Neville’s lips moved, but no noise came out.
“Didn’t catch that, Neville, sorry,” said Professor Lupin cheerfully. Neville
looked around rather wildly, as though begging someone to help him, then said,
in barely more than a whisper, “Professor Snape.”
Nearly everyone laughed. Even Neville grinned apologetically. Professor Lupin,
however, looked thoughtful. “Professor Snape . . . hmmm . . . Neville, I
believe you live with your grandmother?”
“Er — yes,” said Neville nervously. “But — I don’t want the boggart to turn
into her either.”
“No, no, you misunderstand me,” said Professor Lupin, now smiling. “I wonder,
could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?”
Neville looked startled, but said, “Well . . . always the same hat. A tall one
with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress . . . green, normally . . . and
sometimes a fox-fur scarf.”
“And a handbag?” prompted Professor Lupin.
“A big red one,” said Neville.
“Right then,” said Professor Lupin. “Can you picture those clothes very
clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind’s eye?”
“Yes,” said Neville uncertainly, plainly wondering what was coming next.
“When the boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will
assume the form of Professor Snape,” said Lupin. “And you will raise your wand
— thus — and cry ‘Riddikulus’ — and concentrate hard on your grandmother’s
clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that
vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big red handbag.”
There was a great shout of laughter. The wardrobe wobbled more violently. “If
Neville is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of
us in turn,” said Professor Lupin. “I would like all of you to take a moment
now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force
it to look comical. . . .”
The room went quiet. Harry thought . . . What scared him most in the world? His
first thought was Lord Voldemort — a Voldemort returned to full strength. But
before he had even started to plan a possible counterattack on a boggart-
Voldemort, a horrible image came floating to the surface of his mind. . . .
A rotting, glistening hand, slithering back beneath a black cloak . . . a long,
rattling breath from an unseen mouth . . . then a cold so penetrating it felt
like drowning. . . .
Harry shivered, then looked around, hoping no one had noticed. Many people had
their eyes shut tight. Ron was muttering to himself, “Take its legs off.” Harry
was sure he knew what that was about. Ron’s greatest fear was spiders.
“Everyone ready?” said Professor Lupin. Harry felt a lurch of fear. He wasn’t
ready. How could you make a dementor less frightening? The only thing that
calmed him down after the last one was Professor Lupin, but he wasn't very
comical. But he didn’t want to ask for more time; everyone else was nodding and
rolling up their sleeves.
“Neville, we’re going to back away,” said Professor Lupin. “Let you have a
clear field, all right? I’ll call the next person forward. . . . Everyone back,
now, so Neville can get a clear shot —” They all retreated, backed against the
walls, leaving Neville alone beside the wardrobe. He looked pale and
frightened, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was holding his
wand ready. “On the count of three, Neville,” said Professor Lupin, who was
pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. “One — two — three — now!”
A jet of sparks shot from the end of Professor Lupin’s wand and hit the
doorknob. The wardrobe burst open. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape
stepped out, his eyes flashing at Neville. Neville backed away, his wand up,
mouthing wordlessly. Snape was bearing down upon him, reaching inside his
robes. “R — r — riddikulus!” squeaked Neville.
There was a noise like a whip crack. Snape stumbled; he was wearing a long,
lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he
was swinging a huge crimson handbag. There was a roar of laughter; the boggart
paused, confused, and Professor Lupin shouted, “Parvati! Forward!”
Parvati walked forward, her face set. Snape rounded on her. There was another
crack, and where he had stood was a blood- stained, bandaged mummy; its
sightless face was turned to Parvati and it began to walk toward her very
slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising — “Riddikulus!” cried Parvati.
A bandage unraveled at the mummy’s feet; it became entangled, fell face
forward, and its head rolled off.
“Seamus!” roared Professor Lupin. Seamus darted past Parvati. Crack! Where the
mummy had been was a woman with floor length black hair and a skeletal, green-
tinged face — a banshee. She opened her mouth wide and an unearthly sound
filled the room, a long, wailing shriek that made the hair on Harry’s hair
stand on end — “Riddikulus!” shouted Seamus. The banshee made a rasping noise
and clutched her throat; her voice was gone. Crack! The banshee turned into a
rat, which chased its tail in a circle, then — crack! — became a rattlesnake,
which slithered and writhed before — crack! — becoming a single, bloody
eyeball.
“It’s confused!” shouted Lupin. “We’re getting there! Dean!” Dean hurried
forward. Crack! The eyeball became a severed hand, which flipped over and began
to creep along the floor like a crab. “Riddikulus!” yelled Dean. There was a
snap, and the hand was trapped in a mousetrap.
“Excellent! Ron, you next!”
Ron leapt forward. Crack! Quite a few people screamed. A giant spider, six feet
tall and covered in hair, was advancing on Ron, clicking its pincers
menacingly. For a moment, Harry thought Ron had frozen. Then — “Riddikulus!”
bellowed Ron, and the spider’s legs vanished; it rolled over and over; Lavender
Brown squealed and ran out of its way and it came to a halt at Harry’s feet. He
raised his wand, ready, but —
“Here!” shouted Professor Lupin suddenly, hurrying forward. Crack! The legless
spider had vanished. For a second, everyone looked wildly around to see where
it was. Then they saw a silvery-white orb hanging in the air in front of Lupin,
who said, “Riddikulus!” almost lazily.
Crack!
“Forward, Neville, and finish him off!” said Lupin as the boggart landed on the
floor as a cockroach. Crack! Snape was back. This time Neville charged forward
looking determined.
“Riddikulus!” he shouted, and they had a split second’s view of Snape in his
lacy dress before Neville let out a great “Ha!” of laughter, and the boggart
exploded, burst into a thousand tiny wisps of smoke, and was gone.
“Excellent!” cried Professor Lupin as the class broke into applause.
“Excellent, Neville. Well done, everyone. . . . Let me see . . . five points to
Gryffindor for every person to tackle the boggart — ten for Neville because he
did it twice . . . and five each to Hermione and Harry.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” said Harry. “You and Hermione answered my questions
correctly at the start of the class, Harry,” Lupin said lightly. “Very well,
everyone, an excellent lesson. Homework, kindly read the chapter on boggarts
and summarize it for me . . . to be handed in on Monday. That will be all.”
Talking excitedly, the class left the staffroom. Harry, however, wasn’t feeling
cheerful. Professor Lupin had deliberately stopped him from tackling the
boggart. Why? Was it because he’d seen Harry collapse on the train, and thought
he wasn’t up to much? Had he thought Harry would pass out again? But no one
else seemed to have noticed anything.
“Did you see me take that banshee?” shouted Seamus.
"And the hand!” said Dean, waving his own around.
“And Snape in that hat!”
“And my mummy!”
“I wonder why Professor Lupin’s frightened of crystal balls?” said Lavender
thoughtfully, although, even destracted, harry felt that she wasn't exactly
right on that point,
“That was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson we’ve ever had, wasn’t
it?” said Ron excitedly as they made their way back to the classroom to get
their bags.
“He seems like a very good teacher,” said Hermione approvingly.
“But I wish I could have had a turn with the boggart —”
“What would it have been for you?” said Ron, sniggering. “A piece of homework
that only got nine out of ten?”
Harry, of course, wasn't listening to his best friend's banter. Instead, he was
mulling over the fact that the one person who had seemed so proud of him, who
he thought might actually believe in him, who he was so dawn to... might have
the impression that he was nothing but a weak, pathetic child. Harry sighed.
This truly had been one hell of a first week.
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