Chapter Text
The Great Hall is silent and tense. Every eye is on Dumbledore’s unusually serious face. Beside Harry, Hermione seems to be almost holding her breath.
"On a happier note," Dumbledore abruptly continues, earning a small jump from Hermione and almost a collective relieved sigh from the rest of the hall. “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 Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher."
Professor Lupin’s gracious nod is met with a rather lacklustre bout of applause. Harry claps hard, hearing Ron and Hermione beside him do the same, and seeing Ginny and Neville, seated together several people up the table, bolster their appreciation with solid applause of their own. To be fair, Professor Lupin’s worn robes and weary expression probably aren’t making a particularly favourable first impression for all those who didn’t have the fortune of being in the compartment with him.
"Oi,” Ron nudges Harry’s side with his elbow. “Look at Black.”
Harry scans along the staff table until he finds Professor Black, who, strangely, is staring pointedly ahead. The expression on his face isn’t quite decipherable. Harry can’t tell if the lock of his sharp jawline is gritted anger or some kind of fearful stubbornness, and the gleam in his eyes is somewhere between fierce and fragile. Harry has never seen Black look so out of control of his emotions. Could he and Professor Lupin know each other? Looking at them, they must have been a similar age. As his halfhearted applause dwindles to quiet, Professor Lupin glances briefly at Black’s stiff figure before snapping his gaze back to the front, a polite, if slightly strained looking, smile plastered on his face.
Dumbledore continues speaking, detailing the employment of a new Care of Magical Creatures teacher, and Harry swiftly dismisses the odd tension between Black and Lupin from his mind.
*
Malfoy struts into potions with his chin jutted out, a proud smirk on his face and his supposedly injured arm pressed to his chest in a white sling. Harry rolls his eyes, exchanging an unimpressed look with Ron. He hears Hermione scoff from behind him, but apparently not all of the class are disbelieving of Malfoy’s story.
“How is it, Draco, does it hurt much?" Pansy Parkinson says in a sympathetic voice, eyes wide.
"Yeah." Malfoy says theatrically, pulling an odd sort of face that’s presumably meant to resemble some kind of noble pain. He winks at Crabbe and Goyle once Pansy has returned to her potion. Harry scrunches his nose in contempt.
“I’ll thank you not to disturb my class, Mr Malfoy,” Professor Black says sharply, not looking up from where he is marking essays at the front of the room. “As you are already late.”
“Sorry sir.” Malfoy says, not sounding sorry at all, and saunters gleefully over to set himself up beside Harry and Ron. He reads the parchment sheet of instructions and begins pulling out the necessary ingredients.
“Sir,” He calls arrogantly after a moment, a pathetic expression plastered on his face. “Sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots-”
“What?” Professor Black snaps, glaring up from the essay he is marking. The buzz of quiet chatter in the dungeon dwindles to silence. Malfoy shrinks back slightly. While his relation to Black has never afforded him special treatment, Black hasn’t spoken to him like that in front of the class before- or anyone, for that matter. Harry had never even seen Professor Black properly lose his temper. Even when he was clearly angry, it was a cool, controlled anger. “What are you talking about?”
“My…” Malfoy suddenly looks far less sure of his story. “My arm, sir. I can’t cut up my daisy roots.”
Black sighs, shaking his head slightly in frustration as he looks back down at his marking. “Just… ask your tablemate to cut them. Or use Diffindo.”
The class fills once more with a steady murmur of uncertain conversation- none of them are used to a temper from Black. Looking distinctly put out, Malfoy mutters the severing charm and his roots neatly slice themselves. He picks up his shrivelfig and examines it, peering at the instructions before turning to Professor Black much less haughtily than before. “Sir, do you know a charm I could use to peel my shrivelfig-?”
“Did I not just tell you to use Diffindo?” Professor Black says angrily, glaring up at Malfoy and letting his quill fall to his desk with a clatter. “It’s a precise severing charm, it will peel your shrivelfig.”
“Alright, sir.” Malfoy says stiffly, scowling at his shrivelfig and casting his Diffindo with a little more fervour than necessary. A few more layers than needed are peeled from the bulb, and Malfoy sighs angrily. Harry restrains a spiteful laugh- serves him right.
Harry turns cautiously to look at Professor Black who is glaring at whoever’s essay is unfortunate enough to receive his current wrath. He furiously scribbles a comment in the corner with his retrieved quill, nostrils flaring irritably. Presumably done with this essay, he places it beside him and picks up the one beneath it. Black looks up and Harry whips back to face his cauldron. After a moment where his heart rate settles back down, Harry leans over toward Ron. “What’s wrong with Black?”
Ron opens his mouth to answer but before he can, Malfoy begins to speak.
"Seen your pal Hagrid lately?" He sneers, voice low. He seems to have unfortunately regained his usual irritating self-assurance despite Professor Black’s uncharacteristic bout of hostility.
"None of your business." Ron dismisses in a rough voice, eyes on his leeches.
"I'm afraid he won't be a teacher much longer." Malfoy tsks, feigning sympathy. "Father's not very happy about my injury-"
"Keep talking, Malfoy, and I'll give you a real injury." Ron says darkly. “Or worse, your Uncle will give you a talking to-”
"-he's complained to the school governors.” Malfoy raises his voice slightly over Ron, not reacting to the dig about Black’s sharpness. “And to the Ministry of Magic. Father's got a lot of influence, you know. And a lasting injury like this,” He let out a heavy, exaggerated sigh. "Who knows if my arm'll ever be the same again?"
Harry’s hands shake with suppressed anger. His knife slips and untidily slices the head off one of his caterpillars. "So that's why you're putting it on. To try to get Hagrid fired."
"Well," Malfoy says cheerfully, quietening his voice as Professor Black passes by, apparently finished with his essays. His jaw is still clenched. "Why not, Potter? May as well do what I can to get rid of that miserable oaf.”
Ron exhales angrily through his nose, looking thoroughly disgusted with Malfoy. Deciding this wretched conversation is quite thoroughly over, Harry turns to his other side. Neville, several seats over, is shaking as Professor Black approaches him from behind. Black’s foul mood seems to have diminished Neville’s already precarious confidence, and rather than the bright lime green it is supposed to be once the heat is increased, Neville’s potion has turned-
“Orange.” Black says blankly, peering over Neville’s shoulder. Neville is frozen in fear. “Neville, could you reread steps eight and ten, please- in your head will suffice.”
Neville, looking on the verge of tears, leans over his parchment instructions. Malfoy snickers from beside Ron who shifts crossly, seemingly tempted to smack Malfoy’s face into his cauldron as he has wistfully described to Harry many times before.
“Oh.” Neville says softly after a moment. “Just one rat spleen. And I p-probably used too much leech juice.”
“Yes.” Professor Black says flatly. He doesn’t seem as angry anymore, but he still isn’t speaking in the soft voice he usually uses for Neville or any other student who becomes overwhelmed by their mistake. “Well done for recognising your mistake. To correct it, counterbalance an extra half measure of each of the other ingredients. I’m sure Miss Granger will be happy to assist you, as her potion is complete and simmering. Don’t fret, Neville, your potion is remediable.”
Black walks away, speaking to Lavender Brown about the precision of her sliced daisy roots. Harry notices, for the first time, that Neville is the only student Black ever calls by his first name, even including his own relative. In fact, if Harry thinks about it, Black seems to have had some strange soft spot for Neville ever since the first day when his potion had exploded. It’s odd. Not as odd as Black’s behaviour all day, though. Suddenly remembering that Ron had been about to answer his question about Black’s mood before Malfoy had begun spouting nonsense about Hagrid, Harry turns back to Ron and nudges him. Ron glances up at him expectantly.
“You were gonna say what was wrong with Black.” Harry keeps his voice low, mindful that Black might hear him, and there’s no telling how he might react- he hates students gossiping about him on the best of days, let alone when he’s this tense.
“Oh! Right…” Eyeing Black warily, Ron leans closer to Harry and lowers his voice to a soft murmur. “Apparently he’s pretty stressed at the moment, with his brother being Sirius Black and all.”
A vague memory comes back to Harry of his first potions lesson, when Black had forbidden questions about his brother in Azkaban. He had never pieced together that Sirius Black was that brother, but it made a lot of sense. No wonder Black was so tetchy.
“Ginny said,” Ron continues conspiratorially. “That in her potions lesson yesterday he took twenty points off some girl for mentioning the article about Black in the newspaper, and sixty when some bloke asked him when the last time they’d spoken was. If you ask me-”
“What are you talking about, boys?” Comes a sharp voice from behind them. Harry and Ron both jolt and separate, spinning to see Professor Black standing there with narrowed, shrewd eyes.
“Nothing.” Harry and Ron blurt in incriminating unison. Black raises a thin, dark eyebrow but says nothing to contradict them, and walks away toward Daphne Greengrass, whose potion is emitting a strange white smoke. Both evidently spooked, Harry and Ron refocus on their potions.
"Hey, Harry." Seamus says amicably, reaching to grab Harry's brass scales. Harry doesn’t mind- their whole dorm usually borrow things without asking. "Have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning- they reckon Sirius Black's been sighted."
"Where?" Harry asks hastily, hearing Ron do the same. Even Malfoy looks up from his cauldron, apparently interested.
"Not too far from here." Seamus says eagerly, eyes wide. He keeps his voice low, apparently also aware of this being a touchy subject for Professor Black. "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 hotline. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone."
"Not too far from here... " Ron mutters thoughtfully, sending Harry a furtive glance. As he turns back to his potion he catches Malfoy observing them pensively. "What, Malfoy? Need help working out how to slice something else? You’d think you’d have figured out you use Diffindo every time by now.”
Malfoy ignores him, smirking at Harry with an odd, wicked look in his eyes. He leans towards him. "Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?"
"Yeah, that's right." Harry says impassively, focusing on stirring his potion. He can see Malfoy leering out of the corner of his eye.
"Of course, if it was me," Malfoy continues derisively, voice low. "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?" Ron says curtly.
"Don't you know, Potter?" Malfoy sounds somewhere between astounded and amused.
Harry sends him a judgemental look. "Know what?"
Malfoy just laughs darkly. "Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck. 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?" Harry says exasperatedly, turning up the heat on his cauldron. Malfoy just smirks, shaking his head and laughing underneath his breath. Harry huffily packs up his ingredients, before he and Ron make their way to one of the grey stone basins embedded in the dungeon wall.
"What’s he on about?" Harry mutters irritably to Ron as they rinse their hands and ladles in the crisp water trickling from a tap shaped like a gargoyle’s mouth. "Why would I want revenge on Black? He hasn't done anything to me- yet.”
"He's making it up." Ron assures him, drying his hands on the rough black towel hanging over the edge of the basin. "He's trying to make you do something stupid."
They return to their seats and Ron amuses himself glaring at Malfoy, while Harry tunes back in to Seamus and Dean who are still discussing the sighting of Sirius Black.
“-a wonder he didn’t kill that Muggle.”
“That’s what I thought. I asked me mam about him when he first escaped and she said he’s never hesitated to kill Muggles before. I mean, Black supported You-Know-Who, so-”
“I don’t recall today’s newspaper mentioning anything about the shrinking solution.” Professor Black says coldly. Both Seamus and Dean stiffen and turn slowly to find him glaring at them from behind Hermione. “Twenty points from Gryffindor. You can discuss the news on your own time.”
He sweeps away toward his desk and calls out to the class that they should have added all their ingredients by now and their potions should be simmering.. Harry locks eyes with Dean who pulls a wide-eyed, guilty face. Harry laughs and turns away, mind reeling. If Malfoy really did know something Harry didn’t, Professor Black might be able to tell him what it is. Sirius Black is his brother, after all.
“If your potion is bright green, you should now cast the shrinking charm.” Black calls over the moderately loud chatter filling the room now that most students have completed their potions. Even Neville seems to have managed to salvage his potion under Black’s advice. It’s not quite as bright a green as Hermione’s, but not many are. People around the room begin casting the shrinking charm, including Ron and Seamus on either side of Harry. Harry points his wand at his bubbling green potion.
“Reducio.” He says firmly, moving his wand in a sharp ‘V’ motion. A ripple runs over the surface of his potion before it goes suddenly flat, still despite its boiling temperature. Harry turns the heat off and exchanges a grin with Ron, whose potion surface is also even. Black begins wandering around and inspecting each person’s potion, offering sporadic praise or advice.
“Try to shake your wormwood more vigorously next time, Miss Patil.”
“Perhaps less cowbane in future, Mr Crabbe.”
“Very well executed, Miss Granger.”
“Not so hot next time, Mr Weasley.”
“Well done, Neville.”
Once he reaches the end of the line of tables and tells Millicent Bulstrode to chop her daisy roots more precisely in future, Black dismisses the class. Most students are up out of their seats immediately, but Harry hesitates. Everyone has been so odd about him and Sirius Black- first Mr Weasley, then Hagrid, now Malfoy. Perhaps he should ask Professor Black about it- he might know something, and Harry might finally not be in the dark. As he slowly traipses toward the door, Harry draws to a halt. He turns back to Black, who is examining the contents of Zabini’s cauldron thoughtfully. His jaw and cheekbones are so sharp, like his voice that Harry suddenly remembers reprimanding Seamus and Dean for even mentioning Sirius Black. Perhaps not the best idea to ask him about it, then, if just talking about it earns such cold animosity. Professor Black abruptly looks up.
“Can I help you with something, Mr Potter?”
“No.” Harry practically squeaks, hastening out the door and hitching his bag further up his shoulder. He hurries off towards Ron, who is looking around bewilderedly. His eyes light up as he catches sight of Harry.
“There you are! I’ve got one of you, now we just need to find Hermione. She was right behind me a second ago…”
*
Professor Lupin yanks open the staffroom door, stepping back and gesturing in a sweeping motion towards the class. “Inside, please.”
The Gryffindors file in past him, looking around the staffroom in varying degrees of awe. Harry sweeps his gaze over the wooden-panelled walls, the mismatching patterned armchairs and sofas, the coffee cups magically filling themselves at a bench on the far wall. It’s exactly what he’d expect for the staffroom of a magical school. The room is empty but for one teacher- Professor Black, who, upon them entering, gains a wide-eyed look of intense discomforted astonishment, before his face visibly smooths over into careful blankness. Lavender and Parvati enter last and Professor Lupin pulls the door shut. He turns to speak to the class but his eyes catch on the stiff figure of Professor Black and he falters slightly, mouth ajar in surprise- he had clearly not expected to see Black here.
“Oh.” Professor Lupin says awkwardly, hands dropping loosely to his sides. “Regulus. Hello. Er, my third years are doing a practical task in here today. You’re welcome to stay, of course-”
“No.” Black says hastily, standing up. He looks almost nauseous, keeping his gaze trained on the parchment he carries. Given this, as well as the apprehensive look on Professor Lupin’s face, Harry figures he might have been right about them knowing each other. “No, I’ve- I’ve work to do. I’ll leave you be.”
“Right.” Professor Lupin says, voice somewhat strained. He steps quickly aside as Black approaches the door, still resolutely avoiding Professor Lupin’s eye. “Right.”
“Yep.” Black says stiffly, opening the door and swiftly leaving the room. Professor Lupin deflates slightly with relief once he’s gone, before shaking himself and planting a broad smile on his face. Harry exchanges a suspicious glance with Hermione, whose gaze he had seen jumping between the two men shrewdly during their stilted conversation.
"Now, then," Professor Lupin says, beckoning at the class to follow him. They all stumble towards one end of the room where a worn looking wardrobe sits, presumably filled with spare robes or the like. As the class gathers around it and Professor Lupin settles beside it, the wardrobe gives an abrupt shudder, rattling loudly against the wall. Several students jolt backwards in alarm, some letting out squawks of fear.
"Nothing to worry about." Professor Lupin says mildly. "There's a boggart in there."
Seamus’ eyes are suddenly glued to the wardrobe warily and Neville seems to have stopped breathing. Lavender has scrunched her eyes shut. General consensus seems to be that perhaps this is something worth worrying about. Harry wonders what a boggart could possibly be to incite such strong reactions.
Professor Lupin swiftly explains. "Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces. 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?"
To no surprise, Hermione puts up her hand to answer. Professor Lupin nods at her affirmatively. "It's a shape-shifter. It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."
"Couldn't have put it better myself." Professor Lupin says brightly, earning an elated smile from Hermione, who raises her chin just that little bit higher. "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.” Neville makes a small squeak of panic. Professor Lupin doesn’t acknowledge it. "This means that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?"
Hermione instantly strikes up her usual eager routine of bouncing up and down in place with her hand straight up in the air. With significant effort, Harry ignores this. "Er… because there are so many of us, it won't know what shape it should be?"
"Precisely." Professor Lupin affirms, and Hermione, looking slightly disappointed, lowers her hand. "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 practise the charm without wands first. After me, please… Riddikulus!"
"Riddikulus!" They all chant in unison. The joke on Ron’s tongue is practically palpable and Harry sends him a grin.
"Good." Professor Lupin says approvingly. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. This is where I’ll need a volunteer.”
Several hands shoot up, though none as quick as Hermione’s. Professor Lupin’s eye immediately catches on her earnest hand, stretching higher than any of the other half-hearted volunteers and quivering slightly in her fervour, and he smiles. There’s a strange look in his eyes as if Hermione’s enthusiasm is familiar. He points to her and nods and she lets out a quiet, excited squeal, stepping forward to break away from the crowd as the eyes of the class turn to her. Ron and Harry react as most best friends would- Harry claps her on the back encouragingly, sending a thumbs-up and a cheesy, over-bright smile as she turns back to him, biting her bottom lip in beaming excitement, and Ron cups his hands around his grinning mouth.
“WOO!” Ron hollers, earning a jump from Neville. “ Yeah , Hermione! That’s our best friend!”
Harry laughs alongside several other uncertain titters from the class, while Hermione practically glows, a radiant smile overtaking her face and her cheeks flushing a happy pink. She moves to stand beside Professor Lupin who still has that same bittersweet smile on his face.
“Hermione, right?” He clarifies, voice kind.
“Yes, Professor.” Hermione laughs slightly, still beaming.
“Wonderful.” He claps his hands together, bittersweet smile morphing into an enthusiastic grin. “First things first, Hermione: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?”
Hermione cocks her head to the side thoughtfully. “Hmm, well see, that’s an interesting question. It’s difficult to know what frightens me most, because of course there are the universal fears of such things as loneliness and death, but then there are also fears stemming from my own personal experience. For example, I had quite an unpleasant experience with a troll back in my first year-”
As Hermione prattles on, vocalising her thought process, Harry hears Ron let out a small, exasperated laugh. Harry turns to him. He’s grinning broadly, soft, fond eyes on Hermione.
“There’s really no one like her, is there?” Ron’s voice is full of warm affection and something Harry has never heard before. He wonders, not for the first time, if underneath all that bickering and insulting, Ron might actually love their friend quite a lot. But if Harry says anything along those lines, Ron will scowl, blush all the way up to his ears and probably take his resulting moodiness out on Hermione, so Harry keeps such thoughts to himself.
“No one who can keep up with her talking speed, that’s for sure.” Harry quips, and Ron laughs quietly. They both tune back into Hermione’s spiel.
“- play chess with the same enthusiasm again, to be perfectly frank, but really considering me and who I am as a person, I guess I’d have to surmise that failure is probably my greatest fear.” She nods, apparently satisfied with her meandering reasoning. Parvati looks confused, while Neville seems to have become lost three sentences ago, and Dean has zoned out entirely, doodling on Seamus’ wrist with a quill he seems to have pulled from nowhere.
Professor Lupin is smiling broadly. “Wonderful, thank you for such a thorough explanation of your reasoning, Hermione. I’d say we can gather that this fear of failure might manifest in an academic context, perhaps in the form of a Professor?”
Hermione nods. “That seems a sound conclusion, yes.”
“Excellent. Do you think you could predict which Professor it may be? A Professor you greatly respect or admire, perhaps?”
Hermione lifts her hand to her mouth, narrowing her eyes contemplatively. “Well I have a great respect for Professor McGonagall. Or Professor Black’s quite admirable.”
Ron snickers, and Lavender and Parvati make giggly suggestive noises. Even Neville lets out a shaky laugh. After a moment, Hermione seems to realise her wording and her eyes go wide, her cheeks quickly lit up like a stop light.
“I- I meant-” She splutters. “In an academic sense- in a- his teaching is quite- I didn’t mean- I-”
“It’s quite alright, Hermione.” Professor Lupin says reassuringly, laying a hand on her shoulder. “I understood what you meant. And, I assure you, I understand your admiration of Professor Black. Either way, whether your boggart turns into either of those teachers, you’ll need to use Riddikulus to turn them into something amusing. Can you think of the most amusing outfit you’ve ever seen someone wear?”
“I once saw a man wearing spotted dungarees with fishnet tights and a blue woollen tee,” Hermione says matter-of-factly. “Would that work?”
The class burst into sniggering laughter.
“Where has she been to see an outfit like that?” Ron hisses to Harry, face somewhere between appalled and amused. Harry shrugs, laughing.
“Yes.” Professor Lupin chuckles. “I’m sure that would work nicely. Now I want you to picture those clothes very clearly. Can you see them in your mind's eye?”
Hermione looks into the middle distance, brow furrowed in concentration. After a moment, she nods.
"Wonderful. When the boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Hermione, and sees you, it will assume the form of one of your professors, and you will raise your wand- thus- and cry 'Riddikulus'- and concentrate hard on that outfit you described. If all goes well, Professor Boggart McGonagall or Professor Boggart Black will be forced into those dungarees, and that woollen tee, and maybe even those fishnet tights."
The class shouts with laughter once more. Lavender leans against Parvati, giggling.
Professor Lupin raises his voice over whooping hysterics of the room. "If Hermione is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn. 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 wardrobe gives quite a violent lurch. The room quickly sobers. Lavender and Parvati exchange uneasy looks. Neville stares down at his slightly trembling hands. Dean tucks his mysteriously sourced quill away grimly, Seamus’ hand and wrist now bursting with flowers, constellations and owls mid-flight. Harry tears his eyes away from his classmates, forcing himself to truly consider what scares him most.
The obvious candidate is Voldemort. Voldemort with power and strength fully restored- as he was before Harry’s mother’s love had destroyed him. Perhaps if Harry turned his high, cold laughter into the clownish giggle of a jack-in-the-box-
But Harry is suddenly not thinking of Voldemort at all. He is remembering the scabbed, decaying hand reaching toward him in his compartment on the Hogwarts express… the swish of a cloak as black as the unfriendly night… the long, rattling breath from an unseen mouth… the piercing, death-like cold seeping into his bones… the wretched, suffocating misery that had swept over him… the eerie scream that had rung through his ears… Ginny letting out a tiny sob in the corner…
Harry shivers at the terrible recollection, inexplicably knowing that this is what he would see- a Dementor is going to surge out of that wardrobe and Harry will have to face it. Suddenly feeling insecure in his visceral reaction to the memory, Harry hastily glances around at his classmates, but none of them seems to be paying him any attention. Several have their eyes closed and all are concentrating on their own horrors, faces as fearful as Harry feels. Beside Harry, Ron is murmuring take its legs off , and Harry does not need to be a genius to deduce this relates to Ron’s profound aversion to spiders.
Professor Lupin clears his throat. "Everyone ready?"
No, Harry is absolutely not ready. He feels dread creeping up his stomach and scrounges for a way to somehow make a dementor less petrifying. Nothing comes up, but the rest of the class are looking resigned and determined, so Harry swallows down a sudden urge to vomit and grips his wand tight in his fist.
"Hermione, we're going to back away,” Professor Lupin says. "Let you have a clear field, all right? I'll call the next person forward.... Everyone back, now, so Hermione can get a clear shot-"
The class happily recoils, pressing themselves against the wall and isolating Hermione beside the wardrobe. She has a look of unflinching determination on her face, pale vine wand at the ready.
“Come on, Hermione.” Ron mutters beside Harry, unconsciously clutching the sleeve of Harry’s robe, eyes intently locked on their friend as she tucks her bushy curls over one shoulder. Harry can’t help but smile slightly at Ron’s aggressively caring nature when it comes to Hermione.
"On the count of three, Hermione," Professor Lupin says, his own orange-brown wand steadfastly trained on the handle of the wardrobe. "One, two, three- now!"
Blue sparks streak from Professor Lupin’s wand and the wardrobe clicks open. Professor Black emerges, looking stern and solemn, as always. The class seems to collectively inhale sharply as his eyes narrow into a glare at Hermione. There is an odd look on Professor Lupin’s face. Black takes a menacing step towards Hermione, who looks just as determined, perhaps slightly thrown at the realistic figure of her Professor before her.
“You’ve failed.” Professor Black spits venomously, eyes ablaze. Hermione flinches slightly, but her wand stays firmly pointing at the boggart. “You’ve failed every potion and every essay and you’re going to have to take this class all over again and your friends will leave you behind-”
“Riddikulus!” Hermione shrieks shrilly, wand snapping in a whipping motion. There is a resounding clap and Professor Black stumbles, suddenly dressed in the outfit Hermione had described- white dungarees reaching to his knees covered in pink, orange, yellow and lime green polka-dots, a scratchy-looking cornflower blue tee and black fishnet tights over his pale legs, accompanied by crimson leather boots with three inch heels. Black’s face is even painted with vivid blue eyeliner, caricatured circles of pink blush and lilac purple lipstick.
The class bursts into hysterics, stumbling around and shoving one another in their mirth. Hermione lets out an inelegant snort, clapping a hand over her mouth a moment later and attempting to stifle her continuing giggles. The boggart Black falters.
Through his clearly reluctant laughter, Professor Lupin cries; "Parvati! Forward!"
Parvati steps forward, face hardened with resolve. The clownish Professor Black turns to her and in the next split-second he is replaced by a rotting mummy, rigid arm reaching toward her, making a chilling groaning noise muffled by tattered bandages stained with dried blood.
"Riddikulus!" Parvati crows, flicking her wand sharply. One of the mummy’s bandages begins to unravel, coiling around its ankles and pulling it tumbling to the ground. As it lands, its head rolls off, earning another shout of laughter from the class.
"Seamus!" Professor Lupin calls, grinning.
Seamus springs eagerly forward, weaving past Parvati. Dean calls out something encouraging as he goes, corresponding with a loud crack from the boggart as it shifts. Instead of the mummy, Seamus is facing a ghoulish woman whose oiled hair trails down to the floor. Her face is skeletally thin and sickly, and when she opens her mouth a chilling wail fills the classroom- she’s a banshee. Several students clap their hands over their ears, and Harry winces, a shiver tingling down his spine.
“Riddikulus!" Seamus yells, and the banshee is suddenly silent, choking on air and grasping at her throat. The class laughs once more, earning a cringe from the boggart banshee. Professor Lupin barks for someone else to step forward and Seamus retakes his place beside Dean, who claps him on the back, a proud smile on his face. With sporadic loud snapping sounds, the boggart cycles through several more fears, cowering each time the class erupts into laughter.
"It's confused!" Lupin roars. "We're getting there! Dean!"
Dean rushes forward, hastened by a bolstering push from Seamus. With a crack, the blood covered eyeball transforms into a mangled, decaying hand, roughly severed from a wrist, white bone poking out and scarlet blood leaking from the wound. It crawls along the floor toward Dean.
"Riddikulus!" Dean shouts, and a rusty mousetrap suddenly appears, encasing the squirming hand. The class laughs again and the hand shudders in discomfort.
"Excellent! Ron, you next!"
Ron steps forward, face somewhere between resolved and nauseous. Predictably, Dean’s hand evolves into a huge black spider, reminiscent of Harry and Ron’s unpleasant experience with Hagrid’s acromantula. It rushes towards Ron, who seems frozen in dread, with clicking pincers dripping venom.
"Riddikulus!" Ron hollers fiercely, voice breaking slightly, and the spider's legs vanish, its abdomen collapsing to the ground and rolling across the staff room floor. Lavender squeals and jumps out of the way, meaning the legless spider comes to a shuddering halt at Neville’s feet.
With a splintering crack, the spider turns into a wild looking woman, with unkempt coils of raven black hair and sunken eyes. She wears lacy black robes and laughs a maniacal, high pitched cackle, crooked wand raised. Neville’s eyes have gone wide and his chest jumps with sharp breaths.
“Rid-” He tries, breathless. “Riddi- Rid- Rid-”
Neville’s wand falls to the floor with a clatter and he simply stares at the cackling woman, eyes filled with tears and mouth agape in horror. Without a second thought other than the sheer terror on Neville’s face, Harry leaps in front of his friend, wand raised. Before the woman can even transform, Professor Lupin, who was already bounding forward once the crazy woman appeared, lunges between Harry and the boggart.
“Here!” Lupin cries, raising his wand, eyes alight with acute panic. The boggart shifts with a crack and a strange, glowing, silvery orb hangs before him.
“Riddikulus!” Lupin says in a crisp voice, flicking his wand lazily. The orb shrivels into a white balloon, making a whining noise as it deflates. “Forward, Hermione, and finish him off!”
Professor Black reappears with a whip-like crack as Hermione steps forward, pushing her robes up her sleeves with a grim focus on her face.
"Riddikulus!" She bellows, and the eccentric outfit appears briefly once more, before Hermione lets out a shriek of laughter, and the boggart explodes, bursts into a thousand tiny wisps of smoke, and is gone.
"Excellent!" Professor Lupin says loudly, and the class breaks into cheering applause. Lavender and Parvati give each other squealing hugs, Seamus offers Ron an enthusiastic high-five, and Dean pats a clearly rattled Neville soothingly on the back, handing him his wand. "Excellent, Hermione. Well done, everyone.... let me see... five points to Gryffindor for every person to tackle the boggart- ten for Hermione because she did it twice... and five each to, well, Hermione again, and Harry."
"But I didn't do anything." Harry says flatly.
"You and Hermione answered my questions correctly at the start of the class, Harry." Lupin corrects lightly. "Very well, everyone, an excellent lesson. Homework, kindly read the chapter on boggarts and summarise it for me... to be handed in on Monday. That will be all. Neville, could I just speak with you for a moment?"
The class parades out of the staff room, chattering buoyantly. Neville remains where he stands, looking at his feet and blinking quickly. Harry pats him gently on the arm as he passes, closing the staffroom door behind him. He doesn’t feel as celebratory as his classmates, since Professor Lupin clearly thinks he is incapable of facing any challenge. He had seen Harry faint on the train and now evidently believes Harry is helpless. Thinking back on how horrible he had felt simply imagining the dementor, Harry has a sinking suspicion that Lupin’s assumption is correct. He feels small, a sour taste in his mouth.
"Did you see me take that banshee?" Seamus cries earnestly, grabbing Dean’s arm and shaking it, beaming up at him.
"And the hand!" Dean matches his best friend’s enthusiasm, waving his own hand around and leaning into Seamus’ side. They exchange thrilled smiles.
"And my mummy!" Parvati pokes herself between Dean and Seamus with an ecstatic look on her face. They both nod cheerily at her.
Lavender squeezes in beside Parvati, so that the four Gryffindors are huddled in a tightly knit group as they walk. Her face is thoughtful. “I wonder why Professor Lupin's frightened of crystal balls?"
The four of them continue their loud discussion as the large group walks back towards the classroom for their bags, alternating between deliberating about Professor Black’s orb, excitedly retelling their own boggart encounters and lamenting Lavender’s lack of a turn, ruminating on what her own fear might have been.
"That was the best Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson we've ever had, wasn't it?" Ron says delightedly, walking along the corridor with a proud swing in his step. Harry musters up a smile for his friend beside him.
"He seems like a very good teacher." Hermione says brightly, voice brimming with approval as she weaves between Ron and Harry and loops her arms through each of theirs. “It’s quite liberating, facing your fears.”
“I wouldn’t go that far.” Ron grimaces slightly. “I almost pissed my pants at the sight of that spider.”
“Ron!” Hermione admonishes shrilly, checking him lightly with her hip. The three of them lurch oddly to the side as Ron stumbles, joined by Hermione’s arms. Ron laughs and Harry even lets himself chuckle. As he rights himself and they walk in a linked-arm line again, Ron adopts a teasing look on his face.
“Look at our Hermione, couldn’t face a troll by herself in first year, and now she defeats a boggart of our potions teacher dressed as a tart all by herself.” Ron brings the hand up that isn’t linked with Hermione’s and ruffles her already messy hair. She makes a disgruntled noise, jerking away from him and scowling half-heartedly. Harry can tell that she loves the affection- she loves Harry and Ron dearly, no matter how much she might scold them. Harry loves her and Ron a lot too, and it swells up within him suddenly in that moment as he laughs at Ron’s description of the boggart Black’s bizarre outfit, watching his friends exchange playful smiles. Ron questions Hermione about where in the world she had seen that outfit and as Hermione laughingly begins the story, Harry doesn’t feel quite so small as before.