Chapter Ten: Afraid of Fear

"Sorry I'm late, Professor," said Malfoy on Thursday morning. He stumbled into the dungeon classroom halfway through the double Potions period, his right arm covered in bandages from his elbow down to his wrist and bound in a sling. News of Malfoys encounter with the Hippogriff had traveled quickly through Hogwarts; Buckbeak's talons had cut past skin and muscles, scraping the bone. He had also sustained several scratches across his abdomen, though Madam Pompfrey had concluded they were minor flesh wounds and had sorted them out easily enough. The school nurse had been ready to let Draco return after the one night in the infirmary, but Draco had insisted he was in great pain. Harry did not believe this, of course—he'd sustained far more grievous injuries in his time at Hogwarts and Madam Pompfrey had never failed him.

Hagrid had taken the whole situation personally. Professor Dumbledore had accompanied Hagrid back to the paddock once Malfoy was admitted into the hospital ward. Dumbledore at first was surprised Hagrid had chosen Hippogriffs as his first lesson, but Harry, along with Ron and Hermione, quickly explained to the headmaster what had really happened. Dumbledore thanked them and told them their collaboration would be helpful when he dealt with the school governors later that day. Feeling hopeful for Hagrid, Harry did his best to ignore Malfoy's exaggerated illness.

"Quite understandable, Mr. Malfoy," said Snape, looking up from his desk. "If you are up to it, you should still have adequate time in completing the assignment for today."

"I think so, Sir," said Malfoy, wobbling to his seat beside Pansy Parkinson.

"Oh, does it hurt, Draco," she whimpered.

"Yeah," said Malfoy. "Dreadful, really, but I have to go on with life, don't I?"

"Git," Ron muttered as he sliced up his daisy roots on Harry's left.

"It's obvious what he's trying to do," whispered Hermione, leaning over Harry's right shoulder. "You know how Draco's father is—we haven't heard the last of this." Harry nodded.

"Sir," said Malfoy, "I'll need help cutting these daisy roots, my arm—"

"Weasley, help Mr. Malfoy with his roots," said Snape. Harry watched his lips curl into a thin smile. Ron seized his knife, stormed over to Malfoy's desk and started to chop the roots in a very sloppy manner.

"Professor—Weasley's destroying my roots!"

Snape rose from his desk and approached their table and observed the mutilated roots.

"Weasley, you will exchange your roots with Mr. Malfoy's."

"I ruddy will not!"

"I will not repeat myself."

Ron huffed back to his seat, cupped the roots he had spent the last quarter of an hour meticulously slicing into equal pieces and slammed them hard onto Malfoy's table.

"Enjoy," he muttered and returned to his seat and started to repair the damage to the roots he was now forced to use.

"Sir, the shrivelfig," said Malfoy suggestively.

"Potter, skin Mr. Malfoy's shrivelfig."

"No thank you, Sir," said Harry politely.

"Do you wish to test my patience today, Potter?"

"Professor, what would cause a Hippogriff to attack a student?"

"I daresay any number of things, Potter," said Snape, his voice dangerously low. "Regardless, Hippogriffs are hardly appropriate for a first class introduction to magical creatures."

"No one else was injured," argued Harry. "I practiced with the same Hippogriff that attacked Malfoy, Sir, and I'm just fine."

"I see," said Snape, his eyes narrowing sharply and his lips curling into the scowl he reserved just for him, "Well Potter, not all of us can be as fortunate as you are, can we?'

"Professor, if I had been injured by a Hippogriff, would you order Malfoy to help me with my roots or my shrivelfig," he asked. He felt Hermione grip his wrist in warning, but the injustice of the whole thing had made his blood boil.

"No, you wouldn't," Harry answered for him. "Malfoy deserves what he got—if he had listened to Professor Hagrid he wouldn't have been hurt."

"How ironic," said Snape, "you, lecturing a fellow student for his inability to pay attention; Potter, you will skin Mr. Malfoy's shrivelfig or it'll be a zero for the day."

"I'll take the zero, Sir," said Harry. Snape glowered triumphantly and returned to his desk.

"Harry, what were you thinking," said Hermione. "You could have gotten into so much trouble."

"I'm not taking it anymore, Hermione," said Harry as he set about skinning his shrivelfig. Even though he wouldn't be earning any marks for his work today, he was determined to complete the potion in spite of Snape. Disappointed as Hermione may have been with his response, he was sure he caught a smile from the corner of his eye when he continued to work on his potion.

The remainder of class had gone steadily downhill after Harry's confrontation with Snape. Neville had a full nervous breakdown after the dressing down Snape had done over his orange potion. Hermione helped Neville set it right, whispering instructions across the aisle. Of course, Snape had realized this once the shrinking potion worked as intended on Neville's toad.

"Twenty points from Gryffindor," said Snape. He rounded on Hermione, his eyes full of accusation. "I told you not to help him, Granger. So that's ten points for you not following my instructions, and ten from Potter for his cheek." He looked over Harry's potion, unable to hide his surprise to find an acid-green potion simmering calmly beneath his hooked nose.

"I recall informing you, Potter, that you would be receiving a zero for the day?"

"You did, Sir."

"Why then, did you complete the assignment?"

"Because I still have to learn, don't I," said Harry. And I couldn't think of a better way to tell you off, he thought to himself.

"Get out of my sight."

() () ()

"That was brilliant," said Ron as they ascended from the dungeons. "You really got to Snape today." Harry shrugged and looked over his shoulder, expecting to find Hermione with several prepared words, but she wasn't there.

"Where'd Hermione go," he asked Ron. Ron looked down the stairs.

"She was right behind us," said Ron. "I saw her leave with us."

"You don't think she went back, do you?"

"Why would she?" Harry shrugged again and started back up the stairs to find Hermione walking several steps ahead of them.

"Hermione," said Harry, his voice carrying up the stairwell. She turned on her heels and waited for them.

"How did you do that," asked Ron. "I swear you were behind us when we'd left Potions."

"You weren't paying attention, obviously," she said. "I walked right past you. Hurry up, or we'll be late for Defense."

"She didn't walk past us," said Ron, leaning in as they followed Hermione. "I'm telling you, something weird is going on."

Professor Lupin was waiting for them as they piled into the classroom. They sat down, took out their books, parchment, and quills and waited. Professor Lupin smiled at them as placed his ragged briefcase on the teacher's desk and opened it with a quick swish of his wand. Today he wore heavily patched shirt and the same grey, tattered robes as when they'd met him on the train. But, Harry noticed, he looked healthier than he had on the train. Harry suspected the Professor did not eat particularly well, familiar as he was with food scarcity during his summer months.

"Good afternoon," he said. "If you'd all kindly follow me—you can leave your books—and bring your wands? Today's lesson will be practical." The class got its feet and followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom and then down a deserted corridor and finally down a second with a door at the very end. It was the teacher's staffroom.

"Inside, if you please," encouraged Professor Lupin.

The staffroom was immaculate; brightly lit with colored panels along the walls and filled with mismatched chairs of every kind imaginable. A large fireplace was tucked into the far corner with several armchairs arranged around it in a semi-circle. In one of those armchairs was none other than Professor Snape.

"Please, Lupin, leave the door open," said Snape as he vacated his chair. "I dare not witness the travesty this class is likely to be." He quickly paced the length of the room and stepped through the door Lupin held open. Before he left, though, Snape gave the professor a warning.

"In the likely event no one's told you, Lupin, this class contains Neville Longbottom, a witless wonder incapable of completing the simplest of tasks, unless of course, Granger is hissing instructions in his ear." Neville shrunk behind Seamus and Dean.

"I'm sure Neville will be more than up to the task at hand today, Severus," said Lupin with a small smile. Snape didn't reply to Lupin and left the room, slamming the door behind him. Lupin appeared unfazed by Snape's sudden and unprovoked bullying of Neville. He walked over to a nearby wardrobe. For a moment, Harry expected Lupin to retrieve something from it when it shook violently, banging loudly off the wall. Harry and the rest of the class jumped back.

"It's alright," said Professor Lupin with a second encouraging smile. "Nothing inside the wardrobe we can't handle together. As I understand it, many of you have already had a Care of Magical Creatures class earlier this week, is that right?"

"Yes, Sir," said Hermione quickly. "We studied Hippogriffs."

"Very good," said Lupin with a curt nod. "I understand it you have had a rather disrupted study in this course, and we'll be doing plenty of catch-up work in the coming weeks, but the typical subject matter covered in your third year is the study of Dark Magical Creatures and how to combat them, which is what we'll be doing today." The wardrobe wobbled again.

"A Boggart," answered Lupin, nodding curtly to the wardrobe. "They like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, cupboards, gaps beneath beds, discarded trunks—I once found one lodged inside a grandfather clock. Not necessarily the brightest of dark creatures that exist in the world, however, under the right circumstances and without the proper tools, they can be quite dangerous to the unsuspecting witch or wizard. This one moved in yesterday, I believe. Professor Dumbledore offered to remove it, but I thought a Boggart would make an excellent introductory lesson to your third year Defense Against the Dark Arts. So, we must ask ourselves, what is a Boggart?"

Hermione launched her hand into the air.

"Hermione?"

"Yes, Sir, the Boggart is a shape-shifter," she said. "It takes the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

"Very good," said Lupin. "When I let the Boggart out, he will assume the form of whatever it thinks will frighten us most. However, the Boggart inside this wardrobe is sitting inside shapeless, as it does not yet know what will frighten the person who first comes into contact with it. For now, we have the upper hand. Have you spotted it, Harry?"

"No Sir," said Harry quickly.

"Why do you suppose that is?"

"There's too many of us," said Harry. "It doesn't know what shape to take."

"Well done," he said. "This is the first rule when tackling Boggarts; always have company when approaching Boggarts. It can confuse them and sometimes winning the battle before there is one. Should he turn into a headless corpse, a flesh-eating slug, or a giant python? I've known Boggarts to make that very mistake—tried to frighten two people at once and turned into a half slug—quite funny looking as it turns out."

"Now, Boggarts are simple to repel in theory; it requires only a wand and a committed mind. You see, Boggarts cannot tolerate the sound of laughter. What we need to do is force the Boggart to assume a shape we find amusing. Repeat after me; riddikulus!"

"Riddikulus!"

"That was the easy part. Neville, step forward please." Neville timidly approached Lupin, eyes weary of the wardrobe.

"No need to worry just yet, Neville," said Lupin. "The Boggart won't escape the wardrobe unless I allow it. Now, I need to know, what is it you fear the most?"

"Professor Snape," whispered Neville. The whole class erupted in laughter. Lupin though looked thoughtful. Indeed, Harry thought he'd seen a flash of anger ripple through the weary Professor's eyes.

"He does his best, doesn't he," said Lupin, his cheerful demeanor returning. "Neville, correct me if I'm wrong, but I do believe you live with your grandmother, yes?"

"I don't want the Boggart to turn into her either."

"You needn't worry, Neville," said Lupin, crouching down to whisper into Neville's ear. With each passing second, Neville grew increasingly joyous.

"Now, when I release the Boggart, Neville, do as I instructed," said Lupin, his wand now directed toward the wardrobe. "Wand out, and remember the incantation: riddikulus. Are you ready?" Neville nodded. "Good," said Lupin. "Everyone, step back and let Neville have plenty of room. If all goes well—and it will—I will call each one of you forward to tackle the Boggart."

Lupin waited until the class was ready. Once they had formed an orderly line and given plenty of room for Neville, Lupin stood behind Neville and flicked his wand at the wardrobe. The wardrobe creaked open and out stepped Professor Snape, hook-nosed, eyes dancing maliciously, his wand lazily outstretched toward Neville. Neville stumbled backwards, his wand pointing uselessly toward the Boggart-Snape as his mouth moved with silent words.

"Easy does it, Neville," coached Lupin, catching Neville before he fell over. "Remember what we discussed."

"Riddikulus," said Neville, wand arm shaking. But Neville had done it; there was a loud thunder-like crack and Boggart-Snape was no longer stalking forward like a predator in his mid-night black robes; now he wore a long, lace-trimmed bright green dress with a vulture hat shoved over his greasy curtain of black hair, his wand replaced with a crimson handbag. The room roared with laughter and the Boggart-Snape stumbled, eyes darting from one laughing face to the next. The Boggart was confused.

"Parvati!"

Boggart-Snape became Boggart-Mummy with another loud crack. Its linen wraps were stained in blood.

"Riddikulus!"

The Boggart-Mummy unraveled and tripped.

And down the line they went. A voiceless banshee gave way to an overgrown rat that chased its own tail in endless circles, giving way to a lengthy rattlesnake turned into a balloon, giving way to a lifeless corpse that did cartwheels around the room. Harry watch with amusement as Ron confronted a fully-grown Acromantula that looked almost identical to one of Aragog's offspring.

"Riddikulus," shouted Ron, his voice pitched higher than normal. The spider's legs were not fastened to roller skates and it quickly toppled over onto its back, writhing and clicking its pincers in desperation. Harry stepped forward, ready for his turn.

Harry had thought it over, for he knew what he feared; Lord Voldemort, resurrected with all his power intact. He had a plan though. He raised his wand at the rolling spider, ready to act. But the Boggart didn't turn into Lord Voldemort, or the Tom Riddle he had confronted in the Chamber of Secrets last year. Time slowed to a crawl as black-hooded robes rose from the corpse of the spider and the skeletal hands reached outward toward him. The room had gone silent. He could see Lupin's mouth moving from the corner of his eye but he heard none of the Professor's words. Then he felt the familiar frigid air clutch at his chest as the air in his lungs froze solid. He could hear the rattling breath. And then he heard her this time; loud, frantic, and pleading. She screamed the same words in his ears. Harry. Harry. Harry. Then all went dark.

() () ()

Harry woke in an unfamiliar place. Or at least, the contents within the room were unfamiliar. The walls were no longer covered in the self-portraits of a smiling baboon who had occupied the office in the previous year. Now, there were several bookshelves filled with tattered and worn books. However, he didn't have long to contemplate the room as his vision was soon obstructed by a tangle of curled tawny-brown hair and worry-filled chocolate eyes.

"Are you alright, Harry," she asked, looking down on him.

"I think so," he mumbled. "What happened?"

"You fainted," she said. "Here, eat this." She placed a splinter of chocolate at his lips and he ate it without questioning. "The moment you got the Boggart's attention it turned into a Dementor and you fainted almost immediately."

"Great," groaned Harry. "It'll be all over the castle soon. Malfoy will be insufferable."

"Don't worry about Malfoy," said Ron. Harry turned his neck. Ron was leaning against the office door. "He's a git—always was and always will be."

"Ron's right," said Hermione, feeding him another piece. "I don't think Professor Lupin was expecting that to happen. He was already moving to intervene—I don't think he meant for you to face the Boggart, Harry."

"Why," he asked her.

"Harry, I think it's obvious," she said with a sad smile. "I think everyone expected the Boggart to turn into You-Know-Who…can you imagine what sort of panic that would cause?"

"I thought it would too, to be honest," said Harry. "I wasn't expecting a Dementor. Where's Professor Lupin anyway?"

"Talking to the class," said Ron, nodding his head to the door behind him.

Harry rolled onto his side and sat up. He wobbled dangerously but Hermione caught him.

"Careful," she said, throwing one of his arms over her shoulder while she latched onto his torso. "Ron, help me, will you?" Ron walked over and took Harry's other arm over his shoulder.

"I heard it again, Hermione," he said.

"The woman," she asked worriedly.

"Yeah," he said. "She was calling my name."

"We'll talk to Professor Lupin about it, alright," she said, helping him to his feet.

"Harry?"

"Hmm?"

"I don't want to worry you, but, well, some of our classmates—" but Hermione didn't finish as her eyes swelled with tears.

"What is it, Hermione?"

"S-Some of them…w-we're..we're—"

" –laughing," finished Ron.

"It's fine," he said. Together they approached the office door that led down into the classroom when Lupin's voice carried through the walls.

() () ()

"I can't begin to express my disappointment," said Lupin, looking over the whole class. "I'm appalled that there are students belonging to my old house who would laugh at the expense of one of their own and certainly not in a situation as severe as what happened minutes ago. Do any of you have any idea what a Dementor is, or even what they do? Well? Speak up—I'm waiting!" The class shifted guiltily in their chairs.

"Dementors are among the foulest creatures that exist in this world," he said, pacing. "They have several powers, each as deadly and horrid as the next. Their presence alone can chill the air to freezing in moments. In great numbers, if exposed long enough to their presence, they can still the blood long enough to starve the heart and brain of oxygen, putting a witch or wizard into cardiac arrest. Rare as it might be, wizards and witches alike have died this way. And that's the least of your worries."

"You see, Dementors prefer to feed upon their victims," he went on, his hands bawled tightly into fists. "Like Boggarts, they thrive on our fear. Unlike Boggarts, Dementors do not use fear to escape wizards or as a defensive mechanism; instead, they bring those fears forward, forcing us to relive our worst memories until every happy thought we've known seems forgotten. They feed upon it." The class looked up to the Professor in confusion.

"Let me tell you a story," said Lupin. "Once I had two friends—they were the kindest, most pure-hearted people I had ever known. They were Gryffindors, proud, brave, and intelligent. We fought together against Lord Voldemort during the last war," he said, ignoring their collective shiver, "and we were losing badly. Friends and family were disappearing and dying, or were in turn bewitched to torture and kill their loved ones. Many of you have families that suffered greatly under Lord Voldemort and his Death Eaters. My dear friends stood against him countless times and were soon targeted directly. They went into hiding." Lupin sat down on a stool at the front of the class as his voice dropped.

"They had a child…a sweet, innocent, baby boy," he said, no longer looking at the students but somewhere far beyond them. "They were safe, for a while. But it didn't last. Halloween night, nineteen-eighty-one, he found them, and he killed them." Lupin forced his gaze back to the students, some of them with understanding in their eyes, some more confused than before. Lupin swallowed.

"I'm talking of course, about Lily and James Potter," he said, using all his willpower to win over the burning sensation in his eyes and to ignore the collective gasp of the students. "And their son was just subjected to a creature fully capable of forcing those memories upon him."

In Lupin's office, Harry felt his legs turn to pudding as his body slumped forward under the weight of Lupin's words. Hermione and Ron kept him from completely falling, but momentum had been on Harry's side and they couldn't stop him from landing on his knees. Harry felt his heart constrict as Lupin's words played through his mind like a record player: subjected to a creature fully capable of forcing those memories upon him. And he knew then, the identity of the woman who had screamed his name. Before he could stop it, before he was even aware of the word forming in his brain, it slipped out from his lips, clearly audible in the quiet of the office.

"Mum."

Author's Notes: I'm really enjoying the Dementor embellishments. I always felt they had a lot of offer in establishing a darker tone to the story. Hopefully you all agree.