Author's Note: It has been a long time since I last updated. I hope a slightly longer chapter than usual makes up for my absence. Please excuse the typos. I'm sure there will be many. Happy reading!
Chapter Fifty-One – The Patronus
Harry had given his word that he would keep an eye on Professor Lupin for Sirius. As the students returned from their winter holiday, he was able to keep that promise. Harry's private lessons with the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher had finally arrived, and Harry was eager to begin. His motivations were twofold. First, Lupin had offered to teach him a charm that would protect him from the dementors. In order to redeem himself after the embarrassment of his first Quidditch match, Harry needed to be prepared.
His second reason was perhaps the most important of the two. These lessons would give him an opportunity to spy on Sirius's old friend, and perhaps gain an understanding of what he knew, or suspected, of the fugitive hiding within Hogwarts.
The lessons were held in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. The desks and chairs were all cleared away when Harry arrived, reminding him of the first class he'd had with the professor. That day, every student but Harry had a chance to face a boggart. Now it seemed that Harry would finally get his shot, as Lupin informed him that it was precisely this boggart on which they would practice the charm.
"It would be far too dangerous to have you practice on a real dementor," Professor Lupin explained, "And a boggart not only takes the form of your worst fear, but can mimic some of its attributes, as well. You'll still feel the effects of the dementor, but it will be weak. That should make it easier to get the basics of the charm."
"Are we going to start right away?" Harry asked, attempting to sound unconcerned even as he eyed the familiar trunk sitting in the center of the room. It rattled slightly.
"In a moment," replied the professor. He walked toward a desk where a few tea things had been set out as refreshment. Lupin poured two cups and handed a saucer to Harry with an invitation to help himself. "There are a few things I'd like to go over first."
His tone was as light as Harry's had been, as if he were merely giving a student instruction on a new topic. On the surface, this was precisely the case. Only Harry would have suspected the deeper intent behind his words. He reminded himself of Sirius's caution to always be on guard around the kindly professor.
"The Patronus Charm, as I've said before, is immensely difficult to perform," Professor Lupin began in a pedantic tone as Harry sipped his tea, "When performed correctly, it creates a sort of shield to protect you from a dementor."
"How?" Harry interrupted before he could stop himself. He quickly apologized to the professor for his rudeness.
Lupin smiled at him in response, the expression a wordless request for patience.
"A patronus is made entirely of the feelings a dementor preys on," Lupin explained, "Hope, happiness, love... Dementors cannot experience these things themselves, and so they must feed off others. By creating a patronus, you're creating the very thing dementors want. But unlike people, dementors cannot harm a patronus."
"How do I make one?" asked Harry.
"You need a happy memory," said Lupin.
Harry must have made a face at him, because Lupin began to laugh.
"I sound a bit like Peter Pan, don't I?" Lupin said, and Harry began to laugh with him. He hadn't expected a wizard like the professor to be familiar with a muggle fairy tale like Peter Pan, and was pleasantly surprised by the reference.
"But I am afraid 'any happy thought' will not do, in this case," Lupin continued, "A patronus is only as strong as the memory you use to make it. Only a very strong thought, one strong enough to ward off the negative energy produced by the dementor, will produce a patronus capable of protecting the conjurer."
Harry cast around his memory for something that made him truly happy. Certainly he'd never experienced it with the Dursleys. All of his happiness began when he came to Hogwarts. The nervous excitement of the sorting ceremony, going over the strange course lists... Then he remembered his first broom-riding lesson, when he shot through the air like a bullet, catching Neville's rememberall before it could shatter into a million pieces. Flying had been the first thing Harry felt really good at, and the memory still filled him with pride to this day.
"Have you got it?" Professor Lupin asked, and Harry nodded in response.
The second part of the charm was the incantation. Lupin taught Harry the words, and demonstrated the wand movement. He invited Harry to give it a try, and Harry began to carefully mirror the professor's actions.
"Expecto patronum," Harry intoned, focusing very hard on his memory, "Expecto patronum..."
All at once, a bright light began to shine from the end of Harry's wand. It was almost like that of the Lumos charm, but softer, more like silver turned to pure light. As Harry continued to chant the charm, willing his memory into existence, the light expanded. Harry pictured it as Lupin described, a shield between himself an the dementors, and the light continued to grow outward until he had something like a wall between himself and the professor.
Harry beamed, and saw Lupin also smiling encouragingly. Harry sustained the charm as long as he could, which was only a few seconds, but Lupin told him that this was more than sufficient for a first attempt.
"Can we try it on the boggart now?" Harry asked. He was feeling confident. The spell didn't seem nearly as difficult as the professor made it sound.
Lupin seemed to give it some thought, then he asked, "Still no sign of that dog, Harry?"
Harry had not expected Lupin to make such a direct assault. He was so startled, he nearly gave himself away.
"No," he said, a little too quickly, "Why do you ask?"
"Negative thoughts can sometimes distract us from our patronus," Lupin said, "I thought perhaps if you were still seeing that dog, your fear of it..."
"I'm not afraid of the dog," Harry countered. He didn't apologize for interrupting this time.
Professor Lupin seemed surprised by Harry's assertion, and he corrected himself.
"Forgive me, I didn't mean to imply... What I meant to say is that if you had seen the dog again, thoughts of it might distract you from your purpose."
"My memory has nothing to do with the dog," Harry said, forcing himself to match Professor Lupin's calm done, "It's about the first time I rode a broomstick."
Lupin paused, looking at Harry as if he were evaluating him. Harry bore the scrutiny with as much poise as he could. He understood now why Sirius was so wary of his old friend. Professor Lupin may be kind, and he was certainly the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Harry ever had, but there was something cunning in his words and actions. It was an attribute associated with Slytherin, not commonly seen in Gryffindor graduates like Lupin.
"Very well," the professor said after a moment, "Would you like to test that memory against an imitation dementor?"
Harry agreed, and Professor Lupin placed himself behind the trunk that held the boggart. The trunk began to shake, as if the creature inside sensed what was about to happen. Professor Lupin held his wand at the ready, and Harry did the same. For a moment, neither of them said anything more, and Professor Lupin gave Harry time to fill his head with his happy memory.
But Harry's thoughts were now clouded with doubt and worry. What if he'd accidentally given something away? He might have given Lupin the impression that he'd talked with Sirius, thereby placing him in danger of discovery.
Harry tried to banish the thought from his mind and focus only on his memory... The feeling of soaring through the air, wind whipping at his hair, a gentle feeling of butterflies flitting around his stomach when his feet first left the ground...
Harry nodded to the professor, signaling that he was ready for the boggart. Lupin counted down from three, and flicked his wand to unlatch the trunk.
Just as Lupin anticipated, the boggart rose from the trunk as a black-robed dementor. Harry had expected the effects to be less overpowering. It was, after all, just a boggart. But the second it rose from the trunk, a coldness swept through the room. Harry began chanting the spell, willing the light into existence, but it was difficult to hold onto the memory. Doubts about his flying began to plague his mind. Memories of his first flight were interrupted by the recollection of Draco stealing his spot on the Quidditch team, the pressures of trying to win it back, the humiliation of falling from his broom in front of the whole school...
He was still chanting the spell, but the words had lost all meaning. They were flat, without feeling or intent. The boggart, sensing weakness, drew closer to him, and Harry realized he could hear her again...
His mother, screaming and pleading for him in the last moments of her life. And the high, cold voice in response, ordering her away...
"Harry? Harry, are you alright?"
He heard Professor Lupin's voice, then felt the cool stone floor under his cheek. He'd fainted again. With a groan, Harry pushed himself upright, and realized that Lupin had been crouched next to him. The professor held him steady with one hand, and with the other offered him a piece of chocolate.
Harry accepted the offer with thanks. He hadn't forgotten the instant comfort of the chocolate Lupin once gave him on the Hogwarts Express. The effects were the same now.
Lupin allowed him to process his failed attempt in silence for a moment before he said, "It was a good first effort Harry. Your form was perfect."
"Then why didn't it work?" Harry mumbled.
He hated sounding so childish, and he blamed his attitude on the lingering effects of the boggart.
Rather than console him, Lupin smiled at his pettish demeanor.
"I suspect the memory you chose was not strong enough. I did say it would be difficult, did I not?"
"Yeah..." Harry said, still sullen. "Can I try it again?"
"Of course," said Lupin, impressed by Harry's determination, "We'll try once more, without the boggart this time."
They continued to practice the rest of the afternoon, taking occasional tea and chocolate breaks. Harry begged to have another go at the boggart, but to his dismay, the Lupin kept him strictly focused on practicing the wand movements and the incantation. Once Harry could sustain his shield of light for ten seconds, Lupin ended the lesson.
"Ten seconds isn't going to help me in a Quidditch game," Harry complained to his friends late that night, "And I don't even know if I'll get that long when a real dementor shows up. I can barely conjure the stupid charm as it is!"
"You'll have other lessons with him, yeah?" Blaise asked as he watched the final group of first-year students make their way up the dormitory stairs.
"Yeah..." Harry said, "I just wish he'd give me some clue as to what kind of happy memory would be better. I wonder what he thinks of?"
"Maybe you should ask him?" Millie suggested, rising to her feet now that they were alone.
"Maybe I will!" Harry agreed, and he followed his two friends out of the common room, pulling his invisibility cloak over their heads as he did so.
They were making their way toward Gryffindor tower. Now that Ron Weasley had returned from the winter holiday with the rest of his siblings, Harry was resolved to sneak into the rival house. They already believed that the Weasley twins had pinched the Marauder's Map, and now Ron was under suspicion of harboring Peter Pettigrew himself.
As such, they wasted no time. Crouched under the protection of the cloak, they made their way through the dark corridors after hours. Skulking around like this was beginning to be second nature to Harry. He couldn't count the number of times he'd used his father's cloak for similar purposes. By now he was so comfortable with the task that it came as no surprise when they encountered no difficulties... That is, not until they reached the hidden entrance to the common room.
At first it was difficult to find the correct portrait. Harry had seen the Fat Lady's portrait once before, but now she was nowhere to be found. Hermione and Neville never told him that she refused to return to her post after her portrait was torn apart. Thus, instead of the Fat Lady, they were met by a little knight, in full armor, sitting astride an usually plump pony.
Harry threw off the cloak, and the knight immediately brandished a painted sword at him.
"Hark! Who dares challenge Sir Cadogan, Knight of the Table Round?"
"It's just us!" Harry said. He and his friends had changed out of their uniforms, hoping to trick the Fat Lady into believing they were hapless Gryffindor students caught out of bed.
Sir Cadogan was more obstinate.
"Us?" he repeated, "I know not your faces, young rapscallions! Reveal your names and what quest has brought you here, or I will call in the cavalry!"
For ought Harry knew, there really was a painting of horsemen somewhere in the castle. And if they were at all like Sir Cadogan, he was certain he did not want to meet them.
"I'm Dean Thomas," Blaise said, quickly supplying the alias they'd selected before. Their hope was that with so many students passing every day, the portraits would not be able to recall the faces of every one.
Blaise continued, introducing Millie as Sally Smith before attempting to explain that they forgot the password and were locked out.
Sir Cadogan agreed to sheath his harmless sword, but he didn't appear fully convinced. He directed a glare at Harry and demanded, "What of you, lad?"
"I'm Neville Longbottom," Harry began, "We were just..."
He did not have a chance to finish. Sir Cadogan jolted on his pony with such force that the visor of his helmet came crashing down. He hastily pushed it back up to get a better look at Harry while exclaiming, "Longbottom! Longbottom!"
Harry didn't know what to say. He hoped that in the dark his scar wouldn't be as obvious. For the first time in a long while, his hand instinctively rose to push his fringe over his forehead.
But he needn't have worried. Sir Cadogan, in his ire, had failed to recognize Harry for the impostor he was. Instead, he preceded to berate poor 'Neville' for his lack of foresight.
"A fortnight's worth of passwords I've given you!" the knight exclaimed, "Against my better judgment, I may add! And for what? For you to come crawling here with your friends, middle of the night, and tell me you've forgotten! No, sir! I, Sir Cadogan, he who slayed the Wyvern of Wye, will not sit by and allow this boy, this imp, to sully the name of Gryffindor with his impudence..!"
He continued to rant, hearing nothing of Harry's protests. Eventually he, Blaise, and Millie were forced to resign themselves back to their own common room, leaving Sir Cadogan to rave about the degradation of Gryffindor students by himself.
"There's still the real Longbottom," Millie reminded a crestfallen Harry. "Not to mention Granger."
Millie was right, and Harry had an opportunity to take advantage of his friendship with Hermione and Neville the very next day. The two Gryffindors shared Care of Magical Creatures with Harry. Unfortunately, so did Ron Weasley.
At the first sight of Ron, Harry's plan for sneaking into the tower was blasted away. He wasn't thinking about the Marauder's Map then. He was thinking of the gray rat that he'd once fed Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans while on the Hogwarts Express. Ron might have Scabbers, or rather Pettigrew, sleeping in the pocket of his robes at that very moment. Although Harry didn't know what he would do if actually confronted with the rat, he nevertheless watched Ron carefully through the class.
A new term brought no change to Hagrid's anxiety, and they were still trying to raise the boring flobberworms. The work was dull, but not difficult, and Harry had plenty of spare moments to keep an eye on his Gryffindor rival.
The effort was completely wasted. By the end of class, he'd caught no sight of the rat - not even a glimpse of its skinny, bald tail. Harry, disappointed yet again, couldn't resist making a comment to Ron as the class broke apart, and everyone prepared for their walk back to the castle.
"Haven't seen your rat around, Weasley," Harry called to him.
Ron came to a sudden stop at the mention of his rat. He directed a suspicious look at Harry, who couldn't help but notice that Ron's friends, Dean Thomas and Seamus Finnigan, stopped as well. A look passed between them, and Finnigan cringed.
"My rat?" Ron repeated, a cool edge to his voice.
"Right. Scabbers, wasn't it?"
"What does my rat have to do with you, Potter?"
His friendship with Ron had ended the moment Harry was sorted into Slytherin. Ron made no secret that he despised Slytherin House more than any other, and his dislike for Harry had only grown over the past two and a half years. Harry knew all this, and yet it seemed odd that he would be so hostile after Harry merely asked him about his pet.
Harry merely shrugged, and his indifference only fueled Ron's suspicion. With narrow eyes, the redhead continued, "Since you ask, Scabbers has gone missing."
"Missing?"
"That's right. I lost him just after the start the term."
He took a few steps toward Harry, ignoring Thomas and Finnigan, who were trying to coax him back to the school. Harry wasn't worried. For every step Ron made closer to him, he knew Millie and Blaise would draw closer themselves, ready to defend him if necessary.
To his credit as a member of the bravest house, Ron was not intimidated.
"It's strange," he said with an angry glare, standing only feet apart from Harry, "Scabbers has never run off before. Not once in the whole time I've had him. You wouldn't happen to know anything about his disappearance, would you, Potter?"
"Me?" Harry could only reply stupidly.
"Yeah, you... Or that snake you're always hissing at when you think no one's looking."
"Leave Oroboros out of this!" Blaise demanded, stepping slightly in between Harry and Ron.
"Is that what you call that thing?" Ron spat, his anger ringing clear in his tone, "It's not right, having something like that crawling all over the school! I've seen it when you bring it down to meals. It'll be big enough to swallow a whole cat soon! Something like my rat..."
"Oroboros wouldn't touch your nasty rat if she was starving!" Blaise scoffed, highly offended by Ron's insinuation.
"Is that so?" Ron challenged, "I seem to remember you threatening Scabbers with that snake before! Where is it now, huh? Of hunting another pet?"
Both Blaise and Millie looked prepared to draw their wands, but their surprise, Hermione Granger cut between them.
"Don't worry about him, Harry!" Hermione said, "He'll blame anyone over losing his dumb rat! First he said that Crookshanks ate him, now he's pointing fingers at your snake! He'll be blaming Professor Hagrid's flobberworms next!"
"You ought to keep a better eye on your pets, Ron," said Neville, drawing up to Hermione's side, "It's not anyone else's fault if you lost him."
Neville Longbottom was notorious for misplacing his pet toad, Trevor. When he tells you that you're a bad pet owner, it's time to leave the field of battle. Ron, acknowledging that he was well outnumbered by the Slytherin trio and now his fellow Gryffindors, wisely decided to retreat. He turned his back on them, and muttered to his two friends that they should just go back to the school.
Hermione watched him go, her hands on her hips, until he and his friends were well out of earshot. She then offered Harry a tight smile.
"He's really been horrible," she said, "Came down from his room with a blood splattered sheet the other day, wailing about his rat."
"A bloody sheet?" Harry asked, "You don't mean the rat was actually..."
Neville shook his head, "We searched the whole dorm. We couldn't find him."
"Well, honestly. Even if it was Crookshanks, can you blame him? He's just a cat. It's in his nature..." Hermione began, but Harry was barely paying attention. He looked at Blaise and Millie, and could see the anxiety stamped clearly on their faces. He was sure his expression was the same.
According to Sirius, Pettigrew faked his death once before. If he had managed to escape again, then the map was crucial to their success. He could be hidden anywhere in the school, small enough to avoid notice. They had to find him, and fast.
"Hermione," said Harry, interrupting the Gryffindor's lecture on the hunting habits of felines, "I wonder if I could ask for a favor?"
Hermione, although surprised by the sudden request, invited him to continue.
"The thing is, I was wondering if you could let me into the Gryffindor common room?"
Hermione stared blankly at him. Harry knew what he was asking would spike her curiosity. Hermione was his friend, but she was also very nosy. He braced himself for the question that would inevitably follow.
"Why?"
"Well, you see, I've always been curious about it. What it looks like, I mean, and..."
It was Hermione's turn to interrupt him. With a gasp, she declared, "You want to sneak in and play a trick on Ronald, don't you?"
Harry thought he had anticipated every objection to his request, but he had not planned for this. In retrospect, it was only natural that after the very recent confrontation with Weasley, Hermione would assume the worst of Harry's intentions.
Harry denied the allegation, and reverted back to his practiced script – that he merely wanted a sneak peak at the common room he'd heard so much about.
Hermione was not a fool, and she could be stubborn.
"That would be against the rules."
Harry found his footing once more. Hermione, who trembled at the slightest reference to detention, was known to be a stringent rule-follower. Harry countered with, "Neville led me to the entrance once, you know."
Hermione gasped and looked at Neville in disappointment.
"This is precisely why Sir Cadogan was so rude to you, Neville!" Hermione scolded, referring to the little painted knight that had been such an annoyance to Harry and his friends, "It's precisely that sort of behavior that allowed someone like Black to find the common room in the first place!"
The sudden allusion to Sirius caused Harry to flinch, and his next appeal to Hermione for help was sharper than he intended. It did not help his case with the Gryffindor, who was steadily building her resolve against his coaxing.
"I'm not going to let you in without a good reason, Harry!" she stated with finality.
Millie and Blaise were trying to communicate with Harry though a series of gestures and outright sleeve tugging to retreat, but Harry was too desperate. He could feel this opportunity slipping through his grasp, and in his haste, he blurted, "Why should I tell you anything? You won't even tell me how you're managing all your classes! Shouldn't you be in Arithmancy right now?"
He had approached the forbidden topic, and it upset Hermione.
Drawing herself up, she said, "As a matter of fact, yes. I'll be late now because of you! C'mon, Neville!"
She grabbed the Gryffindor boy by the hand and dragged him away, no doubt feeling that he was a weak link between Harry and access to the common room. She was right. If Harry had been more wise, he would have known to ask Neville for his assistance without Hermione's interference. But after this argument, witnessed by the both of their friends, there was no way Neville would go against Hermione's wishes.
This was a setback, but not a defeat. Blaise told Harry that he had an idea. Millie assumed he planned to charm a few Gryffindor girls with his good looks, and if that failed, resorting to actual charms. She was more inclined to hexing Weasley or Granger, depending on her mood. Harry left the two of them to work out the details. He had to focus on his next patronus lesson with Professor Lupin.
He had been struggling with the boggart for what felt like hours, but between fainting spells and chocolate therapy, only thirty minutes had passed. Lupin eventually requested a longer pause, and asked, "Are you still focusing on the memory of your flying class, Harry?"
"Yes," said Harry through gritted teeth. He was getting tired of passing out after every attempt. "But it's not working!"
"No, clearly not," Lupin said thoughtfully, "What do you think about before you pass out?"
Harry wasn't sure he should say. The memory of his mother's voice pleading with Lord Voldemort just before she was killed was too terrible to mention out loud. With hesitation, Harry quietly admitted part of the truth.
"I hear my mum," Harry said, "She's... She's crying."
Screaming was the appropriate word, but Harry wasn't prepared to admit that. To his relief, Lupin acknowledged the comment with only a nod, and asked again, "Before that. What do you think about after you think of flying, but before you start to faint?"
Harry considered the question. He had tried focusing on his first memory of flying, but lately he couldn't think of his broom without remembering the first Quidditch match and the disastrous encounter with dementors. He told this to Lupin, who to Harry's surprise, smiled.
"I thought as much," Lupin said, "It's not that the memory you chose isn't a happy one, Harry. But it has become linked to more painful memories. The dementor will take advantage of that association, and rob you of the happier feelings while you drown in what remains. Try thinking of something else. Something that doesn't remind you of brooms or Quidditch."
Harry tried. There were plenty of good memories at Hogwarts, but he rejected them outright. Harry had also had dangerous adventures within the school, and it was too likely that the same thing would happen again. Finally, he remembered how he felt when Hagrid came to pick him up from the Dursleys. It had been his birthday, and the day he learned that he was a wizard. He thought of Diagon Alley, the trip that had been his first venture into the world of magic. He didn't see how any dementor could rob him of the joy he felt during that trip, and with a grin at Lupin, demonstrated that he was ready for another try.
Accordingly, Lupin assumed the usual position behind the large trunk, and once more brought the boggart forth. Predictably, it rose from the trunk a hooded, ghastly dementor. Harry, his head already filled with thoughts of Diagon Alley, had his wand pointed and at the ready.
"Expecto patronum!" he shouted at the top of his voice.
It seemed to him that the light he summoned was brighter this time. He held it for several seconds, watching the faux-dementor press against the other side, unable to reach him. He was distantly aware of Lupin's voice offering him praise, but it sounded like it was coming from far away. He realized he was hearing other voices. Not his mother, not at first. He was remembering the other people he had encountered in Diagon Alley... Gilderoy Lockhart... Lucius Malfoy... Professor Quirrell stuttering in the Leaky Cauldron... Each name brought up a host of other, unpleasant memories. He wasn't surprised when he heard his mother's cries once more, but there was another this time... A deeper voice that called out to his mother just before Harry hit the ground...
He awoke to the familiar sight of Lupin crouched over him. His face hurt from where he'd fallen face-first to the floor. Lupin had removed his broken glasses from his face, and was repairing them with a quick charm. Harry wondered that they hadn't thought to lay down some pillows before their practice.
He sat up and accepted the glasses offered to him by the professor. He must have misread the expression on Harry's face, because he said, "Try not to be discouraged, Harry. This was a great effort. I'd say it was much stronger than it was before, and you maintained it for much longer..."
"I heard my dad that time," Harry said, his quiet voice silencing the professor instantly, "He was... He told my mother to take me and run..."
Lupin was silent for so long that Harry finally looked up at him. His eyes were dry, but he had gone very pale, making the scars on his face even more obvious.
"I think that will be enough for today," Lupin said once his eye met Harry's.
Harry climbed to his feet and followed Lupin to a nearby desk. He was worried that Lupin would tell him the lessons must stop, having been startled by this allusion to James Potter. But Lupin had merely poured them both cups of tea from the tray he had prepared before the lesson, and offered Harry the customary reviving chocolate. Harry noted that he broke off a piece for himself, as well.
They continued in silence for a while longer. Harry began glancing at Lupin once the chocolate had warmed in his mouth, its sweetness restoring some of his courage. He couldn't get his father's voice out of his head, but with the dispiriting effects of the would-be dementor at bay, he was energized rather than depressed by the memory. His father had tried to protect his mother in those last moments, and he was suddenly very proud to be his son. He glanced at Lupin once more, only to find the professor gazing back at him. He wondered what the professor, once such close friends with his father, was thinking at that moment.
He didn't have a chance to ask. Lupin broke the silence by observing Harry's quick recovery after this recent bout of faintness.
"It's a good sign. It shows you're progressing," he stated, gently shifting to the tone Harry recognized from class. It was the voice he used when he was giving a lesson, and Harry prepared himself. To his surprise, what followed was not so much another pedantic speech, but a personal observation.
"As you can see, the dementor influences the environment around them, not just one person in particular. You may experience their effect to a greater degree, Harry, but I am not immune. It's good to see you recover so quickly. I wonder if you'd fare as well against a real dementor?"
Harry nearly choked on his chocolate. It was true he'd been eager to test his abilities when these lessons first began, but now that he'd felt the damage a mere boggart could do, he wasn't sure he wanted to be put to be challenged. He was shocked the professor would even mention such a thing, seeing as Harry had still not fully mastered the charm.
His alarm must have shown on his face, because Lupin gave a light chuckle and assured him he would never attempt such a thing as bringing a dementor into the castle for their lessons. Dumbledore would see him killed first.
"Then again, the ministry may push for more drastic action if they were to find that Black had made his way into the castle again."
This time Harry choked for real. Coughing and sputtering, he waved away Lupin's efforts to aid him and swallowed a mouthful of now cold tea to soothe his aching throat.
"What... What do you mean?" Harry stammered. "How did you... Did Sirius Black get into Hogwarts?"
"I was merely speaking of possibilities," Lupin explained, though he stared at Harry as if an idea had just occurred to him. Harry didn't like that look. It meant trouble.
"But... What does Black getting into Hogwarts have to do with the ministry and dementors?"
"Perhaps you haven't heard yet. It was in the Prophet only this morning. Minister Fudge has announced that once Black is apprehended, he will be sentenced to the Dementor's Kiss."
"The dementors... They're going to kiss him?" Harry asked with a shudder. As far as punishments went, a kiss didn't sound very threatening. But the thought a dementor getting close enough to touch him filled Harry with a greater dread than any death sentence. He thought of the black, scabbed hand he once glimpsed from the carriage window while traveling to Hogsmeade. With morbid curiosity, he wondered if their faces looked the same.
"... Not exactly," Lupin said after a slight pause, "The Dementor's Kiss is... It's... Well, let's just say it's the most severe punishment the Ministry currently has at its disposal. The dementor swallows all of a person's happiness. Their hopes, aspirations, fond memories... It doesn't kill you. Not really. But once you've been drained of every good feeling, there's nothing left but emptiness. The victim is nothing more than a hollow shell, resembling something like a dementor themselves."
Harry stared down at the remainder of chocolate in his hand. Professor Lupin appeared to read his thoughts, and continued, "There is no recovering from the Dementor's Kiss, Harry. It changes you forever. And what is left after that... Well, you can't really call it living."
"But that's horrible!" Harry cried out. He was thinking of Sirius and the fate that would befall him if he was captured now, before he'd had a chance to clear his name. Lupin was too cruel to mention it in this way. Hadn't they been friends? Didn't he care at all what happened to his fellow Marauder?
"How could the minister approve such a thing? Where Black's crimes really so bad?"
"He's a murderer, Harry," Lupin reminded him, though Harry noticed there was no conviction in his voice.
Harry wasn't sure how to respond, and made the first excuse that came to mind.
"You've said that the Dementor's Kiss is worse than death. I don't know that anyone deserves that, no matter the crime."
Lupin did not appear convinced.
"Why the sudden concern for Black?" he asked abruptly.
This was a dangerous topic. They had strayed into territory that Sirius had warned Harry to avoid with the professor. He tried to counter Lupin's question with one of his own.
"I wonder you're not more concerned, sir. Sirius Black was in your house, wasn't he? Don't you care what happens to him?"
He'd hoped to throw Lupin off balance with an allusion to his school days, but to his surprise, Lupin's reply was completely unruffled.
"Black wasn't in my house. He was in Slytherin."
Harry's mouth fell open to correct the professor, but the next instant he snapped it shut again.
This was a test. Sirius had told him a thousand times that he'd been dorm-mates with his father, Pettigrew, and Lupin as well. But the papers had never published the result of Black's sorting. They focused instead on the grim details of the crime that led to his arrest. There only way Harry would know Sirius had been in Gryffindor would be if he'd heard from Black himself. Lupin had counted on this, and he'd told a lie to try to entrap Harry into revealing more than he'd intended.
"My mistake, sir," Harry said smoothly, "I only thought, since they'd been friends at school, that my dad and Black must have been in the same house."
He made his excuses to the professor soon after, and beat a hasty retreat. Thankfully, Lupin had not tried to pry further, but Harry knew he'd barely managed to conceal the truth. Lupin almost certainly suspected that he had been speaking to Sirius, and he dreaded the outcome of the next lesson.
He could not, however, avoid Professor Lupin for long. Mastering the Patronus Charm became even more important as the weeks passed, and the Quidditch tournament progressed.
Everyone in Slytherin House was excited by Harry's new broom. Everyone, except Draco Malfoy. He, like many of their house, had taken to sitting in the spectator stands during practices, watching Harry tear through the sky on the Firebolt. Unlike the others, his eye was directed with a jealous stare. He became convinced, and rightly so, that Harry was trying to permanently replace him on the Quidditch team.
The confrontation finally came one day as Harry and the rest of the team made their way down to the pitch. There were already several students camped out in the stands, having brought snacks or homework to occupy their time in between watching the players fly overhead. Draco was there are well, his Nimbus 2001 in hand, and fully dressed for flying.
Flint saw him and cursed under his breath. He exchanged a look with his lieutenant, Montague, and together they marched across the pitch. If Harry hadn't been dreading this exact moment, he might have been surprised at the look of cool defiance Draco directed toward the older, much bigger boys.
"What's this about, Malfoy?" Flint shouted as he drew closer to Draco. He was loud enough to draw the attention of the Slytherin students in the stands, and they watched the drama play out with interest.
"My arm hasn't been in a sling for weeks," Malfoy said, his pointed chin jutting upwards, "And I've spent all break making up for lost practices. It isn't right that Potter is still filling in when he's only played the one game, which he lost. I should play in the rematch with Gryffindor. Not him."
Flint looked back to where Harry stood, flanked on either side by the two beaters, Derrick and Bole. Harry froze. The moment had finally come, and Harry found he could offer no words in his own defense. To do so might damn his case anyway, if Flint's mind was already made up. He hated to be contradicted.
But Flint wasn't looking so much at Harry as at his broom, and the filigree Firebolt emblazoned on the handle. His eyes drifted down the racing broom to the end of its perfectly shaped bristles, then turned back toward Draco, and the still-sleek Nimbus in his hands.
"Sorry, Malfoy, but we've timed Potter's broom against the others. It's faster. I've got to think about what's best for the team."
Draco might have thrown his broom to the ground like a child throws a tantrum, but he didn't. Instead, he gripped the broom tighter, and his face flushed red. He seemed to be expecting this outcome, but it angered him all the same.
"You'll regret this," he stated in a calm voice. He then turned at looked at Harry before adding, "Both of you will."
"Whatever, Malfoy. Just get off the field before I have Derrick and Bole haul you off," Montague said while rolling his eyes.
Draco turned away without another word or parting glance as the rest of the team prepared to start practice. The spectators who'd watched the scene resumed their former activities, some of them calling loudly to Draco with teasing jeers. Only Flint and Harry remained to watch him go, then Flint suddenly addressed Harry.
"Got that dementor problem sorted out, Potter?"
Harry, thinking of this lessons with Professor Lupin, stated that he had. Flint didn't have to say more. Harry knew what would happen to his position on the team if he made a mistake again.
He came prepared to his next lesson with the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher. He'd thought for a long time about what Lupin had told him about dementors, and searched his memories for something that could surely never be taken from him.
Lupin must have sensed a change in Harry immediately, because he dispensed with any short lectures before starting, and suggested that he face the boggart right away. Harry, already focusing on the memory he'd chosen, nodded his head to begin.
It was the same as always. The boggart, disguised as a dementor, rose slowly from the open lid of the chest. It hung, suspended in the air for a few moments, then the air went cold. The lights in the classroom seemed darker than they had before, and a terrible feeling of dread swept over Harry.
This time, Harry thought of his friends. He thought of Blaise and Millie, of meeting them for the first time at Hogwarts. And not only them. He thought of Mrs. Zabini, too. She was in his life because of Blaise, more a brother to him now than a friend. He pictured Mrs. Zabini in his mind, beautiful and graceful, on the day she'd asked him to come live with her. That day he learned he'd never have to go back to the Dursleys ever again. He could stay in a world of magic, learning new things from Blaise and Mrs. Zabini every day, waking every morning to breakfast with them over the summer... The three of them, living as a family...
He did not utter the incantation until he had the image fixed firmly in his mind. Once he had it, his voice burst forth clear and strong.
"Expecto Patronum!"
A bright, silver light burst from the end of his wand, but it was different than before. The light was more than a shield or a cloud of wispy vapor. It had taken a new form. Harry watched, dumbfounded, as an animal not only held the boggart-dementor at bay, but lowered its antlers and chased the boggart back into the trunk.
Lupin snapped the trunk lid closed. He was beaming at Harry and praising him for a job well-done, but Harry was too busy staring at the stag he had just conjured. It stood in the center of the room for only a moment longer, then it dissipated back to nothing.
"Harry! Harry that was fantastic!" Lupin cried, approaching Harry with a broad grin. He seemed to forget himself, and wrapped Harry in a strong hug before abruptly releasing him. With an embarrassed smile, he continued to offer his praise.
"A full-bodied patronus! Harry, I knew you'd have talent, but I never expected...! I mean, most wizards never fully master the charm, and you've produced a complete patronus! It's... We'll have to tell Dumbledore, we... And a stag at that! You're father was a stag, Harry..."
"I know," Harry said, forgetting himself in the pride and excitement of the moment. Fortunately, Lupin didn't seem to notice the comment. Harry quickly changed the subject in case he started to ask questions, like how Harry knew of his father's animagus form.
"Is it always a deer?" Harry asked.
"What do you mean?" Lupin replied. He was attempting to pour them both a cup of tea, but his hands were shaking from excitement so much that most of the pot ended up spilling over the desk and floor. Lupin waved away the mess with his wand, and tapped the pot, which immediately refilled itself and began pouring drinks of its own accord.
"My patronus. It was a stag. And you said my father...?
"No, no. The patronus takes a form that it is unique to you. It's rare for two people to have the exact same one, but in your case... Well, you look so much like your father, and sometimes there's this expression you have... Yes, that's the one!"
The expression Harry was making was one of confusion. He thought of the shimmering stag he'd conjured only a moment ago. He realized that it felt familiar because this was not the first time he had seen a patronus like it. Professor Snape had conjured one on Halloween last year. He'd used it to send a message to Dumbledore the night Millie's cat was petrified. Harry didn't think he'd ever forget the night that set so many other things in motion, and he remembered the patronus as clearly now as if he had seen it yesterday. It seemed an odd coincidence that Harry and his father shared the stag in common, while Snape, who despised Harry and James both, possessed a doe.
"Are there other reasons why two people might have a similar patronus?" Harry asked.
Lupin handed him one of the cups of tea, freshly poured, and gave the question some thought.
"It's not an exact form of magic, Harry," he said after consideration, "Most wizards never conjure a full patronus in their lives. I myself haven't successfully conjured one in years. But there are cases where a patronus has changed its form. For example, if someone where to find their happiness in another person..."
"What do you mean?" Harry asked when the professor paused. He had a beguiling smile on his face that piqued Harry's curiosity even more.
"Your mother," Lupin admitted, "Her patronus changed when she married James. That can happen sometimes when a memory is of someone you care deeply about."
"Did her patronus become a stag, too?" Harry asked.
"No," replied Lupin, "It was a doe."