A/N: Chapter Eight! I hope everyone enjoys. And… you get double chapters today, because I wrote this and then re-wrote it with an additional scene… and decided that 14,000 was WAY too long for just one chapter, so I broke it into two. I thought about sitting on the second instalment and releasing it in a few days to give myself some buffer time… but I just couldn't be that cruel. Reviewer responses below to those who asked questions – and a huge thank you to all who read and reviewed Chapter 7!

Mad4Harry: Couldn't tell if you recognised the description? If so – definitely leave your guess(es) in the comments! As for whether or not Snape will bring it up to Harry… I decline to answer at the moment, but you will see. Thank you for the great review! I'm glad you are enjoying the story :)

Alicia Olivia Mirza: Thank you for the wonderful review! I'm glad you're liking the Dumbledore characterisation so far, and the story. You're definitely correct in some of the reasoning behind Dumbledore's interest in relating this story, and in the old magic / light and dark portion of his teachings… I hope you enjoy how things unfold from here.

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DISCLAIMER: Any and all familiar characters and story lines are the property of the wonderful Joanne Rowling, in whose world I am honoured and privileged to have an opportunity to play for a while.

Chapter 8: The Only Thing We Have to Fear

Harry spent an enjoyable week-end with the headmaster and Professor McGonagall. For the first time since his arrival back at Hogwarts, both professors were actually at the castle and able to spend some time with him. McGonagall took him out onto the quidditch pitch on Saturday morning, where Madam Hooch and Professor Flitwick – both at the castle for the day to complete various errands of their own – joined them in a fierce two-a-side match that left everyone mud-splattered and windswept. Harry and Flitwick carried the day with Harry's spectacular capture of the practise snitch, though it was a very near thing considering McGonagall and Hooch's uncommonly good skills with the quaffle. To Harry's shock, Flitwick turned out to be a formidable beater. He would not have thought the tiny Charms professor would be quite so ferocious with a bat.

Harry spent most of the afternoon on Saturday revising his Potions examination – hoping to get it out of the way for Monday. In the evening after dinner, he worked again on Occlumency with the headmaster, and had his first dreamless night since the unfortunate incident with the Dementors.

Thus, Harry was in a very good mood as they sat down to breakfast on Sunday, made even more cheerful by the presence of both Remus and Hagrid, who'd returned the previous night from whatever mysterious errand he'd been up to.

'I should like a word later this afternoon, Hagrid,' Dumbledore said with a smile, as Hagrid finally set Harry down from a bone-crushing hug in greeting.

'Righ' yeh are, professor,' Hagrid agreed genially. 'Or I can come up ter yer office after breakfast, if yeh want.'

'Actually, I was rather hoping Harry and Minerva might accompany me into the village this morning,' said Dumbledore with twinkling eyes. 'I find my stock of sherbet lemons growing dangerously low, and I should hate to find I am out in the middle of the night.'

Beside the headmaster, Harry thought McGonagall made a muttered, sarcastic reply, but he was too excited by the headmaster's proposal to care. 'Really, professor?' he said with a grin. 'We can go into Hogsmeade today?'

'We can,' Dumbledore confirmed. 'Would anyone care to join us? Hagrid? Remus? Severus?'

'I think I'll leave yer ter yourselves this mornin' Hagrid said. 'I ough' ter… settle things, a bit,' he added with a wink.

'I shall pay you a visit on our return then,' said the headmaster agreeably. 'Remus, Severus? Would either of you fancy a trip to the village?'

Remus smiled. 'I have much to unpack, if I'm staying the summer,' he said regretfully. 'I want to get my quarters into some semblance of order if Harry is to begin studying with me tomorrow.'

'Fair point,' McGonagall put in primly. 'Those rooms have not been in use in years. I shudder to think what state you must have found them in.'

Dumbledore looked expectantly at Snape, who turned his obsidian gaze on Harry for a moment before meeting the headmaster's eyes.

'No, thank you, headmaster,' he said shortly. Dumbledore did not seem surprised.

'Very well,' he said lightly. 'Then I suppose it is just the three of us,' he said, pushing a plate of sausages nearer to Harry.

An hour or so later, Harry and the two professors set off across the grounds. It was a beautiful day, nearly windless with gorgeous blue skies and hardly a cloud. Harry took advantage of the warm weather, leaving both his cloak and outer robe behind in favour of a light tee-shirt and jeans. The feel of the sunlight on his exposed arms and face was glorious.

As they crested the hill toward the gates though, Harry's mood turned suddenly much gloomier. He faltered in his step.

'What is it, Harry?' asked McGonagall, as she and the headmaster came to a halt a few paces in front of him.

Harry bit the inside of his lip. He didn't want to seem too nervous. 'Er – didn't you tell me that the Dementors were going to guard the grounds?' he asked, trying to seem nonchalant. 'I just… you know,' he shrugged. 'I don't want to ruin everything by having a fit or something.'

McGonagall smiled softly in understanding. 'Don't worry,' she reassured him. 'The headmaster and I are well capable of keeping you from feeling the Dementors' effects. We will cast defensive spells before we reach the gates.'

'We might as well do it now,' Dumbledore put in, perhaps sensing the deepness of Harry's unease. With a practised ease, he summoned a beautiful silver phoenix from the tip of his wand. McGonagall followed suit, and Harry saw a silver tabby join the phoenix in front of them. He vaguely recognised it, and realised with a jolt that he'd seen the Transfiguration professor conjure the cat before – last summer in the Great Hall.

'Yours looks like you, professor,' he said to McGonagall as they started down the hill again. 'Like you when you shift into a cat, that is,' he clarified. He'd seen her do it several times now, over the previous summer. She smiled at him.

'Patronuses take the form of the animal most suited to the caster – the form with which they share the greatest affinity,' she explained. 'It is not uncommon for a wizard's animagus form and patronus to share the same characteristics, although it is not a definite correlation.'

'Animagus?' Harry asked, confused. McGonagall rolled her eyes.

'Clearly your Transfiguration reading has not occupied any of your summer time thus far,' she said in disapproving tones. Harry could not honestly tell if she was serious or not. 'An animagus is a witch or wizard who can transform at will into an animal – always one specific animal, mind you. As you know, I myself take the form of the cat.'

'Why a cat?' Harry asked. 'Just because it's your favourite animal?'

McGonagall looked scandalised. 'My favourite animal is the lion, Harry Potter!' she chastised in mock horror. 'But, alas, we can choose neither our animagus nor patronus form. A sad disappointment it can be, for animagus training takes many months – years even. Imagine how unsatisfactory it might be to find after so many long hours of training that one's form is a slug?'

Harry chuckled a bit. The headmaster, he noticed, was humming slightly to himself as Harry and McGonagall chatted, leading the way forward just behind the patronuses.

'So, you had to learn to transform then?' he asked. 'I always thought it was just one of those weird wizarding talents – that you were born with it.'

'Oh no,' McGonagall disagreed with a small smile of nostalgia. 'I worked very hard to accomplish the animagus transformation.'

'It's amazing this place isn't crawling with animaguses then,' Harry reasoned. 'If you can learn to do it.'

McGonagall snorted. 'Animagi, Harry, is the proper plural form. And the talent may not be innate, but the process of training is very rigorous. Not everyone is up for it. Thank heavens, or we would have quite a job keeping them all in check.'

'Did you learn at Hogwarts?' asked Harry curiously.

'I did,' McGonagall said with a nod. 'In my seventh and final year. I took a special tutorial twice a week, and of course there were numerous out of the classroom tests. For example, in order to learn proper focus, you must keep the leaf of a mandrake in your mouth for an entire month.'

'A month?!' said Harry doubtfully. 'How do you avoid swallowing it?'

'Very carefully,' McGonagall answered wryly. 'Or else you must start from the beginning.'

'Ugh,' said Harry, thinking of holding increasingly rotting leaves in his mouth all month. 'How exactly does that teach you focus?'

'They taste quite disgusting,' McGonagall offered simply. 'Trust me, learning to function through your day and cast magic while ignoring the foul taste is baptism by fire when it comes to developing focus.'

They had reached the wrought iron gates now. Harry stiffened in anticipation, but the silvery patronuses seemed to be doing their job: he didn't see a sign of Dementors anywhere.

'So, who taught you to be an animagus, professor?' Harry asked, letting the tension leave his shoulders as they passed safely through the boundary.

'Who do you think?' the headmaster put in with a wink. Harry stared.

'You taught Professor McGonagall, sir?' he asked in surprise.

Dumbledore laughed. 'Come now, Harry,' he said reasonably. 'You know I was the head of the Transfiguration department prior to my selection as headmaster. I taught Minerva for seven years. In fact, I believe it was my suggestion that drew her into becoming an animagus in the first place. I believe I told her it would aide in her uncanny ability –'

'To master all aspects of the trade,' McGonagall cut in, giving Dumbledore an amused look that somehow also contained a warning. The headmaster cleared his throat suspiciously.

'Yes, precisely, Minnie dear,' he agreed. But Harry wondered if that was truly what he meant to say.

'So can you transform as well then, sir?' Harry asked, intrigued.

'Perhaps,' the headmaster replied in a mysterious tone.

'Oh, go on,' Harry encouraged. 'Do you turn into a phoenix, like your patronus?'

'Not to my knowledge,' said Dumbledore, twinkling back at him. Minerva snorted. 'As Minnie has told you, it is not an absolute rule that a wizard's patronus and his animagus form will match. I'm afraid I am among the odd minority there. Animagi also do not take the form of a magical creature – that is, sadly, a general rule. The transformation can alter the physical form, but it is impossible to endow the magical gifts that are unique to each species of magical creature.'

'I guess I can see that,' said Harry, trying his best to comprehend. 'So, what is your form then, professor?' he asked.

Dumbledore smiled. 'Perhaps I shall tell you one day,' he said. 'But I find there may be certain advantages to remaining in cognito for now.'

'Like the fact that you have not registered an animagus ability with the Ministry?' asked McGonagall shrewdly.

'Like that,' agreed Dumbledore in a light tone. 'Although I think you will find, Minnie, that the law is incredibly particular. It states that those attempting the animagus transformation must register their animal and markings… and it was passed in 1930.'

'Are you claiming that you have never transformed since the enactment of the Animagus Registry?' asked McGonagall doubtfully. 'Because I am quite certain –'

'Certainly not,' said Dumbledore with a smile. 'But of course, if I had mastered the transformation prior to 1930, then nothing I did would ever be an attempt, now, would it?'

McGonagall looked disapproving, but Harry laughed.

'Why would the Ministry want a registry of Animagi?' Harry asked, when he'd pulled himself together. 'Just because it's difficult to learn?'

'Difficult and dangerous,' McGonagall corrected. 'It can go horribly wrong, especially in the beginning.'

'That is part of the reason,' Dumbledore acknowledged. 'But there is also much evidence in wizarding history of people learning the ability for nefarious purposes. You can imagine how useful it might be, for a thief or criminal to be able to transform her appearance – sneak unnoticed through the shadows… spy from garden walls, perhaps?'

McGonagall cleared her throat pointedly. Her cheeks, Harry noticed, were rather pink, and Dumbledore's eyes were shining with suppressed mirth. 'And then there are those who seek only to expand their abilities and knowledge,' she added huffily.

'But,' Harry reasoned, 'If it's useful for criminals to have this secret form, why would they bother registering themselves with the Ministry in the first place? I mean – they're criminals, aren't they? Surely some regulation would hardly bother them?'

McGonagall frowned in disapproval, but the headmaster chuckled again. 'From the mouths of babes,' he said jovially.

Harry scowled.

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Albus led the other two down the high street in good spirits, enjoying the warm weather and company. He headed straight for Honeydukes, much to Minerva's disapproval, where he loaded up in the Muggle sweet section and selected a few wizarding treats as well. Upon his encouragement, Harry made a few choices for himself, adding them to Albus' already overflowing basket. Minerva even slid a box of ginger newts on top, despite her chastisement of the boys.

They headed next into Tomes & Scrolls, where Minerva was much more animated in helping Harry select the books for his third year courses (except for Defence, which was still in flux given the uncertainty of Remus' position). She tutted a bit as they added Unfogging the Future to the pile. Albus knew Minerva thoroughly disapproved of Harry's taking Divination as an elective – only more so since he had confided in her about the prophecy last summer. She had wanted to pull him from the course when they reviewed the third year selections, but Albus had insisted that Harry ought to be allowed to pursue whatever interests he had, just as any other student would at his age.

Albus supplemented the book selection with a few of his own choosing for both Harry and himself, and asked the proprietor to send the lot up to the school to await them. They stopped into Gladrags for a few new things apiece, and then Harry's stomach began growling audibly.

'Sorry,' the boy said, going a bit red as Minerva raised an eyebrow. 'Should have eaten a bigger breakfast.'

'Nonsense,' said Albus with a smile. 'I was just beginning to get peckish myself. What say we pop over to the Three Broomsticks for lunch? It's coming on one.'

'The Hog's Head, I think,' Minerva said lightly, steering them down the street in the opposite direction. 'I've already sent word to Abe that we'd be dropping by this afternoon. It wouldn't do to disappoint.'

'I think he could soldier on,' said Albus grumpily, but he followed Minerva and Harry toward his brother's dingy pub anyway.

As was usual in the mid-afternoon, there were very few patrons when they stepped through the door. Minerva waved a greeting to Aberforth, and led the way to a corner booth.

'Stop sulking,' she chastised Albus in an undertone, as Harry launched himself up onto a high stool. 'You come here often enough on your own.'

'Not by choice,' Albus grumbled back, but he flicked open the menu regardless. Not that he really needed it, by now.

'Still surviving, I see,' Aberforth said in greeting, plopping three glasses of water down on the wooden table.

'It appears so,' said Albus lightly, moving his menu to safety as his own glass spontaneously spilled over. 'Sorry to disappoint.'

'Hmm,' Aberforth groused. 'Didn't mean you, Albus,' he said gruffly. 'You're an institution – probably bury us all. I was speaking to the boy here. After all, way I hear it he's the one been up to all sorts since last I saw him.'

Harry gave a nervous smile in reply. 'I'm alright, thanks sir,' he said shyly.

Aberforth chuckled, and ruffled Harry's hair with one calloused hand. Albus winced a little.

'You are alright, I'd wager,' the barman said. 'But enough of this "sir," nonsense. Call me Aberforth, or Abe, lad, won't you.'

'Alright then,' Harry agreed with a grin.

'Can you join for a pint?' asked Minerva, looking around the bar. Aberforth hesitated.

'Let me see the last of this lot gone, and I'll throw up the sign for a bit,' he compromised. 'You want something in the meantime?'

'The usual, I think,' Minerva said with a smile. 'Do you want a butterbeer, Harry?'

'That would be great!' said Harry.

Aberforth tromped off to get the drinks. But his words had given Albus something to think about. He waited until his brother was out of ear shot, then turned to Harry.

'You know, Harry,' he started, wondering how to phrase his request. 'You do not have to continue calling me "professor" or "sir" either, if you do not want to.'

'Nor I,' Minerva added fondly.

Harry nearly choked on his water in shock. Minerva patted him hard on the back, and he emerged from the coughing fit, his face scarlet.

'I, erm, what – what would I call you then?' he asked, not quite meeting either of their eyes.

'Well,' said Albus, eyes twinkling a bit. 'You might start with Albus and Minerva. Those are our given names, after all.'

'That would, er, that would be –'

'Strange?' Albus offered with a smile. 'Perhaps, at first. But I daresay you will grow used to it, in time.'

'Not during the school term, of course,' Minerva clarified sternly. 'I shudder to imagine the Weasley twins deciding they ought to call me "Minnie," in turn.'

Harry laughed a bit, breaking the tension. 'Alright,' he agreed. 'If you're sure. I supposed I could try.'

'Glad you have that sorted,' Aberforth put in, returned to the table with the tray of drinks and clearly having heard the last of their conversation. Harry took the butterbeer eagerly.

'You ask me, you ought to make a thing of it with all your teachers. Personally, I'd ask Severus next.'

This time, it took Minerva several minutes and an anapneo charm to save Harry from drowning in his drink.

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Harry knocked on the door to Remus' quarters later that afternoon rather louder than he would have normally. The shuffling and scraping sounds from beyond the wood told him that his father's friend might not hear him otherwise.

'It's open!' Remus' voice called out. Harry pushed the door ajar.

'Whoa!' he said, looking around the little space in surprise. The study was in shambles, boxes of books, shabby clothing and assorted items scattered on the floor. A small door in the back of the room that Harry hadn't noticed on his last visit seemed to lead off to living quarters, though the entryway there was barred with yet more boxes.

'Er – settling in then?' asked Harry with a grin.

Remus grimaced. 'Somewhat,' he said in a frazzled tone. 'I must admit – I hadn't realised quite how much accumulates over the years. I put most of my things into storage when I left for the continent; I've lived mainly out of a few trunks since then. It didn't seem to make sense to keep paying to store it all if I'm going to be in Britain for the time being, so I sent for everything… I suppose I didn't realise exactly how much I'd stored.' He gestured hopelessly around at the clutter.

'So, er – are you keeping it all here, then?' Harry asked. He surveyed the small space dubiously.

Remus smiled. 'Some of it,' he said. 'It's a bigger space than it looks like – the living quarters are actually quite roomy. But a lot of this is junk now. I'm sorting through everything out here.'

'Can I help?'

'Do you want to?' asked Remus in surprise. 'It's not very interesting work, I'll tell you. And it's slow going – I've been at it since you went down to the village.'

'I don't mind,' said Harry quickly. 'Where can I start?'

Remus grinned, flicking his wand at an overflowing box of robes. The cardboard zoomed through the air and settled itself at the edge of one end of the sofa.

'Have a seat,' Remus invited him. Harry perched on the cushion nearest the box. 'Most of those are useless,' Remus warned him, nodding at the box of robes. 'Throw any that have got a lot of holes or patches onto the rubbish heap there,' he said, pointing at a large pile in the middle of the room. 'And lay the few that are salvageable over the back of the sofa for now.'

Harry set to work as instructed. They talked casually about the trip into Hogsmeade while they sorted their respective boxes. Remus, as it turned out, knew Aberforth very well. They'd been friends and allies during the war against Voldemort. He chuckled at Harry's bemusement when the latter described the odd relationship between Aberforth and his brother.

'That's typical, Harry,' he reassured him. 'Don't you worry about it.'

'But, I swear it's like they don't even like each other!' said Harry, frowning. 'They're always having a go at one another.'

Remus gave him a sympathetic smile. 'Perhaps, if your father and mother had lived, you would have understood,' he said sadly. 'James and Lily always wanted a houseful of children. Brothers and sisters fight, Harry – they snipe and needle each other. It's just what they do. But they love each other anyway, and they have each other's backs in the end. That's all that really matters. Surely you have friends with larger families?'

'Ron's my best mate, and he's sixth of seven,' Harry affirmed. 'I know they're always at each other's throats… but they're all still kids, you know? Most of them are, anyway. Albus and Aberforth are… well, really old.' He grinned a little as Remus began to laugh so hard he nearly cried. 'Sorry,' he added, when Remus had pulled himself together at last. 'But, it's true!'

Remus wiped at a bit of moisture in the corner of his eye, still struggling to contain a chuckle. 'I'm not sure you ever grow out of that sort of thing,' Remus admitted. 'But then – I too am an only child, so what would I really know about it?'

Harry smiled, returning to his task. They worked in companionable silence for a short while, until at last Harry's fingers scraped the bottom of the large box.

'Finished!' he announced. 'Do you want to have a look at the ones I set aside?'

'Very efficient,' Remus said approvingly, pushing himself off his seat on the floor and approaching to peruse the pile. 'Thank you, Harry.' He rifled briefly through the small stack of robes Harry had saved, choosing a few to add to the rubbish pile. 'Out of fashion,' he explained when Harry raised his eyebrows. 'Too much so even for me, I'm afraid. The rest will do, however.'

Harry ran a hand along the topmost cloth. None of these were at all 'nice,' even to Harry's inexperienced eye. But he could tell – even in the short time he'd known him – that Remus did not have a lot of money. He supposed the man was trying to make the best of what he had. And Harry, who'd never had anything new until he'd come to Hogwarts, was hardly in a position to criticise. Instead, he gathered up the selection.

'Where can I put them?' he asked Remus, who was watching him with tender eyes.

'I think there's a wardrobe in the corner of the bedroom,' Remus said, clearing his throat a bit. 'I haven't really accomplished much in there yet, but it should be along the far wall. Would you mind putting them in there?'

Harry nodded, climbing off the sofa and carrying his bundle carefully over the clutter in the doorframe. He located the wardrobe Remus had indicated without much trouble. Though fairly roomy, the bedroom was still barren and cold. Remus had obviously not touched anything here beside the bed itself. He laid the robes carefully down across the edge of the footboard, deciding to see if there were hangers available. He pulled open the wardrobe door.

A blast of bitterly cold air hit him in the face at once, as though the wardrobe had been the portal to a snowy Narnia. Astonished and slightly breathless from the sudden chill, Harry took a small step backwards. There were goose pimples on his arms now. Something was definitely off. He made to close the door again – perhaps Remus ought to see the wardrobe first... But even as he attempted to push the door shut, a scaly, rotted-looking hand with long grey fingers wrapped itself around the edge of the wood.

Harry cried out in shock, stumbling backward as a tall, hooded figure stepped smoothly from the depths of the wardrobe, it's face in shadows beneath the black folds of its cloak.

He vaguely registered Remus' call of 'Harry?' from the other room… but the Dementor was already turning its head toward him, gliding slowly nearer and nearer. And Harry found his voice was frozen in his chest.

Everything was frozen… cold, empty. His eyes were rolling back again, and the woman was screaming…

Stand aside, you silly girl! Stand aside now.

Not Harry! Please! Not

'Harry!'

Someone was slapping his face. Harry groaned. He wished they would stop. He felt horribly nauseous already, and he might sick up on this person if they didn't back away.

And he had to help the woman.

'Come on, wake up now,' the voice continued, still tapping at his cheeks. 'You're alright.'

'Re – Remus?' Harry stuttered, recognising his attacker. He opened his eyes slowly. They felt very heavy. The minute he did he wished he'd left them closed – the room seemed to be spinning around him. He realised he was lying on something soft… Remus must have put him on the bed.

'The Dementor –' Harry started, alarmed, as everything came rushing back.

'It's alright,' said Remus soothingly, as Harry turned his head to look toward the wardrobe again. The sudden movement caused another wave of nausea, and Harry clamped his eyes tightly shut yet again as he tried to breathe through it. 'You're alright,' Remus repeated. 'Here, have some chocolate.'

Harry opened his eyes as the wave of sickness passed, to see Remus holding out a large bar of chocolate. He shook his head, stomach churning at the thought of anything to eat.

'I'm fine,' he said, 'Not hungry.'

Remus frowned. 'It will help the feeling pass, Harry, I promise. Just try and eat a bit of it.'

Harry grimaced, but took the slab from Remus' hand. He chanced a very small bite. Instantly, he felt the warmth from the treat spread through his body like a heating charm, dispelling the worst of the chill and nausea. He took a few more, larger bites, and felt well enough to sit up against the headboard.

'Feeling better?' asked Remus kindly.

'Much,' Harry agreed. 'That's brilliant – I don't remember the cocoa making me feel so much better after the first time.'

Remus smiled at him. 'Well, the circumstances were a bit different then,' he admitted. 'But chocolate is the best remedy for the effects of Dementors. You should be fine in a few minutes.'

Harry felt his face redden. 'I'm sorry I went to pieces again,' he said sheepishly. 'But how did a Dementor get in your wardrobe?'

'It wasn't a Dementor, Harry,' Remus explained gently. 'It was a boggart.'

'A what?' asked Harry, confused.

'A boggart,' Remus repeated. 'A shape-shifter. You'll probably study them in the next year or so – they're considered Dark creatures, although they do not retain the same strength of magic as whatever form they are impersonating. That is why you are not experiencing quite as terrible a reaction as you might have done had the creature been a true Dementor. Boggarts prefer dark, enclosed spaces. That wardrobe has been empty for many years… I should have considered the possibility that a boggart might take up residence.'

'But, why would the boggart shape-shift into a Dementor?' asked Harry, still puzzled.

Remus gave him a peculiar look. 'Boggarts take on the form of whatever will frighten the viewer most,' he explained carefully. 'In your case, it appears that form is a Dementor. I must admit, I was surprised.'

'Why?' asked Harry, feeling self-conscious.

A sad smile crossed Remus' face. 'Not because a Dementor is an unworthy fear, Harry, believe me,' he said. 'No – it's only that I would have imagined your greatest fear would be Voldemort – a Voldemort returned to full power. But perhaps you are a little too young to imagine that.'

'I do fear Voldemort,' said Harry emphatically. 'I'm terrified of what might happen if he ever comes back. But… at least with Voldemort I feel like I can do something about it, you know? People will fight him – Dumbledore, you, my parents… so many people fought against him last time. And I'll fight against him, if he ever comes back. I did ok the last two times he tried,' he added, with an impish grin. 'But the Dementors are different. I feel like I'm totally powerless every time, and they trap me with these horrible thoughts…' he trailed off, unable to put the exact feeling into words. Remus laid a hand on his arm in comfort.

'The Dementors are an embodiment of Fear, Harry,' he said seriously. 'If they are your greatest fear – that suggests that what you fear most of all is fear, which is very wise indeed.'

Harry didn't really understand that, but he smiled anyway.

'What did you do to the boggart?' he asked. 'Did you get rid of it?'

'Not yet,' Remus replied, nodding back toward the wardrobe. Harry noticed for the first time that it was rattling slightly. He frowned.

'Don't worry,' said Remus, smiling. 'I put a charm on the door. I'll move him out of there later tonight, but I had a thought.' He considered Harry very seriously. 'Are you certain that you want to continue with this ambition to learn the patronus charm?' he asked.

'Yes, of course!' said Harry quickly. 'I want to start straight away!'

'Well then,' said Remus hesitantly, 'I think perhaps we should keep the boggart, for now. I have an old trunk he'll probably like. We can practise on him, once you've managed to grasp the incantation. We can't, of course, bring an actual Dementor up into the school. The headmaster would have my head, and I would never risk putting you in such danger anyway. But if your boggart remains a Dementor, it should do as a suitable substitute for our purposes.'

'That's a great idea!' said Harry enthusiastically. Remus frowned. He looked rather as though he was already regretting the decision.

'I'm not sure…' he said doubtfully. 'If the boggart continues to have such an effect on you in and of itself, this may not be the wisest idea. But we'll give it a try, for now. Very slowly.'

Harry nodded eagerly. 'It'll be fine,' he assured the man. 'I'll make sure to bring some chocolate with me.'

Remus chuckled. 'Never you mind about that,' he said with a wink. 'I always have plenty on hand.'

Harry grinned. 'When can we start?'

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Potions revision went quite smoothly on Monday morning, much to Harry's surprise. He was far more eager to meet with Remus that afternoon to discuss the Nimue reading, and to start wandless magic the following day, to let Snape's occasional sarcastic remark ruin his attempt at the Draught of Peace – a fifth year potion that Snape seemed to feel would properly humble Harry after doing so well on his Potions examination. Harry managed a good faith effort, but he knew the final product was far from perfect. To his shock, however, Snape merely gave the brew an irritated nod, grudgingly admitting that it was better than he would have expected from Harry before dismissing him for the morning.

He ate a quick lunch with Dum – Albus – back in the headmaster's study, and then hurried off with the old book for Remus' quarters, where they had arranged to work in the study for the afternoon.

'Come in, Harry,' Remus called as he knocked on the door. Harry noticed the study looked much tidier than it had done the last time he visited: nearly all the boxes were gone now, and a few of Remus' belongings sat on the little table and shelves. The overall effect was to make the shabby room much more inviting.

'The place looks good,' said Harry with a grin.

Remus smiled. 'Well, I don't know about "good," but it is certainly an improvement,' he allowed. 'Thank you again for your assistance yesterday.'

'I wasn't much help,' said Harry with a self-conscious shrug. 'Especially after I went and had a fit again. But maybe that'll change in a few weeks,' he added hopefully, lifting up the book.

'I'm sure it will,' said Remus, returning the smile. 'Now, why don't you have a seat, and tell me what you thought of Chapter Seven.'

Harry sat on the sofa, clutching Protection in the Face of Darkness in his lap. 'Well, I guess I was a bit confused, to be honest' he started. 'I asked Mc – Minerva to translate the title for me,' he admitted. 'My Latin has never been that great. She told me custodes lucem et obices ad tenebras translates to "Guardians of the Light and Barriers to Darkness."'

'That is correct,' Remus said, still smiling. 'But perhaps you should consider tutoring in Latin – many wizarding children take several years of study in the language before starting at Hogwarts. It isn't required, of course, but it can be a helpful tool, given that many of our spells derive their incantations from Latin roots.'

Harry groaned. 'Remus!' he complained, 'I'm full up on summer tutorials as it is! I can't add something else to the timetable now – my brain will explode!'

He scowled as Remus laughed. 'Alright, don't worry,' the man said reassuringly. 'I won't press the issue to Albus or anything. Anyway, tell me why you thought the chapter was confusing.'

'Well, the author describes the patronus as the ultimate goodness – a guardian of the light, I suppose she means. She says that the patronus embodies the innate nature of the caster, and acts like a conjured talisman in times of trouble. I suppose I understand the first part well enough; we talked about the form that patronuses take on the walk down to the village over the weekend, and Minerva said they usually show the animal that best fits with the witch or wizard. But the second part I don't understand at all. I mean, why not come out and say they repel Dementors? Why make it so cryptic?'

'Several reasons, I should think,' said Remus. 'But perhaps the most obvious is that Nimue, from what we know of her lifetime, is unlikely to have ever come across a Dementor.'

Harry was confused for a moment, until he recalled the conversation he'd had with Dumbledore about Azkaban's history. 'Because the Dementors weren't found in Britain until centuries later?' he guessed.

'Right in one,' Remus answered with a nod. 'There are some Arthurian myths in Muggle legend that arise out of the northern parts of France, but nothing in what we know of wizarding history confirms that Merlin and Nimue ever went to the continent; nor that, if they did, they encountered Dementors there. It is entirely possible that Nimue's invention or use of the patronus charm was unrelated to Dementors.'

'But what would be the point then?' asked Harry, flummoxed.

'There are many reasons to use a patronus, Harry,' Remus said seriously. 'In fact, protection against Dementor attacks is probably among the least common. Patronuses can provide a defence against both Dementors and lethifolds, but they are much more frequently used as lookouts, messengers, or – indeed – guardians. It is commonly believed that Nimue used her patronus to accompany Arthur into battle, as a source of morale and comfort to him when she could not always be by his side. A reminder of the lightness of his cause, perhaps.' Remus shrugged. 'This is all conjecture, of course. There are very few remaining sources to consult. I doubt she utilised the patronus as a messenger, as that particular use was not developed until the midst of war against Voldemort, as far as I know. But she may have had many other motives.'

Harry nodded. His head was already reeling with the onslaught of information again.

'Do you recall what is necessary to summon the energy for a patronus charm?' Remus asked.

'Er – I don't think she really says,' Harry admitted. 'She says you focus on the things you want the patronus to project, or something like that… and create the form that will hold that emotion. I don't really get how to do that though.'

Remus smiled. 'It is less of a true textbook in that regard,' he said in sympathy. 'But I thought it might provide an interesting foundational reading. Perhaps we should go over the theory in greater detail.'

He pushed back the sleeves of his robes, and gestured for Harry to stand.

'The patronus, as you read, is a projection of the very sort of emotion that a Dementor feeds on – hope, happiness, the desire to survive… A Patronus is a kind of positive force and, for the wizard who can conjure one, it works similar to a shield. It cannot feel despair or pain, so the Dementor cannot hurt it. Instead, the creature is repelled by the projection – and it cannot touch the caster when the incantation works properly. Again, I must warn you, Harry, that the charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards can never manage it, and you are not yet thirteen.'

'I can do it,' Harry said with determination, trying not to look at all apprehensive. Remus smiled, though he did not look convinced.

'We'll practise without the boggart for now,' he insisted. 'Once you've got the hang of the spell, we'll try it against him.'

Harry nodded, pushing back his own sleeves. 'What do I do?'

'You must concentrate on a single, very happy memory. Allow it to fill the forefront of your mind, and put all your energy into recalling the sensations.'

Harry closed his eyes, wracking his brains to think of a memory that would do. He decided at last on the moment he'd first ridden a broomstick. He thought hard about the amazing, soaring feeling in his stomach, the wonderful bliss that came with the ease of flying. Smiling slightly, he reopened his eyes.

'Got it,' he said.

'Excellent,' Remus replied in approval. 'Now, the incantation is "expecto patronum,"' he continued. 'You move your wand like so,' he demonstrated for Harry, circling the wand before him in an anticlockwise motion. 'Once you succeed in conjuring a patronus, you will be able to direct the figure.'

'Expecto patronum,' Harry repeated, trying out the wand movement. 'Expecto patronum!'

'Don't forget to concentrate on your happy memory!' Remus reminded him.

'Oh, yeah,' Harry said, digging up the sensation of flying again. 'Expecto patrono – no, patronum! Expecto patronum!'

And something dark grey and smoky whooshed out of the end of his wand, hovering for a moment before him. Harry was so surprised, he promptly forgot to keep his concentration on the memory. The grey mist began to fade away, but he turned a shining face toward Remus.

'Did you see?' he asked eagerly. 'Something happened that time!'

'Indeed,' Remus agreed, smiling. 'Very good, Harry. I'm quite impressed. Now, try it once more – and this time try to keep your focus.'

They kept at it for nearly two hours, by which point – to Harry's delight – he was able to produce a wisp of the grey smoke every time. It wasn't the same as the beautiful silver that formed into McGonagall's cat or Dumbledore's phoenix… but it was better than nothing. And Remus, delighted with Harry's quick progress, finally gave into Harry's pleading and promised that he could try it on the boggart the following afternoon.