The next day was fine.
A couple people came up to Remus in the corridors and high-fived him, told him how brilliant the piano-playing was, and/or expressed their astonishment that he even knew how to play. Remus, who didn't much like attention, gave them canned answers every time. "Yes, I can play piano," he'd say. "I'm no expert, but I get by. Yes, thank you. Thank you. I tried my best. Sirius helped."
Remus' friends' answers were a lot less canned. "He's actually a prodigy," James said. "He's incredible. Amazing."
"He was trained by a Mongolian monk in the deserts of Saudi Arabia," said Sirius. "He's also a ninja."
"Yes, Remus has been playing the piano for hundreds of years," said Peter. "Remember the fall of Rome, Remus?"
A lot of people were staring at Remus now, laughing, and Remus rolled his eyes. "James can do a backflip," he said, walking away, and the crowd moved in on James and begged to see it, effectively diverting the attention far away from Remus.
That was just the way Remus liked it, and from the looks of it, James was enjoying it just as much—especially since James Potter actually could do a backflip, and he was never going to let Hogwarts forget it.
Most of Remus' classes went just fine, but he had Defense Against the Dark Arts last that day.
Briefly, he considered falling ill. It wouldn't be too difficult to tear open his wounds again, or at least to do something that meant he could fake it—get it inspected—miss at least fifteen minutes of class, and every little bit helped. He'd only have to walk down the stairs a little more vigorously… bump into something sharp… accidentally fall off of the Hogwarts moving staircases. Then he'd be back in the Hospital Wing, and ideally he wouldn't have to worry about Professor Manard for another couple of days.
Alas, he was already facing detention tonight for injuring himself on purpose, and he'd probably be expelled (no, Dumbledore was not about to expel a pitiable, depressed werewolf—he'd probably just get more detention) if he did it again.
Remus weighed this consequence. He'd much rather have detention than go to Defense Against the Dark Arts, actually.
"Oops," he said, pitching himself toward a banister, but James caught him with all the reflexes of an expert Quidditch player.
"Careful there, mate!" said James. "You have some injuries you're going to make worse. Here, walk next to me. I'll make sure you don't fall. Are you feeling dizzy?"
"So dizzy," said Remus in the hopes that they would take him to the Hospital Wing.
"Let's sit down for a moment," said James.
Remus sighed. "No. I'm fine. Let's keep going."
They did, and Remus felt horribly out-of-control once again.
"Welcome back," said Manard as Remus entered the classroom. "I trust your recovery was smooth?"
"Nearly as smooth as yours," said Remus before he could stop himself.
Manard stared. "Good," he said slowly. "I'm glad to have you back."
Of course you are, you sadist, Remus thought, but fortunately, he managed to avoid saying that one out loud.
"Oh, look, it's the master pianist," said Evans as Remus sat down.
"Shut up," Remus grumbled.
Clack, clack, clack. Manard walked to the front of the room, and the smile on his face implied that something awful was going to be happening. Remus recognized that smile by now.
"I recognize that smile by now," whispered Evans. "That means he has something wonderful planned."
"Right," Remus muttered.
"All right, all right, settle down," said Manard. "I have something rather special planned for today. Yesterday, while wandering the castle, I found a creature lurking somewhere."
"What was it?" asked Sirius.
"Oh, I'm not going to tell you. I'm going to make you guess."
Manard walked to the chalkboard and picked up a piece of chalk with one hand, heavily leaning on the cane with the other. "Clue number one," he said. "I found this creature inside the suit of armor on the third floor. What does that tell us?"
"It's small," said Evans.
"It can climb stairs or fly," said James.
"It likes dark, enclosed spaces," said Lewis Rochester from Ravenclaw.
"Good, good. Very good. Keep all that in mind. Your next clue is that this creature is considered Dark by the Ministry of Magic."
"Is it a werewolf?" shouted Sirius, and it was all Remus could do to keep a neutral face when all he longed to do was turn around and snap at Sirius.
"No, it wasn't a werewolf," chuckled Manard. "A werewolf probably wouldn't fit into that suit of armor, unless it was a small one… which is plausible, I suppose, since I happen to know that there are extremely slim werewolves out there, at least during the day."
The class laughed (especially James, Sirius, and Peter), and Remus pressed his lips together. Manard caught his eye for an instant before turning away with a smile.
"Your third clue," he said, "is that this creature was not alive when I came across it."
"It was dead?!" shouted Sirius.
Manard merely smiled and gestured to the three clues, now written neatly on the board. "Now that I've given you your three hints, you may ask me whatever question you'd like until you figure it out. James, I saw your hand first. What's your question?"
"What creature was it?" asked James.
Manard sighed, and there was more laughter—always laughter, laughter, laughter, drilling into Remus' skull and dripping down the walls. "Any question but that question, James," Manard said.
"Okay, fine. What did it look like?"
"Now that is a good question." Manard drew a large question mark on the board and said, "I don't know."
"But didn't you catch it?" asked Mary Macdonald.
"Yes. But I have no clue what it currently looks like."
It was a Boggart. Remus had known that ever since Manard had given his first clue, both because he knew all about Boggarts (his father was an expert, and he even had a pet Boggart named Garrison at home) and because he could hear it bumping around in one of the cabinets. But Remus wouldn't say it out loud and ruin it for everyone else… Manard would surely be angry if Remus did that, wouldn't he?
"Where did it come from?" asked Evans.
"You," said Manard. "And you. And you. And all of you, actually. This creature is formed by emotion."
It wasn't entirely accurate to call a Boggart a creature, but Remus wasn't about to say anything.
"What makes it dangerous?" asked Peter.
"It's not traditionally dangerous, actually. It can't harm you physically; only psychologically."
About three students shouted the answer at once (which was, predictably, a Boggart), and Manard smiled, gave each student House points, and wrote BOGGART in large letters on the board. "You're correct, of course," he said. "The creature is a Boggart, and today we are going to learn to fight it. First, though, we're going to need to learn a bit about Boggarts. I would like everyone to take out a fresh piece of parchment and a quill. We'll have a quiz on this next class, so please take good notes."
Remus did, even though he doubted he'd need them.
"Boggarts feed off of human emotion," said Manard. "Fear, specifically, which is why they are so terrifying by nature. When you encounter a Boggart, the Boggart will turn into the thing you fear most. Perhaps that will be different on any given day, perhaps it will cycle through your worst fears, or perhaps it will look so realistic and make so much sense that you won't even realize it's a Boggart for quite some time."
Remus would. It was one of the benefits of having an excellent sense of smell and an unrealistic Boggart. Boggarts didn't have a scent, and neither did the moon (from this distance), but most things typically did.
"No one knows what a Boggart looks like in its natural form, but we do know that is completely incapable of physically harming a person. It can retain some weak magical abilities of whatever form it takes, but it is never enough to harm. Boggarts, therefore, show us the power of pure and irrational fear."
"What do you mean?" asked Evans.
"I need a volunteer to help demonstrate," said Manard. "Will somebody kindly tell me their deepest and darkest fear?"
There was silence.
"Don't everybody raise their hands at once," said Manard with a smile. "All right, fine. I'll tell you mine. I am afraid of one particular werewolf. It's not Fenrir Greyback, though I've had many unpleasant encounters with him. It's my wife."
"Your wife was a werewolf?" someone asked in a hushed whisper.
"Not fully. She was bitten by one—Fenrir Greyback, actually—but she died soon after. The moments before and after her death were the worst moments of my life. I think it's better that she died, actually… because yes, I am terrified of seeing my wife as an irredeemable, bloodthirsty monster. She was always a loving and kind person, and I couldn't bear to see her ruined like that."
James stood up abruptly, but at Remus' look of warning, he slowly sat back down.
"Thank you for your stand of concern, James," said Manard with a laugh. "Werewolves can appear loving and kind people, of course, but not on the full moon. No matter what happens, they will always revert back to a terrifying and evil form through a painful transformation. I did not want that for my wife, and I'm glad she never had to experience it. But yes, that is my worst fear. That is the thing that brings me the most anxiety and trepidation to see.
"And here is the thing about a worst fear: even when you know it's not real, even when you're sure that it's a Boggart, the mere sight of it can potentially scare you. It's strange, because fear is a term that is often used to mean 'fear of the future'. Snakes, dinosaurs, and Banshees can harm you, which is why you fear them. Your true fear is that harm will befall you.
"But Boggarts will not harm us, yet we still fear them. We fear them because of the physical form that they take—nothing more, nothing less. For some of us, it is because that form reminds us of painful memories. For some of us, it is because we are simply irrationally, inexplicably afraid of this harmless physical form. It's strange, isn't it?"
There was silence, save for the scritching of quills on parchment.
"A little bit more about Boggarts: when they turn into a person, they cannot do any more than repeat phrases the victim has heard before or has directly, intentionally imagined. They are only memories—sometimes conjured memories from nightmares or fantasies, but memories nonetheless. Boggarts are not creative. They're working off of what's in your mind.
"Some Boggarts have hidden in Muggle areas and become so famous that they managed to get Muggles to adopt a common form as their shared worst fear. The Bludgeoning Boggart of Old London Town was one such Boggart: it took the form of a murderous thug for one person, who went and told the story, and then every townsperson found themselves terrified of the Boggart during night hours, therefore causing the Boggart to take roughly the same shape over and over."
The class murmured excitedly.
"Now, Remus… why don't you tell the class about the Screaming Bogey of Strathtully?"
Remus looked up from his notes, alarmed.
"I assume you know all about it," said Manard with a smile.
"Er, yes, sir, I do," said Remus, his voice shaking slightly. "Erm… okay, so there was a Boggart in Strathtully, Scotland, and it managed to create quite the panic amongst the Muggle residents there. Everyone was afraid, and the Boggart managed to absorb a great amount of fear in a short period of time."
"Which caused the Boggart to do what?" Manard encouraged.
"It caused the Boggart to become more powerful. When Boggarts become more powerful, they manage to mimic magical power more potently, assume the shape of much larger things, and come up with brand-new shapes that combine the fears of multiple people. They gain better reasoning skills, too. So this Boggart had managed to become a huge black shadow with glowing white eyes, which scared most of the Muggles half to death."
"And why was this a problem?"
"Because… it was scaring Muggles. And also, a Boggart of that amount of sheer power isn't easily defeated by a simple Boggart-Banishing Charm. So… my dad, who works with the D.R.C.M.C., had to get a little bit creative. He trapped it in a matchbox, charmed the matchbox shut, and it's currently being starved to a normal Boggart level in the Department of Mysteries. About five more years, Dad says, and then they'll be able to go in and Banish it once and for all."
"That was your dad?" asked Evans in awe.
Remus cringed. He didn't need more reason to stand out. "Yes," he said quietly. "That was him. He used to hunt Boggarts for a living—private field work and research, you know. Now he works for the Ministry in the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures."
"He's written some very good books," said Manard. "I encourage any of you who are interested in Boggarts to read them—they're all available in the Hogwarts library. Lyall Lupin is world-renowned, isn't he, Remus?"
"I suppose," mumbled Remus.
Manard smiled and turned back to the whole class. "Now, the Boggart I captured is currently in that cupboard over there. I'm going to ask each of you to face it—fortunately, it's absorbed enough fear that it should be able to withstand all of my third- and fourth-year classes. The charm is Riddikulus, and it is cast like so—will everyone repeat after me? Riddikulus."
"Riddikulus!"
"Very good. Now, here is the key part: in order to defeat your fear, you must cast that spell and simultaneously think of a way to make that fear funny. You must see it in your mind's eye, and you must not lose focus. Now, is everyone ready? And remember, everyone is afraid of something, so you needn't be ashamed of having a dark fear… and you mustn't tease anyone else. Form a line!"
The class formed a line. Just as Remus was about to step somewhere near the middle, he felt something stab his foot.
It was Manard's cane. Manard shushed him, looked around to make sure that no one was watching, placed his hand on Remus' back, and then gently guided him to the back of the line. "Don't worry," he whispered with a wink.
Remus was worried.
"On your mark," shouted Manard, hobbling up to the front of the classroom with unexpected speed. "Get set! GO!" He pointed his wand at the cabinet, and a giant snake burst out directly in front of Marinette Hodgeson from Gryffindor.
"I…" Marinette stammered. "I don't think… I don't think I can do this, Professor!"
Manard was by her side in an instant. "You absolutely can," he said. "Remember, it can't touch you. Now, what's a way to make this funny?"
"I… I don't know! Snakes can't be funny!"
"Anything can be funny. But if you can't find a way to make it funny, then just find a way to make it relatively non-threatening."
Marinette screwed up her eyes, and then she said, "Riddikulus."
Nothing happened.
"Try again," said Manard.
Marinette tried again, eyes even more scrunched, and then the snake had turned into a cup of noodles.
"Brilliant!" cried Manard. "Next up, please!"
Slowly, they cycled through the line. Manard encouraged every single student, even helping them out and giving them ideas every so often. Most of the fears were normal—bugs, clowns, lions, etc.—but some of them were rather unique.
James' was a cockroach, as expected, and he turned it into Snape before loudly declaring that nothing whatsoever had happened (which Manard, predictably, didn't like—"We don't make fun of our classmates, James. Ten points from Gryffindor").
Evans' was two red-headed people whom Remus assumed to be her parents—they were lying on the ground, obviously dead, and Evans shrieked and stepped backwards directly into Sirius, who was covering his own eyes at the sight of the blood spreading from their heads.
"Oh, dear," said Manard. "Oh, dear. I'm sorry, Lily. Do you still want to try? This is rather more disturbing than I had expected."
Evans took a shuddery breath in, said, "Yes, of course," and then turned her parents into a dead James and Sirius.
"Er," said Manard, "that isn't exactly what I had in mind."
Sirius' Boggart was blood. That was all. It was in puddles on the ground, it was oozing from the cabinet, it was splashed all over every available surface. Sirius clutched his stomach with one hand and turned the blood to strawberry icing with the other.
There were a couple of Death Eaters next, and there was even one student whose worst fear was Voldemort… except, since no one knew quite what Voldemort looked like, it was a very confusing Boggart indeed.
Next up was Peter. He stepped up to the cabinet with trembling hands, and he watched as the Boggart slowly morphed into a man with ripped robes, who pointed his wand at Peter, and then there was a flash of green light….
That was it.
Peter flinched massively at the sight of it, and he managed to crawl under Manard's desk. Manard sighed, stepped in front of Remus (who was next), and the Boggart immediately turned into a werewolf with blood dripping from its jowls and a woman's clothes torn to pieces on the floor. Remus could barely breathe. "Riddikulus," said Manard in a tone of voice that was almost bored. The Boggart turned into a penguin, waddling around and quacking merrily, and Manard picked it up and chucked it back into the cabinet. "I think that's enough for today," he said.
Peter crawled out from underneath the desk, still shaking, and took his seat; the rest of the students followed. "I'd like to offer ten House points to every student who fought the Boggart, even those who were perhaps not as successful as they would have liked," he said. "That's all of you for except Remus, I believe… as for you, Remus, I'd like you to stay after class for me so that I know you've all had a chance. Thank you very much for facing your fears today, class, and I commend you for being so brave. Class dismissed."
Everyone filed out of the room; James and Sirius, Remus noticed, were comforting Peter along the way, who was still shaking immensely. "Now, Remus," said Manard after all the other students had disappeared, "I promised you I wouldn't give your secret away so long as you kept mine, and I'd like to honor that promise—after all, I am a man of my word. I suspected your Boggart might potentially give some hints to sharp classmates. Was I correct?"
"Yes, sir," mumbled Remus.
"All right. Here's your chance, then. I doubt you're going to have much trouble with this spell, but I wanted every single student to participate in this activity at some point. Take out your wand… up you go."
Remus walked toward the closet, holding his wand in slightly shaking hands. Why was he nervous? He did this spell all the time! His father had a pet Boggart in the cupboard, for heaven's sake! He and his father played a game with the Boggart every so often, shunting it back and forth—Remus was good at this spell. He was great at it! It came more naturally to him than even Wingardium Leviosa did.
A hand emerged from the inside of the cabinet, opening the door, and that's when Remus realized that it definitely wasn't a full moon. Fenrir Greyback, then? That had been Remus' Boggart one awful day in the Forbidden Forest, but that had been a one-time thing, hadn't it? And it didn't look like Greyback's hand…
The figure stepped out of the cabinet, and Remus, with a wave of awful embarrassment and shame, realized that it was Professor Manard.
He heard a snort of laughter from beside him, and the Boggart immediately shrunk slightly. "Really?" said Manard derisively. "Me? After being attacked by the most fearsome werewolf in existence, being one yourself, and living in a time of war? Me? Merlin's beard, boy. Who put you in Gryffindor?"
Rage coursed through Remus' body, and he breathed. In through his nose. Out through his mouth. He would not lose his temper, not here, not now….
"Riddikulus," said Remus, and Boggart-Manard turned into a werewolf. Remus had meant to turn it into a kitten, but he supposed he had werewolves on the brain.
"Hm," said Manard, watching the werewolf prowl around the room, no longer laughing. "You know, Remus, I think that was a threat."
"What?"
"You're a werewolf. You have the full ability to turn people into werewolves—"
"Werewolves are people—"
"Oh, shut up. You have the ability to turn people into werewolves, and here you are turning my Boggart self… into a werewolf. I think that's a threat. Don't you?"
"No. It was a mistake."
"No, sir, you mean. Hm. Do you think the Ministry would believe that?"
Remus blanched. "What?"
"The Ministry. Do you think they would take this as a threat?"
"Erm. Yes, sir. Probably."
"And do you think that would be grounds for an execution case? I do. A werewolf who threatens to turn people into werewolves… well, that werewolf would be a danger to society, don't you think?"
Remus slowly nodded. "That is probably what would happen, yes."
"So, Remus, it seems you have yet another incentive to keep your mouth shut. If you tell anyone my secret, then you'd be exposed… and then executed. The perfect ending to a perfect story, hm?"
Remus stared at Manard for a few moments, and then he pointed his wand at the Boggart and turned it into a flamingo.
"Much better," whispered Manard. "Scoot along to your next class, then, and thank you very much for the gift."
"The gift?"
"Of course. If you annoy me too much, then you've just made it very, very easy to get rid of you. I consider that a gift, don't you?"
Remus could feel his shoulders falling as he fixed his gaze on a spot behind Manard's head. "No, sir," he said quietly, internally chastising himself for his own stupidity. With one last look at the bright flamingo, he left.
The dark squishy feeling in his stomach was only growing by the second, and it didn't help that he happened to have a detention with Professor Dumbledore that night.