Chapter 12
Lunch passed without any noteworthy incidents, at least as far as Harry could tell. Sitting next to Neville, he enjoyed the food while his friend still held his fork with the same tension as someone holding a wand about to explode. Every minute, Neville cast furtive glances at his backpack, as if expecting Trevor to emerge from it at any moment, ready to start another of his daring escapes.
Harry had lost count of how many times he had said there was no need for thanks. Still, between one bite and another, Neville kept murmuring words of gratitude, as if convinced that Harry had not only saved his toad but also his dignity—or maybe even his life.
When they finally left the Great Hall, they walked together through the crowded corridors, following the flow of students toward the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. As they approached the tall dark wooden doors, Harry felt his eyes linger on the crest carved into the surface. A memory crept into his mind—Lockhart, with that fake smile and teeth shining brighter than a freshly polished gold coin. And, as always, his exaggerated stories, each more absurd than the last.
A pang of pity shot through his chest. For a brief moment, he thought of Lockhart now, lost in his own mind, without memory, without identity. But the compassion faded as quickly as it had come. In the end, the man had dug his own downfall.
They entered the room, choosing a table near the window. The gray afternoon light filtered through the stained glass at odd angles, scattering distorted patterns across the cold stone floor. The air carried the unmistakable scent of old parchment and dried ink. Few students had arrived—a small group of Gryffindors and two or three Slytherins chatting in low voices on the other side of the room.
Harry looked around and sighed. Having two classes in a row with the Slytherins was a test of patience he hadn't asked for. But on the other hand... it meant maybe he would see her.
"I thought you'd be waiting for us again, Harry."
Tracey's casual voice sounded behind him, and then she dropped into the chair as if throwing herself into a cozy armchair. Her smile carried that usual teasing glint. "Daphne was looking for you like crazy."
Daphne appeared right after, crossing her arms and shooting Tracey a sharp look.
"I was not," she retorted, her voice tinged with irritation. "I just mentioned that maybe he'd want to come with us, that's all."
Harry adjusted his glasses, trying to ignore the warmth rising up his neck. "Actually..." he began, scratching his neck with a somewhat awkward smile. "I didn't even realize the class was with Slytherin. I swear. If I had known, I would've waited for you guys."
Tracey arched an eyebrow, her lips curling into a slow, assessing smile. "You've had the schedule for a week and still didn't notice who you had class with?"
Harry let out a theatrical sigh. "After I saw I had Potions with you lot, I gave up on the rest of the day," he joked.
Tracey laughed out loud and, without hesitation, raised her middle finger at him in a very unsubtle way.
Neville's eyes widened, visibly shocked, while Harry just laughed. For the first time that day, he felt the weight on his shoulders lighten a bit. But the feeling didn't last long.
The door opened again. Ron walked in first, closely followed by Hermione.
The look Ron shot at Harry was direct, sharp, as if he had just been betrayed by his own brother. Hermione hesitated for a moment, stopping between the two groups, her gaze shifting back and forth as if standing on the edge of a cliff.
Then, without saying anything, she followed Ron and sat beside him, though not too close. Before fully turning away, her eyes met Harry's, and for a brief instant, he saw the silent apology there.
Harry took a deep breath, feeling a slight tightness in his chest, but kept his expression neutral. He couldn't let the discomfort growing inside show. Neville, maybe to escape the awkward silence, was the first to speak.
"How do you think this class will be?" His voice carried a note of contained anxiety, as if already bracing for the worst.
Harry didn't blame him. He himself still remembered the last time Neville faced a first Defense Against the Dark Arts class—Cornish pixies flying around, pulling hair and yanking ears.
Daphne was flipping through her book absentmindedly, resting her chin on her hand with an uninterested expression. "I heard some Slytherins saying he's kind of boring. Very ordinary, you know?"
"But that's just because he's not a showman like Lockhart, right?" Tracey commented without looking up from her notebooks. "After a lunatic obsessed with fame and an idiot with a turban, anyone seems normal."
Harry crossed his arms and adjusted himself in the chair. "Fred and George said he's one of the best teachers Hogwarts ever had," he shared. "They say the guy really knows how to teach. And honestly, that's already a lot more than can be said about Lockhart… or Quirrell."
At the mention of Quirrell, a chill ran down his spine, and he tried to hide it by fiddling with his books. The smell of garlic from the former professor's classroom seemed to cling to his memories, mixed with the suffocating feeling of having Voldemort so close. He shook his head, pushing the thought away.
"Anyway, Neville, I doubt it'll be that bad. Don't worry."
Neville nodded slowly, though his face still showed doubt. Harry noticed his friend's hesitant gaze shifting around the room, as if trying to calculate the odds of imminent disaster.
More students began to arrive, filling the room with scattered conversations. Among them, Draco Malfoy, who shot a hostile glare toward Harry, Neville, Daphne, and Tracey.
"Just ignore him," Daphne whispered casually, leaning slightly toward Harry.
He blinked in thanks, but inside he wondered how she managed to deal with Malfoy so easily.
The murmuring was interrupted by a calm but firm voice that echoed through the room.
"All right, all right."
Everyone turned to the door at once. Professor Lupin had just entered, wearing a set of shabby robes that looked like they had seen better days. His face, though tired, held a serene air, and there was a curious sparkle in his eyes.
"Sorry I'm late. It's been a long time since I last walked these halls."
The students exchanged glances. Harry noticed Lavender Brown raising her hand almost immediately.
"Did you study at Hogwarts, Professor?" she asked, curiosity evident.
"Yes, Miss Brown," Lupin replied, smiling. "But that was many years ago. Now, shall we begin?"
The sound of backpacks opening echoed through the room, students grabbing parchment and books. But before they could even place quills on paper, Lupin raised one hand.
"We won't need books today."
There was a moment of hesitation in the class. Some students froze mid-movement, as if they had misheard. But then Lupin drew his wand and, with a single fluid gesture, pushed all the desks to the sides of the room. A loud rumble echoed as the central space was cleared.
That was when Harry noticed the wardrobe.
Large, old, and creaking slightly, it swayed subtly, as if something inside was trying to break free. He was sure that piece of furniture hadn't been there before.
"What we have here, everyone, is a boggart," announced Lupin, walking slowly around the students, his hands clasped behind his back. "I found it yesterday in the staff room and thought it would be a good way to start the year."
A discreet smile appeared on his face, but his eyes remained watchful, analyzing the class's reaction.
"Now," he continued, "can anyone tell me what form a boggart takes?"
Before anyone else could react, Hermione's hand shot into the air. The professor nodded to her, encouraging her to speak.
"No one knows," she said confidently. "The boggart is a shape-shifter. That means it takes the form of whatever each person fears most."
"Perfect, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor." Lupin smiled slightly at her before turning back to face the class. "Miss Granger is correct. That's why facing a boggart can be tricky. Some people, when confronted with their worst fear, simply freeze. However, there's an advantage for us today."
He paused, his gaze sweeping over the attentive faces in front of him.
"We're in a group," he concluded. "And when there's more than one person, the boggart may hesitate. It doesn't know which fear to take on first."
A low murmur spread among the students. Harry noticed Neville shrink a little beside him.
"The spell we'll use today is called Riddikulus," Lupin went on, raising his wand and demonstrating the smooth motion they should perform. "The key to this spell isn't just in the incantation itself, but in how you use it. For it to work, you need to turn fear into something... funny."
Tracey raised an eyebrow. "You mean our secret weapon against a monster is humor?"
"Exactly, Miss Davies," replied Lupin, without losing his calm tone. "Laughter has immense power over fear. And when you manage to laugh at your own terror, it loses its strength."
Harry exchanged a quick glance with Neville, who swallowed hard. He wasn't sure how his friend would react when it was his turn to face the creature.
Lupin turned to the wardrobe, which was now shaking violently. The doors vibrated, as if they were about to burst open at any moment.
"Now, who would like to go first?"
Neville's name echoed through the room, drawing everyone's attention. He startled when Professor Lupin called him forward, his face pale as old parchment. Harry felt a pang in his chest seeing his friend hesitate, but despite the clear reluctance, Neville stepped forward in short, uncertain strides.
"Could you tell me what frightens you the most?" asked Lupin, keeping an encouraging smile.
Neville opened his mouth, but no sound came out. He swallowed hard, casting a distressed look at Harry before finally whispering something inaudible.
"Could you repeat that?" Lupin prompted gently, leaning slightly closer to hear better.
Neville closed his eyes, as if telling himself there was no way out. "Professor Snape."
The name drew a few chuckles from the class, but Lupin only raised his eyebrows, as if that were the most normal thing in the world.
"Ah, yes, Professor Snape. He can indeed be... intimidating." Lupin placed a reassuring hand on Neville's shoulder. "You live with your grandmother, don't you?"
Neville nodded quickly, as if wanting to get it over with. "Yes... but I don't want the boggart to turn into her!" he added hastily, alarmed at the thought.
Lupin chuckled softly. "Don't worry, that's not what I had in mind." He leaned a bit closer and asked, in a lower voice, "Tell me, what kind of clothes does your grandmother wear?"
Neville looked confused for a moment, but then answered hesitantly, "A green dress... a hat with a stuffed vulture..."
"Great, great," said Lupin, cutting him off before he could give more details. "Let's keep that as a surprise. Now, when the boggart comes out of the wardrobe, it will turn into Professor Snape. But as soon as that happens, you will raise your wand, point it at him, and use the Riddikulus spell. Think of your grandmother's outfit, picture it perfectly. The key to the spell is the image you create."
Neville took a deep breath, visibly nervous, but nodded. Lupin took a step back.
"Ready?" he asked.
Neville nodded again, although his look said otherwise.
"Then here we go."
With a wave of his wand, Lupin opened the wardrobe doors.
The tall, dark figure of Snape emerged from the shadows, black robes billowing around him, icy eyes fixed on Neville like sharp blades. He looked about to launch one of his feared criticisms, lips curled in disdain.
Neville trembled but raised his wand with determination. "Riddikulus!"
In an instant, Snape's robes transformed. The black fabric gave way to a glaringly bright green dress, with outrageously lacy collars. On his head appeared a grotesque hat, adorned with a stuffed vulture, which seemed to balance precariously on top.
The room erupted in laughter.
Harry saw the boggart recoil slightly, as if it could feel the weight of the ridicule surrounding it. Snape — or what remained of him — blinked in confusion, eyes wide with sheer disbelief.
"The boggart's weakness is laughter," Lupin explained between chuckles, looking as pleased as a teacher could be. "Now I want everyone to line up. Each will have their turn. But first, close your eyes and picture what scares you most."
Harry felt his body freeze. What scared him the most? The answer should have been obvious, but in his mind, the images tangled. Voldemort. Quirrell's skeletal face. The basilisk. The whispering voices of the past. But then, among all those figures, something even colder, even darker, arose.
A wrinkled, necrotic hand, with the foul stench of rotting flesh.
A chill ran down his spine, and he forced himself to push the thought away. He noticed the other students, all too focused to realize his hesitation. He cleared his throat, brushing off the fear and focusing on the present.
"Ready?" Lupin asked.
Parvati was the first to step forward. The boggart hesitated for a moment before turning into a mummy, its yellowed bandages twisting as the creature advanced, a guttural moan escaping its covered mouth. Parvati raised her wand. "Riddikulus!"
The mummy tripped over its own feet and fell face-first to the ground, wrapping itself in its own bandages. It tried to get up again, only to fall once more. The students burst out laughing.
Seamus came next. The boggart twisted and then took the form of a banshee, with black hair and sunken eyes, opening its mouth in a spectral scream. But before any sound came out, Seamus cast the spell, and in a blink, the creature lost its voice. It grabbed its own throat in despair, eyes wide.
The class erupted in applause.
One by one, people faced their own fears.
Then it was Ron's turn. Harry already knew what was coming. As soon as the boggart spun in the air, a giant spider took form before the class, its long, hairy legs trembling on the stone floor. Ron trembled but raised his wand. "R-Riddikulus!"
The spider's legs turned into wheels, and the creature began to slide awkwardly across the hall, toppling over at every attempt to balance. The class burst out laughing as Ron quickly backed away.
"It's almost done," said Lupin. "We're doing great."
That's when the boggart turned toward Harry.
A knot formed in the boy's stomach. He tried to prepare himself, tried to imagine Voldemort, but the image in his mind warped. The cold returned, and he felt the icy presence before he even saw it.
The dark cloak, the ragged breath, the aura of pure despair.
He knew what was coming.
"Here!" shouted Lupin, suddenly stepping between Harry and the creature.
The boggart hesitated, trembling in the air, before taking a new form — a silver sphere, floating in the middle of the room.
There was a moment of silence. Harry noticed a subtle change in Lupin's face, a moment of hesitation. But the professor quickly recomposed himself, raised his wand, and said "Riddikulus!"
The sphere was hurled away, spinning until it landed at Neville's feet. In a blink, the creature returned to Snape's form.
Neville did not hesitate. "Riddikulus!"
Once again, the grotesque Snape appeared, in glaring green robes and an extravagant hat. Laughter filled the room once more, until the boggart gave a final hiss and dissipated, as if it had never existed.
Lupin clapped his hands, pleased. "Excellent! Fifteen points to Neville for a brilliant execution. I want an essay on boggarts for next week. You are dismissed."
The students began gathering their materials, still chatting about the class, some complaining they hadn't had the chance to face the creature. Harry tried to hide the unease growing in his chest. He should be happy for his friend, but the truth was he felt something else — a restlessness, a weight.
Daphne approached, her eyes cautiously studying Harry. "Are you okay?"
He forced a half-smile. "I will be."
She crossed her arms, tilting her head slightly. "Professor Lupin must have his reasons for not letting you face the boggart. No one would want to see a Dark Lord right here in the middle of the room."
Harry let out a short, humorless laugh. It was a convenient explanation, logical even. But it wasn't true.
He looked away, focusing on the empty space where the creature had been moments before. The fear he had felt did not come from Voldemort's image. It wasn't the red eyes, nor the pale face, nor the hissing voice that froze his blood.
It was something else. Something worse.
Something that drained the light, that suffocated the soul. Something that fed on what was most human inside him.
The cold returned, crawling under his skin, and Harry clenched his fists. Maybe Lupin had noticed. Maybe he knew exactly what would have appeared if the boggart had chosen Harry.
But if he knew... then Harry wasn't alone in that fear.
And that, in a way, was even more terrifying.
A/N:
On my P4tr30n, this story has undergone a revamp, which I intend to do here as soon as possible. It's just about separating larger chapters into smaller ones to make them a little more dynamic. Updates there are being more frequent.
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"And in case I don't see you — good afternoon, good evening, and good night."