Chapter 55: The Boggart

When we arrived for our first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, Professor Lupin wasn't there.

The classroom was eerily quiet at first, the only sounds being the scratching of quills against parchment and the occasional shuffle of books as people set up their desks. Whispers soon filled the room—curious, expectant. After last year's disaster with Lockhart, no one knew what to expect.

I pulled out my parchment, ink, and The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection, eager to take notes. I was determined to get a solid education in this subject after last year's fiasco.

When the door swung open, everyone turned.

Professor Lupin entered with his usual unassuming air, setting down his tatty old briefcase on the teacher's desk. His robes were still frayed at the edges, and he looked as though he owned exactly one set of clothing. But there was something different about him today—he looked healthier, more rested than when we saw him on the train.

He smiled vaguely, surveying the class.

"Good afternoon," he said warmly. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags? Today's lesson will be practical. You will need only your wands."

For a second, no one moved.

A practical lesson?

We had never had a truly practical Defense Against the Dark Arts class before—not unless you counted the disaster that was Lockhart and his Pixie Incident.

Students glanced at one another, intrigued. Ron grinned as he shoved his books back into his bag. Even Harry looked a little hopeful.

"Right then," Professor Lupin continued once everyone was ready. "If you'd follow me."

We all filed out of the classroom, whispering excitedly as Lupin led us down the corridor. Where were we going? What would we be learning?

We rounded a corner and immediately spotted Peeves the Poltergeist.

He was floating upside down, his curly-toed shoes wiggling in amusement as he jammed a wad of chewing gum into a keyhole.

I sighed internally. Peeves was always a menace, but Filch was going to throw an absolute fit over this.

Peeves only looked up when Professor Lupin was two feet away. Then, he grinned mischievously and broke into song.

"Loony, loopy Lupin! Loony, loopy Lupin! Loony, loopy Lupin!"

I froze.

Peeves was never this bold with teachers. Even Snape only got mild heckling.

Ron and Harry exchanged uneasy glances, and I quickly looked toward Professor Lupin, expecting him to snap or something.

But to my astonishment, Lupin kept smiling.

"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves," he said pleasantly. "Mr. Filch won't be able to get into his brooms."

Peeves blew a loud, wet raspberry.

The class braced for impact—surely Lupin would lose his patience now?

Instead, he gave a small sigh, reached for his wand, and said, almost lazily:

"This is a useful little spell. Please watch closely."

He raised his wand to shoulder height and said, "Waddiwasi!"

Before I could even process what had happened, the wad of gum shot out of the keyhole like a bullet, streaking through the air and straight up Peeves's left nostril.

Peeves let out a horrified shriek, flipped upright, and zoomed away at top speed, his cursing echoing down the corridor.

The class stared in stunned silence.

"Cool, sir!" Dean breathed in amazement.

"Thank you, Dean," said Professor Lupin, tucking his wand back into his robes. "Shall we proceed?"

I let out a small chuckle, shaking my head in awe.

It seemed we had finally gotten a Defense teacher worth learning from.

As we set off again, the atmosphere in the corridor shifted. The rest of the class was now looking at shabby, unassuming Professor Lupin with newfound respect. It was hard not to—he had already demonstrated more competence than our last two Defense professors combined, and he handled Peeves better than any teacher I'd ever seen.

He led us down another corridor, his steps measured and unhurried, before stopping right outside the staffroom door.

"Inside, please," he said, pulling it open and gesturing for us to go ahead.

I stepped in, immediately noting the faint scent of old parchment, stale tea, and firewood. The staffroom was mostly empty—except for Snape.

He was lounging in a low armchair, his greasy black hair casting shadows over his pale, sallow face. His dark eyes gleamed as he looked up at us, and then slowly shifted to Professor Lupin. A nasty sneer tugged at his thin lips, as if he had been waiting for this.

Lupin stepped inside, making to close the door, but Snape cut across him.

"Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this."

His robes billowed dramatically as he stood, striding past us like he thought himself far too important to remain in the same room.

But then, as if the insult hadn't been quite enough, he paused in the doorway, turned sharply, and let out a slow, cutting remark:

"Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear."

I stiffened.

Neville flushed crimson, shifting awkwardly on his feet, his fingers clenching his robes.

I felt a sharp surge of fury rise in my chest. Wasn't it enough that Snape tormented Neville in his own class? Did he really have to do it here, too?

I shot Snape my best glare—not that it mattered. He had already turned back toward the corridor.

Professor Lupin, however, remained calm.

"I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation," he said, sounding as pleasant as ever, "and I am sure he will perform it admirably."

Neville's face burned even redder.

Snape's lip curled, but he didn't argue. He simply gave one last sweeping glare and left, slamming the door shut behind him.

There was a beat of silence.

"Now, then," Lupin said, shaking off Snape's presence entirely. He beckoned us toward the far end of the room, where a large wooden wardrobe stood alone against the stone wall.

The moment we got closer, it wobbled. Loudly. The sudden bang made me jump.

"Nothing to worry about," Lupin assured us, his voice calm and light, as though we hadn't just witnessed a piece of furniture shake on its own. "There's a Boggart in there."

I wasn't sure that was less alarming.

Judging by the looks on my classmates' faces, they weren't reassured either. Seamus eyed the rattling doorknob with extreme caution, and Neville, who had already suffered enough in this class period, looked positively petrified.

Lupin carried on, unbothered.

"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks—I've even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the Headmaster if the staff would leave it be so my third years could get some practice."

He clasped his hands together.

"So, the first question we must ask ourselves is what is a Boggart?"

I immediately raised my hand.

"It's a shape-shifter," I answered promptly. "It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

Lupin grinned.

"Couldn't have put it better myself, Miss Granger."

I felt a surge of pride, smiling triumphantly.

"So," he continued, glancing back at the rattling wardrobe, "the Boggart inside has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when it is alone.

"But," he went on, pacing slightly, "when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears. This means that we have a huge advantage over the Boggart before we even begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?"

I glanced at Harry, watching as his brow furrowed slightly. He was thinking.

I instinctively raised my hand again, practically vibrating with the answer—but Lupin had clearly directed the question at Harry, so I forced myself to wait.

Harry hesitated for a second longer.

"Er—because there are so many of us, it won't know what shape it should be?"

"Precisely," said Lupin, sounding pleased.

I sighed, lowering my hand, slightly disappointed.

Ron smirked at me, clearly enjoying my frustration.

I shot him a mock glare, shaking my head.

Honestly. Boys.

"It's always best to have company when you're dealing with a Boggart," Professor Lupin explained, pacing slowly in front of the rattling wardrobe. His voice was calm, measured—like he was explaining something as simple as how to stir a potion properly. "He becomes confused. Which should he become? A headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug?"

The class chuckled uneasily.

"I once saw a Boggart make that very mistake—tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug." He smiled a little at the memory. "Not remotely frightening. The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind."

I leaned forward slightly, eager to hear more.

"You see, the thing that really finishes a Boggart… is laughter," he said, glancing around at all of us. "What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing. We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please… Riddikulus!"

"Riddikulus!" we all repeated together, the word rolling off my tongue in a crisp, confident tone.

"Good!" said Professor Lupin. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville."

The wardrobe shook again, but nowhere near as much as Neville, who walked forward like he was marching toward his own execution.

"Right, Neville," said Professor Lupin gently. "First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?"

Neville's lips moved, but no sound came out.

Professor Lupin tilted his head slightly, as if encouraging him. "I didn't catch that, Neville, sorry."

Neville's eyes darted around the room, looking at the rest of us as though begging for someone to step in and answer for him. Finally, in barely more than a whisper, he muttered, "Professor Snape."

A ripple of understanding laughter spread through the class. Not mean laughter, not teasing—but the kind that came from shared experience. Because, honestly, who could blame him?

Even Neville managed a small, sheepish grin.

Professor Lupin, however, didn't laugh. He simply nodded, rubbing his chin thoughtfully. "Professor Snape... hmmm..." He considered something for a moment before his lips quivered into a smile—one that looked completely unteacherlike.

"Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"

"Yes," Neville said nervously, his shoulders tensing. "But I don't want the Boggart to turn into her either."

Lupin actually chuckled at that. "No, no, you misunderstand me," he said. "Tell me, what sort of clothes does your grandmother usually wear?"

Neville looked a bit startled by the question but answered hesitantly. "Well… always the same hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture on top."

My lips twitched. That sounded… incredibly specific.

"And a long dress," Neville continued. "Green, normally… and sometimes a fox-fur scarf."

"And a handbag?" prompted Lupin.

"A big red one," Neville confirmed, now sounding a little less nervous and a little more amused.

"Right then," said Professor Lupin, his voice light with encouragement. "Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind's eye?"

Neville squeezed his eyes shut. "Yes."

Lupin's tone grew just a fraction more serious. "When the Boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape. And when that happens, you will raise your wand—like so—and cry Riddikulus! But you must concentrate. Hard. Picture him forced into your grandmother's hat, her green dress, her fox-fur scarf, and that big red handbag."

The room erupted into quiet laughter, the image of Snape dressed like a flamboyant old woman too good to resist. Even Neville gave a small, timid chuckle.

The wardrobe shook more violently, as though it knew we were plotting against it.

Professor Lupin clapped his hands. "If Neville is successful, the Boggart is likely to shift its attention to each of us in turn," he explained. "I want all of you to take a moment now—think of the thing that frightens you the most, and then imagine how you might force it to look comical…"

A hush fell over the room.

I took a deep breath, closing my eyes.

My first instinct was… a bad grade. A perfect, giant, red T for "Troll" stamped onto my parchment. Dreadful.

But then… another thought pushed that one aside.

A dark, cold, empty space. Silent.

No Harry.

No Ron.

No Mama nor Papa.

No one.

I felt a deep, twisting pang in my chest, a creeping, gnawing kind of fear far worse than a bad grade. The kind of fear that settled in the pit of my stomach and made my breath catch.

Being alone.

Utterly, completely, alone.

I swallowed hard.

Then, I forced another image over it—one that completely ruined the fear.

Suddenly, in my mind, the darkness exploded with bright gold and red streamers. A banner unfurled from the ceiling, SURPRISE! written in huge, glittering letters. And there were Ron and Harry, grinning ear to ear, throwing confetti, laughing. My parents were there, cheering, clapping. And I wasn't alone at all.

Yes.

That would do.

I locked it firmly into place. I was ready.

From my left, I suddenly heard Ron mumble, "Take its legs off…"

I cracked an eye open, turning slightly toward him.

Spiders.

It had to be spiders.

Of course.

A small, knowing smile twitched at my lips, but I said nothing. If Ron had to face his Boggart, it was going to be hilarious.

But first, Neville had to take the lead.

The wardrobe shuddered, and Neville took a step forward.

This was going to be brilliant.

"Everyone ready?" Professor Lupin asked, his voice steady but expectant.

I took a deep breath, keeping the image of my surprise party firmly in my mind. The idea of the darkness—the loneliness—was still lurking somewhere in the back of my mind, but I forced myself to push it away. I was ready.

"Neville, we're going to back away," Professor Lupin continued. "Let you have a clear field, all right? I'll call the next person forward... Everyone back now, so Neville can get a clear shot."

We all shuffled against the walls, giving Neville space. He stood alone in front of the rattling wardrobe, his knees knocking slightly, but his grip on his wand was firm.

I could feel the tension in the room. The quiet shuffling of robes. The faint sound of breathing. The wardrobe shuddered violently, as though the Boggart inside could sense what was coming.

"On the count of three, Neville," Professor Lupin instructed, raising his wand toward the wardrobe. "One—two—three—now!"

A jet of sparks shot from Lupin's wand, hitting the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open, and out stepped Snape.

Greasy-haired, hook-nosed, and menacing, his dark robes billowed around him as he stepped forward, eyes fixed on Neville like a hawk ready to strike.

Neville froze, his wand trembling. His mouth moved, but no sound came out.

Snape was advancing, reaching inside his robes. My stomach twisted in knots.

"R—r—Riddikulus!" Neville squeaked.

There was a whip-crack noise.

Suddenly, Snape stumbled backward—his robes were now a long, lace-trimmed dress, his pointed boots replaced with chunky old lady heels. Perched atop his head was a towering hat decorated with a moth-eaten vulture. And to top it all off, he was swinging a huge crimson handbag with absolute seriousness.

Silence.

Then—the classroom erupted.

Ron doubled over, clutching his sides, tears of laughter streaming down his face. Harry was barely able to stay upright, his face buried in his hands. I tried to keep my composure, I really did, but even I couldn't help the small giggle that slipped out. Alright, maybe a big giggle.

It was… spectacular.

The Boggart staggered, confused by the overwhelming wave of laughter.

"Parvati! Forward!" Lupin called.

Parvati stepped up, her face set with determination.

Crack!

Snape vanished. In his place stood a bloodstained, bandaged mummy, its arms stretched out, feet dragging eerily against the stone floor.

My breath hitched. The way it moved—so slow, so deliberate—made my skin crawl.

"Riddikulus!" Parvati cried.

One of the mummy's bandages unraveled, tangling around its feet. It stumbled forward like an off-balance dancer and—toppled face-first.

Its head rolled off.

Laughter broke out again as Seamus stepped up next.

Crack!

The mummy vanished, replaced by a woman with floor-length black hair and a skeletal, greenish face—a banshee.

She opened her mouth and—

A piercing, blood-curdling wail ripped through the air.

I winced, my hands flying up to my ears as the horrible sound echoed in my skull. It felt like it was cutting through my bones, like I could feel it vibrating in my chest.

"Riddikulus!" Seamus shouted, his voice almost swallowed by the shriek.

The banshee clutched her throat, looking outraged, before making a rasping, silent gasp—her voice completely gone.

The class cheered as the Boggart shifted again.

Crack!

Now it was a rat, spinning wildly in a circle—crack!—then a rattlesnake, twisting and hissing—crack!—then a giant, bloody eyeball, rolling toward Dean.

"It's confused!" Lupin called over the laughter. "We're getting there! Dean!"

Dean stepped forward.

Crack!

The eyeball morphed into a creepy, severed hand, its fingers skittering across the floor like a spider.

"Oh, gross," I muttered.

"Riddikulus!" Dean shouted.

With a snap, the hand sprang backward into a mousetrap—snap!

"Excellent! Ron, you next!" Lupin commanded.

Ron swallowed thickly and stepped forward.

Crack!

A few people screamed.

My stomach dropped.

It was massive.

Hairy.

A giant, eight-legged nightmare.

I had seen Ron scared plenty of times before, but never like this. He was rigid, his face drained of all color, his wand shaking.

For a second, I thought he might just run.

But then—

"Riddikulus!" he bellowed.

The spider's legs vanished.

It rolled over, flailing helplessly, bouncing toward Lavender, who shrieked and darted away as it came to a halt at Harry's feet.

Harry raised his wand, ready to go—

But suddenly—

"Here!" Lupin cut in.

He hurried forward—Crack!

The spider vanished in an instant.

In its place was a silvery-white orb, floating in the air.

Lupin's face shifted, going strangely stiff for just a fraction of a second.

Then—

"Riddikulus!" he murmured almost lazily.

Crack!

The orb vanished.

"Forward, Neville, and finish him off!" Lupin ordered.

The Boggart shrank, scrambling for form—Crack! It became a cockroach, skittering weakly across the floor.

Then—Crack!

Snape was back.

But Neville was ready this time.

"Riddikulus!" he shouted triumphantly.

Snape stumbled once more—the dress, the hat, the bag—there was a final burst of laughter and—

The Boggart exploded.

A thousand tiny wisps of silver smoke curled through the air, then faded into nothing.

The room settled.

Silence fell for just a second before the class broke into cheers.

I smiled, clapping for Neville.

He had done brilliantly, but I couldn't help feeling disappointed.

I had been ready. Really ready. I had wanted to see what would happen. Wanted to face my Boggart, to prove—to myself, if no one else—that I could do it.

Instead, the lesson was over.

"Excellent!" Professor Lupin's voice rang out over the lingering laughter and scattered wisps of silver smoke.

The class erupted into applause, hands clapping, voices chattering excitedly as we all processed what had just happened. My own hands stung slightly from clapping so hard for Neville—I was so proud of him.

"Excellent, Neville." Lupin beamed, patting him on the back. "Well done, everyone… Let me see…" He paused, glancing around at all of us, considering. "Five points to Gryffindor for every person to tackle the Boggart—ten for Neville because he did it twice…"

Neville turned a brilliant shade of pink, his face glowing with pride.

Lupin continued, "And five each to Hermione and Harry."

I straightened up, pleased, but next to me, Harry frowned.

"But I didn't do anything," he protested.

"You and Hermione answered my questions correctly at the start of the class, Harry," Lupin said lightly.

I felt a warm burst of satisfaction at being recognized—though, if I was honest, I still would have rather faced the Boggart than just answer a question.

"Very well, everyone," Lupin went on, rolling up his sleeves. "An excellent lesson. Homework—kindly read the chapter on Boggarts and summarize it for me… to be handed in on Monday. That will be all."

The room buzzed with excitement as we gathered our things and began filing out of the staffroom, still caught up in the thrill of what had just happened.

"Did you see me take that banshee?" Seamus was practically shouting, grinning wildly.

"And the hand!" Dean waved his own around, mimicking the Boggart's severed, creeping fingers.

"And Snape in that hat!" Ron choked on a laugh, still looking delighted at the memory.

"And my mummy!" Parvati said proudly.

I rolled my eyes but smiled as we made our way down the corridor, listening to everyone rehashing their moment of bravery.

"I wonder why Professor Lupin's frightened of crystal balls?" Lavender mused thoughtfully.

That made me pause, just for a second.

Yes… Why was he afraid of that?

It wasn't like anything else we had seen. All of us had faced tangible fears—things that could physically hurt us. But Lupin's had been… different.

I made a mental note to think on it later as Ron, Harry, and I reached the stairs leading back toward the classroom to grab our bags.

"That was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson we've ever had, wasn't it?" Ron said excitedly, his eyes shining as he walked alongside me.

"He seems like a very good teacher," I admitted, nodding. "But I wish I could have had a turn with the Boggart."

Ron and Harry both turned to me, eyebrows raised.

"What would it have been for you?" Ron asked, a playful smirk spreading across his face. "A piece of homework that only got nine out of ten?"

Harry burst into laughter at that, grinning as he gave Ron a light elbow to the ribs.

I narrowed my eyes, glaring at them in a way that could have frozen water solid.

Immediately, they both shut up.

We made our way back toward Gryffindor Tower, the corridors alive with the chatter of students heading toward the Great Hall for dinner. The air was thick with the mingling scents of roasted meat and freshly baked bread, and the occasional laugh or burst of conversation echoed off the high stone walls.

Ron and Harry walked a little ahead of me, engaged in some half-hearted conversation, but my mind was elsewhere.

I should have been thinking about Arithmancy. After all, I still had one more lesson before I could change for dinner like they were, but I couldn't stop replaying what had just happened in Defense Against the Dark Arts.

Professor Lupin had stopped Harry.

Why?

The Boggart had rolled toward him, shifting midair, preparing to take shape. But before it could, Lupin had stepped in, ending the lesson abruptly.

And then there was the orb.

It had been floating, shimmering silvery-white, almost moonlike, but it hadn't fully formed before Lupin cut it off. It wasn't a Dementor. It wasn't Voldemort. It wasn't… anything I had ever seen before.

Whatever it was, Lupin didn't want us to see it.

That alone was enough to send my mind spiraling with questions.

I wrapped my arms around my heavy bag, adjusting it on my shoulder as we turned up the stairs, my steps slowing as I sank deeper into thought.

What was Lupin hiding?

"Hermione?"

I blinked, pulled from my thoughts as Ron's voice cut through my mental unraveling.

"What?"

Ron had slowed down, looking at me with mild amusement. His eyebrows were raised in that way they always were when he was on the verge of teasing me.

"You've got that look."

I frowned. "What look?"

"The one where your brain's working so hard, you forget to walk properly," he said, grinning.

"I do not forget to walk properly!" I huffed, quickening my pace to prove my point.

"You do, actually," Harry added, smirking.

I shot them both a glare but let it go, focusing instead on the mystery at hand. They clearly weren't interested in what had happened in the last part of class, and I wasn't about to start lecturing them about the importance of paying attention when I needed to sort things out for myself.

As we neared the portrait hole, Ron stretched his arms behind his head lazily.

"You coming to dinner, then?"

"I still have Arithmancy," I said, shifting my bag higher up my shoulder. "Unlike some people, I actually care about my education."

"Oi! I care!" Ron defended himself, pressing a hand to his chest as if I had deeply offended him.

"Could've fooled me," I said sweetly, flashing him an innocent smile before turning on my heel toward the staircase.

I barely caught the way Ron stared after me, his mouth opening and closing like a fish out of water.

Then—

"Wait!"

I paused, peering over my shoulder just as Ron snapped upright, his face caught between shock and indignation.

"Classes are over for the day!" he blurted out, eyes narrowing.

Oh.

Ohhhhhhhh.

My stomach dropped slightly, but I kept my expression perfectly composed.

"Are they?" I said airily, already pivoting back toward the stairs. "Silly me."

And before he could say another word, I hurried away, heart pounding slightly in my chest.

I didn't dare look back.