It was the kind of cool autumn morning that made the castle stone feel colder than the air outside. The third-years gathered outside the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom with quiet curiosity—Lupin hadn't yet shown them a proper lesson in magical defence, and the hallway buzzed with speculation.

"Hope he's not another Lockhart," Ron muttered. "Or worse—Quirrell."

Hermione rolled her eyes. "He seems competent. And he's not full of himself, which is an improvement."

Lupin greeted them with a pleasant smile and an old-fashioned key in his hand. "We'll be in the staff room today. It's a bit more... practical for what we're doing."

They followed him down the corridor, whispers trailing behind.

The staff room was spacious, filled with mismatched chairs, an enormous wardrobe tucked in one corner, and a faint scent of camphor and old tea leaves. Several portraits snoozed quietly in their frames, save for one wizard in emerald robes who blinked at them and muttered something about "finally teaching the real stuff."

Lupin waved them into a semi-circle. "Today, we're studying Boggarts."

Neville's shoulders stiffened slightly.

Lupin continued, "A Boggart is a shapeshifter. It takes the form of what you fear most. Fortunately, there's a charm for that—*Riddikulus*—and intent matters more than power. It works best when paired with laughter."

He gestured to the wardrobe. "There's one in here. Don't worry, it's quite safe. We'll take turns. Just remember: focus on changing the image. Make it funny. Turn fear into farce."

He looked to Neville. "Would you mind going first, Neville?"

Neville looked stricken.

Lupin bent slightly. "What frightens you, Neville?"

"Professor Snape," Neville mumbled.

A few students giggled, but Lupin didn't.

"And how might we make him less frightening?"

Neville blinked, then muttered, "Gran's clothes."

Lupin's eyes twinkled. "An excellent start."

He opened the wardrobe—and out stepped Snape, sneering, pale, robes billowing.

"Riddikulus!" Neville shouted, and the figure jerked. A vulture hat appeared on Snape's head. His robes morphed into a voluminous green dress with a massive red handbag.

The room burst into laughter.

Next came Parvati (a mummy, unravelled by a sneeze), Seamus (a banshee in curlers), and Dean (a severed hand turned into a rubber chicken). Then the Boggart shifted to Draco.

He hesitated. "I—can I pass?"

Lupin nodded gently. "Of course."

But the Boggart, quick as wind, latched onto his indecision—and formed into a long, pale shadow with burning red eyes and a voice like whispering teeth.

Draco stared, frozen. Then the shape turned slightly toward Harry.

"Riddikulus!" shouted Lupin, and the shadow popped into a balloon that zoomed around the room, deflating with a long raspberry noise.

Students laughed again, but Draco did not.

As the Boggart fizzled, Lupin turned to Harry and Hermione. "Time's up for now. You two didn't get a go today."

Harry frowned, but said nothing.

"I'd like to speak with both of you privately, if that's all right," Lupin said gently.

They nodded.

As the class filed out, Lupin guided Harry and Hermione toward the corridor.

"You both faced enough last year," he said. "No need to summon old shadows in front of everyone else. But I'd like to talk more—perhaps tomorrow? My office. Tea?"

Harry glanced at Hermione, who nodded.

"Sure," Harry said.

Lupin's smile was quiet. "Good. We'll talk then."

The small office Lupin had claimed for his own was tucked off a quiet corridor on the third floor. It smelled faintly of polished wood, old parchment, and the soft spice of enchanted tea. The furnishings were modest—threadbare armchairs, a desk stacked with lesson plans, and a low bookshelf crammed with Defence texts, some ancient, others scribbled with margin notes.

Harry and Hermione arrived just after noon on Saturday, coats damp from a brief drizzle. Lupin answered the door himself, looking pleasantly surprised.

"Right on time," he said, stepping aside. "Come in, both of you."

Hermione smiled, shaking the rain from her sleeves. "Thank you, Professor."

"Please—just Lupin, while we're off timetable. I've got some Darjeeling, if that suits?"

They nodded, and he poured the tea with a casual flick of his wand. The cups stirred themselves, releasing steam scented with lemon and something herbal.

They settled into the armchairs. Harry glanced around, eyes catching on a faded photo of four boys—grinning, wind-swept, and very young.

Lupin noticed. "That was Hogwarts. My fifth year. Me, James, Sirius, and Peter."

Harry blinked. "My dad?"

Lupin's smile faltered slightly but held. "Yes. We were thick as thieves."

Hermione, ever tactful, sipped her tea and said nothing.

"I wanted to thank you both," Lupin continued. "Not just for today, but for how you've been handling everything. I've seen a great deal in my time—more than I wish I had—but I can always tell when someone's carrying too much on young shoulders."

Harry swallowed. "You didn't let me face the Boggart."

"No," Lupin said gently. "Because I suspected what it might become. And I didn't want you to relive it in front of a roomful of classmates. You deserve better than that."

Hermione reached over, briefly touching Harry's hand.

He looked down. "Thanks."

Lupin leaned back, his own teacup cradled loosely in his fingers. "You're your father's son, Harry. But not just that. You've got Lily's stubbornness, her sharpness. She would've liked the two of you."

Harry looked up. "Everyone always talks about my dad. What about my mum?"

Lupin paused, caught slightly off-guard—but he nodded.

"Lily was... incandescent," he said softly. "She had this way of seeing straight through people. Didn't matter who you were or what mask you wore. She saw you. And once she did, she expected you to be your best self. Not because she demanded it, but because she believed you could."

Hermione's expression softened.

"She and I weren't close in the same way I was with James," Lupin added. "But she mattered. Severus Snape knew her better than any of us, once. They were friends before school turned them into something else. She stood by people when it cost her, and she never let anyone forget that kindness was its own kind of power."

Harry's throat was tight. He didn't trust himself to speak, so he nodded instead.

Lupin set his teacup down with care. "Listen. I know you've both taken on more this year—academically, personally. I'd like to offer something more formal. Private tutoring. Defence, certainly, but also magical theory, the kind that never makes it into textbooks. A bit of history, too. Practical knowledge that's... fallen out of fashion, but still matters."

Hermione's eyes lit up. "Truly?"

"Truly," Lupin said. "The sort of things you'll need to protect yourselves—and understand yourselves. It's part of why I came back. Dumbledore has... other priorities. I still believe in education that equips, not just instructs."

Harry tilted his head. "You've been away a long time."

Lupin smiled faintly. "Yes. And some of it was my choice. Some of it wasn't. But I've spent years running errands and chasing shadows. I'd rather spend this year helping students who want to know more than what's required."

Harry nodded slowly. "We'd like that. Both of us."

Lupin's smile deepened. "Then it's settled."

They talked a while longer—about nothing urgent. Quidditch prospects. Whether portraits were capable of gossip (they were). Whether Hogwarts kitchens truly had an enchanted butter churn (they didn't, but the elves liked to spread the rumour).

When they finally left, the rain had passed, and the air outside was crisp and clean. The sky stretched wide and blue above the castle.