[*]
As it
was a Friday, there were only three classes.
The first, Potions, was taught by Professor Snape. He was a tall man, with a long nose, and
long, greasy black hair. Whenever he
wasn’t sneering, he was scowling in anger.
He was, by far, Harry’s least favorite teacher.
Unusually,
Snape did not start his first lesson with Harry by insulting him. It seemed that almost dying on his first day
had gotten him a reprieve from Snape’s snide comments about ‘Famous Harry
Potter’ and his arrogance and undeserved good fortune. Instead, Snape took his usual bad temper and
focused it on Neville Longbottom, who was terrified of Snape, and any other
random student who messed up under Snape’s disdainful gaze.
It was
strange being in Snape’s class after all the memories of that other Harry
Potter were crammed into his head. Just
before his death, the other Harry learned that his Snape wasn’t an evil man,
one who had betrayed and murdered Professor Dumbledore at the orders of his
true master Voldemort. Rather, he had
been working for Dumbledore all along, and had been spying on Voldemort for
Dumbledore. Snape had even murdered
Dumbledore at Dumbledore’s own command.
Snape, or rather that other Harry’s Snape, had done all this because he
loved other Harry’s mother and had since they were kids.
Was it
true for this Snape as well?
Probably. If so, then despite the
fact that he was an absolute sneering, greasy git, Snape was also one of the
bravest men in the world. Harry could
not imagine being in Voldemort’s presence all of the time, all the while
working to undermine him while convincing him that he was on his side. And if Voldemort rose again this time, Snape
would be Dumbledore’s spy once more.
It with
this thought of knowing secrets that he should not know which followed Harry
from his second class, Charms, and then to his third and last class of the day,
Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Apparently
Harry had missed an exciting lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts yesterday,
when Professor Lupin had made them face off against a Boggart—a creature that
could transform into your worst fear.
Harry had vague memories of the other Harry going through that lesson,
but the details were lost to him. He had
an image of . . . Snape in a dress? That
couldn’t be right.
The
day’s lesson was not as exciting, mostly a lecture on non-beings, a category of
dark creatures that included Boggarts, Dementors and, surprisingly enough,
poltergeists.
“But
Peeves isn’t evil,” said Dean Thomas, referring to Hogwarts own
poltergeist. “He’s annoying, but he
wouldn’t really hurt anyone.”
Professor
Lupin smiled gently. The last time Harry
had seen him, Professor Lupin had looked years older than his age, worn down
and tired. Now, in this class, he looked
happy and contented; and in that happiness had come a lightness of spirit that
rejuvenated him. Harry felt so happy for
Lupin’s happiness, but also knew that it could not last. There was a reason why Lupin was the third
Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Harry had had in three years.
“Peeves
is not evil,” agreed Lupin. “Indeed, I
would go so far as to say that no poltergeist is evil. However, questions of good and evil are
somewhat beyond this class. But we refer
to dark creatures, not for their evil nature, but rather their capacity and
willingness to do harm. Poltergeists are
spirits of chaos, born from and attracted to chaotic places. And so, obviously, a school is a perfect
place for a poltergeist like Peeves.
“But
just as poltergeists are created from chaotic places, so too are Boggarts
created from fearful places and Dementors from painful, miserable places. They are not born, but they are generated by
the negative emotions within all of us. This
is why laughter is so effective against Boggarts, as you may remember from
yesterday’s lesson.” Here, he thumped
the wardrobe that held the Boggart from yesterday’s lesson. It thumped and rattled in response.
Here,
people laughed in recollection. Ron
wriggled in his chair a bit, as if dancing and slipping, and Hermione snorted. Lupin smiled briefly at his class, before
regaining his more serious mien. “Let us
turn to page 82 of our text.”
The
rest of the class passed in note-taking, as they wrote down the way to
recognize the signs of a Boggart infestation and the characteristics of various
famous Boggarts and their capture. With
half his mind on his studies, Harry came to one conclusion: though he was lost
in a confusion of memories and problems, he knew that he had to talk with Ron
and Hermione. It was not likely that
they would know what to do, exactly, but they were his friends and talking to
them would make the problems seem less insurmountable. They deserved to know what was going on in
his head as his friends. Also, all of
the plans, schemes and adventures they had had over the years were the result
of all three of them coming together.
Sometimes they did not work quite like they were supposed to, but the
ones that worked, worked because all three of them cooperated and planned
together. Maybe between the three of
them, they would be able to come up with some idea of what he—they—should be
doing next.
“Meet
me in the Common Room. I have to talk
with Professor Lupin for a bit,” said Harry, as soon as class ended. Ron and Hermione nodded in agreement and left
with the rest of the class. As the
classroom emptied, Harry was left alone with Professor Lupin, who was cleaning
up the chalkboard and tidying away his notes.
“Urm,
Professor?” said Harry, nervously. “I
wanted to thank you for your help with the Dementors and that.”
“No
need, Harry,” said Lupin, with his same gentle smile. “It was really more Madame Pomfrey than me.”
“Still,”
said Harry. “Also, Professor? I was
hoping to learn that charm against Boggarts from you. Is that alright?”
Lupin
looked at Harry for a long moment, then at the wardrobe. “You have very real, very concrete things to
fear in your life, Harry. And it has
been a life filled with fearful things.
Are you sure that you want to confront them, here?”
“Yes,”
said Harry simply. Lupin nodded in
response. He then demonstrated the
simple wand-movements and the charm, ‘Riddikulus.’
“But
remember, Harry. It is the thoughts
behind the charm that matter most. Boggarts
are creatures of fear. Take away the
fear, and you take away their power,” said Lupin. After seeing Harry go through the charm a few
times, Lupin nodded in satisfaction.
Without a word, he opened the wardrobe doors.
However,
instead of a Dementor, as Harry was expecting, or Voldemort, or even Uncle
Vernon telling him that he was going to prison, nothing came out. Instead, there was an absence in the world,
there at the center of the wardrobe. It
was darkness beyond darkness, as if no light had ever touched it. But inside of that absence there radiated out
cruelty and malice. There was a need
there, a hunger, to take all the good things in the world and make it as wrong
as the absence itself. It was as if the
thing in the wardrobe could not stand for anyone to be anything other than dark
and wrong. It was a void, and it was
looking right at Harry.
SOON,
said the absence in the world. No words
were spoken, only imprinted upon the minds of the listeners by a terrible
will. It made Harry’s head ache with it,
and he felt nauseous.
A black
fire arose around the darkness, which caused the wardrobe to go up in
flames. The fire that consumed the
wardrobe was almost light and cheerful in comparison to the black flames of the
void. Lupin, who had been frozen, sprang
into action. Jets of water streamed out
from the end of his wand, causing steam to fill the room. Angry hissing came from the fire as it
died. But when the smoke and the steam
cleared, the wardrobe was a charred, sodden mess; its top half burned up and
destroyed from the intensity of the flames.
Of the Boggart, there was no sign.
Harry
ran from the room.
As it
was a Friday, there were only three classes.
The first, Potions, was taught by Professor Snape. He was a tall man, with a long nose, and
long, greasy black hair. Whenever he
wasn’t sneering, he was scowling in anger.
He was, by far, Harry’s least favorite teacher.
Unusually,
Snape did not start his first lesson with Harry by insulting him. It seemed that almost dying on his first day
had gotten him a reprieve from Snape’s snide comments about ‘Famous Harry
Potter’ and his arrogance and undeserved good fortune. Instead, Snape took his usual bad temper and
focused it on Neville Longbottom, who was terrified of Snape, and any other
random student who messed up under Snape’s disdainful gaze.
It was
strange being in Snape’s class after all the memories of that other Harry
Potter were crammed into his head. Just
before his death, the other Harry learned that his Snape wasn’t an evil man,
one who had betrayed and murdered Professor Dumbledore at the orders of his
true master Voldemort. Rather, he had
been working for Dumbledore all along, and had been spying on Voldemort for
Dumbledore. Snape had even murdered
Dumbledore at Dumbledore’s own command.
Snape, or rather that other Harry’s Snape, had done all this because he
loved other Harry’s mother and had since they were kids.
Was it
true for this Snape as well?
Probably. If so, then despite the
fact that he was an absolute sneering, greasy git, Snape was also one of the
bravest men in the world. Harry could
not imagine being in Voldemort’s presence all of the time, all the while
working to undermine him while convincing him that he was on his side. And if Voldemort rose again this time, Snape
would be Dumbledore’s spy once more.
It with
this thought of knowing secrets that he should not know which followed Harry
from his second class, Charms, and then to his third and last class of the day,
Defense Against the Dark Arts.
Apparently
Harry had missed an exciting lesson in Defense Against the Dark Arts yesterday,
when Professor Lupin had made them face off against a Boggart—a creature that
could transform into your worst fear.
Harry had vague memories of the other Harry going through that lesson,
but the details were lost to him. He had
an image of . . . Snape in a dress? That
couldn’t be right.
The
day’s lesson was not as exciting, mostly a lecture on non-beings, a category of
dark creatures that included Boggarts, Dementors and, surprisingly enough,
poltergeists.
“But
Peeves isn’t evil,” said Dean Thomas, referring to Hogwarts own
poltergeist. “He’s annoying, but he
wouldn’t really hurt anyone.”
Professor
Lupin smiled gently. The last time Harry
had seen him, Professor Lupin had looked years older than his age, worn down
and tired. Now, in this class, he looked
happy and contented; and in that happiness had come a lightness of spirit that
rejuvenated him. Harry felt so happy for
Lupin’s happiness, but also knew that it could not last. There was a reason why Lupin was the third
Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher Harry had had in three years.
“Peeves
is not evil,” agreed Lupin. “Indeed, I
would go so far as to say that no poltergeist is evil. However, questions of good and evil are
somewhat beyond this class. But we refer
to dark creatures, not for their evil nature, but rather their capacity and
willingness to do harm. Poltergeists are
spirits of chaos, born from and attracted to chaotic places. And so, obviously, a school is a perfect
place for a poltergeist like Peeves.
“But
just as poltergeists are created from chaotic places, so too are Boggarts
created from fearful places and Dementors from painful, miserable places. They are not born, but they are generated by
the negative emotions within all of us. This
is why laughter is so effective against Boggarts, as you may remember from
yesterday’s lesson.” Here, he thumped
the wardrobe that held the Boggart from yesterday’s lesson. It thumped and rattled in response.
Here,
people laughed in recollection. Ron
wriggled in his chair a bit, as if dancing and slipping, and Hermione snorted. Lupin smiled briefly at his class, before
regaining his more serious mien. “Let us
turn to page 82 of our text.”
The
rest of the class passed in note-taking, as they wrote down the way to
recognize the signs of a Boggart infestation and the characteristics of various
famous Boggarts and their capture. With
half his mind on his studies, Harry came to one conclusion: though he was lost
in a confusion of memories and problems, he knew that he had to talk with Ron
and Hermione. It was not likely that
they would know what to do, exactly, but they were his friends and talking to
them would make the problems seem less insurmountable. They deserved to know what was going on in
his head as his friends. Also, all of
the plans, schemes and adventures they had had over the years were the result
of all three of them coming together.
Sometimes they did not work quite like they were supposed to, but the
ones that worked, worked because all three of them cooperated and planned
together. Maybe between the three of
them, they would be able to come up with some idea of what he—they—should be
doing next.
“Meet
me in the Common Room. I have to talk
with Professor Lupin for a bit,” said Harry, as soon as class ended. Ron and Hermione nodded in agreement and left
with the rest of the class. As the
classroom emptied, Harry was left alone with Professor Lupin, who was cleaning
up the chalkboard and tidying away his notes.
“Urm,
Professor?” said Harry, nervously. “I
wanted to thank you for your help with the Dementors and that.”
“No
need, Harry,” said Lupin, with his same gentle smile. “It was really more Madame Pomfrey than me.”
“Still,”
said Harry. “Also, Professor? I was
hoping to learn that charm against Boggarts from you. Is that alright?”
Lupin
looked at Harry for a long moment, then at the wardrobe. “You have very real, very concrete things to
fear in your life, Harry. And it has
been a life filled with fearful things.
Are you sure that you want to confront them, here?”
“Yes,”
said Harry simply. Lupin nodded in
response. He then demonstrated the
simple wand-movements and the charm, ‘Riddikulus.’
“But
remember, Harry. It is the thoughts
behind the charm that matter most. Boggarts
are creatures of fear. Take away the
fear, and you take away their power,” said Lupin. After seeing Harry go through the charm a few
times, Lupin nodded in satisfaction.
Without a word, he opened the wardrobe doors.
However,
instead of a Dementor, as Harry was expecting, or Voldemort, or even Uncle
Vernon telling him that he was going to prison, nothing came out. Instead, there was an absence in the world,
there at the center of the wardrobe. It
was darkness beyond darkness, as if no light had ever touched it. But inside of that absence there radiated out
cruelty and malice. There was a need
there, a hunger, to take all the good things in the world and make it as wrong
as the absence itself. It was as if the
thing in the wardrobe could not stand for anyone to be anything other than dark
and wrong. It was a void, and it was
looking right at Harry.
SOON,
said the absence in the world. No words
were spoken, only imprinted upon the minds of the listeners by a terrible
will. It made Harry’s head ache with it,
and he felt nauseous.
A black
fire arose around the darkness, which caused the wardrobe to go up in
flames. The fire that consumed the
wardrobe was almost light and cheerful in comparison to the black flames of the
void. Lupin, who had been frozen, sprang
into action. Jets of water streamed out
from the end of his wand, causing steam to fill the room. Angry hissing came from the fire as it
died. But when the smoke and the steam
cleared, the wardrobe was a charred, sodden mess; its top half burned up and
destroyed from the intensity of the flames.
Of the Boggart, there was no sign.
Harry
ran from the room.