#poap6

[authormitchel-blog]

P.O.A: Part 6

Professor Lupin was back at work. It certainly looked as though he had been ill. His old robes were hanging more loosely on him and there were dark shadows beneath his eyes; nevertheless; he smiled at the class as they took their seats, Nott waved at him.

            “I’m glad you’re back, sir,” said Nott.

“Me too, Theodore, thank you for the get well note, it was very appreciated.”

            “You’re welcome, sir,” said Nott. “Ah, Mrs. Davis,” Professor Lupin acknowledged her raised hand.

            “Um, Professor about the paper Professor Snape assigned us, I didn’t….”

            “It’s okay,” Professor Lupin said. “You don’t have to worry about the essay, but,” he said looking at Malfoy. “If you have already done it, I will count it to you as extra credit.”

            When class ended Lupin called after Harry. “I’d like a word, if you don’t mind Harry.”

“Sure,” Harry nodded. “Are you all right?” said Harry, sitting on the couch. “I’m fine, Professor.”

            Lupin smiled at him, letting the lie lay. “Sir, it was the dementors.”

“Yes, I don’t think any of us have seen Professor Dumbledore that angry. They have been growing restless for some time…furious at his refusal to let them inside the grounds.”

            “Yes,” said Harry. “But why? Why do they affect me like that? Am I just….”

“It has nothing to do with weakness,” said Professor Lupin sharply, as though he had read Harry’s mind. “The dementors affect you worse than others because there are horrors in your past that the others don’t have. Dementors are among the foulest creatures that walk this earth. They infest the darkest, filthiest places and glory in decay. They drain peace, hope, and happiness out of the air around them. Muggles can feel them, they just can’t see them. If it can, the dementor will feed on you long enough to reduce you to something like itself…soulless and evil. The leave you with nothing but your worst experiences. And what happened to you Harry, that’s enough to hurt anyone. You have nothing to feel ashamed of.”

            Harry started at Lupin’s desk, his throat tight.

“When they get near me I can hear Voldemort. I can hear him murdering my mum.”                                  Lupin reached out and squeezed Harry’s shoulder. He pulled back.

“Why did they come to the match?”

            “They’re getting hungry. Dumbledore won’t let them into the school, so their supply of human prey has dried up. I don’t think they could resist the large crowd around the pitch. All that excitement, emotions running high….it was their idea of a feast.”

            “Azkaban must be horrible,” Harry muttered. Lupin nodded firmly. “The fortress is set on a tiny island, way out to sea but they don’t need walls when their prisoners are all trapped inside their own heads incapable of a single cheerful thought. Most of them go mad within weeks.”

            “But Sirius Black escaped from them. He got away.”

Lupin’s briefcase slipped from the desk; he had to stoop quickly to catch it. “Yes, Black must have found a way to fight them. I wouldn’t have believed…. Dementors are supposed to drain a wizard of their power if they are too long in their presence.”

            “But you…” started Harry. “On the train..”

            “Yes, there are certain defenses one can use.”

Then Lupin seemed to study him again, his tie and the cut on his cheek that he hadn’t bothered to get healed.

            “I could teach you?” Lupin offered.

“Really?” asked Harry.

            “I don’t pretend to be an expert at fighting dementors, Harry, quite the contrary, but…” The man seemed to stop and think.

            “But you need to be able to defend yourself so if you want to lear….”

“I want to learn,” interrupted Harry. “When can we start?”

            Professor Lupin seemed to consider him.

“It’ll have to be after the holidays. It seems as if I have chosen a very inconvenient time to fall ill.”   

            What with the promise of anti-dementor lessons from Lupin, the thought that he might never have to hear his mother’s death again, and the fact that Ravenclaw flattened Hufflepuff in their Quidditch match at the end of November, Harry’s mood took a definite upturn even if he still wasn’t allowed to visit Hogsmeade.

            On the Saturday morning of the Hogsmeade trip, Harry bid good-bye to his friends, then turned up the marble staircase alone, and headed back to the dungeons. Snow had started to fall outside the window, and the castle was very still and quiet.

            “Psst…. Harry!”

He turned, hallway along the third-floor corridor, to see Fred and George, peering out at him from behind a statue of a humpbacked, one-eyed witch.

            “What are you doing?” said Harry curiously. “How come you’re not going to Hogsmeade?”

            “We’ve come to give you a bit of festive cheer before we go,” said Fred, with a mysterious wink. “Come in here….”

            He nodded toward an empty classroom to the left of the one-eyed witch. Harry followed Fred and George inside. George closed the door quietly and then turned, beaming, to look at Harry.

            “Early Christmas present for you, Harry,” he said.

Fred pulled something from inside his cloak with a flourish and laid it one of the desks. It was a large, square, and very worn piece of parchment with nothing written on it. Harry, suspecting one of Fred and George’s jokes, stared at it.

            “What’s that supposed to be?”

“This, Harry, is the secret of our success,” said George, patting the parchment fondly.

            “It’s a wrench, giving it to you,” said Fred. “, but we decided last night, your need is greater than ours.”

            “Anyway we know it by heart,” said George. “We bequeath it to you, Harry. We don’t really need it anymore.”

            “And what do I need with an old bit of parchment?” said Harry.

“A bit of old parchment!” said Fred, closing his eyes with a grimace as though Harry had mortally offended him. “Explain, George.”

            “Well….when we were in our first year, Harry, young, carefree, and innocent..”

            Harry snorted. He doubted whether Fred and George had ever been innocent.

“Well, more innocent than we are now, we got into a bit of bother with Filch..”

            “We let off a Dungbomb in the corridor, and it upset him for some reason….”

“So he hauled us off to his office and started threatening us with the usual….”

            “Detention.”

“Disembowelment.”

            “And after noticing a drawer marked Confiscated and Highly Dangerous.”

“Well, what would you’ve done?” said Fred.

            Fred then held out the parchment.

He took out his wand, touched the parchment lightly, and said, “I solemnly swear that I up to no good.”

            And at once, thin ink lines began to spread like a spider’s web from the point that George’s wand had touched. They joined each other, they crisscrossed, they fanned into every corner of the parchment; then words began to blossom across the top, great, curly green words, that proclaimed.

Messers. Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs. Purveyors of Aids to Magical Mischief-Makers are proud to present

The Marauders Map

            It was map showing every detail of the Hogwarts castle and grounds. But the truly remarkable thing were the tiny ink dots moving around it, each labeled with a name in minuscule writing. Astounded, Harry bent over it. He saw Dumbledore and Mrs. Norris. Everyone in the castle.

            This map showed a set of passages he had never entered. And many of them seemed to lead….

            “To Hogsmeade,” said Fred, tracing one of them with his finger. “There are seven in all.” They then laid out all the passageways. The ones that Filch knew about and the ones that only they knew about. Including one that led right into Honeyduke’s cellar.

            “Moony, Wormtail, Padfoot, and Prongs,” sighed George, like he was lovesick. “We owe them so much.”

            “Noble men, working tirelessly to help a new generation of lawbreakers,” said Fred solemnly.

            “Right,” said George briskly. “Don’t forget to wipe it after you’ve used it…”

            “or anyone can read it,” Fred said warningly.

“Just tap it and say, ‘Mischief Managed!’ And it’ll go blank.”

            “So, young Harry,” said Fred, in an uncanny impersonation of Percy, “mind you behave yourself.”

            “See you in Honeydukes,” said George winking.

They left the room, both smirking in a satisfied sort of way.

            Harry found the passageway easy enough, with the help of the map and his invisibility cloak and was in Hosgmeade before he knew it.

            He found Hermione, Ron, and Neville in Zonkos, and Millicent and Blaise in the Stationary shop. He had to side step Crabbe, Goyle, and Malfoy to get to them, but it was worth it. He sidestepped Crabbe, causing him to bump into Malfoy who dumped a whole vial of ink down his front. Harry followed it with the quick dry charm that he uses on his homework then fought to stifle his laughter as Malfoy was told he would have to pay for the solid gold vial of ink, not that he couldn’t afford it.

“Shall we go for a butterbeer in the Three Broomsticks?” Ron asked, pulling his hands to his mouth to puff warm air on them.

            Harry was more than willing; the wind was fierce and his hands were freezing, so they crossed the road, and in a few minutes were entering the tiny inn.

            It was extremely crowded, noisy, warm, and smoky. A curvy sort of woman with a pretty face was serving a bunch of warlocks at the bar. Ron offered to go get their drinks as Millicent and Hermine shared a knowing look.

            They made their way to the back of the room toward a small vacant table. “Merry Christmas!” said Ron happily, handing them their butterbeers.

            Harry drank deeply. It was the most delicious thing he’d ever tasted and it seemed to warm every bit of him from the inside.

            A sudden breeze ruffled his hair. The door of the Three Broomsticks had opened again. Harry looked over the rim of his tankard and choked.

            Professor McGonagall and Flitwick had just entered the pub with a flurry of snowflakes, shortly followed by Hagrid, who was deep in conversation with a portly man in a lime-green bowler hat and a pinstriped cloak, Cornelius Fudge, Minister of Magic.

            Millicent and Blaise seemed to work together to usher Harry out of sight, underneath the table.

            Next, he saw another pair of feet, wearing sparkly turquoise high heels, and heard a woman’s voice.

            “A small gillywater….”

“Mine,” said Professor McGonagall’s voice.

            “Four pints of mulled mead…”

“Ta, Rosmerta,” said Hagrid.

            “A cherry syrup and soda with ice and umbrella…”

“Mmm!” said Professor Flitwich, smacking his lips.

            “So you’ll be the red currant rum, Minister…”

“Thank you, Rosmerta, m’dear,” said Fudge’s voice. “Lovely to see you again, I must saw. Have one yourself, won’t you? Come and join us….”

            “Well, thank you very much, Minister. So, what brings you to this neck o the woods, Minister?” came Madam Rosmerta’s voice after a moment.

            Harry saw the lower part of Fudge’s thick body twist in his chair as though he were checking for eavesdroppers. Then he said in a quiet voice. “What else, m’dear, but Sirius Black? I daresay you heard what happened up at the school at Halloween?”

            “I did hear a rumor,” admitted Madam Rosmerta.

“Did you tell the whole pub, Hagrid?” said Professor McGonagall exasperatedly.

            “Do you think Black’s still in the area, Minister?” whispered Madam Rosmerta.

            “I’m sure of it,” said Fudge shortly.

“Do you know I still have trouble believing it,” said Madam Rosmerta thoughtfully. “Of all the people to go over to the Dark Side, Sirius Black was the last I’d have thought… I mean, I remember him when he was a boy at Hogwarts. If you’d told me then what he was going to become, I’d have said you’d had too much mead.”

            “You don’t know the half of it, Rosmerta,” said Fudge gruffly. “The worst he did isn’t widely known.”

            “The worst?” said Madam Rosmerta, her voice alive with curiosity. “Worse than murdering all those poor people, you mean?”

            “I certainly do,” said Fudge.

“I can’t believe that.”

            “You say you remember him at Hogwarts, Rosmerta,” murmured Professor McGonagall. “Do you remember who his best friend was?”      

            “Naturally,” said Madam Rosmerta, with a small fond laugh. “Never saw one without the other, did you? The number of times I had them in here…ooh, they used to make me laugh. Quite the double act, Sirius Black and James Potter!”

            Harry nearly dropped his tankard with a loud clank.

“Precisely,” said Professor McGonagall. “Black and Potter. Ringleaders of their little gang. Both very bright, of course, exceptionally bright, in fact, but I don’t think we’ve ever had such a pair of troublemakers….”    

            “I dunno,” chuckled Hagrid. “Fred and George Weasley could give ‘em a run for their money.”

            “You would have thought Black and Potter were brothers!” chimed in Professor Flitwick. “Inseparable!”

            “Of course they were,” said Fudge. “Potter trusted Black beyond all his other friends. Nothing changed when they left school. Black was best man when James married Lily Then they named him godfather to Harry. Harry has no idea, of course. You can imagine how the idea would torment him.”

            “Because Black turned out to be in league with You-Know-Who?” whispered Madam Rosmerta.

            “Worse even than that, m’dear….” Fudge dropped his voice and proceeded in a sort of low rumble. “Not many people are aware that the Potters knew You-Know-Who was after them. Dumbledore, who was of course working tirelessly against You-Know-Who, had a number of useful spies. One of them tipped him off, and he alerted James and Lily at once. He advised them to go into hiding. Well, of course, You-Know-Who wasn’t an easy person to hide from. Dumbledore told them their best chance was the Fidelus Charm.”

            “How does it work?” said Madam Rosmerta.

Professor Flitwick cleared his throat. “An immensely complex spell, involving the magical concealment of a secret inside a single, living soul. The information is hidden inside the chosen person, or Secret-Keeper, and is henceforth impossible to find, unless, of course, the Secret-Keeper chooses to divulge it. As long as the Secret Keeper refused to speak, You-Know-Who could search the village where Lily and James were staying for years and never find them, not even if he had his nose pressed against their sitting room window!”

            “So, Black was the Potter’s secret keeper?” said Madam Rosmerta.

“Naturally,” said Professor McGonagall. “James Potter told Dumbledore that Black would die rather than tell where they were, that Black was planning to go into hiding himself… and yet, Dumbledore remained worried. I remember him offering to be the Potter’s Secret-Keeper himself.”

            “He suspected Black?” gasped Madam Rosmerta.

“He was sure that somebody close to the Potters had been keeping You-Know-Who informed of their movements,” said Professor McGonagall darkly. “Indeed, he had suspected for some time that someone on our side had turned traitor and was passing a lot of information to You-Know-Who.”

            “But James Potter insisted on using Black?”

“He did,” said Fudge heavily. “And then, barely a week after the Fidelius Charm had been performed….”

            “Black betrayed them?” breathed Madam Rosmerta.

“He did indeed. Black was tired of his double-agent role, he was ready to declare his support openly for You-Know-Who, and he seems to have planned this for the moment of the Potters’ death. But, as we all know, You-Know-Who met his downfall in little Harry Potter. Powers gone, horribly weakened, he fled. And this left Black in a very nasty position indeed. His master had fallen at the very moment when he, Black, had shown his true colors as a traitor. He had no choice but to run for it..”

            “Filthy, stinkin’ turncoat!” Hagrid said, so loudly that half the bar went quiet.

“Shhh!” said Professor McGonagall.

            “I met him!” growled Hagrid. “I musta bin the last ter see him before he killed all them people! It was me what rescued Harry from Lily an’ James’s house after they was killed! Jus’ got him outta the ruins, poor little thing, with a great slash acorss his forehead, an’ his parents dead….an’ Sirius Black turns up, on that flyin’ motorbike he used ter ride. Never occurred ter me what he was doin’ there. I didn’ know he’d bin Lily an’ James’s Secret-Keeper. Thought he’d jus’ heard the news o’ You-Know-Who’s attack an’ come ter see what he could do. White an’ shakin’ he was. An’ yeh know what I did? I COMFORTED THE MURDERIN’ TRAITOR!” Hagrid roared.

            “Hagrid, please!” said Professor McGonagall, but Harry felt even warmer toward his friend then he thought possible. “Keep your voice down!”

            “How was I ter know he wasn’ upset about’ Lily an’ James?” It was You-Know-Who he cared about’! An’ then he says, “Give Harry ter me, Hagrid, I’m his godfather, I’ll look after him…. ;Ha! But I’d had me orders from Dumbledore, an’ I told Black no, Dumbledore said Harry was ter go ter his aunt an’ uncles’s. Black argued, but in the end he gave in. Told me ter take his motorbike ter get Harry there. ‘I won’t need it anymore,’ he says.

            “I shoulda known there was something’ fishy goin’ on then. He loved that motorbike, what was he givin’ it ter me for? Why wouldn’ he need it anymore? Fact was, it was too easy ter trace. Dumbledore knew he’d bin the Potter’s Secret-Keeper. Black knew he was goin’ ter have ter run fer it that night, knew it was a matter o’ hours before the Ministry was after him.”

            “But what if I’d given Harry to him, eh? I bet he’d’ve pitched him off the bike halfway out ter sea. His bes’ friends son! But when a wizard goes over ter the dark Side, there’s nothing, and no one that matters to ‘em anymore….”

            A long silence followed Hagrid’s story. Then Madam Rosmerta said with some satisfaction, “But he didn’t manage to disappear did he? The Ministry of Magic caught up with him next day!”

            “Alas, if only we had,” said Fudge bitterly. “It was not we who found him. It was little Peter Pettigrew, another of Potter’s friends. Maddened by grief, no doubt, and knowing that Black had been the Secret-Keeper, he went after Black himself.”

            “Pettigrew, that fat little boy who was always taggin around after them at Hogwarts?” said Madam Rosmerta.

            “Hero-worshipped Black and Potter,” said Professor McGonagall. “Never quite in their league, talent-wise. I was often rather sharp with him. You can imagine how I…how I regret that now….” She sounded as though she had a sudden head cold.        

            “There, now, Minerva,” said Fudge kindly, “Pettigrew died a hero’s death. Eyewitnesses, Muggles, of course, we wiped their memories later, told us how Pettigrew cornered Black. They say he was sobbing, ‘Lily and James, Sirius! How could you?’ And then he went for his wand. Well, of course, Black was quicker. Blew Pettigrew to smithereens…..”

            Professor McGonagall blew her nose and said thickly, “Stupid boy…foolish boy… he was always hopeless at dueling…should have left it to the Ministry…”

            “I tell yeh, if I’d got ter Black before little Pettigrew did, I would’t’ve messed around with wands, I’d’ve ripped him limb from limb…” growled Hagrid.

            “You don’t know what you’re talking about, Hagrid,” said Fudge sharply. “Nobody but trained Hit Wizards from the Magical Law Enforcement Squad would have stood a chance against Black once he was cornered. I was a Junior Minister in the Department of Magical Catastrophes at the time, and I was one of the first on the scene after Black murdered all those people… I will never forget it. I still dream about it sometimes. A crater in the middle of the street, so deep it had cracked the sewer below. Bodies everywhere. Muggle screaming. And Black standing there laughing, with what was left of Pettigrew in front of him… a heap of bloodstained robes and a few….few fragments.”

            Fudge’s voice stopped abruptly. There was the sound of five noses being blown.

“Well, there you have it, Rosmerta,” said Fudge thickly. “Black was taken away by twenty members of the Magical Law Enforcement Squad and Pettigrew received the Order of Merlin, First Class, which I think was some comfort to his poor mother. Black’s been in Azkaban ever since.”

            Madam Rosmerta let out a long sigh.

“Is it true he’s mad, Minister?”

            “I wish I could say that he was,” said Fudge slowly. “I certainly believe his master’s defeat unhinged him for a while. The murder of Pettigrew and all those Muggles was the action of a cornered and desperate man…cruel…pointless. Yet I met Black on my last inspection of Azkaban. You know, most of the prisoners in there sit muttering to themselves in the dark; there’s no sense in them…but I was shocked at how normal Black seemed. He spoke quite rationally to me. It was unnerving. You’d have thought he was merely bored…asked if I’d finished with my newspaper, cool as you please, said he missed doing the crossword. Yes, I was astounded at how little effect the dementors seemed to be having on him…and he was one of the most heavily guarded in the place, you know, Dementors outside his door day and night.”

            “But what do you think he’s broken out to do?” said Madam Rosmerta. “Good gracious, Minister, he isn’t trying to rejoin You-Know-Who, is he?”

            “I daresay that is his…er. Eventual plan,” said Fudge evasively. “But we hope to catch Black long before that. I must say, You-Know-Who alone and friendless is one thing…but give him back his most devoted servant, and I shudder to think how quickly he’ll rise again…”

            There was a small chink of glass on wood. Someone had set down their glass. Professor McGonagall and the rest rose from the table, bid goodbye to Madam Rosmerta and left, but Harry barely registered it.

            Harry rushed back to Honeydukes, through the cellar, and went straight toward his dormitory. He had stared at the photo hundreds of times, but if he didn’t know he would never have guessed that they were the same person. He opened the album, and stopped on a picture of his parent’s wedding day. There was his father waving up at him, beaming, the untidy black hair Harry had inherited standing up in all directions. There was his mother, alight with happiness, arm in arm with his dad. And there…that must be him. Their best man… Harry had never given him a thought before.

            His face wasn’t sunken and waxy, but handsome, full of laughter. Had he already been working for Voldemort when this picture had been taken? Was he already planning the deaths of the two people next to him? Did he realize he was facing twelve years in Azkaban, twelve years that would make him unrecognizable?

            But the dementors don’t affect him, Harry thought, staring into the handsome, laughing face. He doesn’t have to hear my mom screaming if they get to close….

            Harry slammed the album shut, reached over and stuffed it back into his cabinet, took off his robe and glasses and got into bed, making sure the hangings were hiding him from view. Then he heard the dormitory doors open.

            “Potter?” It was Millicent.

Then, “We’ll help you.”

            Harry opened his curtains.

“What?” he said.

            Millicent and Blaise stood there. “We’ll help you, find Black, take him out, whatever.”

“What?” Harry repeated again.

            Blaise stepped forward.

“Remember that we don’t think it’s the brightest thing to do, but we’re here for you no matter what.”     

            Harry nodded. “But we’ll be smart,” added Millicent. “There will be no barging around and knocking things over like the Gryffindors do, you heard what McGonagall said as well as we did. Black is smart, one of the cleverest boys in their year, and that means that we have to use all the cunning we can to catch him.”

            “He killed my parents,” said Harry. “He betrayed them. Did you know?”

He had already worked out that Malfoy knew. What he said in potions that day clicked with what he knew now, but he wondered if his friends knew anything about it.

            “I knew that Pettigrew’s mother only got to bury a finger after his duel with Black, but all it’s ever been is speculation, a legend that we were always too young to know the whole of, but Draco’s father,” said Millicent.

            “It was always rumored that Draco’s father,” Blaise whispered. “was in league with You-Know-Who.”

            The day only got worse when he received a letter from Hagrid. Buckbeak was being put on trial for what had happened with Malfoy, and from what Hermione could dig up, it didn’t seem as if he had the best chances.

            Harry wrote to Hagrid saying that he would try to help in any way that he could. If only helping meant that he could strangle Malfoy then he’d only be too willing to oblige.

            On Christmas morning, Harry woke and went to open his presents. It was still a novel experience, considering what he had lived with before, and he was thankful for every one, though at times he still thought he would wake up to an empty tree.

            He was just eyeing a present from Mrs.Weasley when something caught his eyes.

“What’s that?” said Blaise, looking over a rather large box of his own.

            “Dunno…”

            Harry ripped the parcel open and gaped as a magnificent gleaming broomstick rolled out onto his bedspread. Blaise dropped his package and jumped off his bed for a closer look.

            “That’s a Firebolt,” he said incredulously.

It’s handle glittered as he picked it up. He could feel it vibrating and let go; it hung in midair, unsupported, at exactly the right height for him to mount it. His eyes moved from the golden registration number at the top of the handle, right down to the perfectly smooth, streamlined birch twigs that made up the tail.

            “Who sent it to you?” said Blaise.

Harry look, but there was no card to be found.

            “It has to be Dumbledore,” said Blaise, and Harry found himself agreeing. In no universe would it have been from the Dursleys, and Harry highly doubted that Professor Lupin would have the funds, and as much as Professor McGonagall liked him, he did play for an opposing team. Maybe it came from Snape, he thought wryly before laughing a little at that absurd idea.

            “We should show it to Millicent,” Blaise suggested.

Millicent took one look at the broom and instantly said, “It’s jinxed.”

            “What?” Harry asked.

“It’s jinxed, it has to be,” she said. “No note, no return to sender. You get a random package with a madman on the loose, and you automatically think that what, it’s a gift from Merlin?”

            “Well, what do you want to do with it? Take it to Snape?”

Millicent shook her head.

            “You can’t be serious,” Harry said incredulously, clutching the beauty of a broom to his chest.

            “Snape will know what’s wrong with it, if anything, but he’ll want you to be able to use it,”

“He hates me,” said Harry.

            “Maybe,” said Blaise, “but he does love winning. And this is an international standard broom. You’ll be able to knock them all out of the sky.”

            “What about Lupin?” Harry thought suddenly.

“I don’t care with whom you share your broomstick, Potter, as long as you don’t get knocked off it again this year.”

            “Hey,” shouted Harry. “That happened what?”

“Two years running,” Blaise said, eyes rolling.

            “Right,” said Harry. “Fine, I’ll take it to Lupin.”

            Classes started after Christmas soon enough, and Harry was quick to catch up with Lupin about his promise of anti-dementor lessons.

            “Ah yes,” said Lupin, when Harry reminded him of his promise at the end of class. “Let me see….how about eight o’clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough.”

            “Still looks ill, doesn’t he?” said Millicent as they walked down the corridor, heading to dinner. “I wonder what’s wrong with him.”

            At eight o’clock on Thursday evening, Harry left Gryffindor Tower for the History of Magic classroom. It was dark and empty when he arrived, but he lit the lamps with his wand and had waited only five minutes, when Professor Lupin turned up, carrying a large packing case, which he heaved onto Professor Binns’ desk.

            “What’s that?” said Harry.

“Another boggart,” said Lupin, stripping off his cloak. “I’ve been combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr. Filch’s filing cabinet. It’s the nearest we’ll get to a real dementor. The boggart will turn into a dementor when he sees you, so we’ll be able to practice on him. I can store him in my office when we’re not using him; there’s a cupboard under my desk he’ll like.”

            “Okay,” said Harry, trying to sound as though he wasn’t apprehensive at all and merely glad that Lupin had found such a good substitute for a real dementor.

            “So….” Professor Lupin had taken out his wand, and indicated that Harry should do the same. “The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic, Harry. It is well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm.”

            “How does it work?” said Harry nervously.

“Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus,” said Lupin, “which is a kind of anti-dementor, a guardian that acts as a shield between you and the dementor.”

            Harry had a sudden vision of himself crouching behind a Hagrid sized figure holding a large club. Professor Lupin continued, “The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the dementor feeds upon, hope, happiness, the desire to survive, but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the dementors can’t hurt it. But I must warn you, Harry, that the charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it.”

            “What does a Patronus look like?”

“Each one is unique to the wizard who conjures it, and you conjure it with an incantation, which will only work if you are concentrating with all your might on a single, very happy memory.”

            Harry cast his mind for a happy memory then inspired by the firebolt, decided on the first time that he ever rode a broomstick.

            “Right,” he said, trying to recall as exactly as possible the wonderful, soaring sensation of his stomach.

            “The incantation,” said Professor Lupin. “is Expecto Patronum!”

“Expecto Patronum,” Harry repeated under his breath. “Expecto Patronum.”

            “Concentrating on your happy memory?”

“Yeah,” said Harry, quickly forcing his thoughts back to that first broom ride. “Expecto Patronum….Expecto Patronum…Expecto Patronum…”

            Something whooshed suddenly out the end of his wand; it looked like a wisp of silvery gas.

            “Did you see that?” said Harry excitedly. “Something happened.”

“Very good,” said Lupin, smiling. “Right, then, ready to try it on a dementor?”

            “Yes,” Harry said, gripping his wand very tightly, and moving into the middle of the deserted classroom. He tried to keep his mind on flying, but something else kept intruding…..Any second now, he might hear his mother again…but he shouldn’t think that, or he would hear her again, and he didn’t want to…..did he?

            Lupin grasped the lid of the packing case and pulled.

            A dementor rose slowly from the box, its hooded face turned toward Harry, one glistening, scabbed hand gripping its cloak. The lamps around the classroom flickered and went out. The dementor stepped from the box and started to sweep silently toward Harry, drawing a deep, rattling breath. A wave of piercing cold broke over him…..

            “Expecto Patronum!” Harry yelled. “Expecto Patronum! Expecto Pa….”

            But the classroom and the dementor were dissolving….Harry was falling again through thick white fog, and his mother’s voice was louder than ever, echoing inside his head….”Not Harry! Not Harry! Please, I’ll do anything….”

            “Stand aside. Stand aside, girl!”

“Harry?”

            Harry jerked back to life. He was lying flat on his back on the floor. The classroom lamps were alight again. He didn’t have to ask what had happened.

            “Sorry,” he mumbled, sitting up and feeling cold sweat trickling down behind his glasses.

“Are you all right?” said Lupin.

            “Yes…..” Harry pulled himself up on one of the desks and leaned against it.

“Here….” Lupin handed him a Chocolate Frog. “Eat this before we try again. I didn’t expect you to do it your first time; in fact, I would have been astounded if you had.”

            “It’s getting worse,” Harry muttered, biting off the Frog’s head. “I could hear her louder that time, and him….Voldemort.”

            Lupin looked paler than normal.

            “Harry, if you don’t want to continue, I will more than understand.”

“I do!” said Harry fiercely, stuffing the rest of the Chocolate Frog inside his mouth. “I’ve got too. What if the dementors turn up at one of our matches? I can’t afford to fall off again.”

            “All right then,” said Lupin. “You might want to select another memory, a happy memory, I mean, to concentrate on…That one doesn’t seem to have been strong enough…”

            Harry thought hard and decided on his first Christmas at Hogwarts. Playing in the snow with the Weasleys, getting presents, getting whipped in chess by Millicent.

            “Okay, I’m ready,”

Harry cast the incantation again. “Expecto Patronum….Expecto Patron…..”

            White fog obscured his senses…big, blurred shapes were moving around him…then came a new voice, a man’s voice, shouting, panicking….

            “Lily, take Harry and go! It’s him! Go! Run! I’ll hold him off….”

The sounds of someone stumbling from a room…. A door bursting open….a cackle of high-pitched laughter….

            “Harry! Harry…wake up…”

Lupin was tapping Harry hard on the face. This time it was a minute before Harry understood why he was lying on a dusty classroom floor.

            Harry heaved a breath.

“I heard my dad,” Harry felt like he couldn’t breathe. “That’s the first time I’ve ever heard him, that I’ve ever heard his voice….he tried to take on Voldemort himself, to give my mum time to run for it….”

            Harry suddenly realized that there were tears on his face mingling with the sweat. He bent his face as low as possible, wiping them off on his robes, pretending to do up his shoelace, so that Lupin wouldn’t see.

            “You heard James?” said Lupin in a strange voice.

“Yeah…” Face dry, Harry looked up. “Why? Did you, did you know my dad?”

            “I….I did, as a matter of fact,” said Lupin. “We were friends at Hogwarts. Listen, Harry, perhaps we should leave it here for tonight. This charm is ridiculously advanced….I shouldn’t have even suggested this.”

            “No!” said Harry. He got up again. “I’ll have one more go! I’m not thinking happy enough things, that’s what it is….Hang on…”

            He racked his brains. A really, really happy memory…one that he could turn into a good, strong Patronus. Then Harry thought of what it felt like to finally leave the Dursleys for Hogwarts.

            Lupin made sure he was ready, then pulled the lid of the case open.

“EXPECTO PATRONUM!” Harry bellowed. “EXPECTO PATRONUM! EXPECTO PATRONUM!

            The screaming inside Harry’s head had started again, except this time, it sounded as though it were coming from a badly tuned radio, softer and louder and softer again, and he could still see the dementor. It had halted, and then a huge, silver shadow came bursting out of the end of Harry’s wand, to hover between them and the dementor, and though Harry’s legs felt like water, he was still on his feet, though for how much longer he wasn’t sure.

            “Riddikulus!” roared Lupin, springing forward.

There was a loud crack, and Harry’s cloudy Patronus vanished along with the dementor; he sank into a chair, feeling as exhausted as if he’d just run a mile, and felt his legs shaking. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Professor Lupin forcing the boggart back into the packing case with his wand, once again a silvery orb.

            “Excellent!” Lupin said, striding over to where Harry sat. “Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start.”

            “Can we have another go? Just one more?”

“Not now,” said Lupin firmly. “You’ve had enough for one night. Here….”

            He handed Harry some more chocolate.

“Eat the lot, or Madam Pomfrey will be after my blood. Same time next week?”

            “Okay,” said Harry. He took a bite of chocolate and watched Lupin move to extinguish the lamps, he thought of how to ask his next question.

            “Professor Lupin?” he said. “If you knew my dad, you must’ve known Sirius Black as well.”

            Lupin turned very quickly.

“What gives you that idea?” he said sharply.

            “Nothing… I mean, I just knew they were friends at Hogwarts too…..”

Lupin’s face relaxed.

            “Yes, I knew him,” he said shortly. “Or I thought I did. You’d better be off, Harry, it’s getting late.”

            Harry gathered his things. Lupin clearly didn’t want to talk about it, but Harry did. “I’m getting better, I think,” he said as they walked toward the door.

            “Do you think, Professor, that when I can cast a Patronus properly, I mean, that I won’t be able to hear them anymore?”

            Lupin stopped in his tracks, a horrible look on his face that he couldn’t wipe away fast enough.

            “I don’t know, Harry, I don’t know.”