Chapter 100 — Something We Could Practise

Seamus put the newspaper over our notes and pointed to Dufftown. Hermione drew it closer, identifying the town as Scottish while I leaned beside her to read. Witness descriptions occupied rather less space than the discussion of what the reported sighting might mean.

Ron looked at Harry. ‘He’s coming here.’ I sat down to read the relevant passage again, then pointed out that the article placed Black in a town without knowing his next destination. Ron asked where else he would be going, with his finger still pressed against the photograph.

‘Hogwarts is possible. That doesn’t tell us everything he wants here,’ I said. He began reminding me what Arthur had said, and I nodded before he finished. I remembered the warning particularly well because it had changed the last week of our holiday.

Harry looked towards the windows. ‘You still think there could be something else?’ I admitted I did. Coming towards Dumbledore and a school warned to expect him seemed a strange choice if Black only wanted to reach Harry, although saying it aloud gave me little confidence that strangeness offered any protection.

‘Perhaps he couldn’t find me before,’ Harry suggested. I had to concede that, just as Hermione’s suggestion that he believed he could get inside was possible. Ron spread his hands, finding the second explanation rather worse than the first. Winning this discussion was unlikely to improve anybody’s afternoon.

I wanted to know why Black escaped now and what he had done since. We were building a plan for him without knowing most of what led to it. Harry suggested another person or an object at Hogwarts, then added himself before I could answer.

‘You’re still a possibility. I’m not suggesting we forget the warning,’ I told him. Ron leaned back and said we were now worried in several directions. Hermione pointed out that keeping explanations open did not require treating every one as equally likely, which he accepted without looking much happier.

Harry flattened a crease in the paper. ‘It would be nice to have something I could actually do.’ I remembered the word at the bottom of my train notes and suggested reminding Lupin of our request. He had offered to discuss lessons, and that conversation seemed more useful than another attempt to guess an escaped prisoner’s thoughts.

Defence Against the Dark Arts gave us something immediate before we had the chance. The desks stood against the walls, leaving an open space in front of an old wardrobe. Its narrow mirror reflected broken patches of the room through dust and stains. A gramophone occupied a nearby table whose surface looked as though generations of students had tested their quills on it.

The wardrobe shook as we came in. Neville stopped close enough to the doorway for Dean to ask him to move, while I looked at the distance Lupin had left between the furniture and the class. When I asked whether we were practising on the wardrobe, he said its occupant would be more helpful.

‘Keep back from the doors for now.’ He waited until everyone could stand without crowding the person ahead, then asked what we might find inside. Dean suggested a boggart, earning a nod and a second question about its appearance.

Hermione answered beside Ron. He turned quickly enough to brush my arm with his sleeve, apparently as surprised as I was to find her there. I had been watching the wardrobe, so I could not say when she arrived, and she ignored his interrupted question to explain how a boggart changed when someone encountered it.

‘Nobody knows its ordinary appearance. It takes the form of something the person fears,’ she said. Lupin agreed, looking along the class while another rattle came from the wardrobe. I found myself wondering what I would see, with several unwelcome possibilities arriving together.

‘The shape can tell you more about someone’s associations than you expect,’ he said. ‘You aren’t here to judge whether another person’s fear is respectable enough.’ A couple of people stopped whispering. He indicated the clear space behind us and explained that anyone needing to step back should do so, especially when he asked.

He demonstrated the wand movement and spoke the incantation. We repeated Riddikulus until he was satisfied with the pronunciation, although saying it to a closed wardrobe seemed considerably easier than I expected the rest to be. Ron began raising his wand, and Lupin stopped him before the first flick.

‘The word is only part of it. Give the boggart a change you can find funny,’ he said. ‘Wishing it would disappear won’t supply that image.’ I thought wishing for its disappearance sounded natural enough, but watched the movement again and tried to remember the difference.

Lupin noticed my empty hands. He asked me to show him what I needed for a new spell, and I moved to a desk with enough space for my brush, ink and treated paper. I kept the pouch clear of the edge and laid an unused piece beside one already carrying prepared work.

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He examined them without trying to activate either. I explained how the writing helped direct my magic, and how getting the words right did not guarantee the rest. He asked a few questions before indicating a clear place where I could throw without putting paper beneath another student’s feet.

‘Prepare at your own pace. Watch the demonstration from here, and we’ll check before you try.’ I set aside three pieces from the supply I brought, glad he had thought to ask before calling me forward. Everybody else could draw a wand, but following their movement would do little with an empty hand.

Several students volunteered to demonstrate. Lupin looked towards Neville and asked whether he would be willing to try with him beside him. Neville glanced behind himself before checking that he had heard correctly, then approached with his wand held close to his side.

His first answer about what he feared was too quiet to reach my desk. Lupin leaned closer, and Neville tried again loudly enough for me to hear Professor Snape. A few people laughed; Lupin waited for them to stop before asking a quiet question about Neville’s grandmother.

Neville answered quickly that he did not want to see her instead. ‘Only think about her clothes,’ Lupin said. ‘Nothing else.’ That seemed to help, although Neville’s glance at the wardrobe suggested he wanted some assurance that its occupant had heard the distinction.

I began writing. The formula itself caused little difficulty, but holding the intention steady while feeding magic through the work was harder with each movement from the wardrobe pulling my attention away. I stopped that part and began it again without releasing the strip, trying to hear the instructions without waiting for something to escape.

At the front, Lupin said something close to Neville’s ear. Neville stared at him, then gave an uncertain smile and nodded when asked whether he was ready. Lupin opened the wardrobe, bringing out an imitation of Snape good enough to make me check whether I had spilled any ink.

Black robes moved across the floor. Neville took half a step backwards, raising his wand while Lupin reminded him of the image they discussed. His hand shook once before he steadied it and spoke.

‘Riddikulus!’ The robes became a long green dress, with a handbag appearing in one hand and a hat settling on the dark hair. A stuffed bird balanced above Snape’s face at an angle which suggested an imminent peck. The expression beneath it remained determined to find fault with us.

Neville laughed first. I followed when the imitation tugged at the handbag as though it had discovered an especially disappointing potion ingredient inside. Snape’s disapproval fitted his new appearance so badly that looking from one to the other kept setting me off again.

Lupin praised Neville, who turned towards us with a grin I could see from the desk. I raised a hand carefully, keeping the other beside my unfinished work. Harry murmured something as Neville passed him, and Neville’s reply about not laughing made Harry press his lips together while looking back towards the hat.

The gramophone started with a scratch before settling into a light, uneven tune. Lupin checked the space in front of the boggart and came to my desk, where I was finishing the last strip. He waited while I put the brush down, then asked how the preparation had gone.

‘I have something to try.’ I showed him the work and explained what I had done, answering his questions before picking up the three prepared pieces. He asked whether I had an image ready as well. I looked towards the figure struggling with its handbag and said I thought so.

‘Keep a second idea ready. The first doesn’t always feel the same when you’re standing there,’ he advised. I moved forward with the first strip apart from the other two, conscious of the space behind me. Lupin stayed to my left, close enough to help without blocking the view.

The handbag disappeared first. Then Snape’s outline folded towards the floor, broadening into something wet-looking on short legs. A toad ought to have offered some improvement, but I felt my stomach turn as its back came fully into view.

Round eyes covered it in irregular rows. They moved at slightly different times, so that following one brought me to another already turning towards me. I wanted to look away and could not seem to finish looking. When Lupin spoke, I heard his voice without understanding the words.

The toad shifted a foreleg. I threw the first strip onto the clear floor and forced out the incantation, waiting for something to remove the sight in front of me. A flicker passed along the writing, but the boggart remained with far too many eyes fixed in my direction.

The paper darkened and curled. Lupin told me to step back, and this time I understood. He moved closer while I retreated, keeping the creature from advancing into the space I had just left. The extra distance made breathing easier, though the gramophone sounded irritatingly cheerful.

‘What did you picture?’ he asked. I admitted I had wanted it to go away. When he asked whether I imagined anything else, I shook my head, looking down at the two pieces still in my hand. He offered me a moment, and I accepted before embarrassment could turn the offer into another wasted attempt.

I could think of things I feared more reasonably. None helped with the sight in front of me, which reached the part of my stomach that had little interest in sensible comparisons. I rubbed my thumb against the edge of a strip and listened while Lupin suggested changing one part first.

Painted dots seemed manageable. They could lie flat on rubber, incapable of turning to follow me, and the picture became clearer when I stopped trying to erase the toad beneath them. I described it to Lupin, who nodded and let me approach again.

The boggart raised its head. I kept the flat dots in mind, threw the second strip and spoke Riddikulus. This time the eyes stopped moving, leaving a smooth back covered in black spots. The wet shine faded while relief let some air out of my chest.

Then one spot bulged. The old shape began returning as the second piece exhausted itself, and I realised I had found relief without finding anything funny. Lupin said it was better and asked me to finish the idea. I tightened my grip on the one strip remaining, trying to imagine what the toad could do besides stop frightening me.