— — — — — —
"I never had the chance to speak with Professor Wilkinson personally," Lupin began with a gentle smile, "but I've heard plenty of good things about him from my colleagues. He was, by all accounts, an excellent teacher. I can't promise I'll do better than he did, but I can promise to do my best—and maybe teach you a few things he didn't have time for."
A few students straightened in their seats, intrigued.
"Last year," Lupin went on, "you learned how to defend yourselves and use some basic offensive spells. That's a solid start—and it makes my job easier. This year, we'll focus on how to use those spells against dark creatures that could actually hurt you."
He clapped his hands once. "All right then, follow me."
With that, Lupin stepped down from the podium, opened the classroom door, and motioned for them to come along.
Curious whispers followed him down the corridor as the class trailed behind, turning a corner until they stopped outside the staff lounge.
"In we go," he said, pushing the door open.
The first student to step through—Neville—let out a startled yelp and nearly tripped over his own feet.
Because there was someone already inside.
Snape sat in an armchair by the window, a newspaper open in his hands. When his eyes lifted and he saw Lupin entering with a group of students, his mouth twisted into something between a sneer and a smirk.
"Professor," Tom said, frowning slightly as he approached. "Your office is in the dungeons. What brings you to the staff lounge on the second floor?"
"I just had a chat with Professor McGonagall," Snape said smoothly, folding the paper. "About certain abysmal test scores. She refused—yet again—to approve my request for corporal punishment. A shame, really."
As he spoke, his black eyes swept slowly over the Gryffindor students one by one. Ron and Neville immediately ducked behind Harry as if that could shield them.
Lupin was about to close the door when Snape rose to his feet. "Don't bother," he said coolly.
He strode past the students and stopped beside Lupin. "I'll spare myself the pollution of standing among this lot. You'll have your hands full anyway—especially with Neville Longbottom. I'd advise you not to expect much from him. Well, forget it—you're worse than this pathetic kid anyway."
Lupin raised an eyebrow, his tone mild but firm. "Funny. I was just about to ask Neville to help me with a demonstration. I have every confidence he'll do just fine."
Snape's face darkened. "Then I wish you luck," he said, and swept from the room, slamming the door behind him.
The class exhaled as one. Lupin didn't seem the least bit bothered.
"Right," he said cheerfully, "two lines, please."
When everyone had shuffled into position, he walked toward the far end of the room, stopping before a tall, slightly rattling wardrobe. The closer he got, the more it trembled, the wood creaking and thumping against the wall.
"Don't be frightened," Lupin said, noticing a few startled gasps. "It's not dangerous. There's just a Boggart in there."
A few students straightened up again, curious despite themselves.
"Boggarts love dark, enclosed spaces," he explained with a small grin. "I caught this one last week. Dumbledore kindly allowed me to keep it for today's lesson."
He turned back to the class. "So—who can tell me what a Boggart is?"
Hermione's hand shot up immediately. "It's a shape-shifting dark creature that turns into whatever it thinks will frighten us most."
"Excellent—precise and complete."
"Two points to Gryffindor." Lupin tapped the wardrobe lightly with his wand. It began to shake again, harder this time, the doors rattling in their hinges.
"So right now, the Boggart inside has no form," he continued. "It doesn't yet know what frightens us. That's one of the mysteries of the wizarding world—no one has ever seen what a Boggart looks like before it transforms."
He paced slowly before the class. "Now then... apart from spells, what do you think is the best way to defeat one?"
Harry hesitated, then ventured, "Um... stand in a group? So it doesn't know who to scare first?"
Lupin's face lit up. "Very good, Harry. Excellent instinct. That's exactly why it's safest to face a Boggart with company. When it can't decide what to become, it turns into something ridiculous instead—hardly frightening at all."
He raised his wand and demonstrated a graceful, sweeping motion like a golf swing. "But when you're alone, you'll need magic. The charm is simple. Repeat after me—Riddikulus!"
"Riddikulus!" the class shouted back.
"Perfect," Lupin said. "Now, remember the wand movement. Like this. And most importantly—picture something funny in your mind, something that makes you laugh. Ready to try?"
He turned, scanning the rows. "Neville, you'll go first."
Neville's mouth opened and closed helplessly. He clearly wanted to refuse, but Lupin's encouraging smile left him no choice. He shuffled forward, pale and trembling.
Lupin was about to guide him through the steps when he suddenly felt a gaze on him—sharp, almost tangible. It made the hairs on the back of his neck rise.
He looked up. Tom was watching him, calm-faced, unreadable.
The warmth of the room seemed to vanish. Lupin tugged his threadbare robes tighter around himself, the chill settling deep into his bones.
"Go on, Neville," he said softly. "You'll be fine. Just remember what I told you."
Neville nodded nervously, turning toward the wardrobe.
Only then did that intense pressure fade, like a hand lifting off the back of Lupin's neck.
People are strange creatures, Tom thought to himself—full of double standards and divided loyalties. Right and wrong don't matter half as much as where you stand.
His relationship with Snape was complicated. Teacher, business partner, occasional co-conspirator—they had mutual interests, if not mutual trust. Lupin, by contrast, was an outsider. And Tom had no intention of letting him humiliate Snape in front of the whole class.
At least Lupin had picked up on his silent warning. If he hadn't... Tom might have felt compelled to remind him more directly—and whatever followed after would have been Dumbledore's mess to clean up, not his.
"Everyone, take a few steps back," Lupin instructed, wand at the ready. "On the count of three. One... two... three!"
A flash of sparks shot from his wand, the wardrobe doors burst open, and out stepped a tall, thin witch with pale, waxy skin and long, tangled hair. Her features were sharp and unpleasant, her thin lips drawn into a cruel sneer.
Gasps rippled through the class.
"Wait—what?" someone whispered. "Isn't that the wanted witch? Why in Merlin's name would she be what Neville fears most?"
Everyone in the room recognized the face immediately. They'd seen it so often they were sick of it—Bellatrix Lestrange, whose photo had dominated the Daily Prophet's front page for weeks beside Lockhart's.
Lupin froze for only a heartbeat before understanding dawned. His expression softened with something like pity as he turned toward Neville.
The boy was rooted to the spot, eyes wide, pupils dilated, staring blankly as Bellatrix stalked toward him.
"Neville!" Lupin called sharply. "That's not the real Bellatrix! It's just a Boggart! Use the spell—just like I showed you!"
Neville's lips trembled, but the sound of his name seemed to pull him back to reality. He stumbled a few steps back, raised his wand, and squeaked, "R.. Riddikulus!"
With a loud crack, like a whip snapping in midair, Bellatrix stumbled and began twisting in on herself. Her form shrank rapidly until, with another pop, she became a squat black-haired toad.
"Trevor?" Neville blinked, recognizing his pet immediately.
Laughter erupted through the room.
"Brilliant, Neville!" Lupin cheered. "Alright, next up—Parvati, your turn!"
Parvati stepped forward, wand raised. The Boggart swelled again, morphing into a blood-soaked mummy. Parvati didn't flinch. "Riddikulus!" she shouted, and the mummy's wrappings tangled together like ribbons, making it topple clumsily onto the floor.
"Seamus!"
"Goyle!"
"Crabbe!"
Each name was called, each student faced their fear. But the funniest moment came when the Boggart turned into Draco Malfoy—twice.
One Goyle-faced Malfoy became a clown in oversized shoes, while the other Crabbe-faced Malfoy turned into a squat goblin with his hair sticking up like horns.
"..." Draco was glaring daggers at his two henchmen. It was obvious someone was getting hexed later.
Then Lupin called, "Riddle!"
The laughter died instantly.
All eyes turned to Tom.
Would he even be afraid of anything?
To most of the students, Tom Riddle was a mystery—too composed, too perfect, almost untouchable. Teachers spoke to him differently, and no one had ever seen him truly fail.
Could someone like that even feel fear?
Tom walked forward calmly. The Boggart, which had shrunk into a harmless turtle crawling across the floor, quivered as he approached.
Even Tom himself was curious. What would it show him?
Beside him, Hermione flinched when Daphne suddenly squeezed her hand so tightly it hurt.
"Daphne! What are you doing? You're going to break my fingers!"
"Sorry," Daphne murmured, not sounding sorry at all. "I just need to know what Tom's afraid of. Then I can use it later to scare him into my arms. You know—so I can comfort him properly."
Hermione stared at her, speechless. Merlin's beard, she's insane.
The air grew heavy.
Tom stopped in front of the turtle. The Boggart gave a sharp crack and began spinning wildly, its form warping and twisting like liquid shadow. But this time, it didn't settle right away. It spun and spun for nearly ten seconds, then slowed.
"Wait… is it confused?" someone whispered. "Even the Boggart doesn't know what Riddle fears?"
A ripple of nervous laughter went through the class. Tom frowned slightly. 'So even this thing can't figure me out? Disappointing.'
He was just about to turn away when the Boggart suddenly froze in midair. Its body stretched and flowed downward like a waterfall, then solidified into the shape of a tall woman in ancient robes, a crown of flowers resting on her head.
Her face was hazy, wrapped in mist, impossible to make out.
Everyone stared in stunned silence.
A woman?
Riddle's greatest fear… was a woman?
"Tom, who is that?" Daphne called bluntly, ignoring the awkward tension. She was convinced whoever this was must've bullied Tom as a child.
Tom didn't answer. His expression was unreadable as he looked at the spectral figure.
There was no mistaking her. Ravenclaw.
He almost laughed. Afraid of Ravenclaw? Ridiculous.
Sure, her ideals and that damned philosophy of hers had shaken him once, challenged his worldview in a way that left a mark—but fear? Hardly.
Still… the Boggart's precision intrigued him. It had somehow sensed the disturbance in his mind, the shadow of something deeper.
Could it read thoughts? Or was this an instinctive gift?
For the first time, Tom considered Boggarts worth studying. Maybe he'd capture a few later to experiment on.
He raised his wand, about to dispel the illusion, when the entire castle shuddered.
A rush of magic surged from every direction, slamming down through the ceiling and striking the woman squarely on the head.
There was a single piercing wail before the Boggart exploded like a balloon, vanishing completely without a trace.
The room fell dead silent.
Even Lupin looked stunned.
Far away, in the Headmaster's office, Dumbledore's head jerked up from his Pensieve, eyes wide with confusion.
Just moments ago, the castle's magic had bypassed him entirely—and erupted on its own.
Who had caused it? And why?
His brows knit tightly as he rose from his chair and strode toward the door.
.
.
.