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The storm stirred up by the Daily Prophet at the breakfast table still hadn't died down by lunch.
"Dufftown!" Seamus Finnigan waved the newspaper for what felt like the millionth time, treating it like some kind of talisman. "Sirius Black was spotted in Dufftown! Aren't you guys freaking out?"
The paper rustled loudly in his hand. On the front page, the prisoner with messy black hair and sunken eyes snarled at the camera. The edges of the photo screamed: DANGER! EXTREMELY DANGEROUS!
"Dufftown?" Neville Longbottom's fork hovered in mid-air. "Isn't that... right near Hogsmeade? That's only seven miles away!"
"It's terrifying," agreed the Black teenager beside him, Dean Thomas. "The Ministry of Magic is a bunch of useless idiots. How have they still not caught him?"
"From what I heard, the Ministry search teams and the Dementors are all over it," Seamus continued, eager to share his gossip. "But word is he just vanished again, like a ghost."
He dropped his voice to a whisper. "I just overheard Madam Pince and Madam Pomfrey talking about it. They said Black has been impossibly cunning. The search teams can't spot him, and apparently, the Dementors can't even sense his emotions."
The young wizards around them immediately broke into a panicked murmur.
Hermione Granger peeked out from behind The Secret of Time, her brow furrowed. "That's impossible. Dementors can't not sense someone—unless..."
"Unless what?" Harry Potter asked, his face paler than the milk on the table.
"Unless he isn't human," Hermione murmured, though she didn't sound entirely convinced herself. "That's the only way he could slip past a Dementor's perception."
"Well, that's stating the obvious. Why wouldn't he be human?" Ron shoved a massive bite of roast meat into his mouth. Clearly, the news hadn't killed his appetite.
Julien Black sat at the adjacent table, pouring pumpkin juice into his oatmeal. He stared thoughtfully at the bizarre, orange-yellow sludge.
Elizabeth Rosier tapped the edge of his bowl with the end of her fork. "What are you doing? Trying to invent a new potion?"
"I'm just thinking," Julien said. "Why would a lunatic freshly escaped from Azkaban choose to show his face in Dufftown of all places?"
"You said it yourself—he's a lunatic. Lunatics don't have logic." Daphne Greengrass leaned over. Today, her pale blonde hair was pulled into a high ponytail, making her look like a knight ready for battle.
Meanwhile, her younger sister, Astoria, had been subjected to Daphne's styling efforts. Her hair was currently dyed pink and curled tight, making her look like an adorable little doll.
"Lunatics have their own kind of logic," Julien smiled. It was a smile that reminded Daphne of her father discussing politics—warm on the surface, but entirely calculating underneath. "And Sirius Black's logic... is actually quite fascinating."
"Fascinating how?" Liriya asked from the other side.
"Maybe he wanted to draw the search parties and the Dementors out there, just so he could slip into Hogwarts. He could be lurking around here right now."
"Don't say things like that," Daphne instinctively glanced around, half-expecting Sirius to drop from the ceiling.
"Yeah, you're scaring Astoria," Elizabeth agreed, nudging Julien with her fist.
"I'm not scared at all!" Astoria pouted indignantly.
"Of course not. No one would ever want to hurt someone as cute as Astoria," Julien teased her.
What he kept to himself, though, was the truth: Sirius Black—his supposed relative—wasn't looking for Harry Potter at all. He was looking for what was currently resting comfortably in Ron's pocket.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom had been rearranged into a circle. Professor Lupin clearly believed that fighting a Boggart required a full 360 degrees of escape room.
The desks and chairs were shoved aside, leaving a wide-open space. Dead center stood a mysterious wardrobe.
As the students from all four houses filed into the room, they stared at the heavy, antique-looking piece of furniture. It had smooth, flowing lines that gave off a distinctly Baroque vibe.
Yes, all four houses together. Lockhart had started this combined-class trend last year, and it seemed Lupin was keeping it going.
"Today's subject," Lupin began, "is the Boggart."
A collective sharp intake of breath echoed through the room. Compared to last year's pixies, a Boggart was a genuine Dark creature. But right on the heels of the fear came a wave of raw excitement.
"Can anyone tell me what a Boggart looks like?"
Unsurprisingly, Hermione's hand shot up with a speed that put the teenage boys to shame.
"No one knows what it really looks like," Hermione stated confidently, going above and beyond Lupin's simple question.
"A Boggart is a shape-shifter. It automatically reads the mind of whoever is closest to it and instantly transforms into their deepest, darkest fear. So, whenever anyone faces it, they aren't seeing the Boggart itself—they're seeing their own personal terror."
"Ugh, what a show-off!" a voice muttered from the crowd.
"A perfectly articulated answer. Take five points for Gryffindor, Miss Granger."
"Boggarts prefer dark, enclosed spaces," Lupin said. He stood in front of the wardrobe, the afternoon sun streaming in and making his threadbare robes look almost translucent. "But today, we're going to drag it out into the daylight, right in front of everyone."
"Remember what Miss Granger just said: a Boggart doesn't have a fixed shape. It loves to pull your worst fears to the surface. But if you can force that fear to become ridiculous, it won't know what to do. And, of course, in a crowded room, it tends to get confused about who to scare."
"There is a very simple charm to repel it—Riddikulus. But the spell only works if you simultaneously force your mind to picture the thing you fear the most as something... hilarious."
"Alright, enough theory. We need practical application. Who wants to go first?"
Perhaps terrified of public humiliation, absolutely no one volunteered.
"Isn't this basically just airing your dirty laundry in public?" Draco Malfoy drawled. "Sounds right up Neville Longbottom's alley."
A few Slytherins snickered.
Neville shrank back. "I... I don't think..."
Lupin didn't object to Malfoy's jab. Instead, he smiled warmly at Neville. "Actually, I think Mr. Longbottom would be an excellent first candidate. Don't be afraid, Neville. Remember, you come from a long line of Gryffindors."
Neville hesitated but eventually shuffled to the front of the room.
"Now, Neville, tell me," Lupin leaned in and asked quietly. "What scares you the most?"
"P-Professor Snape," Neville stammered.
More laughter rippled through the class.
"Ah, yes," Lupin chuckled. "Professor Snape does cut an imposing figure. So, I want you to picture him dressed in your grandmother's clothes. Imagine how bizarre, how completely ridiculous that would look. Got it? Wands at the ready."
Lupin flicked his wand. With a sharp click, the lock on the wardrobe gave way.
The doors slowly creaked open.
Sure enough, a deeply menacing Professor Snape stepped out. The sheer oppressive weight of his presence filled the room as he stalked slowly toward Neville, his black robes billowing behind him like rolling storm clouds.
Neville's hands were shaking so hard he nearly dropped his wand. His mind had gone completely blank.
"Don't panic, Neville. Stay with me," Lupin coached from right behind him. "Think of your grandmother's outfit. Now, the incantation—Riddikulus."
"Riddikulus!" Neville yelled, practically cowering against Lupin's chest, but managing to thrust his wand forward anyway.
Crack. The terrifying "Snape" was instantly shoved into a floral green dress and a massive, feather-topped hat. The dour Potions Master's intimidating aura completely shattered.
The entire room erupted into laughter, even drawing a few genuine chuckles from the Slytherins.
"Excellent work, Neville! Brilliant!"
Neville stared at the highly confused, cross-dressing "Snape" and let out a massive sigh of relief.
"Next! Line up, everyone, line up!"
Instantly, the students surged forward, fighting for a spot in line. None of them had ever realized that facing the Dark Arts—and Dark creatures—could actually be this much fun.