"Can't believe it—Mrs. Norris finally met her match," said Professor Lupin with a chuckle as he continued leading the students to their practical classroom.
"Wait, Professor Lupin, does that mean you've seen Mrs. Norris before?" someone asked.
Lupin looked to be in his fifties, meaning he would've been at school thirty or forty years ago… Could Mrs. Norris really have been around that long?
"Yes, she was already here when I was a student," Lupin replied, unaware of the student's thoughts. "And just as unpleasant back then… Ah, here we are."
He stopped at the staff lounge door.
"Inside, please," he said, opening it and stepping aside.
The staff lounge was a long, spacious room. Though it had plenty of space, professors rarely came here to rest, so most of the furniture looked old and worn.
But today was an exception—Snape was actually sitting in one of the chairs.
Now that was a shock. Snape, all the way from the dungeons up to the third floor—was this some new exercise routine?
Or was there something special about the third floor?
Harold scanned the room—just old furniture everywhere, not even a cup of tea in sight. If anything stood out at all, it was Professor Lupin himself.
Still, Snape didn't stick around. After a few cryptic remarks, he left without another word.
Lupin didn't seem to mind. He led everyone over to a tall cabinet near the back of the room.
The cabinet suddenly began to shake, thudding heavily against the wall.
"Don't worry," Lupin said calmly. "There's a Boggart inside."
Harold's eyes lit up. This was exactly why he'd come to Defense Against the Dark Arts today.
The one he'd found himself had been accidentally… over-handled and was now unusable as a wand core.
Not wanting to go hunting for another, he'd immediately thought of the one being kept for class demonstrations.
"The spell to repel a Boggart is simple, but it requires a strong will," said Lupin.
"Let's practice the incantation without wands first. Repeat after me: Riddikulus!"
"Riddikulus!" the class echoed, Harold included.
He couldn't use the Basilisk gaze this time—it would ruin another Boggart. Learning the proper charm was a must.
As Lupin said, the spell itself wasn't complicated, and it required no wrist movement. Just point your wand and cast.
The real challenge was imagination. You had to picture the thing you feared most in a ridiculous or laughable way.
Ron, for example, was afraid of spiders—so when facing a Boggart, he imagined it wearing roller skates.
Neville feared Snape—and his grandmother. So he merged the two: Snape in Gran's clothes.
The result had the class roaring with laughter, nearly shaking the ceiling down.
More and more students realized how fun this was and eagerly lined up to take a turn.
The Boggart was overwhelmed. One moment it was a mummy tripping over its own bandages, the next it was a severed hand stepping on a mouse trap.
Eventually, it was so frazzled it didn't know what to transform into anymore… until it rolled to a stop at Harold's feet.
Honestly, Harold was curious—what did a Boggart think he feared most?
He raised his wand, ready—
And then the Boggart turned into a strange, cloud-like puff. It hovered there quietly.
Everyone stared, confused.
Others had feared spiders, snakes, mummies, or even Professor Snape. Those made sense. But a cloud?
What was scary about that?
Some students edged closer, trying to see if there was something hidden inside it.
Harold's mouth twitched. He wasn't sure if he should even bother using the spell.
He knew exactly what this was. That wasn't a scary cloud—it was a dead Boggart.
Was his subconscious really that intense?
The Boggart had turned into a dead version of itself just to scare him?
That… Harold wasn't even sure what to make of that.
Professor Lupin was equally baffled.
"A… dead Boggart?" he blurted out, drawing curious stares from the rest of the class.
"That's what a Boggart looks like after it's been killed by a spell," Lupin explained, now looking at Harold.
"What did you do just now?"
"Nothing, Professor," Harold replied. "It changed on its own."
Lupin actually believed him—but only the first half.
Killing a Boggart wasn't exactly easy. There were only a handful of spells that could do it, and none of them were ones a third-year would know.
"Could it be…?" Lupin stepped closer, then shook his head. "No, no… a Boggart killed by laughter explodes and turns to smoke, not… this…"
He trailed off.
He'd just stepped up beside Harold, face to face with the "cloud," and now it shifted again—into a silver sphere floating in the air.
"So it did change on its own!" Lupin muttered, staring at Harold, unsure what to say. Why would anyone fear a dead Boggart?
After a pause, he raised his wand.
"Riddikulus!"
The Boggart transformed into a deflated balloon, bounced in the air with a sad wheeze, then plopped to the floor.
The class erupted into another round of laughter.
For a Boggart, laughter was like sunlight to a vampire. A bit was manageable—but the longer it went on, the more unstable it became.
The area around it was already starting to blur.
And just then, the bell rang.
"Professor, could I take this with me?" Harold asked as he picked up the balloon. "I want to practice the charm some more."
"Well, I suppose…" Lupin hesitated. "Just don't let it escape. A loose Boggart causes all sorts of problems."
"Of course. It won't get away," Harold said with a grin.
Fortunately, the Boggart was already weak—close to bursting. Even held in Harold's hands, it didn't try to change form again.
Lupin considered for a moment. Even if it did escape, he could always catch it again. So he nodded and agreed, officially gifting the Boggart to Harold.
"Homework," Lupin called to the class. "Read the chapter on Boggarts and summarize it in your own words. Due Monday. That's all."
As everyone began packing up, Harold was already bolting out the staff lounge door. He slipped through the nearest secret passage and made a beeline for the eighth floor.
The Fat Lady's portrait had already been swung open. Fred and George were chatting at the doorway with Lee Jordan.
Harold dashed past them at full speed. Fred raised his hand to wave, but Harold shot by without even noticing.
"What was that about?" Fred asked, hand still awkwardly mid-air.
Harold had already vanished up the stairs at the end of the common room.
"No idea. Maybe he forgot his homework or something," George offered.
It wasn't like Harold to rush off like that—so it must've been something important.
…
(End of Chapter)