Lessons in Fear and Composure
"It seems he's getting quite close," said Carrow, looking at Harry with a mocking smile, as if it didn't matter that he'd almost been disfigured by his own potion. "I wonder if he'll be able to get past the dementors and find you," he added, his tone dripping with cruel amusement.
"Professor," said Harry in a dry, controlled voice. The tone alone was enough to make Carrow close his mouth, surprised, and raise an eyebrow.
"We're done," Harry added, turning toward Snape, who regarded him for a moment.
Snape approached slowly, his robes gliding behind him as his gaze fell upon the potion. He remained silent for several seconds before giving a short nod. "Mm… bottle it and leave it on my desk."
"Do you mind if I leave? I have something urgent to discuss with my Head of House," said Harry naturally, not breaking eye contact with the professor.
Snape studied him for a few moments longer, as if weighing something inside him. At last, he nodded. "Go. Draco, you bottle it."
His voice was as dry as ever before he turned and continued walking among the students, the sound of his footsteps fading beneath the low murmur of the class.
Draco watched Harry stand up, wanting to ask him something—Hermione and Daphne did too—but Harry didn't even glance their way before leaving the room.
The silence he left behind was heavy. Draco exchanged looks with Hermione and Daphne, both of whom wore clear expressions of worry. Ever since classes had begun, Harry had been acting differently. On the surface, he seemed normal, but there was something off about him, something only those who spent a lot of time with him could sense.
…
"Ugh… ugh…" Harry breathed heavily, leaning against the wall as he pressed a hand to his chest. "What is this?" he muttered, confusion and pain mixed on his face. It felt as though he had swallowed a whole egg; a heat built up in his throat, a faint dizziness blurred his vision, and the air itself seemed too thin.
"Control your emotions…" he whispered to himself. He inhaled deeply several times, forcing himself to calm down. "Control your emotions," he repeated like a mantra. Slowly, the pressure in his chest eased, and the world around him steadied again.
"You're doing it wrong."
The voice came from behind him—soft, calm, and close. Harry turned abruptly, wand almost in hand by instinct. But the figure there wasn't a threat. It was Jeff, the boy who always gave him that strange feeling of uneasy calm and quiet mystery. He stood there with a closed book in his arms, watching Harry with a composed expression.
"What?" asked Harry, not understanding what he meant.
"Controlling your emotions isn't the same as hiding them," replied Jeff in a serene but firm tone. "If you bury them too deep, when they come out, they'll erupt like a volcano. And when that happens, your emotions will control you."
Harry narrowed his eyes slightly, studying him with cautious curiosity.
"It says so here," Jeff added, lifting the book he was holding. The title read Emotions in Magic. The cover was bright and almost ridiculous—more like a magazine than a serious book. It looked like the kind of volume one would walk right past in the library without a second glance.
Harry exhaled quietly upon seeing it and turned away to continue walking. Yet after a few steps, he stopped and turned back again. Jeff was still there, staring at him with the same steady calm, as if waiting for a question.
"Who are you?" Harry asked for the first time, his voice completely serious.
Jeff held his gaze. His eyes, a clear shade of blue, met Harry's green ones. His youthful face was soft and expressive, almost luminous—radiating warmth and serenity, though a hint of confusion flickered there at the question.
The boy seemed to think for a moment before answering. "I don't know. I only know that someone helped us get here—my brother and me. We don't remember our past. One day, we just… puff, appeared here. So I can't really answer that." His voice was so calm it was almost unsettling.
Harry held his gaze a few seconds longer. "Then what are you looking for?" he asked again.
Jeff tilted his head slightly and gave a small smile. The gesture was oddly familiar, though Harry couldn't place why. "I don't know," the boy said casually. "We're just figuring things out as we go." And with that, he turned away, walking lightly and cheerfully, his book tucked under his arm.
It was the first real conversation Harry had ever had with Jeff. Normally, Frank was the sociable one, so it felt strange that Jeff had approached him. Usually, the boy only watched him quietly, with that analytical gaze that seemed to study everything around him.
Harry shook his head and kept walking. There was no point thinking about it. As long as they didn't involve him, it didn't matter who they were or what they wanted.
…
Hermione, Draco, and Daphne were sitting in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, glancing at the door every few seconds. They were waiting for Harry to arrive.
That day's lesson was shared between Ravenclaw and Gryffindor, so Neville sat not far away with Ron Weasley, who wouldn't stop talking about his new wand and the family trip to Egypt.
"Where do you think he went? He wasn't with Professor Flitwick," said Hermione, visibly worried.
Neither Daphne nor Draco had seen him since he'd left early from Potions class.
Draco shook his head, while Daphne, arms crossed, sighed softly.
"Do you think we should call Aunt Wanda?" she asked uncertainly.
"No. You know how Harry is; he'll get annoyed," said Draco, shaking his head again. "Though… your mother's supposed to arrive at the school soon, right? Maybe we could ask her for help."
"She said she's been delayed because the Wizengamot keeps calling her into important meetings. They're all worked up about the Pettigrew issue," Daphne replied with a frown of irritation.
Professor Dominic sat at his desk with his usual calm smile, allowing the students to chat while waiting for class to begin. He looked around the room, greeting each student warmly as they entered.
Then, the door opened. Harry stepped inside with a serious, almost neutral expression, walking straight to his usual seat beside Draco without saying a word.
"Harry, where were you?" Hermione asked the moment he sat down.
"I needed to send a letter," Harry replied calmly, settling into his seat. "I wanted to check what's going on with Hagrid's situation. Now that we more or less know Carrow's plan—something he was all too eager to brag about—we can prepare better."
He said it with a faint smile, calm yet deliberate, as the rest of the group fell silent, exchanging wary looks. There was something in Harry's tone that suggested he was already planning the next move.
Draco looked at him for a moment. "That's it?" he asked, a bit confused.
"What else?" Harry replied calmly. "We have to help him. They're clearly trying to get him fired; we just need to lend a hand to stop that idiot's plan."
"Harry, we thought you were worried about Peter Pettigrew," said Hermione, unable to hide the doubt in her voice.
Harry's expression didn't change in the slightest. His face remained completely calm, almost unreadable.
"It doesn't bother me," he said coldly. "I already told you—if the fool doesn't know how to use his escape to hide like a rat anywhere in the world, then he could be free. But if he comes to us, we'll simply catch him and hand him over to the Aurors. Maybe Tonks herself will come to take him. If he can't take advantage of that chance… there's nothing we can do."
He said it with such unnerving calm that even Draco felt a knot form in his stomach.
"I suppose when you put it that way…" muttered Draco, glancing at his friend uneasily. Even so, he couldn't shake the feeling that Harry had been acting strange lately. Hermione, who had known him longer, noticed it too. Her eyes lingered on him for several seconds before exchanging a silent look with Daphne; both seemed to share the same thought—they would have to keep an eye on him for a while. Daphne gave a barely perceptible nod.
"All right, now that everyone's here…" came Dominic's voice, breaking through the low murmur of the room with his warm, lively tone. He looked up from his desk with a natural smile. "It's time to begin the lesson."
The professor stood with an easy, fluid motion and walked to the center of the classroom. "Perhaps many of you don't know me yet," he continued with a hint of humor in his voice, "but I've had the pleasure of teaching some of you before." His gaze swept across the students, pausing briefly on Harry, Draco, Hermione, Daphne, Terry, Neville, and a few others who remembered him from Beauxbatons. "So, you already have an idea of how entertaining my classes can be."
A spark of mischief lit up his eyes. "And of course, since this is our first class in this wonderful school, I couldn't let it be boring. Today, we're doing something… memorable."
His smile was so charming that several Ravenclaw and Gryffindor girls blushed instantly. Lavender Brown and one of the Patil twins exchanged a mix of excitement and bashful glances while Dominic adjusted his robes with theatrical elegance.
Terry quickly raised his hand, unable to contain his enthusiasm.
"Will it be another lethifold? Like at Beauxbatons?" he asked eagerly.
Dominic let out a soft laugh. "No, no… This time, I wasn't allowed to bring anything dangerous. And sadly, I don't have a lovely assistant to help me control such a creature." He paused, tilting his head with a playful smirk. "Although, to be honest… I did consider bringing a dementor."
His comical tone drew a round of laughter from the class.
"All right," Dominic continued, folding his arms with a relaxed grin. "Before we move anywhere, can anyone tell me what a boggart is?"
Instantly, several hands shot into the air, mostly from the Ravenclaws. Hermione, of course, was among the first—though not out of competition, but from the sheer impulse to answer correctly.
Dominic smiled and gestured toward her. "Go ahead."
"A boggart is an amortal non-being capable of changing its shape to match the image of whatever its viewer fears the most. Because of its ability to change form, no one knows what it truly looks like when alone, as it instantly transforms the moment it's seen by someone," Hermione recited precisely, almost as if she were reading straight from a book.
Dominic nodded approvingly. "Excellent." Then he looked around, pretending to ponder something. "Now, let's see… I hear this school gives house points. I'm still getting used to the system. Would five points be too much?"
A Ravenclaw girl quickly raised her hand. "No, Professor, it's usually between one and five points," she explained rapidly, earning a kind smile from Dominic that made her blush bright red.
"Then three points to Ravenclaw," he announced jovially. "A fair middle ground, so the others still have a chance."
The atmosphere grew lighter; laughter and chatter filled the room with an eager, curious energy. Dominic resumed his explanation, leaning casually against his desk.
"Now then, boggarts aren't considered magically 'alive.' They're amortal creatures, which means they can be repelled with the proper charm—but sooner or later, they'll return, sometimes bringing friends." His voice had a captivating rhythm, like a storyteller by the fire.
"Their ability to change shape is impressive, almost fluid," he went on naturally. "But they're not perfect. For example, if a boggart lives in a small space, its transformations are limited to that size. And while it can imitate powerful magical beings, its powers are only weak reflections of the real thing. A boggart taking the shape of a dementor, for instance, wouldn't have its full magic or influence."
He paused briefly, pacing between the desks as he spoke. "It also happens that when someone has several fears of equal strength, the boggart cycles through them at random. So if one of you fears both spiders and, hmm… let's say, Professor Snape, you'd better be ready for a rather unpleasant combination."
The comment sparked laughter—and grimaces—across the room. Ron Weasley looked particularly horrified; either option was equally dreadful to him. Neville, meanwhile, went pale, though it was unclear whether it was because of spiders or Snape.
"Now, about their hiding places," the professor continued, raising a finger in mock seriousness. "Boggarts love dark, enclosed spaces—cupboards, under beds, drawers, even old clocks. Basically, anywhere you wouldn't want to stick your hand without checking first."
Several heads turned nervously toward the classroom corners, which Dominic immediately noticed. He smiled mischievously. "So, before you go to bed tonight, make sure to check under the covers."
The tense silence that followed broke when he burst into laughter. "I'm joking… mostly," he added with a playful wink, provoking another wave of nervous laughter.
"Anyway," he went on, his tone still warm but more focused now, "Professor McGonagall happened to find one of these creatures in an empty classroom. And before she expelled it from the castle, I asked to borrow it for our lesson. It's not as dangerous as a dementor or as unpredictable as a lethifold, but it's perfect for practicing the right spell."
He gave the desk a light tap before straightening with renewed energy. "So today, we'll learn how to face one. Not with fear—but with laughter. That's the key."
His voice grew stronger and more enthusiastic, infectious enough to stir the students' excitement.
"All right, everyone, up you go. Time to meet our… subject of study."
With a lively sweep of his hand, Dominic gestured for them to follow him toward the side door of the classroom, while murmurs of anticipation and nervous excitement filled the air.