Pure malice shot from those eyes at Neville, like the basilisk's deadly stare.
Neville's mind went blank. Logic screamed he was safe in the Hogwarts staff lounge, this was just a Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson, and the "Bellatrix" in front of him was only a boggart. But a whisper in his head insisted this was the real, vicious Death Eater.
The monster who'd tortured his parents into insanity thirteen years ago was now stepping closer.
Harry's brain was a mess too. He flashed back to two years earlier—first-years who barely knew a handful of spells, barging into the underground chambers the professors had set up. Everything had been part of the plan, yet they'd nearly died at Quirrell's hands, fresh ghosts for Voldemort's wand.
Lupin gripped his wand, ready to jump in, when someone yanked him back. He turned—Melvin shook his head.
"Wait…" Melvin whispered.
Bellatrix crept nearer, the stench of blood hitting Neville's face. Red light sparked at her wand tip—an unmistakable Cruciatus in the making.
Neville saw himself writhing on the floor, just like his parents. He clenched his teeth, knuckles white around his wand, and forced the spell out.
When had he found the guts?
This was the cruel witch who'd locked his mom and dad in St. Mungo's for thirteen years, wasting away while his gran cried at night, muttering that if they'd never joined the Order, the Longbottoms might still be whole.
Riddikulus!
The spell snapped out, cleaner than last time.
No visible beam—just a sharp crack like a whip, echoing through the lounge like a young lion's roar.
Bellatrix froze, then doubled over as if blasted by a heavy curse. She flew backward, slammed into the wardrobe, slid down in a heap, and curled up in a cloud of dust.
The disheveled witch staggered to her feet. The purple robes morphed into a hospital gown; her headscarf fell away, revealing a rat's-nest of black hair. She wobbled like Lockhart after a public takedown.
"Right, everyone saw that?" The menace vanished from her face, replaced by an awkward grin. "Just demonstrating the spell… Anyone want an autograph? Photo op?"
Neville locked eyes with her, muscles unclenching, relief flooding in. Just an Azkaban convict.
"You knew this would happen?" Lupin asked.
"I've just taught two more years than you. I know these kids."
Melvin stepped forward, motioning Neville off the stage.
Lupin called the next student. "Parvati, you're up."
The Indian girl's worst fear was a fresh mummy—blood-soaked bandages, empty sockets still tracking her, dragging stiff limbs closer.
One spell and the bandages unraveled, tripping the mummy; its head rolled clean off.
Next came a banshee, a venomous rattlesnake, a freshly plucked eyeball still bouncing, a severed limb that wouldn't stay dead, and an Acromantula—standard spooky fare, nothing that sent anyone over the edge.
A flick of the wand, and each turned ridiculous.
Half an hour later, only a handful of students remained. Harry was right in front of Hermione, stomach knotting as classmates took their turns.
Lupin had told them to picture their greatest fear. Harry's brain instantly screamed Voldemort—peak-power Voldemort. But before he could imagine a clown-nose on the Dark Lord, the image flipped to a Dementor.
That train compartment was burned into his memory: the cloaked figure, a waterlogged corpse, the bone-chilling cold that made him shake just thinking about it.
Please don't let me pass out in front of everyone, he thought.
When his turn came, Lupin suddenly halted the demo. He stepped between Harry and the boggart, smiling at the class.
"Class, this is my first Defense lesson. You might not guess, but I've been nervous—worried something would go wrong. Lucky for me, a kind colleague offered to sit in and keep things smooth. We're almost out of time, so how about I let this generous colleague show you how it's done?"
He cleared the floor. "Professor Lewinter?"
Melvin glanced at the remaining students and grinned. The kids who'd already gone cheered—fair enough. The ones still waiting joined in, especially Harry, who'd stood in line forever without a turn.
Lupin fanned the flames. "Five minutes till the bell. No more stalling, Professor Lewinter."
"I'm not the petty type," Melvin muttered under his breath, then strode to the wardrobe.
The boggart was still a legless Acromantula from Ron's spell, flopping on the floor like a fish on a cutting board—pathetic and hilarious.
The second Melvin got close, the spider twitched and morphed into a bald, mangy rat scurrying in circles.
Professor Lewinter's scared of rats?
Before the shock faded, the rat shifted into a huge black dog, trotting around Melvin.
"Wormtail, Padfoot…" Lupin's expression turned complicated as the boggart cycled over the next few minutes: black dog to silver wolf, then wolf to stag.
"Moony and Prongs."
Lupin whispered the old nicknames, then gave a helpless, bitter smile. He hadn't expected Professor Lewinter's payback to hit this fast.
The "victimized" new professor shook his head at the baffled faces, remembering his job. He took a deep breath and raised his voice.
"We all know boggarts shapeshift into our deepest fears. For some truly skilled wizards, though, those fears stay hidden—they never give anyone a peek inside."
"Professor Lewinter is one of those brilliant wizards."
Lupin fired a spark that herded the stag back into the wardrobe and locked it. "He used advanced Occlumency to block the boggart's probing, then layered on false-memory charms to trick it. In short, whatever Professor Lewinter wants the boggart to become, it becomes."
The staff lounge erupted in "Whoa!"s.
"Professor, teach us that!"
"If you all do well, and if I'm still at Hogwarts in three years, I'll consider adding both spells to the N.E.W.T.-level Defense curriculum."
Lupin shot a glance at Melvin, who was clearly enjoying himself, and smiled ruefully. Each spell alone wasn't that hard—on par with the Patronus, easier than Animagus—but combining them with that finesse? He couldn't pull it off yet.
Now he'd promised the kids; he'd be practicing in secret for weeks.
"That's it for today—fantastic lesson. Homework: read the entire boggart chapter and write a summary. Due Monday."
The bell rang right on cue.
The class splintered into chattering clumps, buzzing as they left the lounge.
"Did you see me take down that ghost?"
"My banshee!"
"My mummy!"
"…"
As the only Trio member who'd faced the boggart, Ron finally had bragging rights over Harry and Hermione. He replayed his heroics nonstop.
"Best Defense lesson ever, right?"
"Did you catch how I flattened that Acromantula? I swear, if a real one showed up right now, I'd drop it just the same."
Ron's grin stretched ear to ear until the courtyard breeze cooled his head.
Scratching his scalp, he mused, "Hey, didn't Professor Lewinter's bald rat look exactly like Scabbers?"
"Aren't all rats the same?" Harry replied, mood mixed.
Lupin had clearly shielded him from the boggart. Part of him felt robbed; part of him was relieved he hadn't fainted in front of the class.
"Hermione? Earth to Hermione? Why so quiet? You didn't even go up. You look wiped."
"Don't ask…" Hermione groaned, muttering about "seven essays," "Arithmancy calculations," "deadlines."
Harry glanced back. Professor Lewinter and Lupin were strolling out of the lounge, chatting like old pals.
…
Lupin stepped into the fresh air. "Professor Lewinter, you already know I'm… a werewolf, don't you?"
"Werewolf? I thought that was your Animagus form, like the others." Melvin walked the courtyard corridor with Oscar-worthy shock.
Lupin stopped, met his eyes, and they both cracked up. The acting was terrible, but the answer proved Melvin harbored no prejudice—perfectly dispelling the awkwardness.
Heading back to the office, autumn sun warmed their shoulders—not hot, just pleasant.
"I got my Hogwarts letter at eleven. Dumbledore himself visited my parents. The Whomping Willow was planted for me. Full-moon nights, McGonagall and Madam Pomfrey escorted me through the tunnel to the Shrieking Shack. Didn't last long before my friends found out."
Lupin smiled at the memory. "James, Peter, Sirius—they spent two years mastering Animagus to keep me company. Failed dozens of times; the smell of mandrake leaves made them puke. But they did it. After that, every full moon we'd run through the Forbidden Forest and grounds as animals."
He watched Harry glance back from a distance, eyes soft. "That kid's the spitting image of James, but with his mother's eyes."
"You deliberately kept him from facing a Dementor. Worried he wouldn't nail the spell?" Melvin teased.
"I'll tutor him privately later to make sure he passes. I'm more concerned a boggart-Voldemort would've been catastrophic in a classroom. Bellatrix was bad enough."
Melvin gazed at the laughing students. "Trust these kids. They're tougher than you think."
"Anyone ever tell you you sound like Dumbledore?"
Lupin laughed, shaking his head. "I want to believe in them, but this was my first lesson. One screw-up and I'm packing."
The two professors—close in age, one brand-new, one only in his second year—clicked instantly.
Back in the Defense office (formerly Lockhart's), now scrubbed clean of narcissistic posters, Melvin sat at the bare desk.
"Starting with a boggart was risky," Lupin said, pouring hot tea with a wince—payday hadn't hit, so this was from his own stash.
"I've always wondered," Melvin said, helping himself, "do boggarts copy the actual abilities of what they mimic?"
He'd noticed Bellatrix's boggart brewing a real Cruciatus—dark magic ripples and all. And soon, Lupin would use a boggart-Dementor to teach Harry the Patronus. These things weren't just scare props.
"Most scholars say boggarts focus on presenting fear, shapeshifting to spook you. They rarely show the creature's powers."
"Rarely means sometimes, right? When they do mimic abilities, how far can they go?"
"Depends how much magic they pull from the victim's fear—and from the victim themselves."
"Sounds a lot like Dementors—both feed on emotions, both dig into memories." Melvin's eyes glinted. "I know a few patients who could use that particular talent."