35. Flight of the Fat Lady
In no time at all, Defense Against the Dark Arts had become most people's favorite class. Only Draco Malfoy and his gang of Slytherins had anything bad to say about Professor Lupin.
"Look at the state of his robes," Malfoy would sneer in a loud whisper as Professor Lupin passed. "He dresses like our old house-elf."
But no one else cared that Professor Lupin's robes were patched and frayed. His next few lessons were just as fascinating as the first. After Boggarts, they studied Red Caps—nasty, goblin-like creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed, from castle dungeons to deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those unfortunate enough to get lost. Then came Kappas, creepy water-dwellers resembling scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.
Hope walked around with a noticeable pep in her step, her dad's teaching earning praise from nearly everyone. Dean had gone on and on about how cool he thought her dad was. and Cedric declared he was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher they'd ever had. Even the other professors seemed to like him — all except Snape.
Snape's hatred for Lupin bled into the classroom. The incident with the Boggart, where Neville had dressed it in his grandmother's clothes, had spread like wildfire. Snape didn't find it amusing. His eyes flashed menacingly at even the slightest mention of Professor Lupin's name, and poor Neville suffered the worst of it. Hope didn't fare much better. She seemed to lose house points for merely existing in Snape's presence.
Still, not even Snape could dampen Hope's mood. Divination had grown on her. She enjoyed deciphering the lopsided shapes and symbols in Professor Trelawney's tower room. Trelawney had even complimented her "bright aura." Hope was the only one in their quartet who truly liked the subject.
Ron was torn — half amused by Trelawney's dramatic predictions, half worried every time she mentioned Harry's fate. Hermione, on the other hand, thought the whole subject was nonsense, firmly believing there was nothing useful to learn from it. And Harry? He was growing weary of Trelawney's enormous, tear-filled eyes every time she looked at him.
Parvati Patil and Lavender Brown, however, had become utterly devoted. They haunted Trelawney's tower at lunch, returning with smug expressions as though they knew something no one else did. They even lowered their voices whenever they spoke to Harry, like he was some tragic figure on his deathbed.
Care of Magical Creatures, meanwhile, had lost its excitement. After the thrilling first lesson, Hagrid seemed to lose confidence. Now, they spent hours caring for Flobberworms — the dullest creatures imaginable.
"Why would anyone bother looking after them?" Ron grumbled one afternoon, pushing yet another shredded lettuce leaf toward a slimy worm.
Despite the monotony of Care of Magical Creatures and the ever-dreaded Potions, Hope was in an excellent mood. Seeing her dad thrive, admired by students and faculty alike, filled her with joy. The nightmares about her mother had stopped, and with October's arrival, something else was on the horizon.
Quidditch season.
Oliver Wood, now in his seventh and final year, called a team meeting one chilly Thursday evening to discuss their strategy. The changing rooms were dimly lit, the scent of damp grass hanging in the air. Oliver paced with a determined glint in his eye, his voice tinged with a quiet desperation.
"This is our last chance — my last chance — to win the Quidditch Cup," he said, striding back and forth. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot."
He paused, his jaw tight. "Gryffindor haven't won for seven years now. Sure, we've had the worst luck — injuries, then the tournament getting called off last year..." Oliver swallowed, the memory still visibly painful. "But we know we've got the best team in the school."
He punched his fist into his palm for emphasis.
"We've got three superb Chasers."
He pointed at Hope, Angelina, and Katie.
"Two unbeatable Beaters."
"Stop it, Oliver, you're embarrassing us," Fred and George said in unison, pretending to blush.
"And we've got a Seeker who's never failed to win us a match!" Oliver declared, his eyes blazing with pride as he looked at Harry. "And me," he added, almost as an afterthought.
"We think you're very good too, Oliver," George said.
"Cracking Keeper," Fred grinned.
"The point is," Oliver pressed on, resuming his pacing, "the Quidditch Cup should have had our name on it these past two years. Ever since Harry joined the team, I've thought it was ours. But it's not. This year is our last chance to change that."
He sounded so dejected that even Fred and George looked sympathetic.
"Oliver, this is our year," Fred said firmly.
"We'll do it, Oliver!" Angelina added.
"Definitely," Harry agreed.
Full of determination, the team launched into their training sessions, three evenings a week. The cold and wet autumn weather couldn't dampen their spirits. Through the wind, rain, and mud, their vision of the Quidditch Cup gleamed brighter than ever.
Hope and Harry trudged back to the Gryffindor common room one evening after practice, their limbs sore but their moods high. The room was buzzing with excitement.
"What's going on?" Harry asked, spotting Ron and Hermione by the fireside, struggling through their star charts for Astronomy.
"First Hogsmeade weekend," Ron said, pointing to a notice on the battered old board. "End of October. Halloween."
"Oh," Hope murmured, realization dawning. "I still need Dad to sign my permission slip."
"Excellent!" Fred said, following close behind. "I need to visit Zonko's. I'm nearly out of Stink Pellets."
Harry slumped into a chair, his earlier good mood slipping away. Hermione glanced at him knowingly.
"Harry, I'm sure you'll get to go next time," she said, her voice gentle. "They're bound to catch Black soon. He's been sighted once already."
"Black's not stupid enough to try anything in Hogsmeade," Ron chimed in. "Just ask McGonagall if you can go. The next trip might not be for ages."
"Ron!" Hermione scolded. "Harry's supposed to stay in school —"
"He can't be the only third-year left behind," Ron argued. "Go on, Harry. Ask McGonagall!"
"Yeah," Harry nodded, deciding then and there.
"And even if she says no, my dad's bound to say yes if you ask him," Hope added with a grin.
Hermione opened her mouth to argue further, but Crookshanks leapt onto her lap, a large dead spider dangling from his mouth.
"Does he have to eat that here?" Ron groaned, wrinkling his nose.
"Clever Crookshanks!" Hermione cooed, scratching him behind the ears. "Did you catch that all by yourself?"
Crookshanks chomped down on the spider, his yellow eyes locked smugly on Ron.
"Just keep him over there," Ron grumbled, eyeing his bag anxiously. "Scabbers is asleep in there."
Harry yawned, the warmth of the fire making him drowsy. He wanted nothing more than to head to bed, but his star chart still needed finishing. With a resigned sigh, he pulled his bag closer and started unpacking.
Hope did the same, settling beside him.
"You can copy mine if you like," Ron offered, sliding his parchment their way. "I'm all done."
"The last time I copied off you, I failed," Hope reminded him, a teasing glint in her eyes.
"You should've done your own Moonstone essay then," Ron shot back.
Hermione pursed her lips, clearly disapproving, but for once she said nothing. Crookshanks was still staring unblinkingly at Ron, the tip of his bushy tail flicking in irritation. Then, without warning, he pounced.
"OY!" Ron bellowed, jerking his bag away as Crookshanks dug his claws deep into it, tearing at the fabric with alarming ferocity. "GET OFF, YOU STUPID ANIMAL!"
He tried to yank the bag free, but Crookshanks clung on, spitting and scratching wildly. In the struggle, Ron's bag swung wide, colliding with Hope's desk. A loud splatter followed as her ink bottle tipped, the dark liquid spreading across her carefully drawn star chart.
"Ugh, Ron!" Hope groaned, staring at the ruined parchment.
"Ron, don't hurt him!" Hermione squealed, eyes wide with panic.
The common room fell silent, all eyes on the scene as Ron's frustration peaked. He gave one final swing, and Scabbers shot out of the top of the bag like a cork from a bottle.
"CATCH THAT CAT!" Ron yelled, his voice echoing through the room.
Crookshanks broke free from the shredded remains of the bag and launched himself over the table in hot pursuit of the terrified rat. George lunged for him, but Crookshanks was too quick. Scabbers darted beneath an old chest of drawers, narrowly escaping his feline pursuer.
Crookshanks crouched low, his tail twitching as he swiped furiously beneath the chest. His sharp claws scraped against the wood in a desperate attempt to reach Scabbers.
"Get back here!" Ron growled, dropping to his knees.
Hermione rushed over, wrapping her arms around Crookshanks and pulling him away. The cat wriggled in protest, but she held firm. Ron, red-faced and panting, flattened himself to the ground and managed to grab Scabbers by the tail, yanking him free. The rat trembled in his grip, his patchy fur bristling.
"Look at him!" Ron fumed, holding Scabbers out for Hermione to see. "He's skin and bone! You keep that cat away from him!"
"Crookshanks doesn't understand it's wrong!" Hermione shot back, her voice quivering. "All cats chase rats, Ron!"
"There's something off about that animal!" Ron snapped, struggling to shove Scabbers into his pocket. The rat squirmed, clearly desperate to escape. "He heard me say Scabbers was in my bag!"
"Oh, don't be ridiculous," Hermione retorted, brushing strands of hair from her face. "Crookshanks could smell him, Ron! How else d'you think—"
"That cat's got it in for Scabbers!" Ron interrupted, glaring at the people around them as a few Gryffindors stifled laughter. "And Scabbers was here first, and he's ill!"
With a final glare, Ron spun around and stormed off toward the boys' dormitories, Scabbers squirming in his pocket.
Harry watched him go, frowning. "He took his star chart with him."
Hope, who had managed to clean up the ink spill with a swift Scourgify, glanced up from her desk. "You think those two are gonna be at each other's throats all year?"
Harry sighed, running a hand through his hair. "If Crookshanks keeps going after Scabbers? Probably."
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Ron was still in a foul mood with Hermione the next day. He barely spoke to her all through Herbology, even though he, Harry, Hope, and Hermione were working together on the same Puffapod.
"How's Scabbers?" Hermione asked timidly, stripping fat pink pods from the plants and emptying the gleaming beans into a wooden pail.
"He's hiding at the bottom of my bed, shaking," Ron muttered, his jaw tight. His hands trembled slightly as he tried to toss a handful of beans into the pail. They missed, scattering across the greenhouse floor.
"Careful, Weasley, careful!" Professor Sprout scolded, hurrying over. The beans burst into bloom upon impact, large violet flowers unfurling at their feet.
Next was Transfiguration. Harry, determined to ask Professor McGonagall if he could go to Hogsmeade, joined the queue outside the classroom. He was trying to come up with a convincing argument when a commotion at the front of the line caught his attention.
Lavender Brown was crying. Parvati Patil stood beside her, an arm wrapped protectively around her shoulders. Seamus Finnigan and Dean Thomas hovered nearby, their faces clouded with concern.
"What's the matter, Lavender?" Hermione asked anxiously as she, Hope, Harry, and Ron approached.
"She got a letter from home this morning," Parvati explained in a hushed voice. "It's her rabbit, Binky. He was killed by a fox."
"Oh," Hermione said softly. "I'm so sorry, Lavender."
"I should've known!" Lavender wailed, her voice thick with tears.
Hope's brow furrowed. "How could you have known?"
"You know what day it is?" Lavender sniffed, her eyes wide with a kind of tragic certainty.
"Er—" Ron started, but Lavender cut him off.
"The sixteenth of October! 'That thing you're dreading, it will happen on the sixteenth of October!' Remember? She was right! She was right!"
The class gathered closer, murmuring amongst themselves. Seamus shook his head gravely.
Hermione hesitated before speaking, her voice laced with cautious curiosity. "You... you were dreading Binky being killed by a fox?"
"Well, not necessarily by a fox," Lavender sobbed, her tear-streaked face lifting to meet Hermione's. "But I was obviously dreading him dying, wasn't I?"
Hermione opened her mouth, paused, then cautiously asked, "Was Binky an old rabbit?"
"N-no!" Lavender's sobs grew louder. "He was only a baby!"
Parvati pulled her closer, shooting Hermione a sharp glare.
"But then, why would you dread him dying?" Hermione questioned, her voice logical but uncertain.
Parvati's glare darkened. Lavender whimpered.
"Look at it logically," Hermione continued, turning to the group as if hoping they'd see her point. "Binky didn't even die today — Lavender just got the news today. So, she can't have been dreading it, because it's come as a real shock—"
Lavender let out another anguished wail.
Hope, sensing the tension tightening around them, gently touched Hermione's arm. "I'm not sure Lavender will find this helpful," she whispered.
"Don't mind Hermione, Lavender," Ron said loudly, his voice edged with bitterness. "She doesn't think other people's pets matter much."
Before Hermione could respond, Professor McGonagall swept the classroom door open. Perhaps it was fortunate. Ron and Hermione's glares were fierce, and the tension only grew as they filed inside.
Hermione sat beside Hope, her jaw tight, while Ron dropped into the seat on the other side of Harry. Neither spoke to each other throughout the lesson.
Harry, still uncertain about what he would say to Professor McGonagall, barely paid attention. He rehearsed excuses in his mind as the class came to an end, but to his surprise, the professor brought up Hogsmeade herself.
"One moment, please!" she called as the students made to leave. "As you're all in my house, you should hand your Hogsmeade permission forms to me before Hallowe'en. No form, no visiting the village, so don't forget."
Neville hesitantly raised his hand. "Please, Professor, I – I think I've lost mine."
"Your grandmother sent yours directly to me, Longbottom," Professor McGonagall replied crisply. "She seemed to think it was safer. Well, that's all. You may leave."
"Ask her now," Ron whispered to Harry.
Harry swallowed hard.
"But—" Hermione started.
"Go for it, Harry," Ron urged stubbornly.
Waiting until the rest of the class had shuffled out, Harry slowly approached McGonagall's desk. His heart pounded.
"Yes, Potter?" she asked, peering at him over her square spectacles.
Harry took a shaky breath. "Professor, my aunt and uncle — er — forgot to sign my form."
Professor McGonagall said nothing at first, her sharp gaze fixed on him.
"So... er... do you think it would be alright — I mean, could I still go to Hogsmeade?"
Her expression didn't change. She shuffled a stack of papers, the rustling unnervingly loud in the silence.
"I'm afraid not, Potter," she said firmly. "You heard what I said. No form, no visiting the village. That's the rule."
"But— Professor, my aunt and uncle — you know, they're Muggles. They don't really understand about Hogwarts forms and stuff," Harry pleaded. He could feel Ron practically vibrating with encouragement beside him. "If you said I could go—"
"But I don't say so," Professor McGonagall interrupted, standing up and closing the drawer with a sharp snap. "The form clearly states that a parent or guardian must give permission."
Harry opened his mouth to argue, but the stern look she gave him silenced him. For a moment, there was something almost soft in her eyes — sympathy, maybe.
"I'm sorry, Potter. That's my final word. You had better hurry, or you'll be late for your next lesson."
Harry's stomach sank as he turned away. Ron's expression darkened, and Hermione, though still stiff from their earlier spat, seemed to be slightly pleased with the decision, as she thought Harry going to hogsmeade wouldn't be safe for him.
Hope gave Harry a small, reassuring smile. But it did little to ease the disappointment that weighed heavily in his chest.
Hope tucked her books into her bag and turned to Harry, Ron, and Hermione.
"Hey, before lunch, why don't we go to my dad's classroom? He can sign our Hogsmeade permission slips," she suggested with a hopeful smile.
Harry's face brightened slightly. "Are you sure he'll sign mine?"
"It's worth a try." Hope said confidently.
The four of them headed down the corridor, the chatter of other students drifting away as they approached the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom. When they entered, Professor Lupin looked up from his desk, his expression immediately softening.
"Hey, Dad," Hope greeted.
"Hello, darling," Lupin replied warmly, setting down his quill. "And how can I help you four today?"
"Actually, you just need to help Harry," Hope explained, pulling her permission slip from her bag. "I forgot to get your signature on mine, and I figured you could sign his too."
Lupin's smile faltered. He glanced between the two, a shadow of concern crossing his face.
"I'm afraid I can't do that," he said gently, his eyes filled with regret as he looked at Harry.
Harry's shoulders slumped. "Oh."
"Well, why not?" Hope pressed, frowning.
"For one, I'm not his guardian," Lupin answered carefully. "And even if I were... with Sirius Black on the loose, I don't think it would be in Harry's best interest to leave the castle."
Harry nodded, though the weight of disappointment was clear in his slumped posture. Hope winced guiltily. She had hoped this would be an easy fix.
Hope offered Harry a small, apologetic smile before holding up her own parchment. "Well, this one's mine. Not Harry's."
Lupin's expression didn't change. He studied the parchment for a moment but made no move to take it.
"I won't be signing yours either," he said firmly.
Hope blinked. "Wait, what? Why not?"
"For the exact same reason I wont sign Harry's," he replied, his voice steady. "It's not safe."
"But everyone else gets to go!" she protested, her frustration bubbling up.
"I'm not everyone else's father," Lupin said, his voice low but resolute. "I'm yours. And I said no."
"But it makes no sense! I'm not Harry — Black's not after me! He doesn't even know who I am!"
"Hope."
Lupin's voice was sharper now, a warning in his tone. It was rare for him to speak like that, and it made Hope hesitate. But the frustration was still there.
"I just— I don't get it," she said, her voice cracking. "It's so unfair."
"I understand that you're disappointed," Lupin said, his expression softening, though his tone remained firm. "But I am your father, and I have my reasons. You are not going to Hogsmeade, and that's final. Understood?"
"But—"
"Understood," he repeated, his eyes steady.
The single word hung in the air. Hope's stomach twisted as she stared at him, searching his face for any hint of wavering. There wasn't one.
With a begrudging sigh, she nodded. "Understood," she mumbled.
The classroom felt heavy as they left. Hope didn't look at her father as she walked away, slouched in disappointment. Now she and Harry both had something to be miserable about.
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Hopes particularly good mood had soured.
Ron had called Professor McGonagall a lot of names that greatly annoyed Hermione. Hope had complained endlessly about her father. And Hermione, assumed an "all for the best" expression that only made Ron even angrier. Meanwhile, Hope and Harry had to endure the constant chatter of their classmates, all loudly discussing what they'd do first once they arrived in Hogsmeade.
"There's always the feast," Ron offered, attempting to lift their spirits. "You know, the Hallowe'en feast, in the evening."
"Yeah," Harry replied gloomily. "Great."
"Yippie," Hope mumbled, her chin resting heavily in her palm.
She had missed the past two Hallowe'en feasts. Normally, she would've been looking forward to this one, but now it felt like a consolation prize. The thought of everyone else exploring Hogsmeade, wandering through the joke shop, and piling their bags full of sweets at Honeydukes while she was stuck at the castle made her stomach twist.
Nothing anyone said made her or Harry feel any better about being left behind.
Dean Thomas, who had a knack for forging signatures, had even offered to fake Uncle Vernon's name on Harry's form. But since Harry had already admitted to Professor McGonagall that he didn't have permission, that idea was useless. The same went for Hope — even if she wanted to try sneaking her form through, her father had made his stance painfully clear.
Ron, still desperate to find a solution, had half-heartedly suggested the Invisibility Cloak.
"And what about the Dementors?" Hermione snapped, shooting him an exasperated look. "Or did you forget what Dumbledore said? They can sense people, cloak or not."
That shut down that plan quickly.
But perhaps the least helpful words of all came from Percy. He stopped by their table with his usual pompous air, no doubt feeling quite pleased with his own Hogsmeade privileges.
"They make a fuss about it," he began, with an insufferable air of authority, "but I assure you, it's not all it's cracked up to be. All right, the sweetshop's rather good, but Zonko's Joke Shop is frankly dangerous. And, yes, the Shrieking Shack's always worth a visit, but really, apart from that, you're not missing anything."
Hope barely resisted the urge to roll her eyes. As if that was supposed to make them feel better. Harry didn't even bother responding, and Ron muttered something under his breath that Hermione pointedly ignored.
The day stretched on, but the weight of disappointment lingered. And no amount of reassurance from Percy, Ron, or anyone else could change the fact that while everyone else was off having fun, Hope and Harry would be left behind.
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On Hallowe'en morning, Hope awoke with the rest and trudged down to breakfast, a dull weight pressing against her chest. She did her best to act normal, but the disappointment was harder to shake than she'd expected.
"We'll bring you lots of sweets back from Honeydukes," Hermione said, her eyes full of sympathy.
"Yeah, loads," Ron added, a small grin tugging at his lips. He and Hermione had apparently called a truce, their argument about Crookshanks forgotten in light of Hope and Harry's disappointment.
"Don't worry about us," Harry replied, forcing what he hoped was an offhand tone. "We'll see you at the feast. Have a good time."
"Yeah, just have fun for us," Hope echoed, attempting to sound casual.
They followed their friends to the Entrance Hall, where Filch was stationed like a grumpy gargoyle. His beady eyes darted over the crowd as he checked off names on a long parchment, suspiciously inspecting every face as though convinced someone would try sneaking out.
"Staying here, Potter? Lupin?" Malfoy's voice rang out, smug and jeering. He was standing in line with Crabbe and Goyle, his usual sneer plastered across his pale face. "Scared of passing the Dementors?"
Hope's hands curled into fists, ready to shoot back a retort, but Harry shook his head. His fingers brushed against her arm, a silent plea. "He's not worth it," he muttered under his breath, his grip gentle but firm.
With a reluctant sigh, Hope let him pull her away. They climbed the marble staircase in tense silence, the chatter of students fading as they passed. The empty corridors seemed to echo their frustration, the absence of laughter only reminding them of what they were missing.
"Password?" The Fat Lady's voice broke the stillness as she blinked awake from her nap.
"Fortuna Major," Harry said, his voice flat.
The portrait swung open, revealing the lively common room. First- and second-years filled the space, their excitement for the upcoming feast palpable. A few older students lounged about, their Hogsmeade trips no longer holding the same novelty.
"Harry! Hi, Harry!"
Colin Creevey bounded toward them, his face lighting up with uncontained enthusiasm. "Aren't you going to Hogsmeade, Harry? Why not? Hey—" He turned to his friends, practically buzzing. "You can sit with us if you like!"
"Er—no, thanks, Colin," Harry said quickly, rubbing the back of his neck. The last thing he wanted was to spend the day being gawked at. "I've got to get some work done. Library, you know."
After that, there wasn't much else to do except turn back and climb out through the portrait hole once again.
"Because the library's where I'd love to spend my day," Hope muttered, her sarcasm clear.
"Couldn't think of anything better," Harry replied dryly, equally annoyed by his own excuse.
"What was the point of waking me up?" the Fat Lady called after them, her voice tinged with irritation.
With no real direction, they wandered aimlessly, their footsteps echoing through the empty halls. The castle seemed eerily quiet without the usual hum of students. Halfway to the library, Harry slowed.
"Forget it," he said, his frustration plain. "I'm not in the mood to pretend I care about homework."
Hope gave a small nod, relief washing over her. They had barely turned back when Filch appeared at the end of the corridor, his eyes narrowing with suspicion.
"What are you two up to?" he growled, his jowls quivering.
"Nothing," Harry answered truthfully.
"Nothing!" Filch spat, the word dripping with disbelief. "A likely story! Sneaking around on your own, are you? Why aren't you in Hogsmeade with the rest of your nasty little friends, buying Stink Pellets and Whizzing Worms?"
Harry and Hope merely shrugged.
"Back to your common room! Now!" Filch barked, watching them like a hawk until they turned a corner.
They didn't go back. Instead, they climbed the stairs, considering a visit to the Owlery. But as they passed a familiar office, a voice called out.
"I figured you two would be in your common room."
They spun around to see Professor Lupin leaning against his doorframe, his expression warm despite the shadows under his eyes.
"We were going to go to the library," Harry said quickly. "Changed our minds."
Hope, still sore about being kept from Hogsmeade, avoided her father's gaze. She gave a curt nod, her arms crossed.
"Ah," Lupin said thoughtfully. His gaze lingered on Hope, noticing how she avoided his eyes. "Why don't you both come in? I've just taken delivery of a Grindylow for our next lesson."
"A what?" Harry asked.
They followed Lupin into his office. In the corner stood a large tank of water, inside which a sickly-green creature with sharp horns pressed its face against the glass, baring its teeth and flexing its long, spindly fingers.
"Water demon," Lupin explained, eyeing the Grindylow with interest. "Not much trouble, compared to Kappas. The trick is to break its grip. Strong fingers, but quite brittle."
The Grindylow snarled and darted into a tangled mess of weeds.
"Tea?" Lupin offered, retrieving a dusty tin. "I've only got teabags, I'm afraid — but I daresay you've had enough of tea leaves."
Harry glanced up sharply.
"How did you know about that?"
"Hope told me," Lupin said, smiling slightly as he handed them each a chipped mug.
"You're not worried, are you?"
"No," Harry said quickly.
Hope watched as Harry's expression shifted. He seemed on the verge of saying something, and she suspected he might bring up the black dog. Knowing him, though, he'd likely keep it to himself.
"Anything worrying you, Harry?" Lupin asked gently.
"No," Harry lied, but then, after a pause, he put down his tea. "Actually, yes."
Lupin nodded encouragingly.
"You know that day we fought the Boggart?" Harry began.
"Yes."
"Why didn't you let me fight it?"
Lupin looked at him thoughtfully. "I assumed that if the Boggart faced you, it would take the form of Lord Voldemort."
Hope shuddered at the name, but Harry simply stared, startled by the unexpected honesty.
"Clearly, I was wrong," Lupin continued, frowning. "But I didn't think it wise to have Voldemort materialize in the staff room. People would panic."
"I did think of Voldemort first," Harry admitted. "But then... I remembered the Dementors."
Hope stiffened. The Dementors had haunted her thoughts, too — the overwhelming cold, the way they drained every ounce of happiness.
"I see," Lupin said, a hint of admiration in his voice. "Very wise, Harry. Fearing fear itself is no small thing."
Harry said nothing, taking another sip of tea.
"So you thought I didn't believe you could face the Boggart?" Lupin asked shrewdly.
"Well... yeah," Harry mumbled.
Lupin smiled faintly. "I had no doubts about you, Harry."
Hope's mind lingered on the Dementors, but before she could voice her thoughts, a knock interrupted them.
"Come in," Lupin called.
The door opened, and Snape entered, carrying a smoking goblet. His black eyes flickered between Harry, Hope, and Lupin.
"Ah, Severus," Lupin said pleasantly. "Thanks very much. Just leave it on the desk."
Snape placed the goblet down, his expression unreadable.
"You should drink that directly, Lupin," he said, his voice cold.
"Yes, yes, I will," Lupin replied, though he made no immediate move to drink.
"I brewed an entire cauldronful if you need more," Snape added.
"I should probably take some again tomorrow. Thanks very much, Severus."
"Not at all," Snape replied with a lingering glance before sweeping from the room.
Hope frowned. She supposed she should be grateful Snape had made the potion to help her father keep his right mind through the full moon, but something about the exchange left her uneasy. She doubted Snape's kindness was out of the goodness of his heart.
"Professor Snape is very skilled in potion-making," Lupin said, noticing Harry's curious expression. "I'm lucky to have his help. This particular potion is... complicated."
"'Lucky' isn't the word I'd use," Hope muttered, crossing her arms.
Lupin gave her a look as he took another sip of the potion. She sighed, her gaze dropping to the floor.
Harry, however, kept his eyes on Lupin, like he had a mad urge to knock the goblet out of his hands.
"Professor Snape's very interested in the Dark Arts," Harry blurted out.
"Really?" Lupin said, looking only mildly interested as he took another gulp of the foul-looking potion.
"Some people reckon—" Harry hesitated, but then plunged on recklessly. "Some people reckon he'd do anything to get the Defence Against the Dark Arts job."
Hope knew exactly what Harry was getting at. He was nervous, thinking Snape might be trying to poison Lupin. And honestly, if she didn't know any better, she might think the same.
Lupin drained the goblet and grimaced. "Disgusting," he said, his face twisted in distaste. "Well, I'd better get back to work. I'll see you at the feast later."
"Right," Harry muttered, setting his empty teacup down. The goblet on Lupin's desk was still faintly smoking.
As they turned to leave, Lupin's voice stopped them.
"Hope."
Harry lingered in the doorway, watching as Hope turned back to her father.
"Yeah?" she said.
Lupin exhaled slowly, the weight of his concern clear. "I know you're upset you can't go to Hogsmeade," he said gently. "But I promise, I wouldn't be doing this if it weren't necessary to keep you safe."
Hope sighed, frustration still simmering beneath the surface. But as much as she hated being left behind, she knew he was only trying to protect her.
"I know," she replied, her voice softer. "Hogsmeade sounds overrated anyway." She shrugged, though the words lacked conviction.
Lupin chuckled. "You don't believe that, but I appreciate the effort."
Hope managed a small smile as he squeezed her arm.
"I'll see you at the feast," she said, then turned to rejoin Harry.
. ݁₊ ⊹ . ݁˖ . ݁
"There you go," Ron said, dropping the sweets into Harry and Hope's laps. "We got as much as we could carry."
A shower of brightly colored candies spilled across them. It was dusk, and Ron and Hermione had just come back to the common room, cheeks pink from the cold wind. They looked like they'd had the time of their lives.
"Thanks," Harry said, picking up a packet of tiny black Pepper Imps. "What's Hogsmeade like? Where'd you go?"
"Everywhere," Ron grinned. "Dervish and Banges, Zonko's Joke Shop, and we stopped at the Three Broomsticks for Butterbeer. It was amazing."
"The post office has about two hundred owls," Hermione added, her eyes shining. "All color-coded depending on how fast you want your letter delivered!"
"Honeydukes has this new kind of fudge," Ron said, tearing open a small wrapper. "They were handing out free samples — here, have some."
Hope took the offered piece, the sugary treat melting on her tongue. The warmth of the common room was welcome after the chill of the castle.
"And we're pretty sure we saw an ogre," Hermione continued excitedly. "Honestly, the Three Broomsticks gets all sorts!"
"Wish we could've brought you some Butterbeer," Ron said. "Really warms you up."
Hope smiled, but it didn't quite reach her eyes. "It sounds like you two had a great time."
Hermione's expression softened. "What did you two do? Did you get any work done?"
"Nope," Hope said.
"Lupin made us tea in his office," Harry added, his tone uneasy. "And then Snape came in..."
Hope's stomach tightened as she watched him with a nervous glance. He told them about the goblet, every word making Ron and Hermione's expressions shift from curiosity to alarm.
Ron's mouth fell open. "Lupin drank it? Is he mad? What was in it, anyway?"
All three of them turned to Hope. Her pulse quickened. She forced a casual shrug, hoping it didn't look as strained as it felt.
All eyes turned to Hope. She gulped, forcing a casual shrug. "No clue," she said, fighting to keep her tone light. "He's always been prone to getting sick. I just know it helps with that."
"For all we know, Snape's making him worse," Ron muttered darkly.
Hope's stomach knotted further. She hated how easily they suspected Snape — not that she trusted him much herself. But the thought of them digging too deeply into the potion terrified her. If they found out why Lupin needed it... she didn't even want to think about it.
Hermione checked her watch, her brows furrowing. "We'd better go down. The feast'll be starting in five minutes."
They filed through the portrait hole, the Fat Lady swinging shut behind them. The subject of Snape lingered in the air, and Hope did her best to keep her head down. Maybe they'd drop it. Maybe they wouldn't ask anything else.
"But if he — you know," Hermione's voice lowered as they descended the staircase, "if he was trying to poison Lupin, he wouldn't have done it in front of Harry. Or especially not in front of Hope."
Hope's jaw tightened. Normally, she'd be the first to suspect Snape of some wrongdoing. But right now, all she wanted was for them to stop talking about it.
"Yeah, maybe," Harry said, though he didn't sound convinced.
The Great Hall was decorated in its usual Halloween splendor. Hundreds of glowing pumpkins bobbed above the tables, with live bats swooping between them. Fiery orange streamers twisted across the enchanted ceiling, mirroring the stormy clouds outside.
The food was delicious, as always. Even Hermione and Ron, stuffed full of Honeydukes sweets, managed second helpings. Hope indulged in a second helping of pudding, savoring the sweetness, noticing how Harry's gaze kept flicking toward the staff table.
Specifically, toward Professor Lupin.
Lupin was animatedly chatting with Professor Flitwick, looking more cheerful and well than Harry seemed to expect. Harry's eyes shifted further down the table to Snape. The Potions Master, true to form, wore a scowl. His dark eyes darted toward Lupin too often to be mere coincidence.
The feast finished with an entertainment provided by the Hogwarts ghosts. They popped out of the walls and tables to do a spot of formation gliding; Nearly Headless Nick, the Gryffindor ghost, had a great success with a re-enactment of his own botched beheading.
It had been such a good evening that the mood couldn't even be spoiled by Malfoy, who shouted through the crowd as they all left the Hall, "The Dementors send their love, Potter!"
The Gryffindors made their way up to the Tower. As they reached the corridor leading to the Fat Lady's portrait, they found a crowd of students, all murmuring in confusion.
"Why isn't anyone going in?" Ron asked, frowning.
Hope craned her neck, standing on her toes for a better view. The portrait was shut tight.
"Let me through, please," Percy's voice came from behind them, his tone all business. "What's the hold-up here? You can't all have forgotten the password — excuse me, I'm Head Boy —"
But then, the crowd fell eerily silent. A chill passed through the corridor. Percy's voice sharpened.
"Somebody get Professor Dumbledore. Quick."
Students exchanged uneasy glances. Hope's heart pounded as she spotted Ginny pushing her way forward.
"What's going on?" Ginny asked.
Before anyone could answer, Professor Dumbledore appeared, sweeping down the corridor. The sea of Gryffindors parted for him, and Hope, Harry, Ron, and Hermione edged closer.
"Oh, my—" Hermione gasped, clutching Harry's arm.
The Fat Lady was gone. Her portrait had been slashed apart, strips of canvas dangling from the frame. Pieces littered the floor, and the damage was so severe that chunks of it had been completely torn away.
Dumbledore's face remained calm, but his eyes were grave as he turned to the approaching figures of Professor McGonagall, Lupin, and Snape.
"We need to find her," Dumbledore said firmly. "Professor McGonagall, please go to Mr. Filch and have him search every painting in the castle for the Fat Lady."
"You'll be lucky!"
The gleeful voice belonged to Peeves. The poltergeist bobbed above the crowd, his grin wide with delight. He always reveled in chaos.
"What do you mean, Peeves?" Dumbledore's voice was calm, but there was a weight behind it.
Peeves' grin wavered. He straightened up, though his voice remained smug.
"Ashamed, Your Headship, sir. Doesn't want to be seen. She's a horrible mess. Saw her running through the landscape up on the fourth floor, dodging between the trees. Crying something dreadful."
He grinned wider. "Poor thing."
"Did she say who did it?" Dumbledore asked, his voice low.
"Oh, yes, Professorhead," Peeves said, flipping upside down with a mischievous cackle. "He got very angry when she wouldn't let him in, you see." He twisted midair, grinning maliciously. "Nasty temper he's got, that Sirius Black."