The Boggart, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
Chapter 8: The Boggart, the Witch, and the Wardrobe
Professor Lupin wasn’t there when Draco arrived at his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. The boy walked over to where Theo sat, and they all took out their books, quills, and parchment. He had gotten ready to tell his friends about the strange conversation that just occurred, when the man in question finally entered the room. Lupin smiled vaguely and placed his tatty old briefcase on the teacher’s desk. He was as shabby as ever but looked healthier than he had on the train, that was for certain. The Hogwarts meals were doing the man some good he supposed—not that he cared.
“Good afternoon,” Lupin said. “Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today’s will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands.”
A few curious looks were exchanged as the class put away their books. They had never had a practical Defense Against the Dark Arts class before. “Right then,” said Professor Lupin, when everyone was ready. “If you’d follow me.”
Puzzled but interested, the class got to its feet and followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He led them along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where Peeves the Poltergeist was lying in wait for them, floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum.
Peeves didn’t look up until Professor Lupin was two feet away; then he wiggled his curly-toed feet and broke into song.
“Loony, loopy Lupin,” Peeves sang. “Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin —”
That explains it, the professor’s mad then, even Peeves knows it!
Rude and unmanageable as he almost always was, Peeves usually showed some respect toward the teachers. Everyone looked quickly at Professor Lupin to see how he would take the taunting, but to their surprise, he was smiling fondly.
“I’d take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves,” Lupin admonished pleasantly. “Mr. Filch won’t be able to get into his brooms.”
However, Peeves paid no attention to Professor Lupin’s words, except to blow a loud wet raspberry.
Professor Lupin gave a small sigh and took out his wand. The flicker of recognition at what was about to happen that registered on Peeves’ face intrigued Draco.
“This is a useful little spell,” he told the class over his shoulder. “Please watch closely.”
He raised the wand to shoulder height, said, “Waddiwasi!” and pointed it at Peeves.
With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves’s left nostril. He whirled upright and zoomed away, cursing.
“Cool, sir!” said Dean Thomas in amazement.
“Thank you, Dean,” said Professor Lupin, putting his wand away again. “Shall we proceed?”
They set off again, the class looking at shabby Professor Lupin with increased respect.
“Did you see that?!” Theo whispered to Draco and Blaise, instantly enamored with the new professor.
He led them down a second corridor and stopped, right outside the staffroom door.
“Inside, please,” said Professor Lupin, opening it and standing back.
The staffroom was a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, and most importantly, empty except for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he looked around as the class filed in. His eyes were glittering and there was a nasty sneer playing around his mouth.
As Professor Lupin came in and made to close the door behind him, Snape said, “Leave it open, Lupin. I’d rather not witness this.” He got to his feet and strode past the class, his black robes billowing behind him. At the doorway he turned on his heel and said, “Possibly no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear.”
Longbottom went scarlet at the jab in his still-fresh wound from their morning potions class. Professor Lupin had raised his eyebrows.
“I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation,” he said, “and I am sure he will perform it admirably.”
Longbottom’s face went, if possible, even redder. Snape’s lip curled, but he left, shutting the door with a snap.
“Now, then,” said Professor Lupin, beckoning the class toward the end of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers kept their spare robes. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall in an unbalanced manner.
“Nothing to worry about,” said Professor Lupin calmly when a few Gryffindors and Millie had jumped backward in alarm. “There’s a Boggart in there.”
Most people seemed to feel that this was something to worry about. Longbottom gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyed the now rattling doorknob apprehensively.
“Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces,” said Professor Lupin. “Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks — I’ve even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice.
“So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a Boggart?”
Granger put up her hand before the professor even finished taking a breath.
“It’s a shape-shifter,” she said. “It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.”
“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” said Professor Lupin, and Granger glowed at the praise. Draco had to roll his eyes at that—she’s probably fostering another crush this very moment…a thing for DADA professors then. “So the Boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.
“This means,” said Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Longbottom’s small terror-filled whimpers, “that we have a huge advantage over the Boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?”
Granger was bouncing on the balls of her feet, attempting and failing miserably not to make a fool of herself while she held back the answer.
“Er — because there are so many of us, it won’t know what shape it should be?”
“Precisely,” said Professor Lupin, and Granger put her hand down, looking a little disappointed. “It’s always best to have company when you’re dealing with a Boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a Boggart make that very mistake — tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening.”
Draco turned to Blaise who was also suddenly bored. In ancestral homes, Boggarts were a dime a dozen. They could be found in nearly any room that was semi unoccupied. The entire western wing of Malfoy Manor was filled with Biggarts and doxies when he was little. His father often told him scary stories of the Boogeyman who would creep under his bed if he went creeping around the Manor where he didn’t belong. Blaise and Theo and practically any pureblood of status had been raised the same. Somewhere around nine or ten years old, they were charged with getting rid of the blasted things and peals of laughter would echo through the halls when the Boggart took the shape of their silly imaginary inventions.
‘The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing.
“We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please... riddikulus!”
“Riddikulus!” said the class together.
“This class is ridiculous,” Draco whispered to Blaise and Greg who all snickered in the back of the room.
“Good,” said Professor Lupin. “Very good. But that was the easy part, I’m afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville.”
The wardrobe shook again, though not as much as poor Longbottom, who walked forward as though he were heading for the gallows.
“Right, Neville,” said Professor Lupin. “First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?”
The squat boy’s lips moved, but no noise came out.
“I didn’t catch that, Neville, sorry,” said Professor Lupin cheerfully.
Longbottom looked around rather wildly, as though begging someone to help him. Theo gave him a big smile and an encouraging nod. He gulped then said, in barely more than a whisper, “Professor Snape.”
Nearly everyone laughed. Even the fear-filled boy grinned apologetically. Professor Lupin, however, looked pensive.
“Professor Snape... hmmm... Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?”
“Er — yes,” he answered nervously. “But — I don’t want the Boggart to turn into her either.”
More chuckles tittered through the crowd of students around them.
“No, no, you misunderstand me,” said Professor Lupin, now grinning. “I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?”
The boy now looked startled, but said, “Well... always the same hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress... green, normally... and sometimes a fox-fur scarf.”
“And a handbag?” prompted Professor Lupin.
“A big red one,” Longbottom replied instantaneously.
“Right then,” said Professor Lupin. “Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind’s eye?”
“Yes,” the boy said with uncertainty, plainly anxious about what was coming next.
“When the Boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape,” said Lupin. “And you will raise your wand — thus — and cry ‘Riddikulus’ — and concentrate hard on your grandmother’s clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big red handbag.”
There was a great shout of laughter in anticipation for the show—even the Slytherins were excited to see their Head of House in such a ‘ridiculous’ state. The wardrobe wobbled more violently, nearly tipping itself over.
“If Neville is successful, the Boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn,” said Professor Lupin. “I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical...”
The room went quiet. Draco tried to think about what he was most afraid of. His first thought was that oversized monstrous hippogriff Hagrid named Buckbeak. But before he had even started to plan a possible counterattack on a bloodthirsty, rabid Boggart-hippogriff, a horrible image came floating to the surface of his mind…
A rotting, glistening hand, slithering back beneath a black cloak... a long, rattling breath from an unseen mouth... then a cold so penetrating it felt like drowning…
Draco shivered, then looked around, hoping no one had noticed, his eyes locked on Potter’s shaking shoulders—was he thinking of the same thing? Many people had their eyes shut tight.
“Everyone ready?” said Professor Lupin.
Draco felt a surge of fear, along with bile rising from his gut. He wasn’t ready. How could you make a Dementor humorous? But he didn’t want to ask for more time, everyone else was nodding and rolling up their sleeves to get to work.
“Neville, we’re going to back away,” said Professor Lupin. “Let you have a clear field, all right? I’ll call the next person forward... Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot —”
They all retreated, backed against the walls, leaving the frightened Gryffindor alone beside the wardrobe. He looked pale and distraught, but he had pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was holding his wand ready. Atta boy, Nev, show us some of that Gryffindor recklessness.
“On the count of three, Neville,” said Professor Lupin, who was pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. “One — two — three —now!”
A jet of golden yellow sparks shot from the end of Professor Lupin’s wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open, door smacking against the rest of the wooden furniture piece. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape stepped out, his eyes flashing at Longbottom.
He backed away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. Snape was bearing down upon him, reaching inside his robes.
“R — r — riddikulus! “ squeaked Longbottom.
There was a noise like a whip crack. Snape stumbled; he was wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he was swinging a huge crimson handbag.
There was a roar of laughter and the Boggart paused, confused. Professor Lupin shouted, “Parvati! Forward!”
Parvati Patil walked forward, her determined face set. Snape rounded on her. There was another CRACK! , and where he had stood was a bloodstained, bandaged mummy. Its sightless face was turned to Parvati and it began to walk toward her very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising —
“Riddikulus!” cried Parvati.
A bandage unraveled at the mummy’s feet; it became entangled, fell face forward, and its head rolled off. A few of the girls squealed “Ew!” And the boys chuckled, pretending to go kick it like a ball.
“Seamus!” roared Professor Lupin. Seamus darted past Parvati. At the same moment, Draco, Pansy, and Theo each took a few steps back toward the back of the room. None of them were completely sure what their Boggarts would be, but they had deeper fears than the things their classmates had thought of. It wouldn’t do to have the entire third year of Gryffindors have that kind of ammunition either.
CRACK ! Where the mummy had been was a woman with floorlength black hair and a skeletal, green-tinged face — a banshee. She opened her mouth wide and an unearthly sound filled the room, a long, wailing shriek that made the hair on Draco’s head stand on end — “Riddikulus!” shouted Seamus.
The banshee made a rasping noise and clutched her throat—her voice was gone.
CRACK ! The banshee turned into a rat as the Boggart focused in on Greg, which chased its tail in a circle, then — CRACK !- became a rattlesnake as the Boggart stared down Millie next to him, which slithered and writhed before — CRACK ! — becoming a single, bloody eyeball landing in front of the group.
“It’s confused!” shouted Lupin. “We’re getting there! Dean!” Dean hurried forward.
CRACK ! The eyeball became a severed hand, which flipped over and began to creep along the floor like a crab.
“Riddikulus!” yelled Dean.
There was a snap, and the hand was trapped in a mousetrap.
“Excellent! Ron, you next!”
Weasley leapt forward slightly shaking.
CRACK !
Quite a few people screamed. A giant spider, nearly six feet tall and covered in hair, was advancing on the redhead, clicking its pincers menacingly. For a moment, he looked like he’d been petrified. Then the Gryffindor courage finally kicked in—
“Riddikulus!” bellowed Weasley, and the spider’s legs vanished. It rolled over and over, and Lavender Brown squealed and ran out of its way before it came to a halt at Potter’s feet. He raised his wand, ready, but —
“Here!” shouted Professor Lupin suddenly, hurrying forward. CRACK !
The legless spider had vanished. For a second, everyone looked wildly around to see where it was. Then they saw a silvery-white orb hanging in the air in front of Lupin, who said, “Riddikulus!” almost lazily with a flourish of his wand.
CRACK !
“Forward, Neville, and finish him off!” said Lupin as the Boggart landed on the floor as a
cockroach. CRACK ! Snape was back. This time Neville charged forward looking determined.
“Riddikulus!” he shouted, and they had a quick view of Snape in his grandmother’s lacy dress once more before Longbottom let out a great “Ha!” of laughter, and the Boggart exploded, burst into a thousand tiny wisps of smoke, and was gone.
“Excellent!” cried Professor Lupin as the class broke into applause. “Excellent, Neville. Well done, everyone... Let me see... five points to every person to tackle the Boggart — ten for Neville because he did it twice... and five each to Hermione and Harry.”
“But I didn’t do anything,” said Potter.
Right you are, Scarhead. And don’t forget it. Draco rolled his eyes waiting for the inevitable explanation for points being tossed around to the Golden Boy.
“You and Hermione answered my questions correctly at the start of the class, Harry,” Lupin said lightly. “Very well, everyone, an excellent lesson. Homework, kindly read the chapter on Boggarts and summarize it for me... to be handed in on Monday. That will be all.”
Fine. He had an excuse to give him points this time—at least he didn’t let him face the Boggart and get more…
Talking excitedly, the class left the staffroom. Potter, however, didn’t look very cheerful at not being allowed to face the Boggart. Professor Lupin had deliberately stopped him from tackling the Boggart. It was pretty obvious that everyone knew it would turn into Voldemort, but he doubted Potter could piece that together.
“Did you see me take that banshee?” shouted Seamus.
“And the hand!” said Dean, waving his own around.
“And Snape in that hat!”
“And my mummy!”
“I wonder why Professor Lupin’s frightened of crystal balls?” said Lavender thoughtfully.
Is that what that was? It looked more like…but why would anyone be afraid of that?
“That was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson we’ve ever had, wasn’t it?” said Weasley excitedly as they made their way back to the classroom to get their bags.
“He seems like a very good teacher,” said Granger approvingly, a warm blush tinged her cheeks. “But I wish I could have had a turn with the Boggart —”
“What would it have been for you?” the Weasel sniggered. “A piece of homework that only got nine out of ten?”
Draco had to chuckle at that one, that would’ve been his guess as well, and even if they were wrong, he doubted they were too far off the mark.
…
Once the gang of Slytherins were alone in the commonroom again, and on good terms this time, Draco spilled about what Lupin had said to him.
“He said he was friends with Potter’s dad, but my mum was his first friend at Hogwarts. What am I supposed to do with that?”
“Narcissa was friends with him ?” Daphne shrieked in mild disgust. “Did he used to dress better then? And what about all those scars across his face, I’m sure those had to’ve been added since they lost touch! Can you imagine Narcissa fraternizing with the likes of that?!”
“Precisely my thoughts on the matter,” Pansy agreed solemnly. “Your mother loves a good charity case, but I’m not sure if I believe they were friends—after all, wouldn't she have mentioned that when your father got the hiring notice from the Board of Governors?”
“She’s got a point,” Theo shrugged.
“Maybe you should write to her, mate? Or at the very least, go have another chat with Lupin and try to get some answers or catch him in a lie,” Blaise offered.
“You’re right. In fact, there’s no reason not to do both,” Draco said with a very Slytherin smirk.
…
Draco had a difficult time cornering Lupin. It seemed that after the initial confrontation, he realized he must’ve said something he shouldn’t have, because he was unusually slippery. Draco would watch him walk down a corridor and follow only a few moments behind, but when he turned the corner, the man was gone. Even a good homenum revelio didn’t bring any success. It was just Draco and the tapestries, and a statue of a one-eyed, humpbacked witch.
To give the man some credit, his next few lessons were just as interesting as the first. Draco had tried very hard to not enjoy watching the Boggart transform student after student, but well, he was thirteen and it was immature humor.
After Boggarts, they studied Red Caps—nasty little goblin-like creatures that lurked wherever there had been bloodshed. Most commonly, they could be found in the dungeons of castles and the potholes of deserted battlefields, waiting to bludgeon those who had gotten lost. From Red Caps they moved on to Kappas, the creepy water-dwellers that looked like scaly monkeys, with webbed hands itching to strangle unwitting waders in their ponds.
Draco shivered during this lesson as he was keenly aware of what Kappas were capable of. He also hadn’t already known quite everything that Lupin taught them that day, and he was quite terrified that his mother, of all people, held one captive in their home .
As for the other classes, they carried on in a usual fashion—aside from Draco having to relive half his days to make it to all of them. Snape was in a particularly vindictive mood these days, and no one was in any doubt why. The story of the Boggart assuming Snape’s shape, and the way that Longbottom had dressed it in his grandmother’s clothes, had traveled through the school like wildfire. Snape didn’t seem to find it funny. His eyes flashed menacingly at the very mention of Professor Lupin’s name, and he was bullying Longbottom worse than ever.
Draco was also growing to dread the hours he spent in Professor Trelawney’s stifling tower room, deciphering lopsided shapes and symbols, trying to ignore the way Professor Trelawney’s enormous eyes filled with tears every time she looked at him. He couldn’t like Professor Trelawney, even though she was treating him and Daphne like they were Merlin’s gift to Earth. Tracey and Millie had taken to haunting Professor Trelawney’s tower room at lunch times, and always returned with overly depressed faces—one from being thoroughly snubbed, the other for hearing another tragedy to befall her any day now.
One thing that did make Draco’s afternoons pass more pleasantly was that nobody really liked Care of Magical Creatures, which, after the action-packed first class, had become extremely dull. Hagrid seemed to have lost his confidence. Good, the half-man has no right to be teaching anything. They were now spending lesson after lesson learning how to look after flobberworms, which had to be some of the most boring creatures in existence.
“Why would anyone bother looking after them?” said Weasley a little too loudly, after yet another hour of poking shredded lettuce down the flobberworms’ throats.
That made the half-giant tear up, especially coming from one of his favorites. That has to sting, but not as much as my arm being ripped to shreds! Draco winced at the memory and following phantom pains that shot up his forearm and into his shoulder.
…
As October approached, a crisp chill was slowly settling over the grounds, a whisper of winter in the air. The pumpkins in Hagrid’s patch were the size of three to four students each now, and the leaves of the forest were aflame with blazing reds, oranges, and golds. Draco was ready to start practicing for Quidditch again. It felt like it had been entirely too long, considering the season had been cancelled last year. He grabbed his Nimbus 2001 and nearly skipped to the pitch just as the sun was rising over the hills around the castle.
He walked lazily, enjoying the fresh air as it filled his lungs. The castle had started to feel damp and musty with the last of the summer heat dissipating, and the frequent mists and rain showers. The morning light shimmered and glinted off the freshly fallen dew, and Draco marveled at the rare sight. Once he was on the edge of the pitch, he set his bag down, checking to make sure the pocket watch was tucked securely in his pocket beneath his Quidditch kit. If I ever lost it, it’d be more than my O.W.L.s down the drain…it’d be my freedom… he couldn’t think anymore on it. It would completely ruin his mood.
Draco kicked off, rising high above the stands, the field below getting smaller and smaller. He swerved in and out of the goal posts, taking them wide at first, then again much faster and more tightly wound. He looped around boxstands and down through the framework of the stands themselves. It was tighter than it had been during the match last year against Potter, but he wanted to be prepared for every scenario this year. Hard work would pay off eventually, no matter how lucky Potter is.
After another thirty minutes of agility drills, Draco dropped to his feet, and subsequently to his rear, exhausted. His adrenaline was pumping at top speed to compensate for the many near misses he had just survived, and pride swelled in his chest at a solid first practice in the books. He stretched his muscles that had started to ache slightly from the months of minimal use.
He temporarily wondered if McGonagall realized she had given the enemy team’s Seeker the key to extra practices…he hoped it was enough of an advantage to completely crush the Gryffindors and secure the Quidditch Cup for Slytherin again.
With a new wave of ambition and invigoration, he dug out the pocket watch from between his sweat-soaked Quidditch robes with some difficulty. He turned it back just one turn—not wanting to over-do it on the first practice of the season, especially if Flint has set up the practice schedule to start soon.
Blue light enveloped him and the world spun at a dizzying pace. Too fast. Much too fast. Draco’s breathing picked up as he watched the sky go dark and back to light. No! He had only turned it once! Just once! Still the days and nights flashed before his eyes so quickly he couldn’t keep count. Surely he was too far. I’ll be stuck. I’ll be stuck in the past and by the time I figure out the Arithmancy equations to get back, I’ll be turned to dust! Horror filled his face, dread sinking into his gut.
I’m going to die.
The whizzing of days and nights slowed, enough at least that he could see he was no longer at the Quidditch pitch. Time AND space? But that’s not possible…unless…a portkey too? How is that possible?
When time finally slowed back to the standard ticking of seconds, Draco searched around to get his bearings. He was in a dense forest—there were a lot of large, knobby, dark wooded trees…
Could it be?
He heard a howl in the distance. No. Why would it take me here?!Croaker must’ve cursed the thing to malfunction and eventually kill me! His blood felt like ice in his veins. Was he in the Forbidden Forest? That could be a good thing—still on Hogwarts grounds—safety. I just have to find my way out…the overgrowth that surrounded him looked nothing like the forest he had walked through only two years before. He hadn’t been certain of his way then, either.
Snap!
Draco froze, pushing his back up against the nearest tree trunk. The bark bit roughly into his back, but he didn’t dare move.
Hmmm da dum dum deeeee hmmm hm hmm
It was a sweet, feminine voice quietly humming, but growing louder as she came closer and closer to where he was hidden. She passed right by the tree without pausing, and for a moment Draco wondered if he should stop her—warn her about the howl he had heard only a moment ago. Surely she had heard them too if she was already in the forest, though. Something in the back of his mind told him he should follow but stay hidden…and so he did.
He caught a glimpse of the young girl, she couldn’t be more than a fifth or sixth year student, surely. She wore a navy velvet cloak to stave off the cool air, her long blonde hair floated in whisps in the breeze that fluttered through the leaves of the forest every so often. She moved gracefully, gliding in near silence, only the occasional soft crunch of a leaf or slight snap of a twig on the ground indicated her presence to the vast wood surrounding them.
If she noticed his presence, she didn’t acknowledge it, and he followed on as quietly as he could without losing pace. At the edge of a clearing, she abruptly stopped. Another howl sounded from across the clearing— too close. “ Aahhhhhoooooooo” the girl howled back. What is she doing?! Fear spiked in Draco’s entire body. That was a wolf howl, and in the Forbidden Forest, there weren’t just regular wolves, which would be a cause for concern. No. Hogwarts had werewolves living in the forest.
Father had told him about it once—a pack that was the result of two werewolves mating under a full moon. As far as any wizards knew, this had only ever happened twice. The litter were full-wolves, and did not transform, so they would be vicious throughout the entire moon cycle. Of course, his mother merely tutted at the story and told him it was all nonsense, but Lucius had given him a side-eyed look that said otherwise.
The girl pushed the hood of her cloak back and Draco gasped, seeing the side of her face clearly for the first time.
Mother.