You Get What You Deserve

Lupin wasn’t there when we arrived at his first Defence Against the Dark Arts lesson. We all sat down, took out our books, quills and parchment, and were talking when he 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, as though he had had a few square meals.

“Good afternoon,” he said. “Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today’s a practical lesson. You will only need your wands.”

A few curious looks were exchanged as the class put away their books. We had never had a practical Defence Against the Dark Arts before, unless you counted the memorable class last year when our old teacher had brought a cageful of pixies to class and set them loose.

“Right then,” said Lupin, when everyone was ready, “if you’d follow me.”

Puzzled but interested, the class got to its feet and followed Lupin out of the classroom. He led us along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing we saw was Peeves the poltergeist, who was floating upside-down in mid-air and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum.

Peeves didn’t look up until Lupin was two feet away, then wiggled his curly-toed feet and broke into song.

“Loony, loopy Lupin,” Peeves sang. “Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin –“

Rude and unmanageable as he always was, Peeves usually showed some respect towards the teachers. Everyone looked quickly at Lupin to see how he would take this; to our surprise, he was still smiling.

“I’d take that gum out of the keyhole, if I were you, Peeves,” he said pleasantly. “Mr Filch won’t be able to get in to his brooms.”

Filch was the Hogwarts caretaker, a bad-tempered, failed wizard who waged a constant war against the students and, indeed, Peeves. However, Peeves paid no attention to Lupin’s words, except to blow a loud wet raspberry.

Lupin gave a small sigh and took out his wand.

“This is a useful little spell,” he told us 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’ left nostril; he whirled right way up and zoomed away, cursing.

“Cool, sir!” said Dean Thomas in amazement.

“Thank you, Dean,” said Lupin, putting his wand away again. “Shall we proceed?”

We set off again, the class looking at shabby Professor Lupin with increased respect. He led us down a second corridor and stopped, right outside the staff-room door.

“Inside, please,” said Lupin, opening it and standing back.

The staff room, a long, panelled room full of old, mismatched chairs, was empty except for one teacher. 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 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.”

Neville went scarlet. I glared at Snape; it was bad enough that he bullied Neville in his own classes, let alone doing it in front of other teachers. 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.”

Neville’s face went, if possible, even redder. Snape’s lip curled but he left, shutting the door with a snap.

“Now, then,” said Lupin, beckoning the class towards the end of the room, where there was nothing except an old wardrobe in which the teachers kept their spare robes. As Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

“Nothing to worry about,” said Lupin calmly, as a few people jumped backwards in alarm. “There’s a Boggart in there.”

Most people seemed to feel that this was something to worry about. Neville gave Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus eyed the now rattling doorknob apprehensively.

“Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces,” said Lupin. “Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks – I once 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?”

Hermione put up her hand.

“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 Lupin, and Hermione glowed. “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 Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville’s small splutter of terror, “that we have a huge advantage over the Boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Corey?”

Trying to answer a question with Hermione next to me, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet with her hand in the air, was very off-putting, but I had a go.

“Er – because there are so many of us, it won’t know what shape it should be?”

“Precisely,” said Lupin, and Hermione 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 one and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening.

“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 practise the charm without wands first. After me, please... riddikulus!”

“Riddikulus!” said the class together.

“Good,” said 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 Neville, who walked forward as though he was heading for the gallows.