They Shook Hands: Year Three (Original Version)

They Shook Hands : Year Three

An alternate (but realistic!) universe Harry Potter fic
by Dethryl

Chapter Eight - The Boggart

"An exam! On the first bloody day!" Draco was in full voice as the group of third year Slytherins walked from Arithmancy to the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom.

"She's evil," Pansy moaned of Professor Vector, rooting in her bag for a mirror.

"I hate feeling this dumb," Blaise complained.

"You're not dumb," Harry assured her.

"I'll prove it when she hands back those exams."

"I'm sure it's not as bad as it seems," Harry reassured her, despite feeling some doubts himself. He'd paid attention in Muggle school, but maths wasn't his forte.

"Put on a brave face," Jenna suggested.

"So, Blaise, did you hear about Amanda Bole?" Pansy asked in her gossipy voice, still checking her appearance in the hand mirror.

"No, what'd she do?" Blaise asked breathlessly, eager to hear about someone else's troubles.

"I heard at breakfast that McGonagall caught her out last night with Terence Higgs," Pansy confided to them with delight plain in her voice. That was juicy gossip, too; Higgs was the former team Seeker, and Bole was younger sister of a current team Beater.

"Oh my," Harry said. "If Bole finds out, he's going to flatten Higgs."

"Then we'll see a flattened Higgs by dinner," Blaise predicted. "I thought he was smarter than that."

"He wasn't thinking with his brain," Jenna giggled, sending Blaise and Pansy into a fit of snickering.

Professor Lupin was waiting for them when they arrived at the classroom. He looked just as shabby as he had at the feast, though he did have a more healthy colour about him. He smiled vaguely as they filed in and rummaged in his tatty briefcase for the roll. When he got to Harry's name, a brief, indescribable look crossed his face. The roll called, he began his lecture.

"Welcome to Defence class. Before I begin, I'd just like to know what you all think of your education in this subject to date. I was led to believe that it's been rather spotty."

Tim raised his hand.

"Timothy?"

"It's been worse than spotty, sir. Lockhart's classes were a load of rubbish; an entire year wasted. Professor Quirrell didn't stutter anything I couldn't have learned from reading the book. I consider us to have had no real Defence lessons ever."

Professor Lupin frowned. "Would the rest of you agree with that sentiment?"

"Yes, sir," they agreed.

"That is most troubling. Well, I'm afraid that scraps the plan I had for today. I can see we're going to need to start from the basics." The moustached professor seemed genuinely disappointed.

"No, sir!" Tim implored. "We'd be most interested in your lesson."

"Yes," Draco chimed in. "We're not entirely ignorant of the basics."

"What is the best way to deal with a gnome, Draco?"

"Sic a jarvey on it," the blond boy laughed. "And then you can blame it for where you learned to cuss so well."

Professor Lupin smiled. "Yes, that is a very effective method. Five points to Slytherin. Perhaps you are ready at that. Books away, then, and follow me. Today's lesson will be a practical one. You will need only your wands."

Everyone exchanged excited looks. They had never had a practical lesson except when Lockhart had turned a cage full of Cornish pixies loose on them before running like a scared porlock. Everyone's wand came out, and they all left their bags behind to follow Professor Lupin along the deserted corridor and around the corner. He led them down a second corridor and stopped right outside the staffroom door.

"Inside, please," Professor Lupin said, opening it and standing back.

The staffroom was a long, panelled room, full of old, mismatched chairs and overflowing bookshelves. The place was empty except for Professor Snape, sitting in a low armchair with a cup of tea in front of him. His eyes were glittering, and he seemed to be trying to disintegrate Professor Lupin with his stare alone.

Lupin ignored him. He beckoned the class towards the far and of the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

"Nothing to worry about," their teacher assured them. "There's a boggart in there."

Harry's friends seemed to think that this was something to worry about. The girls all looked anxious, while only Tim had an eager gleam in his eye.

"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces. Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks -- I've even met one that had lodged itself into a grandfather clock. This one moved in at some point over the summer, and I asked that it be left to provide my third years with some practice.

"So, my first question to you is this: What is a boggart?"

Tim's hand shot up into the air.

"Timothy?"

"It's a shape-shifter, capable of assuming the form of whatever it thinks will frighten us the most."

"Excellent. So the boggart sitting in the darkness has not yet assumed a form. He does not 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 that we have an enormous advantage over the boggart before we even begin. Who can tell me what it is? Yes, Blaise?"

"There's a lot of us, Professor. How will it know what to change into?"

"Precisely. It's always best to have company when dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Should he become a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake; he tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug, which wasn't remotely frightening.

"The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, what really finishes a boggart is laughter. What you must do is force the boggart to assume a shape that you find amusing.

"We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please: riddikulus!"

"Riddikulus!" the class said together.

"Good! Very good! But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. The word alone is not enough. I'll need a volunteer. Gregory, how about you?"

Nervously, the bigger boy stepped forward and raised his wand. He jumped slightly as the wardrobe rattled again.

"Now then, Gregory, what would you say is the one thing in the world that frightens you most of all?"

Goyle's face blanched. "My grandmother," he said without hesitation.

"And what is it about her that terrifies you so much?"

"Whenever she sees me, she wants a kiss," Goyle said, scuffing his feet. "It's creepy."

"Can you think of any way to make your grandmother funny?"

Goyle thought hard for a few seconds. Then a smile crossed his face. "Yes," he said firmly.

"Very well, then. When the boggart bursts out of the wardrobe and sees you, it will assume the form of your grandmother. You will then raise your wand, like so, and cry 'Riddikulus', all the while concentrating hard on making her funny. If all goes well, you will be able to fend off the boggart. Are you ready?"

"No."

"If you are successful, the boggart will likely shift his attention to each of us in turn. I would like you all 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. Harry thought. What scared him the most?

His first thought was Lord Voldemort. The evil wizard had tried several times to kill him, and that was pretty scary. But before he could even start to think of a possible counter-attack, 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; a cold so penetrating it felt like drowning.

Harry shivered, then looked around, hoping no one had noticed. Many people had their eyes shut tight. Draco was whispering, "There's nothing funny about being poor." Tim was chuckling to himself as he murmured, "A dragon, definitely."

"Everybody ready?" Professor Lupin asked.

Harry felt a lurch of fear. He wasn't ready. How could you make a dementor less frightening? But he didn't want to ask for more time, since everyone else was nodding and rolling up their sleeves.

"Gregory, we're going to back away and let you have a clear field, all right? I'll call the next person forward. Everybody back now; give Gregory some room to work."

They retreated back against the walls, leaving Goyle all alone beside the wardrobe. He had pushed up his sleeves and held his wand at the ready.

"On the count of three," Professor Lupin said, pointing his own wand at the wardrobe. "One, two, three, now!"

A jet of sparks shot from the end of Professor Lupin's wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open, and out came a shrivelled old witch with a quivering, wart-covered chin. An obnoxious brown hat, more tattered than the Sorting Hat was slipping off her white hair. She held out knobby, trembling hands to Goyle.

"There's my sweet little grandson," she exclaimed in a quavering voice. "Give granny a big kiss, now!"

"Oh, that's revolting," Draco muttered to Harry.

Goyle didn't hesitate. He waved his wand and half-shouted, "Riddikulus!"

With a noise like the crack of a whip, Grandmother Goyle stumbled. There was a spark of light in the air, and suddenly the old witch's hat caught on fire! Goyle's laughter barked loudly in the otherwise silent room. The boggart paused, confused by the sound.

"Timothy!"

Goyle stepped back, a wide smirk on his face. Tim, resolutely holding his wand before him, moved forward. Goyle's grandmother suddenly ignored her burning hat and looked piercingly at Tim. With another loud crack, a circus clown was standing there!

The clown's face was painted white with red circles around its eyes and blue dots on its cheeks. Frizzy hair of an obnoxiously fluorescent red stuck out in all directions. A stack of pies hovered nearby, soon to be used, judging by the manic grin the clown was directing Tim's way.

As for Tim, he was staring at the clown with horror on his face. His wand shaking, but his voice strong, he shouted, "Riddikulus!"

With a sudden roar, the stack of pies turned into a rather largish red dragon! Everyone stepped back even further in amazement, but Tim held his ground. The dragon looked down at the clown and breathed a single jet of fire. Engulfed in flames, the clown screamed. With just the one quick searing, the dragon's head flashed down and engulfed its meal. It gave a loud burp, and Tim's laughter filled the room.

"Pansy!"

The dragon turned into a giant white marble chess piece -- the Rook. Pansy bit her lip as the smooth surface began to ripple, and the tower unfolded into a rock monster! As it began to roar and stamp a bit, she cast the spell.

"Riddikulus!" she cried, and the creature began to shrink, getting smaller and smaller. It shrank to the ground, taking its place on a normal-sized chessboard.

"Blaise!"

The boggart turned into Blaise herself, wearing a tan witch's hat. On the front of the hat was blazoned, "DUNCE", and the boggart-Blaise's face was idiotically gleeful.

The real Blaise shrieked with horror and turned away. The dunce-Blaise began to cackle mindlessly, and Blaise's shoulders began to shake.

"Millie!" called Professor Lupin, as he also stepped forward to guide Blaise back to safety.

The loud crack came again, and suddenly there was another Millie in the room. The imposter was wearing a fancy dress, with her hair done up and make-up on. She looked dazzling, but the real Millie just looked sick.

"I hate dresses," she said firmly. "And I figured out how to beat this outcome a long time ago. Riddikulus!"

With a loud splash, the boggart-Millie was jumping into a mud puddle! The beautiful dress was ruined, the fancy get-up destroyed. Millie laughed along with everyone else.

"Jenna!"

It was impossibly horrible. Jenna had called up a dementor. Harry couldn't feel any of the effects of it -- for reasons he could only speculate on -- but Jenna could. She stumbled back, but raised her wand.

"R-r-riddikulus!"

Without warning, a wave of colour flashed into existence, and the dementor was covered in bright pink paint. Jenna laughed, as they all did. Dementors were awful, but somehow Jenna had found a way to make it funny.

"Well done, Jenna!" Professor Lupin cried. "Get away now! Vincent!"

Crabbe's presence caused the paint-covered boggart to become a mummy, which shambled around with its arms outstretched and gave a mighty roar.

"Riddikulus!" the boy shouted, his voice cracking as he cast the spell, and the mummy began to spin, unwinding its bandages, which collected into a nice pile on the floor.

"Draco!"

Draco's jaw was set as he stepped forward. The boggart, sensing a new fear, cracked and changed again. From his earlier mutterings, Harry gathered that Draco expected to see some reflection of being poor, but they were all shocked when the boggart turned into Lucius Malfoy! Draco's father was wearing tatty, grey prison robes. His feet were shackled, and he reached out pathetically to Draco. "Help me!"

Draco couldn't move. His wand was held in a loose grip as his hand dangled uselessly by his side. He stared at the boggart, incredulity plain in his face. He seemed frozen in place, petrified by his fear.

Fortunately Professor Lupin interfered at that moment, darting between Draco and the boggart. The boggart gave a loud crack and an silvery-white orb was hanging in the air in front of their teacher. "Riddikulus," he said almost lazily, and the orb became a balloon that was not tied off. With a rude sound, it flew around the room and crashed back into the wardrobe. The door closed, and silence reigned for a few moments.

"Well done, everyone. Five points to everyone who faced the boggart, five points more if you cast the charm correctly. Please write an essay on boggarts to be handed in on Tuesday. Dismissed."

Harry hadn't had a chance to have a go with the boggart, and for that he was privately glad. He wouldn't have to face a dementor now. But that he'd not had the chance still irritated him. He hung back as everyone filed back to the Defence classroom to gather books and bags.

"Yes, Harry?" Professor Lupin said to him, absently checking to see if Snape was still present -- he was.

"Open it back up. I didn't get a go."

Professor Lupin tossed him a quizzical look. "Are you that eager to face down Lord Voldemort, Harry, that you must seek out his image where you find it?"

"No!" Harry was stunned to hear Professor Lupin say Voldemort's name. Professor Dumbledore was the only one, aside from Harry himself, who had ever spoken that name without fear.

"What is the problem, Lupin?" Professor Snape inquired, coming to Harry's aid.

"Harry seems to feel that I have slighted him by not letting him face the boggart."

"Why not?"

"I didn't think it would be in the best interest of the students, Severus, to come face to face with the awfulness of Lord Voldemort."

"Are you telling me there's no way to make the Dark Lord funny?" Snape demanded. "And why should He be the Dark creature that appears anyway? There are so many Dark creatures out there to choose from. Vampires, banshees," he gave as examples, "werewolves. There are dozens of dangerous creatures that children need to be protected from."

Professor Lupin glared at Snape. "I find that comment to be remarkably insensitive to Harry."

"He's right," Harry jutted in. "I'm not afraid of Voldemort."

"Obviously," Snape drawled, shooting a raised eyebrow at Professor Lupin. "You are aware, Lupin, that young Potter has twice now sought out the root of danger at this school and has both times found the Dark Lord at the centre of it all? He has not flinched, he has not wavered, and he stands here relatively unharmed. Shame on you for trying to coddle him. Do you want him defenceless should he encounter a boggart by chance?"

Professor Lupin's face was troubled. "Very well, Severus, since you seem so certain of Harry's abilities, I will allow it. I don't know what could possibly frighten him if Lord Voldemort doesn't, but I will not allow this to get out of hand."

Snape nodded, evidently satisfied. "Potter, proceed."

Well, now he had his chance, and Harry swallowed his misgivings. Not only his Defence instructor, but now also his Head of House was watching intently, scrutinizing his every move. He raised his wand and took a few steps toward the wardrobe. Professor Lupin quietly turned the knob, and with horrible grace, a dementor flowed out into the room.

It loomed over Harry menacingly, its face covered by that impenetrable black hood, but one glistening, greyish, slimy-looking, scabby, decaying hand reached towards him. He felt again the horrid chill inside him. His breath caught in his throat. The cold was deeper than his skin, inside his chest, inside his very heart. Harry could hear its horrible breathing, slow and rattling.

"Not Harry, not Harry, please not Harry!" A woman's terrified voice was screaming in his head.

"Stand aside, you silly girl! Stand aside, now!"

Harry felt his eyes roll back in his head, and he fell back, sprawling on the floor. Through a haze, he saw Professor Snape shout in surprise and jump directly between Harry and the dementor. Its attention caught, the boggart changed form again, and suddenly there was a wolf standing in the room!

It growled and prowled back and forth, rabid foam flecking its muzzle. It bayed horribly, and Harry felt shivers run down his spine, but Professor Snape didn't even blink.

"Riddikulus!" he said forcefully, and with a buzzing of hair clippers, suddenly the wolf had been shaved! Professor Snape's laugh was high and gleeful, sardonic if Harry understood the word properly, and the shaved wolf flinched back from the sound.

When it was back in its wardrobe again, the two professors turned to Harry himself. Professor Lupin was handing him a large piece of chocolate, which Harry eagerly devoured. Professor Snape was peering into his eyes with a lighted wand.

"He seems no worse for wear," Lupin said, evidently satisfied. "Happy, Snape?"

Snape glared at the other professor. "Yes," he sneered. "Now that Harry knows what his greatest fear is, he can learn to master it."

Lupin sighed, suddenly seeming very weary. "Can you stand, Harry? Do you need a visit to the hospital wing?"

"Yes and no, in that order," Harry replied, staggering to his feet. "I need food."

Harry manfully shook off any assistance and managed not to fall down as he made his way to the Great Hall for lunch. After he had told his tale to the other third year Slytherins, but before he'd even had a chance to eat his sandwich, a school owl came flapping in with a letter for Harry. It was a note instructing him to report to the Headmaster's office following the dinner hour.

"Could it be about the dementors?" Blaise wondered.

"Any thing's possible." Harry was too worn out from facing the awful things to even care any more. "Come on, we've got nap time with Binns."

* * *

At the appointed hour, Harry reluctantly peeled off from his group of friends and left the Slytherin dungeons, on his way up to the higher floors. Without too much trouble he found the large and extremely ugly stone gargoyle that marked the entrance to the Headmaster's office.

"Toffee chip," he told it, and the gargoyle sprang suddenly to life and hopped aside as the wall behind it split in two to reveal a winding staircase. Harry took one step and was amazed as the stairs began to move automatically. It was like an escalator times ten. The wall thudded shut behind him, and he went up and up, higher and higher, until at last, slightly dizzy, Harry saw a gleaming oak door ahead, with a brass knocker in the shape of a griffin.

He stepped off the stone staircase at the top and knocked twice.

"Come in!" came the invitation.

The door swung open on silent hinges, revealing a large, circular room. The place was beautiful, and full of funny little noises. A number of curious silver instruments stood on spindle-legged tables, whirring and emitting little puffs of smoke. The walls were covered with portraits of old headmasters and headmistresses, all of whom were snoozing gently in their frames. There was also an enormous, claw-footed desk, and, sitting on a shelf behind it, a shabby, tattered wizard's hat -- the Sorting Hat.

Caught up in the splendour of the place, Harry couldn't help but look around. For his curiosity, Harry got a wonderful surprise. On a golden perch behind the door sat a magnificent, scarlet bird, about the size of a swan. It had beautiful golden plumage, a gold beak and gold talons. It glanced up at Harry and crooned a single note that reverberated through the room, filling Harry with a wonderful, indescribable feeling.

"I do believe Fawkes is saying hello, Mister Potter," the old man seated at the desk said by way of greeting.

Harry looked at the phoenix -- for that's what it was, or Harry would drink from his inkwell -- and smiled. "Hello. Fox, was it?"

"Close enough, I suppose. Close enough for Ministry work. So good of you to come, Mister Potter." The headmaster's voice was warm and cordial.

"I wasn't aware this was optional, sir," Harry joked lightly. He grinned largely to show the headmaster he was kidding. Harry had a suspicion about why he was here, though. He didn't let the elder wizard's kindly tones cloud his head.

"Do sit down. Settled back in, I trust? How did you enjoy your first day of Arithmancy?"

"Well, I thought it might be my new favourite subject," he admitted. "But then I found out it was all maths. It wasn't my best subject in Muggle school, sir."

Dumbledore smiled, his blue eyes twinkling. "It is indeed a most fascinating subject, mathematics. But certainly not for everyone. Will you stick with it, then?"

"Of course," Harry said immediately. "I think it's a subject worth knowing about."

"Good," the old wizard nodded approvingly. "It is only through our challenges that we grow to realize our potential."

"Yes, sir."

"Challenges come in many forms, Harry. Not all of them are academic. Many challenges exist in the real world and in how we deal with the people around us." Dumbledore was now giving Harry a knowing expression. "I trust you understand?"

Somehow -- Harry couldn't even wonder -- Dumbledore knew what he had done to the Dursleys and Aunt Marge. Harry ignored a sudden stab of fear; surely the Headmaster wouldn't help get him arrested!

"Yes, sir," he said stiffly. His brain was working very quickly now.

"I don't know how the cover-up was achieved, but it was a very neat job of it. Not neat enough, however. What you did was very serious, Harry. I wonder if you know how much." The old man sounded disappointed.

"It was serious," Harry agreed with a nod. "I wonder if you know how much."

Dumbledore looked startled at Harry's hard tone. "I beg your pardon, Harry?"

Harry took a deep breath. There was no taking back the words he was about to say. He summoned up all his eloquence.

"You know what happened that night. I don't know how, but it doesn't matter. You were watching me. And you've been watching me all along."

Harry took another deep breath. There. He'd said it.

"That is a very interesting opinion, Mister Potter. I assume you have some evidence to this effect?"

"I have old copies of the Daily Prophet. Someone tipped them off that I'd been abducted, which is the most ludicrous charge ever levelled."

Dumbledore was watching Harry very closely. His eyes did not twinkle, and his eyebrows were furrowed. "I will admit, Harry, I did not expect you to unravel it all so thoroughly."

"So you were."

"Yes."

"And what do you have to say about it all?

"'All', Harry?"

"Them!"

"Who?"

"The Muggles!"

"All of them?"

"The ones you left me with!" Harry shouted, growing infuriated with the old man's obstinateness. He felt his breath start to come a little faster.

"They have names, Harry."

"They're Muggles!"

"They are still people," Dumbledore said reprovingly.

"People don't treat other people like that!" He shouted again, rising to his feet in his outrage. "Yes! Yes, I hexed the Muggles! Do you know why? Because they were saying the most awful, disgusting things about my mum and dad! They called them drunks, the hypocrites! They said my father didn't work! She called him a lazy scrounger! She said my mum had bad blood! She had magical blood! She was special! I couldn't stand it any longer, and I hexed them good!

"But what about you? If you were watching me, then you had to have known how those Muggles treated me. Did you know? Did you? They made me sleep in a cupboard under the stairs! I spent most of my first ten years in the dark! You did know!" he shrieked with sudden remembrance. His voice cracked shrilly. "The first Hogwarts letter was addressed to me under the stairs! That's why I got Dudley's second bedroom!"

"I'm glad you remember his name, Harry."

"I'm not done yet!" Harry was past caring about rudeness now. A dam had burst within him, and all of his pent-up rage and anguish was pouring out.

"You wronged me!" Harry accused, pointing a shaking finger at the old wizard. "I hate you! Nobody should have to go through what I did! Why did you leave me with Muggles? Wizards belong with wizards! There's a Ministry Act in my name, and I wish it could have helped me!"

Harry's chest rose and fell in rapid time, matched by a heartbeat thudding against his ribs. He was quite liking the sensation of telling the old man off. "I'd recite the list of what they did to me, but I don't feel like puking all over your desk. I have some respect for this office, after all," he said with a nod towards the portraits of the past Headmasters, who were all wide awake now, hanging on the edge of their frames to catch every single word.

Dumbledore looked very old suddenly. A weariness passed over his eyes, and he turned his face away. "I could tell you that it was all for the best, Harry. And indeed it was. But only in my opinion. Professor McGonagall tried to warn me about the Dursleys, but I did not listen to her."

"McGonagall!" Harry blinked with surprise.

"Yes," Dumbledore said without further elaboration. "I know it was a hard life, Harry, and my regret for that is beyond your measure. Circumstances, however, do not always give us good options. Sometimes, we must choose the best of several bad alternatives"

"You're not making any sense!"

The old wizard nodded. "I know. One day you will understand, but it is not today. Suffice to say that I fully comprehend your anger, and I know that it is justified. However, I cannot apologize. I hope in time, you can learn to forgive me."

"You can't forgive someone who isn't sorry," Harry snapped.

"No, I suppose not," the Headmaster sighed. "And seeing as you're not sorry for what you did either, despite the hexing of Muggles being a very serious offence in the eyes of the Ministry, I feel I have no choice but to issue you a detention. You will report to Mister Filch's office on Saturday evening after dinner."

"Maybe you think so," Harry said with a hard glare. "There are those who think it's more serious to confine an innocent wizard against his will. I wasn't at school at the time. I wasn't even wearing school robes. Go ahead and give me detention. I won't show up."

With that final declaration, Harry turned on his heel and stalked out of the office, slamming the door behind him. His ears felt hot, and his tongue was tripping over itself in its haste to turn a vulgar phrase. Several of his expeletives were spontaneous sequences that he strung together for the alliterative quality. He decided that he was quite pleased with "crack-potted camel-kisser", so much so that he repeated it and continued adding vulgarity with each repetition.

to be continued...