Another Prisoner, Another Professor

Harry goes to his first anti-dementor lesson.

When Harry arrived at Black's office at eight o'clock he found Black dictating a letter to a sapphire-blue quill that was scribbling of its own accord. " - the end of the matter," Black was saying as Harry entered. He held up one finger and then beckoned Harry inside. The quill hovered over the parchment, waiting for Black to continue. "Anything you do can only cause me irritation and will not cause me the slightest bit of shame. Sincerely - " He plucked the quill from the air and signed the letter. "Sirius...Aurelius...Black.

"About the motorbike," he said to Harry, putting the quill back in the inkwell and reaching for the candle and block of red wax that sat next to it. "They're being unreasonable. Now, about these lessons - "

"Yes, sir," said Harry eagerly.

"This idea I have might not work, and if it does, you're going to have some long and strenuous work ahead of you." The red block of wax was beginning to melt. "Are you sure you want to do this?"

"Well, I've got to, haven't I?" Harry said. "I can't keep passing out every time I come near a dementor."

Black dripped the melting wax onto the folded letter and pressed it down with a gold stamp. What exactly the stamp was of, Harry couldn't tell; it was too intricate to figure out at a glance. "If you're lucky, you won't be coming near any more dementors. There's no way Dumbledore will let them near a Quidditch pitch again and you aren't going to Hogsmeade."

Harry was about to tell Black what McGonagall had said, that once Remus Lupin was found he could go to Hogsmeade, even without a permission slip - maybe Black knew why that was, being a teacher - but before he could speak Black said, "But I can understand wanting to be prepared anyway. Here, go ahead and sit down, I want to talk to you about my idea."

Harry sat in one of the red armchairs in front of the desk; Black took the other. "First of all," he began, "do you know what a boggart is?"

"No, sir." Suddenly he was nervous; did he have to already know about boggarts if Black's idea were to work?

Surprisingly, Black looked pleased. "Good. It'll be easier this way to see if the plan works." He rose from his seat and went around to the other side of the desk. "Stay in your chair."

From somewhere in his desk Black took out a plain wooden box about the size of a shoebox; Harry barely had time to wonder what the box had to do with boggarts before it gave a violent lurch forward, almost escaping Black's grip. Black pressed his hand down firmly on the lid. "There's a boggart in this box and I'm going to let it out. You may not believe this once you see it, but it won't hurt you. All right?"

"All right," said Harry, bracing himself.

"All right."

Black set down the box on the desk and backed away; almost immediately, the lid flew off as if someone had suddenly pushed it very hard. A ghoulish gray hand emerged, its rotting fingers clamping down on the side of the box. Harry suddenly felt as though he were paralyzed. The room was freezing and the hand was pushing downward - a dementor was climbing out of the box, its rasping breath sending chills down Harry's spine - the dementor was out of the box, it was moving towards him, but he still couldn't move -

"Over here!" yelled Black. The dementor turned towards him and then, with a loud crack, suddenly it wasn't a dementor anymore - it was a man, a shabby man with graying hair, his face hidden from Harry's view. "Riddikulus!" Black shouted, his wand pointed at the man. There was another crack and where the man had stood was a tiny person, smaller than a house-elf, the size of a doll in a dollhouse. He was waving his arms and squealing incoherently in a high-pitched voice that reminded Harry of the pixies Lockhart had once brought to class. Black picked up the little person, threw him into the box, and slammed down the lid.

"Professor, what - " Harry began to say.

"A boggart is a shapeshifter," said Black, sitting back down in the other chair, the shaking box held firmly in his hands. "It turns into whatever frightens a person the most; I didn't want to tell you that in case you subconsciously tried to block out what you were most afraid of. I thought that the dementors might be your biggest fear, so I figured we'd start you off with a boggart. Obviously we can't use a real dementor." He smiled at Harry. "My plan worked, so that's one less obstacle to overcome."

"So when you yelled at the boggart and it turned towards you," Harry said, "it turned into - what you fear the most?"

Black's smile faded. "Yes," he said shortly.

A shabby-looking man with graying hair...what was frightening about that? Wait, Harry thought. There was something familiar about the man's timid posture...

"Hang on," he said before he could stop himself. "That wasn't Remus Lupin, was it?"

"Yes, it was," said Black. He got up from his chair and turned towards his desk.

Harry could tell that the warm, encouraging side of Black had disappeared; at that moment he was once again the man who had coldly snapped at Malfoy on the train. It was as though some light inside of him had been put out. He did not look at Harry but held the box under his arm and rearranged some papers with the other hand.

"It makes sense," said Harry hurriedly, not knowing if he would make things better or worse but not wanting to sit in the uncomfortable silence. "I mean, who wouldn't be afraid of somebody who killed thirteen people at once? If there wasn't any dementors or Vol - You-Know-Who, he'd probably be what I feared the most too - "

"You're allowed to say 'Voldemort' around me," Black said. He turned towards Harry again. The gauntness Harry had seen in his face on the night he had seen Black with the Mirror of Erised had returned. "I'm sorry, Harry. I've been under a lot of stress lately and this - " He waved his hand vaguely. "I shouldn't have acted like that. It's natural for you to want to ask questions, especially when you're here to learn. My sincere apologies."

"It's okay," said Harry, feeling embarrassed. He had never had a conversation like this with a professor, not even Dumbledore.

"The work we do here is going to deal a lot with fears," Black said. "We may end up learning a few personal things about each other in the process. If you're ready to deal with that, I'll do my best as well."

"Okay." Harry thought his face was probably as red as Ron's could get. "Do - do you want me to come back later?"

"I can do eight o'clock tomorrow," said Black. "We want to make the most of your two weeks off from Quidditch practice. Does that work for you?"

"I think so."

"All right. I promise to be more prepared to teach."

"You were prepared," said Harry. "You're just - I mean - I get it," he finished awkwardly. "I understand and everything."

Black gave him a rueful smile. "See you at eight o'clock tomorrow."

"Right. See you tomorrow, sir."