"Harry, what's wrong? Is practicing the Patronus Charm wearing you out? Don't push yourself—it's a tricky spell, tougher than any O.W.L."
Lupin leaned against the desk in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, watching Harry closely. He'd noticed the boy's growing distance lately, not just here but in other classes and with his Gryffindor mates. He chalked it up to the strain of training.
"I'm not pushing!" Harry snapped, slashing his wand again. Nothing—no silver mist, no stag, just frustration boiling over. He flailed wildly. "Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum! Expecto Patronum!"
"Harry, stop! That's not how you cast," Lupin said firmly, stepping in to halt the outburst. "The Patronus Charm draws on happy memories. It's a shield against darkness, a guardian born of joy. Close your eyes, focus, and let yourself relive a moment of pure happiness."
Harry stared at the floor, silent. Lupin sighed inwardly. The kid had his father's raw talent, that much was clear, but none of James's fire. Back in school, even when James was getting thrashed by Snape, he'd bounce back hungrier for stronger spells. Harry, though? His easy days at Hogwarts had dulled that edge. Lupin glanced at the boy, comparing him to the fierce Argus he'd seen squaring off against Snape in that office. No contest.
"Try again," Lupin urged gently. "Eyes shut. Dive into the memory."
Harry complied, brow furrowed. After a beat, Lupin prompted, "Got it?"
Harry's eyes flew open, irritation flashing. "No! Why can't I get this? Why'd it take Argus just two months to teach everyone else?"
The words stung like a subtle jab. Lupin forced a calm smile, pushing down the flicker of annoyance. He thought of James, of their Marauder days filled with laughter, and of Harry orphaned, never once visited by any of them. "No spell clicks overnight, Harry. But if you're keen to accelerate things, I've got a trick."
He nudged the wooden crate at his feet. Harry's gaze snapped to it.
"What kind of trick?"
Lupin flicked his wand, popping the lid. A shadowy Dementor glided out, its hooded form reaching for Harry with bony fingers.
Harry froze, heart pounding. This was Lupin's idea of help?
"Think of what I said, Harry! Cast the Patronus!" Lupin's voice cut through the chill.
"Expecto Patronum!" Harry yelled, wand trembling. No luck—just empty air. The Dementor's grasp closed in, and blackness swallowed him.
He came to slumped over a desk, the crate sealed shut. Lupin hovered nearby, concern etched on his face.
"Easy. Eat this chocolate—it helps." He pressed a bar into Harry's hand. "Dementors aren't conquered in one go. Give it time."
Harry bolted upright, cheeks flushing. "That was a real Dementor! How could you—"
"Just a Boggart, Harry." Lupin chuckled wryly, rising. "I nicked a pair earlier. Loaned one to Mr. Filch, kept this for you. Actual Dementors? They're a nightmare by comparison."
Harry sagged against the wall, catching his breath. Lupin pressed on. "What memory did you try? No need to say if it's private."
Harry hesitated. "My parents... but it wasn't exactly joyful."
His eyes bored into Lupin, who shifted uncomfortably. "You wouldn't remember them, would you? You were only a baby. Did you ever...?"
"First year. The Mirror of Erised. I saw them there."
Lupin exhaled heavily, memories flooding back. "Ah, that mirror. It shows what we desire most."
Harry's voice sharpened. "Professor, where were you that night? The night they died?"
The question hung heavy. For Harry, his parents were an open wound, every detail a thread to pull.
Lupin paused, choosing words carefully. "Harry, you weren't the only one born at summer's end. The prophecy fit more than just you. We couldn't pinpoint the target, so we guarded every possible child."
"That Halloween, I was safeguarding the others. The Fidelius Charm kept your family hidden, but isolated. It... it left them vulnerable."
Harry absorbed it in silence, doubt gnawing. The Three Broomsticks conversation still echoed—trust no one. Lupin's explanation rang true, yet suspicion lingered. He said nothing.
Lupin mistook the quiet for grief and clapped a hand on his shoulder. "It's in the past, Harry. Look ahead. James and Lily wouldn't want you drowning in sorrow."
"If I had a Time-Turner, I'd turn back the clock and shield them myself. But..."
He trailed off, cursing his slip. Harry's mind latched on like a vice. Time-Turner? If he could get one—warn them, stop Voldemort—his parents might live.
The possibility ignited, racing through his thoughts like wildfire.
Lupin straightened Harry's robes, oblivious. "You're knackered today. Head back, rest up. We'll practice tomorrow after classes. Here's my notebook—notes on the Patronus. Study it, ask if you're stuck."
"Mr. Filch's grasp on the charm rivals the professors'. Chat with him if you can; it'll sharpen your skills."
Harry nodded vaguely, pocketing the scribbled pages. His head buzzed with one obsession: the Time-Turner.
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