When Harry stepped forward in front of Boggart.
The shape that came out wasn't human. It rose to the ceiling, dark and hooded, the temperature dropping immediately as it turned toward Harry. The class took a collective step back. Nobody had expected this.
A Dementor.
Harry's wand was up but his hand wasn't steady. The cold was already working on him, pulling at something underneath his thoughts, and the screaming was starting at the edges — distant but getting closer.
Lupin moved fast. He stepped directly in front of Harry, putting himself between him and the Boggart, and the shape shifted immediately — turning away from Harry, searching for a new fear.
It found one.
The Boggart rose and changed. A full moon appeared behind thick cloud, pale and enormous, pressing through the grey like something alive.
Lupin's jaw tightened for just a moment.
Then he raised his wand.
"Riddikulus."
The moon sprouted a face and began to spin like a top, wobbling helplessly in the air before Lupin drove it back into the wardrobe with a sharp crack and the door slammed shut.
The corridor was quiet.
"That," Lupin said, straightening his robes, "marks the end of today's lesson. We will continue next class." He looked across the group. "You may all go."
The class began filing out, the noise level rising again as the tension of the lesson dissolved.
Ron fell into step beside Harry.
"You alright?" he asked, keeping his voice low enough that it didn't carry.
Harry nodded, though it wasn't entirely convincing.
"Harry," Victor said, coming up behind them. "Stop letting those memories pull you under. I've said it before — don't live in them."
"Victor, it's not that easy," Hermione said. "You can't just decide not to think about something like that."
"I'm not saying forget them," Victor said. "I'm saying don't set up home in them. There's a difference between remembering something and letting it follow you around every day."
Harry didn't respond.
Victor looked at him for a moment then let it go.
They walked in silence for a bit.
***
One night in October the entire Gryffindor dormitory came to a stop.
The corridor outside the common room entrance was packed — students in robes and pyjamas crowded three deep, all of them staring at the same thing.
The Fat Lady's portrait was empty. The frame hung crooked on the wall, the canvas slashed through in long, deep strokes.
The paintings on either side were in uproar, their occupants pressed to the edges of their frames, some covering their faces, some trying to squeeze into neighboring portraits entirely.
"Give way," Dumbledore said, moving through the crowd. Students stepped aside immediately. Snape followed close behind him.
Dumbledore stopped in front of the portrait and looked at it carefully. The slashes were deep — deliberate, not frantic.
"Who did this?" he said, more to himself than anyone present.
"The Lady," Percy said, pushing forward. "She's gone, Professor. She's not in any of the nearby paintings."
Dumbledore turned to Filch. "Search the castle portraits. Every corridor, every floor. I want her found."
He turned to Nearly Headless Nick, who was hovering anxiously nearby.
"Nicholas — the ghosts. I need every part of this castle checked tonight."
Nearly Headless Nick straightened and drifted off without a word.
Dumbledore looked back at the portrait. Then at the students gathered behind him.
"Which of you was last through this entrance tonight?"
"Professor, I don't think we need to search far," Filch called from down the corridor. "She's here."
Dumbledore moved toward him.
The Fat Lady had squeezed herself into a tiny landscape painting — a bleak winter scene with a frozen pond and bare trees — and was cowering in the far corner of it, trembling visibly, her pink robes out of place against the grey canvas around her.
"My dear," Dumbledore said gently, crouching slightly to her level. "Can you tell us what happened?"
The Fat Lady shook her head, pressing herself further into the corner.
"Who did this to your portrait?"
"He was dangerous, cruel… and had beastly eyes," she said, her voice unsteady, the last words slipping out before she could stop them.
"Who?" Dumbledore said. "Who was it?"
The Fat Lady looked up at him, her expression somewhere between terror and absolute certainty.
"Sirius Black."
The corridor went very still.
Behind Dumbledore, Snape's expression shifted almost imperceptibly.The students packed into the corridor began murmuring, the name passing back through the crowd in low, urgent voices.
"The castle is to be searched," Dumbledore said. "Tonight. Every room, every corridor." He turned. "Severus."
Snape was already moving.
"All students will sleep in the Great Hall tonight," Dumbledore continued, his voice carrying back through the crowd. "Every House, until the castle has been searched throughout. Prefects — lead your students down now, please."
The crowd began to move, slowly at first, then with more purpose as the prefects pushed through and started directing people. The murmuring hadn't stopped — Sirius Black's name was already passing from student to student in low, urgent voices.
Percy squared his shoulders and began herding the Gryffindors.
"Come on now, move along, the Headmaster's instructions are clear—"
The corridor emptied gradually, students casting looks back at the slashed portrait as they went.
*****
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