Harry Potter was in an unreasonably good mood. The kind of mood that made people suspicious, like he'd suddenly gained the ability to perform the most advanced form of magic—levitating his ego. This morning, he was walking to his third-year Defence Against the Dark Arts class with Jean, Hermione, Ron, and Neville, feeling like he could skip the class altogether, waltz into the Forbidden Forest, and challenge a giant to a duel. Spoiler: He wouldn't, because the giant would probably win, but he was feeling that good.
Why? Because last night had been nothing short of magical.
Jean Grey—*yes, you heard that right, Jean Grey, telepath, telekinetic, redhead with a killer smirk—had asked him out. Not in a dream, not in some cruel prank orchestrated by Fred and George, but for real. There had been a party (because, honestly, Gryffindors couldn't not have a party), there had been people cheering, there had been high-fives so enthusiastic that Harry almost thought his hand was going to catch on fire.
And now, here he was, practically floating down the hall on cloud nine, pretending that he wasn't on the verge of bursting into song. (He wasn't, but if anyone did burst into song at Hogwarts, it would be Harry Potter. He was that kind of guy.)
Jean, meanwhile, looked like she had just walked out of a wizarding fashion catalog—effortlessly perfect. Her red hair was tied back into a messy bun that, somehow, only made her look cooler. Her green eyes were scanning everything with that intense Jean Grey focus, and Harry was having the slightest bit of difficulty keeping his thoughts in check (because yes, he could be a teen, but he was also a teen with slightly above-average superpowers. Telepathy was not one of them, but that didn't mean his thoughts couldn't be loud).
She caught him staring at her and raised an eyebrow. "Good morning, Mr. Potter. Sleep well?"
Harry flinched. Of course, she had noticed. His brain, always in overdrive, was now screaming, Don't say something stupid, don't say something stupid.
"I slept," Harry said, trying to play it cool. "Sleep is overrated when you've got, you know... adrenaline. And caffeine."
Jean smirked, clearly enjoying his struggle. "Adrenaline? Harry, it's barely past eight in the morning."
Ron, who had been walking beside them, groaned like he was being tortured. "You know, mate, you're actually glowing. And I don't mean in a good way. I mean in a 'please take a picture of me, I'll hang it in my house to remember that time I caught a terrible case of overconfidence' kind of way."
"I am not glowing," Harry protested, but the word "glowing" echoed in his mind, and now it felt like he was going to burst into flames. Of course, being a half-Kryptonian, he probably could burst into flames, but he wasn't about to give anyone any ideas.
Neville squinted at Harry, then at Ron, and then back at Harry. "Well, I wouldn't call it glowing. More like... you've got this weird aura about you, like you just went through an entire bottle of Firewhisky and now you think you can fly."
Ron nodded sagely. "Oh, definitely Firewhisky."
Harry shrugged, brushing them off. "You lot are just jealous because I'm in a good mood."
"Terrified, more like," Ron muttered, his voice tinged with panic.
Jean, not missing a beat, nudged Harry playfully with her shoulder. "So, what's the deal with Remus Lupin? You think he's going to be any good?"
Harry smiled, recalling what he'd heard about the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher. "Oh, he's brilliant. He's the kind of teacher who actually knows what he's talking about, unlike, you know..." He shot Ron a glance. "Ahem, Lockhart."
Hermione shot them both an exasperated look. "Please don't remind me. I'm still scarred by the book-signing incident."
Ron grimaced. "Yeah, that was probably the worst 45 minutes of my life."
Jean, not to be outdone, chimed in with a mischievous grin. "At least you didn't accidentally blow up half the classroom. We had one of those at my old school, too."
Harry blinked at her. "Wait, really?"
She shrugged, nonchalant. "My old school had some... eccentric teachers."
They reached the Defence classroom, where a small crowd of third-years was already gathered outside, staring at Jean like she was a mysterious unicorn who had wandered into their midst. Harry found it rather entertaining—usually, it was him getting the weird looks, not her. And she didn't even have to do anything to earn it, which made it even worse. He could be annoyed, but Jean looked like she was enjoying every second of the attention.
She noticed the looks, of course. It was almost impossible for someone as observant as Jean not to notice. She leaned in closer to Harry and whispered, "So, should I be concerned about the stares?"
Harry grinned. "Nah. They're just trying to figure out if you're about to steal all their test scores and make them look bad."
"Too late," Hermione muttered under her breath, crossing her arms.
Before Jean could fire back, the door to the classroom swung open, and there stood Remus Lupin. The man was probably the only person at Hogwarts who could look tired, disheveled, and still cool. He had a slightly ragged edge to him, like he hadn't gotten nearly enough sleep, but he wore it with a kind of quiet confidence. Harry had always admired that about him. And his easy smile. And his warm, non-judgmental eyes. And—well, you get the point. Harry was practically in awe of the guy.
"Come in, everyone," Lupin said, his voice smooth and kind. He stepped aside to let them into the classroom.
As they filed in, Harry caught Remus' eye, and for a moment, the two shared a silent exchange. Remus' lips quirked upward, and Harry could've sworn he saw the man's eyebrow twitch like he was trying not to laugh at something.
That was not good.
"I'm dead," Harry muttered, under his breath. "I'm going to get grilled for this later."
"You're always dead when Remus looks at you like that," Ron commented, giving him a sideways glance. "Doesn't that, like, ruin your soul or something?"
"I'll live," Harry said. And at the very least, it looked like he'd be alive when Remus was done talking to him later.
Jean, sitting down next to Harry, gave him a look. "You weren't kidding about him being cool, huh?"
Harry chuckled. "Just wait. The real fun starts now."
And as the class settled in, Harry couldn't shake the feeling that whatever happened next, it was going to be a spectacular mix of chaos, charm, and a healthy dose of 'We'll never let you live this down, Harry Potter.'
—
Everyone was settling into their seats when Remus Lupin, looking unusually fresh despite the early hour, finally broke the silence. His voice, calm and smooth like he'd just stepped out of a meditation class (which, knowing him, was probably true), had the class's attention instantly.
"Alright, everyone," he said with a relaxed smile, his eyes twinkling, "books away. Only your wands, please. Follow me."
The room went still for a moment as everyone exchanged glances. Jean, who was usually the one to maintain her composure, raised an eyebrow in that way that meant she was ready for whatever chaos was about to ensue. "Oh, this is gonna be good," she whispered, nudging Harry.
He smirked. "If there's one thing I know about Lupin, it's that he never does boring. I'm in."
They stood, grabbing their wands and following Lupin out of the classroom. As they moved down the corridor, Harry couldn't help but notice how calm and collected Lupin looked. There was a faint tiredness in his eyes though, something that didn't quite match the energy of a teacher leading a class toward, what, some kind of epic lesson?
Probably just another one of those days where Lupin saves the world from something dangerous and magical before lunch, Harry mused.
The sound of their footsteps echoed in the stone hallways, a soft rhythm filling the silence as they made their way down to the teacher staff room. Then, as if on cue—BAM!
"LOONY LOOPY LUPIN!" The shrill voice of Peeves the Poltergeist rang out, so loud it could've been heard all the way in Hogsmeade. He was hanging upside down from a chandelier, spinning around like a lunatic on speed.
"LOONY LOOPY LUPIN, taking his class to the staff room, doesn't know what he's doing, boom-boom-boom!" Peeves continued, dancing through the air with all the grace of a drunken seagull on a sugar high.
The class froze, except for Ron, who nearly choked on his laugh, and Neville, who looked like he might faint from sheer embarrassment. Jean's face was an unreadable mask—except for the slight twitch at the corner of her lips, which Harry knew meant she was trying very hard not to laugh.
Lupin didn't even flinch. He just turned, the faintest sigh escaping his lips. "Well, then," he said, shaking his head. "This is the perfect opportunity for a little practical spellwork."
"Practical spellwork?" Jean raised an eyebrow, eyes sparkling with mischief. "Last time you gave us that lecture on blocking curses and then wouldn't let us try anything. I'm starting to think you're a bit of a tease, Professor."
"Oh, don't worry, Jean," Lupin replied, the wry smile tugging at his lips. "This time, it's all hands-on. Well, mostly. Just a little charm practice to start. You know, nothing too fancy."
The rest of the class exchanged curious looks. Hermione, ever the determined one, was already gripping her wand like it was a lifeline. Ron, on the other hand, looked mildly terrified.
"You heard the man," Jean said, flashing a grin that was 80% danger and 20% 'let's do this'. "Let's see who can hit Peeves with some gum first."
Ron made a face like he'd just eaten a sour lemon. "I can't even hit a moving target with the levitation charm, let alone that idiot."
Hermione gave him an encouraging nod. "Ron, focus. It's all about concentration."
"Right," Ron muttered under his breath, twirling his wand like it was a baton in a very uncoordinated parade. "Concentrating. Totally." His words were entirely unconvincing, and everyone could tell he was already plotting his excuse in case he missed.
Lupin, meanwhile, had turned back to Peeves with an amused look. "You've got one minute to prepare yourself," he said, raising his wand. "Now, watch carefully."
With a flick of his wrist, Lupin muttered a spell under his breath. "Waddiwasi!"
A small, brilliant stream of light shot out of his wand and zipped down the corridor. It hit a piece of gum stuck under a doorknob, and in an instant, the gum launched into the air like a rocket.
Peeves, who had been cackling at the chaos he'd caused, stopped dead when the gum hit him square in the nose with a wet, squelchy plop.
The Poltergeist froze mid-spin. His eyes bugged out like he'd just been struck by an unexpected magical freight train. "What—?!" he screeched, furiously flailing around. "You—you—foolish Lupin!"
The class, of course, exploded into laughter. Even Jean's face cracked into a full-on grin as she clutched her stomach from laughing so hard. Ron snorted, but tried (and failed) to hide it behind a hand. Neville's cheeks were burning red, but there was a small, sheepish smile on his face. Hermione, the ever-stoic one, had her lips pressed tightly together, clearly trying not to laugh in front of everyone.
Lupin stood, his expression still calm, arms crossed in that "I'm totally in control, but also, this is hilarious" way. "Waddiwasi," he said in a tone that was almost bored, as if this kind of thing happened every Tuesday.
Peeves, still floating upside down, reached up to remove the gum from his nose, his face twisted into an exaggerated grimace. "You'll pay for this, you insufferable know-it-all!" he howled. "I'll—!"
Lupin didn't even give him a chance to finish his dramatic monologue. With a flick of his wrist, Peeves disappeared in a puff of smoke, his angry cries trailing off into the distance. The classroom went back to its original noise level, with students still chuckling.
"Now then," Lupin said, turning back to the class with a smile that said, I'm definitely the coolest teacher you've ever had. "Shall we give it a go?"
Ron was the first to step up, still shaking his head. "I'm probably going to miss the gum completely and hit something like Filch's cat instead. She'd probably kill me."
Hermione's eyes sparkled as she took a deep breath. "Remember, it's all about control."
Jean, of course, had a wicked glint in her eye as she raised her wand. "First one to hit Peeves again wins."
"Yeah, and if we hit anything else, we're all in trouble," Ron muttered, already moving to stand behind the others as Jean and Hermione got ready. "I'm staying out of this one."
"I don't know," Jean said with a wicked grin, "I think you'll find it's a lot more fun than you think."
The entire class lined up, and one by one, they tried the spell. Some managed it—others... well, not so much. Neville, bless him, hit the doorframe instead of the gum, while Ron hit a loose piece of paper that zoomed around the room like a kite in a windstorm.
But Harry? Harry got a perfect shot, his gum soaring straight into a nearby trash can. He couldn't help but feel a little smug.
Lupin, still watching with that quiet approval, clapped his hands together. "Well done, everyone! Practical magic is a bit more fun when you can use it, isn't it?"
As the class headed toward the staff room, Harry leaned over to Jean, still grinning. "So, what do you think? Is this the start of a great year?"
Jean, her eyes sparkling with mischief, gave him a grin that could've lit up all of Hogwarts. "Oh, I think it's going to be a lot more than that, Harry. I mean, look at all the gum we're going to throw."
—
As the group of third-year students filed into the staff room, it smelled like tea and ink—but also like trouble. And no, I don't mean the good kind of trouble, like sneaking into the Restricted Section of the library or tricking Filch into chasing invisible students. This was Snape-level trouble, which, as we all know, is a different kind of beast entirely.
The room was empty except for one very familiar figure: Severus Snape, who was standing by the fireplace, looking like a dark cloud on the horizon. His black robes billowed around him like they had a life of their own—probably plotting something sinister. His greasy hair hung in limp strands, casting shadows over his pale, angular face. And though he didn't look up when we entered, his eyes immediately locked onto Remus, and his lips twisted into that mix of sneer and scowl he reserved for people who weren't quite as miserable as he was.
"Ah, Lupin," Snape drawled, his voice oozing with that cold venom that made every student in the room shiver. "I see you've brought your... class with you."
I'm not sure who was more uncomfortable: Remus, who was already used to Snape's charming demeanor, or the rest of us, who were all painfully aware of how much Snape hated our guts.
Remus, the ever-unflappable werewolf (yeah, I said it), flashed that calm, serene smile of his that made everyone else look like amateurs. "Yes, just a little impromptu lesson on practical magic," he said, voice carrying that warm, teacherly tone. "You know, something that actually involves students learning—rather than brooding in corners."
I snorted under my breath, but I wasn't sure it was a good idea to laugh. Snape's attention was already flicking between us like he was ready to hex someone just for breathing too loudly.
Snape's glare intensified. He looked at Neville, who had taken a step back into the group, trying to become one with the wall as though it might swallow him whole. "Just make sure none of them blow the castle down," Snape warned, his voice dripping with sarcasm. "The boy's had a rather... explosive history."
Neville's ears immediately turned a shade of red that would make a Weasley look pale. His eyes widened, and he shuffled his feet awkwardly.
"You don't have to remind me, Professor," Neville muttered, trying—and failing—to keep his voice steady. "I'm—uh, I'm just here to learn."
Jean—who, let's be honest, could probably talk her way out of any situation, even if it involved a cursed artifact and a horde of angry goblins—shot him a sympathetic glance. "Hey, don't worry, Neville," she said, her voice light with a hint of mischief. "At least he didn't call you a disaster waiting to happen this time."
"Yeah," Ron chimed in, his voice betraying a nervous laugh. "That's progress, right?"
Snape's lip curled slightly at Jean's words, though I couldn't tell if it was disdain or the beginnings of a twitch. Then his eyes locked on her.
"And for the love of Merlin," Snape continued, his voice now taking on a sharper edge, "do keep the... disturbing behavior to a minimum. I don't know what it is about you, but I've seen that look before, and I don't like it."
Jean raised an eyebrow, leaning casually against the back wall of the room like she hadn't a care in the world. "What look are you talking about, Professor?" she asked, her voice playful, yet sharp. "The one that says, 'I've seen more than I should and now I'm trying not to lose it'?"
For a split second, Snape's unflappable demeanor faltered. His eyes narrowed, and for just a heartbeat, it looked like he was seeing something—someone—in Jean that made him blink twice. But before the moment could stretch into something meaningful, he quickly regained his trademark scowl.
He looked at Remus, not bothering to mask his irritation. "I trust you'll keep your charming students in line, Lupin," Snape said, his words dripping with sarcasm. "Especially that one with the... peculiar talents." He nodded towards Neville with a look that could've turned a basilisk to stone. Then, as if to punctuate the threat, he added with a sneer, "I'd hate for another... accident to occur."
Before anyone could respond—because, let's face it, none of us were quite brave enough to argue—Snape turned on his heel with an exaggerated swish of his robes. His final words echoed back to us as he stormed toward the door.
"I'll leave you to your lesson," he said, voice dripping with disdain. "Just try not to burn the place down. Again."
The door slammed with a bang that rattled the windows, and for a moment, no one moved.
It was Hermione who spoke first, her voice a little too loud in the sudden silence. "Well," she began, trying to suppress a smile, "that was... surprisingly civil, don't you think?"
I snickered. "Yeah, for Snape, that was practically a warm greeting. He didn't even tell us we were all destined for failure."
Jean, who'd been watching Snape's dramatic exit with a raised eyebrow, chuckled softly. "For Snape, that's about as close as you're going to get to a compliment. I thought for sure he was going to start throwing potions around at us."
Hermione gave her a side glance. "You're not wrong there," she said, a note of amusement in her voice. "But seriously, did anyone else catch the way he looked at Jean? It was... odd."
Harry shrugged, though there was a spark of curiosity in his eyes. "Knowing Snape, it's probably because Jean looks like someone who knows exactly how to push his buttons. And... maybe she knows just how far to go without actually getting in trouble."
Jean smirked, clearly enjoying the banter. "You're not wrong," she said, her tone playful. "But I'm just here for the magic, guys. All that other... stuff? Not my scene." She shot a glance at Remus, who was trying—and failing—not to laugh. "So, what's next, Professor Lupin?"
Remus chuckled, his warm eyes twinkling with that mischievous energy he seemed to have perfected. "Well," he said, moving toward the front of the room, "I thought we'd try something a little different today." His grin widened. "If we're all still alive after Snape's... helpful advice, of course."
And just like that, the tension of the last few minutes evaporated. The room filled with the sound of muffled laughter, and for a moment, it almost felt like a normal class again—almost.
But as I watched Jean's eyes follow the door Snape had just slammed through, I couldn't help but wonder: What exactly had Snape seen in her? What look had made him stop in his tracks, even if just for a second? It wasn't a question I was going to have answered today, but it was definitely one that'd keep me up at night.
After all, when it came to Snape, nothing was ever as simple as it seemed.
—
Remus Lupin led the class down the cold, musty corridor, the faint echo of his boots on the stone floors sounding like a soundtrack to an eerie adventure. The air was thick with the scent of dust and something faintly metallic. If this were any other class, they'd probably be discussing theoretical magical creatures or reading from dusty old textbooks. But today? Oh no. Today was a hands-on day.
And it seemed like "hands-on" meant shaking cupboards.
The cupboard in front of them looked like it had been through a major struggle. It rattled so violently that Harry half-expected a dragon to burst out, but no, this was much weirder.
"Class, gather around," Remus said in that calm, almost soothing voice of his. The man was practically glowing with "I've got this" energy—kind of like how Captain America would feel if you threw him in a room full of seven-year-olds armed with foam swords. "Do not panic. It's a Boggart."
Cue the confused looks from the class. Even Hermione looked mildly perplexed. The shaking cupboard had definitely earned the "I'm about to be eaten" vibe. But Remus just stood there, hands clasped behind his back, like he was explaining the rules of an impromptu game of wizard chess. Casual. Cool.
Neville, looking like a man about to meet his doom (which—if we're being honest—was often how Neville looked), raised his hand. "Professor... What exactly is a Boggart?"
Remus turned to him, giving him a soft smile, as if asking questions was the bravest thing a student could do. "Good question, Neville."
That's when Hermione Granger, the human embodiment of "I-know-every-answer-ever," was practically shaking to be called on. Hand raised so high it might've hit the ceiling if she wasn't so short, she looked ready to start reciting Shakespeare for fun.
Remus, obliging her enthusiasm, gave a little nod. "Yes, Miss Granger?"
Hermione cleared her throat. "A Boggart is a shape-shifting creature that takes on the form of whatever the observer fears most. It's an unpredictable creature that doesn't have its own form—it simply mimics your worst fear, and it can be defeated by the Riddikulus Charm, which forces it to assume a ridiculous form. Like turning a deadly spider into a tap-dancing ballerina, for example."
Harry couldn't help it. A grin spread across his face. Classic Hermione. Straight to the point, every time.
"Very well done, Hermione. Ten points to Gryffindor." Remus said with a pleased nod. But before Hermione could bask in the glow of her victory, Draco Malfoy piped up, his voice dripping with sarcasm.
"Of course she knows the textbook answer. I bet she memorized it while eating her breakfast. Oh wait—does she even eat? Too busy with her nose in the book, probably."
Jean, standing off to the side, raised an eyebrow and straightened up like a predator noticing a weak animal. She made a show of flicking a lock of her platinum blonde hair over her shoulder. "Of course Hermione eats, Draco," she said in a voice so sweet it was almost venomous. "But I wouldn't blame her if she skipped breakfast to avoid hearing your wonderful insight. Did you actually read the textbook, or just stare at the pictures and try to find a way to look more like a house elf?"
Pansy snickered, but Draco? Well, Draco's face turned the color of a ripe tomato. His mouth opened, ready to unleash some caustic remark—but Jean wasn't done.
"Oh, and Draco, dear," she added, her eyes narrowing just slightly, "I'm sure your father's connections can make up for the fact that you're about as sharp as a plank of wood. But don't worry—your reputation precedes you."
There was a moment of stunned silence. Pansy's mouth fell open. Malfoy looked like he'd just swallowed a lemon whole, and Ron, well, Ron was barely holding back his laughter. Harry couldn't stop himself either. He choked back a snort, and even Hermione let out a tiny, surprised giggle.
"Alright, alright," Remus said, raising his hands as if he were mediating a family dinner gone awry. "Let's refocus. We're here for a practical lesson, not a social media roasting session. Now the spell to deal with a Boggart is 'Riddikulus'. However the key to this spell working is that you must be able to mentally visualize a way for the Boggart to take on a form that would make you laugh."
Ron, still trying to stifle his chuckles, turned to Jean, "You're seriously not scared of Boggarts, are you? You're like, what, the human version of a walk-in freezer?"
Jean shrugged nonchalantly. "Boggarts? They're not even on my radar. Now if we were facing something truly terrifying—like, I don't know, Pansy's new hair routine—then we'd be in real trouble."
Pansy's eye twitched. She clearly did not appreciate being called out about her beauty regimen.
Meanwhile, Remus gave them an approving look. "It's all about perspective. Don't let fear control you. The best way to beat a Boggart is to turn it into something ridiculous."
He waved his wand, and the cupboard door swung open. The class collectively held their breath, waiting. Then, out of the darkness, the Boggart emerged in the shape of a massive, hairy spider, the size of a small hippogriff. Ron's face drained of color faster than someone facing a full-blown troll.
"Oh no," Ron muttered, backing up a few steps. "Not spiders. Anything but spiders."
The Boggart spider inched closer, its eight bulbous eyes gleaming with malice. Ron's knees were knocking like two marbles in a jar.
Remus raised his wand without missing a beat. "Riddikulus!"
With a crack that sounded suspiciously like a punchline, the spider turned into a tiny pink ballerina in a tutu, pirouetting around the floor. The class burst into laughter, and Ron, looking both horrified and relieved, let out a breath of sheer, unfiltered joy.
"Well, that was… definitely less terrifying," Ron said, still chuckling, though his hands were trembling slightly. "I guess it's not so bad when it's a ballerina, right?"
Jean shot him a teasing look. "You're not still scared, are you, Ron? It's just a spider with a tutu. I'm sure you've seen worse."
Ron rolled his eyes but grinned. "Yeah, I guess so. It's not like I'll be losing sleep over it… until next time I see one."
"Alright then!" Remus clapped his hands together, pulling everyone back into focus. "Who's next?"
Neville took a hesitant step forward, looking like he was about to face a dragon instead of a silly Boggart. "I'll… I'll give it a try," he muttered, his voice quivering just a little.
Jean placed a reassuring hand on Neville's shoulder, giving him a calm, encouraging smile. "You've got this, Neville. Boggarts are nothing compared to some of the things I've faced."
Ron turned to Jean with a raised eyebrow. "And what have you faced, Jean? A rogue hairbrush?"
Jean gave him a look that said, You don't even want to know, before turning back to Neville. "Just remember: the more you laugh at it, the less power it has over you."
Neville nodded, swallowing his nerves. "Okay. I'm ready."
And just like that, it was time to see who could face their fears, with a good dose of humor—and a little bit of Jean's sharp wit—leading the way.
—
Neville Longbottom stood frozen, his hands shaking and his face paler than an overcooked ghost. It was like time had decided to slow down just to make his suffering last longer. In front of him, the Boggart—a shape-shifting nightmare of his deepest fears—had transformed into the one and only Severus Snape. And not just any Snape. No, this Snape was giving him that look. You know, the one that could turn a cat into a mouse just by staring at it.
Neville swallowed, his throat dry. "Y-you're not supposed to be here," he muttered, looking like he might keel over at any moment. "Please… not Snape…"
The Boggart-Snape sneered. And I mean sneered. The kind of sneer that could curdle milk. "Still failing, Longbottom?" it hissed, voice dripping with venom. "You've been in my class for how long, and you still don't get it?"
Neville's knees wobbled, but somehow, he managed to stay upright. Just barely. "C-c'mon," he whispered to himself, "Riddikulus." His voice was barely louder than a mouse in a sock drawer.
Remus Lupin, bless his soul, was the calmest person in the room. "You've got this, Neville," he encouraged gently, his voice like a warm hug. "Remember the spell. You know what to do."
Neville nodded—sort of. It was more of a jerky head movement that said, I really hope I can do this. He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and with all the confidence of someone who'd just been given a dragon's egg and told to make it into an omelet, he said, "Riddikulus!"
A flash of light, and—
Well, if you thought things couldn't get any worse for poor Neville, you were wrong. Instead of the usual Snape-in-a-daffy-costume effect, the Boggart-Snape's greasy black clothes suddenly exploded into a burst of purple velvet. And not just any purple velvet. This was the kind of purple that made you wonder what had happened to the rest of the color spectrum. The dress shimmered, layers upon layers of lace, like the world's most mismatched fashion disaster. But it didn't stop there. Oh no, my friend.
No. It got worse.
The Boggart-Snape morphed into something even more terrifying: Augusta Longbottom. Yes, that's right. His grandmother. And I'm not talking about a mild resemblance. I mean, Augusta Longbottom—feathered vulture hat and all—was suddenly in the room, squawking like she was on her third glass of Firewhisky and doing a full-on burlesque routine.
Yeah. Let that sink in.
The Boggart-Snape—dressed like his grandma—was shimmying across the floor, spinning around in her ridiculous outfit. She twirled that absurd hat like she was auditioning for The Wizarding World's Got Talent. There were high kicks. There was hip shaking. And somewhere in the back of his mind, Neville was pretty sure he heard the theme music to a Wizarding Burlesque show start playing.
"WHAT—WHAT IS THIS?!" Ron Weasley shrieked, clutching his sides like his ribs were about to crack from laughter. "I CAN'T—THIS IS—"
Hermione, trying to maintain her usual dignity (as if this was anything close to dignified), was only partially succeeding. Her face was red, and her glasses had slipped down to the tip of her nose as she tried—tried—to keep her composure.
"I—Oh my God," she gasped, biting her lip. "I'm so sorry, Neville, but this is... This is ridiculous!"
Even Jean, who usually kept her cool, was struggling to contain her laughter. She leaned over to Neville, her voice dripping with mock-seriousness, "Don't worry, Nev. It's not every day you get to see your grandmother start the next big dance craze."
Neville's face was a blazing shade of red. "That's... That's my grandmother!" he protested, covering his eyes with one hand, as though that might stop the horror show from happening.
"No, no, mate," Harry Potter said, clapping him on the back with a grin that was a little too wide. "That's Snape. Dressed as your grandmother. Dancing like she's auditioning for a Muggle Broadway show. No offense, but... I think we need to start a petition for Augusta Longbottom to be the next big thing in wizarding entertainment."
Ron snorted. "I'd buy tickets to that. Can you imagine the bouncer? A vulture-hat-wearing grandma, huh? This is the funniest thing I've ever seen!"
The entire class was losing it. No one was even trying to hide it. Everyone had doubled over, clutching their stomachs as the Boggart-Snape turned into a full-on ridiculous burlesque performer, each awkward shimmy making them laugh harder.
"You're right, Ron," Jean added, her voice too calm for the chaos around them. "I think we've discovered a new magical subculture. What do you call it? Granny-sploitation?"
At this point, even Remus Lupin—who was usually the embodiment of calm and collected—couldn't help but chuckle. "Well, Neville," he said, wiping away a tear from his eye, "I can't say I expected that from a Boggart."
Neville gave a shaky laugh, relieved that at least something was happening. "I… I don't know whether to cry or run," he muttered, shaking his head in disbelief.
But while the class was caught up in the hilarious spectacle, Harry had quietly slipped away from the group, muttering something to Jean as he made his way to the Boggart. "Cover for me, yeah? I've got an idea."
Jean, always on top of things, nodded with a wink. "Got it. You do your thing. I've got this."
Harry moved with the grace of someone who'd spent a lot of time in the shadows—quiet, unnoticed, and yet still pulling off a very impressive disappearing act. As the Boggart continued to shimmy across the floor, Harry took his chance. The Boggart was far too preoccupied with its absurd performance to notice him approach.
His fingers brushed the creature's shifting form. The second his skin made contact, something clicked inside him—like a switch had been flipped. His senses exploded with energy. Harry absorbed the Boggart's essence. The tingling sensation ran through his body, making his eyes widen for just a second before he quickly masked it.
The Boggart's ridiculous dance slowed, its form shifting slightly as the magical creature's essence was now contained in Harry's body. It didn't stop dancing, but it wasn't the same. Not anymore.
With a puff of smoke and a final dramatic twirl, the Boggart-Snape disappeared in a cloud of smoke. It left behind a roomful of students on the verge of hyperventilation from laughing so hard.
"Well," Harry said, leaning casually against the wall with a grin that was entirely too innocent. "Guess that was one way to get rid of Snape for the day."
Jean shot him a knowing glance. "You sure know how to make an entrance, Potter."
"Hey, no one's complaining, right?" Harry said, his grin growing wider as he turned to Neville. "Now, about that dance number… should we sign her up for the Yule Ball?"
Neville, still trying to recover from the traumatic event that had just unfolded in front of him, finally let out a weak chuckle. "Maybe... maybe we don't."
Remus stepped forward, his voice lighter than usual. "Well, class," he said, still trying to catch his breath, "I think we've all learned a valuable lesson today. You never know what'll happen with a Boggart. And never, ever underestimate the power of a good laugh."
The class let out a collective snort of agreement, still shaking with laughter.
"And with that," Remus said, wiping his eyes and shaking his head, "who's next?"
But Harry—his hand still tingling from the magic he'd absorbed—was already thinking ahead. Whatever the Boggart had unleashed in him, it wasn't over yet.
---
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