SPARKS FLY | fred weasley x oc | YEAR 3

chapter 4- the boggart and the broomstick

As I walked into the classroom I was surprised at its emptiness. Various tables and bookshelves lined the perimeter, all short so as to not obstruct the view out the vast windows that lined the wall to my left. There was a desk at the front of the room, but it had been pushed to the side, making room for a large wardrobe that stood in the center of the room, something inside rattling against the floor sporadically. Kids around me were all talking about the new teacher. I heard one group making bets on whether or not he would last longer than a year.

"What did they mean, last longer than one year?" I asked Ron as we made our way to the group.

"The position has some curse on it. No teacher ever stays longer than a year. He can't be worse than last year's though." He nudged Harry.

"That was a disaster." Harry sighed and rolled his eyes.

"What happened last year?" I asked.

"Last year the teacher was none other than Gilderoy Lockhart." Harry said with disdain.

"Lockhart was your teacher?" I exclaimed, surprised. He was famous in the wizarding world for his books. Each one retold the extravagant story of him facing some sort of beast. He had famously been revealed as a criminal last year when an accident led to him revealing that he hadn't actually done anything of importance. Wanting to get famous fast, he had found wizards who had actually done things and then wiped their memories and claimed their stories as his own and wrote books. "Did he finish the year after his accident?" Ron snorted.

"Accident? Is that what they called it in America? It was no accident, he almost killed me and Harry."

"What?!"

"Yeah, he tried to wipe our memories after he let his secret slip, but the spell rebounded. He wiped his own memory. Didn't even know his own name." Ron finished his story as our new professor began descending the stairs that led to his office and a hush fell over the class. I looked around to find all my classmates watching him intently. It was only then I realized I was, in fact, the only Hufflepuff in this class. Because of my schedule- mainly Care of Magical Creatures- I had been shuffled around and placed in several classes with Slytherin and Gryffindor.

"Good afternoon. I was introduced at the feast, but for anyone who was more focused on the meal than Dumbledore's introduction, my name is Professor Lupin. I attended Hogwarts as a young boy, and can assure you, I caused more trouble than any of you could imagine." Scattered chuckles filled the room. "I prefer to take a hands-on approach to my teaching. After all, what's the point of learning a spell if you don't know how to use it?" As he spoke, he circled to the back of the room. It was silent for a moment before the wardrobe shook again causing everyone to shudder. "Intriguing, isn't it? Anyone like to venture a guess as to what is inside?" He asked as he motioned to the wardrobe.

"That's a boggart, that is." A boy from the center of the group spoke up, Dean I think.

"Very good, Mr. Thomas." Lupin praised. "Now can anyone tell me what a boggart looks like?"

"No one knows." I turned to see Hermione standing beside me. She seemed to appear out of thin air, making my heart skip a beat.

"When did she get here?" Ron muttered to Harry and I.

"Boggarts are shapeshifters." Hermione went on. "They take the shape of whatever the particular person fears the most. That's what makes them so-"

"So terrifying." Lupin finished as he moved to the front of the room. "Luckily, a very simple charm exists to repel a boggart. Everyone repeat after me: riddikulus."

"Riddikulus." We all said in unison, half-heartedly.

"Good, a little louder. And very clear, listen: riddikulus." He repeated the word with more force. We copied. "Very good. So much for the easy part, see, what really finishes a boggart is laughter. You need to force it to assume the shape of something you find truly amusing. Let's have an example, um, Neville." He called out. We all looked to Neville in the middle of the group, who looked white as a ghost. Lupin waved him forward, Neville reluctantly complying. As Neville stopped, Lupin bent down and whispered something in his ear. Neville's eyes darted up and he muttered, "What are you most afraid of?" Neville whispered incoherently. "Hmm?"