Remus Lupin and the Prisoner of Azkaban

Chapter 32: Victory and Defeat

The cold and the boggart poured out as one, cramping Remus' fingers, lingering in his already-chilled scars, dousing the lights. Faces of the dead lingered murkily in his mind, like pale lenses to the past, beckoning for a descent down into madness--the War, the ever present fear of the wolf, the murders of his friends, of his enemies--murderer---

The doubt within him rose to a pitch, causing such a thrashing within his gut he felt he might actually be sick, right there in the classroom; this was too much, too much for him, too much for Harry. You should have stopped him, you should have stopped him, why are you so selfish--- "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The strength in Harry's voice slapped him upside the head, knocking the spiral of despair off its axis and he straightened, blinked. Harry's feet were planted, eyes blazing. "EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The Dementor-boggart was still advancing, but Harry wasn't crumpling. Something in Remus stilled, like the space between heart-beats, the moment between breaths, watching. Yes....

"EXPECTO PATRONUM!"

The apparition paused, seeming uncertain and wary, seeming to sense what Remus sensed, that something was different this time. There was a moment of suspended time, with all 3 watching. And it was broken by silver pouring from Harry's wand, a hazy and indistinct shadow that coalesced between Harry and his aggressor, defiant and tall...and vaguely familiar. A bright joy burst through his chest like a wave, clenching his fists in triumph but his celebration was cut short, because the boy's knees gave a dangerous and distinct wobble. Oh no, not this time, you will take your victory lap on your feet, he thought fiercely and shouted, "Riddikulus!"

A snap like a gunshot rang out as Harry dropped into a chair, head in his hands, but still conscious. The boggart, however, seemed to have had enough harassment for the night and refused to simply be knocked back into the case as the moon, feinting in aggravated jerks like some sort of football player looking to avoid an opponent. Remus had to actually cast a restraining jinx and wrestle it back in, alternating between shoving and pulling toward the case as the creature twisted and writhed within its bonds. Perhaps it was just as tired and hungry and scared as its captors. He couldn't much bring himself to care at that moment, however, as he pinched himself in the lid of the case he finally slammed shut and leaned on while locking it again. He did it, he did it! His bones and scars still throbbed, his body still ached and his stomach still churned but he found himself beaming as he turned back to Harry, still sunk on his seat. The hours of searching were nothing. The tearing maelstrom of his own howling anxiety was nothing to this.

Remus was not sure he had ever taken so much delight in another's victories--and it wasn't even that he felt pride for having taught him, because, truly, he hadn't. He had handed the boy the tools and the means to practice, but the accomplishment was his, all his. Remus hadn't been able to make the Charm work for a week when they had practiced in the Order, and that had been in a safe, Dementor-less environment. Wrestling happiness into a shape that suited him had never been something he was adept at. But Harry--brilliant, clever, wonderful Harry had produced something in his first practice. Remus approached him, rubbing the feeling back into his hands and grinning, "Excellent! Excellent, Harry! That was definitely a start!" By God, he can do it!

The doubt was gone. The uncertainty in what Harry could handle was gone. This boy knew strength.

"Can we have another go? Just one more go?"

Remus could have laughed in disbelief. Of course, you are your parent's son. How many times had he heard Lily say that, during practice with Moody? 'One more go.'