Harry Potter: Magic and Guns

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"All right, enough scaring you," Lupin said with a mischievous smile, easing his previously tense expression. The students let out a drawn-out "Ehh~" in mock disapproval, realizing they had been playfully tricked by their professor.

Compared to a stern and aloof teacher, one who could joke around with them was far more likely to win their affection and trust.

"There's a Boggart in here," Lupin explained. "Now, personally, I believe Boggarts should be taught in the third year, but Professor Snape insisted that you begin learning real Defense Against the Dark Arts, not just pretend play."

He spread his hands in a helpless gesture. "As you can see, he convinced me. He said you are all outstanding students, maturing rapidly, and maybe one of you will make it onto the Triwizard Tournament roster someday. Consider this early preparation."

"Now, back to the point. Let's talk about Boggarts."

"Boggarts like dark, confined spaces—wardrobes, gaps under beds, cupboards beneath sinks, things like that. I once found one living inside a grandfather clock. Here at Hogwarts, they're tucked away in all sorts of forgotten places, like unused rooms full of old things."

"But don't worry; Boggarts don't cause direct harm. Although they might give you a fright, once you learn how to handle them, they're not much trouble."

"Can anyone tell me—what is a Boggart?" Lupin scanned the students, but no one raised their hand immediately. His gaze fell on the boy standing next to Harry.

"Can you tell me your name?" Lupin asked.

"N-Neville," the boy stammered nervously, swallowing hard. "Neville Longbottom, Professor."

"Good, Neville. While I haven't graded your assignments yet, I trust you've all done them. Can you explain to everyone—what is a Boggart?"

"It's... it's a shapeshifting... magical creature," Neville began haltingly. Harry's reassuring pat on his shoulder seemed to bolster his confidence, and Neville's words flowed more smoothly. "Professor Snape taught us that Boggarts don't have a fixed form. No one knows their true appearance because they transform into what a person fears the most—anything."

"Well said." Lupin led the class in applause. Neville lowered his head shyly, but his eyes sparkled with excitement. He'd succeeded once again instead of messing up! Compared to his early days at Hogwarts, Neville had grown a lot—more confident than ever.

"But let me add something not in the textbooks," Lupin continued. "This is from my personal experience. I once lived in the same room as a Boggart for a while. Few wizards have had such close encounters. I'll admit, it wasn't a pleasant time—waking up every morning to see the thing you fear most."

"Imagine being face-to-face with what terrifies you," he added. The students shivered at the thought, looking at Lupin with newfound admiration.

"In your first year, Professor Grindelwald used Dementors as class demonstrations. So, you all have a good understanding of Dementors by now, don't you?" Lupin asked.

The students nodded. Though Dementors were scary, they'd grown accustomed to them. After all, Dementors drained happiness, but as long as they didn't take too much, kids their age could always find new ways to have fun. Their happiness came easier than it did for adults.

Some students even joked about yanking the bandages off a Dementor's face to see what it looked like underneath. One daring soul once stuffed a giant carrot into a Dementor's O-shaped mouth for "serious magical research." Not naming names, of course—let's just say it wasn't someone with a name starting with "H."

"If I told you Boggarts and Dementors are somewhat similar, you'd understand, wouldn't you? Simply put, Dementors actively drain your happiness, spreading despair, while Boggarts passively absorb your fear."

"Boggarts grow stronger by scaring people. That's why laughter is the key to defeating them—because they can't scare you anymore. The tables turn, and the Boggart becomes the one afraid of you."

"Laughter, devoid of fear, is the ultimate weapon against them. However, in most cases, you only need to repel or drive them away. Rooms with Boggarts tend to be free of pests like rats or insects. While they don't eat them, they do scare them off."

"Now, let's practice the spell to deal with Boggarts. You'll need to focus, just as you would when learning Transfiguration."

"We won't use wands yet. Repeat after me—Riddikulus!"

"Riddikulus!" the class echoed. It was a simple spell, easy to pronounce.

"Excellent, very good," Lupin praised, clearing some clutter from in front of the wardrobe to make space.

"Who wants to go first? Oh, Neville? Come on, lad. I believe in you."

To everyone's surprise, Neville raised his hand, volunteering to go first. Though his heart pounded and his hands trembled, he stepped forward resolutely to face the wardrobe.

"Ready your wand. On the count of three—one, two, three!"

The wardrobe door creaked open. Out stepped a stern-looking old woman of medium height, wearing a stuffed vulture hat, a green cloak, and a fox-fur scarf. Neville's hands nearly dropped his wand.

The students collectively held their breath. The Boggart's imitation of Neville's grandmother was so accurate that it exuded the same imposing aura she always carried.

"I can't do it, Professor! I just can't!" Neville exclaimed in panic. He understood the spell's concept—force the Boggart into a form that's laughable—but he couldn't imagine making his grandmother look ridiculous. Sure, it might be funny, but he'd be doomed afterward.

This was no less a dilemma than the classic "Who do you save, your mother or your girlfriend?" brain-teaser.

As the Boggart-grandmother approached, Neville's mind was a chaotic mess, teetering on the edge of collapse. But then, he remembered the applause he'd received earlier, Lupin's encouraging gaze, and suddenly—an idea struck him like lightning.

"Riddikulus!"

Neville practically shouted the spell, his voice trembling yet determined. The advancing Boggart froze mid-step, and a noticeable transformation began to take place.

Though still clad in her usual attire, Neville's grandmother started to change dramatically. Standing around 5'7", her previously wrinkled skin tightened and took on a youthful, radiant glow. In mere seconds, the stern old lady seemed to rewind several decades, morphing into the vibrant young woman Neville had seen in an old photograph with his grandfather.

The youthful Mrs. Longbottom was stunning—her charm undeniable. Seeing her as she had been in her twenties instantly replaced Neville's fear with awe. His apprehension melted away as he gazed at the image before him.

A chorus of soft "wow"s rippled through the boys in the class, and even the girls couldn't help but envy the flawless complexion. Neville's grandfather, it seemed, had been a very lucky man to marry such a beauty.

"Brilliant thinking, Neville! That was absolutely remarkable!" Lupin praised, his enthusiasm shining through.

Neville, glowing with pride, nodded vigorously as he stepped aside to make way for the next student.

"Who's next? Come on, line up!"

Neville's success set the tone for the rest of the class. The young wizards, emboldened by his clever approach, eagerly stepped forward one by one. Each of them cast the spell, transforming the Boggart into amusing, harmless shapes. What once frightened them now left them laughing uncontrollably.

The classroom buzzed with excitement and laughter—this was undoubtedly one of the best lessons they had ever experienced. While Grindelwald's classes were fascinating, they lacked the lighthearted joy this session brought. After all, it was hard to smile with Dementors looming in the background.

By the time the lesson was nearing its end, nearly every student had faced the Boggart. Everyone, that is, except Harry, who stood back, letting the younger kids enjoy themselves.

"Your turn, Harry," Lupin called out with a smile. "Everyone else has had their go. Want to give it a try?"

Lupin had no doubt that Harry wouldn't be intimidated by a Boggart. In truth, Harry was the most capable young wizard Lupin had ever met. His maturity far surpassed his age, and even his appearance made him seem older than his years.

"Sure, I'm curious to see what I might be afraid of," Harry replied casually.

"Do you think it'll be You-Know-Who?" one bold student whispered, breaking the buzz of the room. Silence fell like a stone.

"Voldemort?" Harry scratched his head. "He doesn't scare me much, to be honest."

Of course, Harry couldn't exactly tell them he'd already defeated Voldemort's remnant soul the previous year. Fear simply wasn't part of the equation—if anything, Voldemort should fear him. 

"Don't believe all those dramatic stories," Harry continued. "It's like when your mum tells you that a scary old witch will snatch you if you don't go to bed on time."

A few students chuckled, catching the humor.

"Voldemort's the same way. His name isn't cursed or anything. Honestly, he's just a rural bogeyman. Nothing special."

Harry stepped up to the wardrobe confidently, gripping his wand firmly. He nodded to Lupin.

The wardrobe door creaked open, and Harry stared expectantly into the darkness, waiting for his greatest fear to emerge.

One minute passed. Then two. The classroom bell rang, signaling the end of the period, but the wardrobe remained eerily still.

"Come on, at least try to scare me!" Harry exclaimed in frustration.

Stowing his wand, he reached into the wardrobe, rummaging around noisily. The racket left the class dumbfounded, their expressions ranging from confused to amused.

Finally, Harry yanked his hand out, holding a writhing, shapeshifting mass of thick black smoke.

"Thought you could run, huh?" Harry smirked, clutching the Boggart tightly.

"All right, now show me something scary! If you can't, well…"

Harry grinned, his expression morphing into something almost sinister, and his exaggerated laughter filled the room. "Hehehehe! Hahahahaha!"

"I might just scare you instead!"

Under Harry's menacing smile, the Boggart quivered violently before exploding into a puff of smoke with a faint pop.

"Did I just scare it to death?" Harry asked, bewildered, turning to Lupin.

Lupin could only offer him a helpless smile, one hand rubbing his temple in exasperation.

(End of Chapter)