Beneath the Surface

A/N: once again, I have lifted some of JKR’s dialogue into this chapter; it’s for plot purposes only, and I am giving her full credit for it. This installment does deal with Hermione’s use of the time turner, but I have manipulated the facts in my own way so that it is much different than JKR’s version of the chapter. Hermione’s time turning will be expounded upon in later chapters, but I figured that my writing might confuse some people, so I wanted to explain myself to you all before you read it:P.

Also, I have a challenge to put to you, my readers, tonight (or this morning, afternoon, evening, or whatever else the case may be for you:P). Can you tell which of the characters in this chapter have crushes on which of the other characters, and which of the characters have the wrong idea concerning the relationships of two other characters, romantically speaking? (Did I write the words ‘which’ and ‘characters’ enough?;D) If you answer correctly, you get akie kie of some sort; I don’t know, like having your name put in as an anonymous Hogwarts student or something in a future chapter.

But whether you choose to accept this challenge or not, which you certainly do not have to, please do read on and I hope you enjoy it^_^!


Beneath the Surface

Chapter the Nineteenthe: The Constraints of Time can be such a Drag


It was a dark and forbidding Saturday morning, the expanse of pale grey sky covered with dull, blackened clouds that were so heavy they looked about to release a torrent of rain at any second. The best they could do for that early morning, however, was let loose a slow, gloomy drizzle.

It was Severus Snape’s kind of day. He felt a rare kinship with nature when it resembled his state of mind, as it did now. Otherwise, he didn’t pay much attention to his earthly surroundings.

Though he had always been an early riser by habit, Severus was a solitary person and preferred the company of himself alone until afternoon broke the tranquil spell of the morning sun’s gossamer light. While not a compulsive man by any means, he did insist upon having at least an hour to get dressed and to prepare for the day’s classes. Thus far, this pleasantly dreary morning was not unlike any other in the seemingly perpetual routine that was Severus’ life.

If he could have been blessed with the gift of foresight like that blasted woman Trelawney (whom he believed to be a fraud anyway, as well as a complete idiot), he would have feigned illness for the first time since he’d been a student at Hogwarts and spent the day curled cozily up in bed.

The series of events that were soon to occur would be recorded harrowingly in his memory for the rest of his life.

~*~

“Settle down, settle down,” Professor Snape idly told Draco Malfoy, Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle and Pansy Parkinson. The three boys bowed their heads in acknowledgement of his admonition, but continued their conversation in hushed tones.

Pansy Parkinson, however, silenced immediately, the sound of her mouth snapping shut just audible. She stared up at her Professor reverently, her small blue eyes shining. But though Snape felt her eyes fixed upon him (as a trained spy would do), he thought nothing of her attention and the girl was promptly erased from his consciousness.

Besides, at the moment, he was far too busy pretending not to notice the vile look being sent his way by Hermione, who was seated several rows down from his desk. They’d had several conversations about the blatant favoritism he displayed for his Slytherins over any other House, but, as did many of their arguments, those discussions had gone nowhere.

When Professor Snape ordered Ron to cut up the daisy roots of the ‘injured’ Draco Malfoy (whom Harry, Ron and Hermione didn’t believe was truly hurt in the slightest), Hermione’s cheeks had flushed with anger; had the speeches she’d given Snape on the subject of fairness had no impact on him whatsoever?

‘Most likely not,’ she grumbled inwardly. ‘It seems that loyalty to one’s family or friends is far more important to a Slytherin than their honor.’

Though her Professor was not in one of his worst moods today, he was still taking it upon himself to insult and degrade her friends far more than was necessary. And, despite the secret camaraderie between herself and Snape, he would still reprimand and humiliate her on a regular basis in his class. Perhaps he was making extra sure that no one knew of their friendship, because, to all outward appearances, it seemed that she was his least favorite student besides Harry, Ron and Neville.

Speaking of Neville Longbottom, it seemed that the unfortunate lad had incurred Snape’s wrath once again. Hermione winced in trepidation; she had a fair idea of the scene that was sure to play out.

Snape stalked past her on his way to Neville’s bubbling cauldron (the contents of which Hermione knew were mixed incorrectly, despite her discreet efforts to assist her friend), his flowing cape brushing her arm roughly. She shivered.

“Orange, Longbottom,” Snape pronounced disdainfully. “Tell me, bdoesdoes anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn’t you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn’t I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?”

His words struck Neville forcefully, injuring his pride as the sharpened blade of a well-aimed sword would cut through one’s skin. The boy trembled, and appeared to be on the verge of tears. Hermione pursed her lips tightly, willing herself not to say anything, or, even worse, to get up and slap her Professor one across the face like he deserved. Calming herself with several deep breaths, she moved closer to the two with the intention of placating Snape’s wrath and smoothing this situation out.

“Please, sir,” she forced herself to say in a meek and polite manner, furious though she was. “Please, I could help Neville put it right---”

“I don’t remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger,” Snape snapped, flinty eyes boring into hers. Hermione said nothing, but returned his cold glare with equal force. Ignoring her, Snape turned back to Neville, a sadistic gleam mounting in those black eyes.

“Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drof thf this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly.”

Neville implored Hermione with his eyes as Snape strode arrogantly past them and back to his place at the front of the class. “Help me, Hermione!”

Hermione nodded to him, her eyes filled with genuine sympathy. Appalled at Snape’s treatment of her friend, she planned to have a little chat with him after class. She knew he would not appreciate her coming to him during school hours, but she also knew that she wouldn’t be able to hold in her anger until the end of the day.

She did not notice Snape watching her and Neville’s quiet exchange with dark, hooded eyes.

Hermione could hear Harry, Ron and Seamus talking excitedly about something that had to do with Sirius Black, the madman who had recently escaped from Azkaban, but she was concentrating too closely on helping Neville attempt to fix his potion to listen to what they were saying. After a few moments had passed by, Snape strode over to Neville’s cauldron, a malicious grin on his face as he inspected its contents. Hermione’s lip curled.

“Everyone gather ‘round,” Snape said, his black eyes glittering, “and watch what happens to Longbottom’s toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don’t doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned.”

Here was the wicked and depraved side of Snape that Hermione could not abide nor understand for the life of her; she often wondered how she could have fallen for such a man. Of course, as she and her classmates all watched---the Gryffindors with fear, the Slytherins with excitement---their Professor ladle a few drops of Neville’s potion down his beloved toad’s gullet, Hermione harbored no feelings for her Professor save for revulsion.

Trevor (the name of Neville’s toad), gulped down the solution trustingly, and the students gulped in their breaths collectively as he disappeared in a puff of smoke seconds later. Thankfully, Hermione’s whispered instructions to Neville had indeed corrected his potion, for there in Snape’s hand lay not a dead toad but a tiny, wriggling tadpole.

The Gryffindors burst into a rollicking round of applause for Neville’s success. Snape, face as sour as a petulant child, pulled a small vial from the pocket of his robes and poured several drops from it onto the tadpole, which promptly became Trevor the toad once again.

Snape deposited the toad into Neville’s awaiting hands as if it were beneath him to hold the creature, scowling at the boy’s profusely relieved and beaming face. He waited until the boy’s eyes met his own before giving him a meaningful sneer whose power could wither the freshest of spring flowers.

“Five points from Gryffindor,” Snape said, wiping the smiles from everyone’s faces. Then he fixed Hermione with a pointed glare. “I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed.”

Hermione’s lips opened wide, her mouth ready to emit a scathing retort to her Professor, but she remembered herself and clamped it shut once again. Instead, her feet remained firmly planted to the cold stone floor as the rest of the students, including Harry and Ron, rushed from the classroom. Pansy Parkinson was the last student to leave, and she glared at Hermione suspiciously before reluctantly exiting the classroom as well.

Snape knew Hermione hadn’t left the room, and he knew why as well, but he pretended that he could not see her as he bent over his desk to squint at a rolled open parchment. After several seconds of his stubborn and childish silent treatment, Hermione could hold herself back no longer and stalked angrily to where he stood.

“Professor,” she growled between gritted teeth. “Just what was that all about?”

Snape’s head snapped up, eyes flashing menacingly as he faced the girl. He had expected her to criticize his treatment of Neville, but the defiant gleam in her eyes and the authority in her voice infuriated him to no end.

“How dare you speak to me that way.” His voice was so soft it was barely audible, its timbre reminiscent of a slithering snake; his most dangerous tone. Hermione flinched, but did not back down an inch.

“How dare I?” she burst out. “How dare you treat Neville that way! It’s true that he’s not the most gifted of students, but he tries hard, and he didn’t deserve to be humiliated like that in front of the entire--”

Her righteous rant had been cut off by Snape’s laughter, a vile, scornful sound. It made her blood curdle in her veins.

“Neville Longbottom,” he said the name mockingly. “That boy is as thick as War and Peace. And you, silly girl, thinking I wouldn’t see that you were assisting him against my orders.”

“‘Against your orders’? You speak as if you’re running a prison!” Hermione screeched at him. “He needs help, and if you, his own teacher, won’t give it to him than I will!”

Snape scoffed contemptuously, his left nostril curling as if in disgust. “From the looks of things, I’ll bet that’s not all that you’re ‘helping’ him with,” he accused her scornfully.

Hermione’s mouth flew open, but no sound came out of it. She was so shocked by what Snape was implying of her and Neville that no words would come to her, not even a denial of his accusations, which she knew to be false.

But Hermione was an unusually perceptive girl, and a realization came to her that caused a small smile to spread her lips, and her eyes narrowed in malicious triumph.

“You’re jealous! Aren’t you?” Her voice was suffused with disbelief. She was practically laughing, such an unexpected success was this in their constant battles for control.

Snape’s own eyes widened as if he had not meant to say what he had said, but his features quickly contorted into a sickened scowl, attempting to cover up his own unanticipated vulnerability.

“And what do I have to be jealous about?” he looked her up and down derisively. “You’re a scrawny, distasteful little know-it-all, and the very thought of even touching you sends shivers down my spine.”

There was a small part of Snape that felt awful about telling this to her, but, to his conscience’s credit, he didn’t specify whether the shivers were good or bad.

But his spiteful words still produced the desired affect upon Hermione, for the wounded expression on her face was purely heart-wrenching. Tears filled her eyes, but she was too hurt and proud to allow them to fall in front of him. Before she could even think it through, she lifted her right hand and and cut it across the air, aiming sharply for Snape’s cheek.

However, Snape had been born with excellent reflexes, and they had been cultivated to reach a catlike perfection by the too often strenuous circumstances of his life. He caught her wrist in his hand just before it made contact with his face, and held it tightly.

Neither moved an inch as they stood there face to face, Snape keeping a firm hold on her wrist while they stared each other down. Hermione’s eyes glittered with pain and anger, but Snape met them only with his own black and empty stare. The ability to feel any kind of passion that wasn’t born out of the most visceral of emotions had been beaten out of him long ago.

“If you knew what you do to me, you’d be sorry you ever said such things,” Hermione whispered to him, her voice deeply pained.
A spark entered Snape’s black eyes then that she had never before seen in another person’s; it was a fairly frightening, feral gleam. He let go of her wrist and grabbed her shoulders with both of his hands, dragging her closer to him so they were only an inch apart. His eyes bored into hers intensely.

“Oh, I am sorry, Hermione,” he hissed at her. “More sorry than you could ever know.” The indomitable strength in his features faltered and he tilted his head, lowering it to hers. “You do more to me than you think you do.”

His eyes fell to her lips, which were slightly parted and trembling. He flicked his tongue across his own lips, making his intentions quite clear to Hermione.

But she had never kissed anyone before; what was she supposed to do? Her heart beat wildly in her chest, its exertions borne both from fear and desire, and she could not stop herself from panting quietly.

Snape’s eyes widened suddenly as he realized just what he was doing, and with whom. He’d no idea what had come over him, and was so appalled with his behavior that he threw the girl back from him forcefully. His right hand shot up to shield his eyes from her sight, so great was his shame.

“I—I’m terribly sorry, Miss Granger, it was…” he stammered, his voice very soft and timid, almost boyish despite its masculine timbre.

“It’s alright, Professor. I didn’t… mind.” She offered him a shy, encouraging smile which he did not see, and reached out her hands to comfort him, but he shied away from them as if she had drawn knives on him.

“No, no, I shouldn’t have…” He paused in his apology, his eyebrows knitting together as he rose a hand to cup his chin. He thought deeply on the situation they had gotten themselves into for a long moment before speaking again, and when he did, his tone was that of the composed Professor whom Hermione was used to.

“Listen, I have another class in twenty minutes, and I have yet to prepare for it, but… we need to discuss this… situation. Here.”
He bent over his desk to scribble something hastily on a blank piece of parchment, then tore the section with his writing off of the roll and thrust it into her trembling hands. She raised her eyebrows at him in question, still too deeply in shock to think to read the scrap of paper. Though he refused to look at her, he could sense her confusion.

“These are directions to a place in the castle that is difficult to locate,” he explained to her. “I want you to follow them and meet me there at eight o’clock tonight. Is that alright with you?” he asked as if on second thought.

“Y-yes, Professor,” Hermione said. “I’ll be there.”

A moment of extraordinarily awkward and tense silence passed them by in which they stood opposite each other, their bodies motionless. All of a sudden Snape made to reach out to her again, this time in a supplicating gesture, but forced his body still. He nodded at her rigidly, still not daring to look in her direction, took his seat behind his large desk and immediately began sorting through parchments.

Hermione took this as her cue to leave the classroom, and so did just that, exiting the room practically at a run. But she froze dead in her tracks when she realized that she had been arguing with Snape for almost a half an hour now… her friends were bound to find something amiss with that.

She knew she wasn’t supposed to use it for anything except for her studies, but, in her frenetic state, she decided that she would be forced to use it anyway.

She pulled a long, golden chain on which a tiny, sparkling hourglass was suspended from beneath the neckline of her sweater and clutched it in her hand. She brought it close to her eyes and focused intently upon it before turning the petite hourglass over only a fraction, being very careful not to jostle it.

She was beginning to get used to the sensation of being hurtled backwards through time, but she was still left dizzy and off-balance when she made her way once again through the potions wing.
She was still very unruffled, both mentally and physically, when she emerged into the chill dungeon corridor and started up the steps to the upper level of the castle.

“There she is,” a familiar voice emanated from several steps ahead of her.

She looked up to see Harry and Ron standing patiently together on the staircase. She had known that they would be waiting for her. Panting audibly, both from the incident with Snape just moments before and from having made use of the powers contained within her secret necklace, Hermione went to stand beside them and compose herself.

Realizing that she was still clutching the shred of parchment that Snape had given her in her hand, she hastily tucked it into an inner pocket of her robe without thinking that the boys would have noticed the action.

“What’s that?” Ron asked, nodding with his head toward the paper that she had shoved into her robe.

Her heart plummeted sickeningly into her stomach, and her face paled considerably. She opened her mouth to explain, but no plausible ruse came readily to mind, and she’d be damned before she told them the truth of the matter.

“Yeah, did Snape give you a detention or something?” Harry piped in, unaware of her inner struggle. Ron rolled his eyes, expecting an affirmative answer from her.

Tmeanmeant neither of them knew what had gone on. A relieved smile broke out on Hermione’s face.

‘How could they have known?’ She mentally scolded herself. ‘Where is that superior intellect of yours, girl? He can’t have taken it completely away from you.’

“Yeah, I have to report to him at eight,” Hermione told them, feigning irritation. Before the boys could say anything else, however, a seam in Hermione’s sturdy knapsack chose that moment to split open. Several of the dozen or so textbooks therein spilled out onto the floor, and she quickly bent to pick them up.

‘Thi jus just not my day. How many secrets am I expected to keep from everyone at one time?’ she thought, harried. ‘A Gryffindor is ill-equipped to hide this many things from their friends. I suppose I’ll just have to lie to them here, too; gods, but I despise lying!’

“Why are you carrying all these around with you?” Ron asked her. Hermione smiled nervously at him.

“You know how many subjects I’m taking,” she said breathlessly. “Couldn’t hold these for me, could you?”

“--” --” Ron was turning over theks sks she had handed to him, looking at the covers. “You haven’t got any of these subjects today. It’s only DADA this afternoon.”

“Oh, yes,” she replied vaguely, continuing to pack the books into her overflowing pack. Once again, the brilliant idea of distracting her friends from her personal issues with food popped into her head. “I hope there’s something good for lunch, I’m starving.” She marched off towards the Great Hall with Harry and Ron closely in tow.

“D’you get the feeling Hermione’s not telling us something?” Ron whispered to Harry so their friend wouldn’t hear.

“Quite often, actually,” he replied. “But I figure it’s not my place to pry.”

Ron frowned for a moment, but upon catching a whiff of the delectable goodies the house elves had prepared for their meal, he shrugged and continued on to the Great Hall.

Hermione thanked whatever gods had bestowed their favor upon her that afternoon for allowing her to keep her secrets to herself. Taking care of the one with Professor Snape should be simple enough, but this other one with her… extra books, would prove to be far more difficult to conceal from her friends.

~*~

Defense Against the Dark Arts was right after lunch for Hermione, Harry and Ron, and they made sure to be in class early, even though their Professor, Remus Lupin, wasn’t in attendance yet.

Professor Lupin was a very friendly and often playful person, and though he almost always appeared tired and rundown, his demeanor was always gentle and kind. He was a comely man, but was always dressed in shabby, dusty robes. Though he was thought to be somewhere in his mid-thirties, his hair was flecked with gray and he moved with the air of an old man who possessed a great deal of life experience.

Unbeknownst to the students, Lupin had a particularly unusual lesson planned for that day, the events of which would turn out to surprise even himself.

After arriving and then bidding them a good afternoon, he led his confused class past a deserted corridor, around a corner and then through another hallway before stopping outside of what turned out to be the staffroom door.

“Inside, please,” said Professor Lupin, opening it and standing back.

The staffroom, full of old, mismatched chairs, was emptyept ept for one teacher. Professor Snape was sitting in a low armchair, and he looked around as the class filed into the room.

He and Hermione found each other instantly, and their eyes locked together as if drawn by magnets, both extremely shocked to so suddenly be confronted with the other. An intense blush spread across Hermione’s cheeks and nose, and Snape’s complexion paled considerably. They swiftly averted their eyes at the same time, each doing their absolute best to pretend that the other’s presence did not affect them in any unusual way whatsoever.

Professor Lupin was the last to enter the room and made to close the door behind him, but Snape stopped him before he could.

“Leave it open, Lupin. I’d rather not witness this.”

Hermione’s head was bowed low to the ground, but she could hear the subtle swishing of Snape’s heavy robes as he strode past the students. Before leaving the room, however, he turned at the doorway and said, “Possibly no one’s warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise yot tot to trust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear.”

Hermione bit her lip sharply, incensed at his open insulting of both herself and Neville so soon after they had just shared such an intimate moment together.

‘He just *has* to have the last word, doesn’t he?’ she thought bitterly. But despite her indignation, it was still very difficult to quell the amorous stirrings which arose in her abdomen at her Professor’s vile words; she didn’t think they would have affected her in such a manner had she and Snape not come so close to kissing just an hour before. Now she realized, with no little amount of shame, that even Snape’s cruelty inflamed her desire for him. Blast her treacherous heart!

She abruptly raised her head, willing those turbulent thoughts from her mind, and prepared to pay her full attention to Professor Lupin. After all, she was in his class now.

“I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation,” Lupin was saying, “and I am sure he will perform it admirably.”

Neville’s face went red with both embarrassment and pride, and he didn’t even notice Snape’s lip curling at him in an evil sneer, nor did he hear him slam the door loudly as he left the room.

“Now, then,” began Professor Lupin, steering the students’ attention away from Snape’s rude exit and back to his lesson.

He beckoned the class toward the en the the room, where there was nothing but an old wardrobe in which the teachers kept their spare robes. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall. Many of the children had jumped back, startled, but Lupin’s expression remained calm as always.

“Nothing to worry about,” he said, “there’s a boggart in there.”

Most of the people in the room felt that this was indeed something to worry about; Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyed the now rattling doorknob apprehensively. Hermione was too interested in what Professor Lupin would be teaching them to be too afraid of the creature in the wardrobe, and was keeping her composure well; however, this was largely because she was very grateful for the distraction it provided from thoughts of Professor Snape.

No matter what was bothering her, she could always lose herself in the thrilling opportunity to be able to learn something new.

“Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces,” Professor Lupin was explaining. “Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks---I’ve even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the Headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my Third Years some practice.” He now turned to fully face the students, allowing his eyes to rest briefly upon each fascinated face before regarding the class as a whole.

“So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a boggart?”

Hermione, ecstatic as always that she knew the answer and that she could reveal it to the ignorant masses around her, put up her hand quickly.

“It’s a shape-shifter,” she said. “It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most.”

“Couldn’t have put it better myself,” sProfProfessor Lupin. Hermione glowed with pride.

‘Why couldn’t I have chosen *this* Professor to get a crush on?’

“So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form,” Professor Lupin continued. “He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.”

Neville emitted a small sputter of terror, but Professor Lupin politely ignored it and went on with his lecture.

“This means that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?”

‘Oh, don’t ask *him*! He’s a complete thickie,’ Hermione mentally pled with her Professor, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet with her hand in the air. To her surprise, however, Harry answered the question correctly.

“Er---because there are so many of us, it won’t know what shap sho should be?”

“Precisely,” said Professor Lupin. Though disappointed that she hadn’t gotten to answer the question, she was happy that her friend had been correct in his answer. Perhaps all of the academic drilling that she imposed upon he and Ron was beginning to pay off. Lupin continued speaking.

“It’s always best to have company when you’re dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake---tried to frighten two people at once anrnedrned himself into half a slug. Not rely ely frightening.

“The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, a thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing.” Now Lupin paused and assumed a defensive stance, making it clear to everyone that the practical part of the lesson was about to begin. “We “Wel prl practice the charm without wands first. After me, please… riddikulus!”

“Riddikulus!” repeated the class together.

“Good,” said Professor Lupin. “Very good. But that was the easy part, I’m afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And,” here he looked over at Neville and smiled encouragingly. “This is where you come in, Neville.”

The wardrobe chose this moment to shake again, but not as much as Neville, who walked forward to his Professor as if he were heading to the gallows.

“Right, Neville,” said Professor Lupin. “First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?”

Neville’s lips moved, but no noise came out.

“Didn’t catch that, Neville, sorry,” said Professor Lupin cheerfully.

Neville looked around rather wildly, as though begging someone to help him, but when none seemed forthcoming from anyone around him, he said, in barely more than a whisper, “Professor Snape.”

Nearly everyone laughed at this answer. Even Neville grinned apologetically. Professor Lupin, however, looked thoughtful.

“Professor Snape…hmmm…Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?”

“Er---yes,” Neville replied nervously. “But---I don’t want the boggart to turn into her either.”

“No, no, you misunderstand me,” said Professor Lupin, now smiling. “I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?”

Neville looked startled, baffled by this line of questioning, but said, “Well… always the same hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress… green, normally… and sometimes a fox-fur scarf.”

“And a hand-bag?” prompted Professor Lupin, a mischievous grin on his face that none of the students could decipher.

“A big red one,” said Neville.

“Right then,” said Professor Lupin, seeming very satisfied with Neville’s answers to his questions. “Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind’s eye?”

“Yes,”werewered Neville uncertainly, plainly wondering what was coming next.

“When the boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape,” Lupin said, his tone slightly giddy with excitement. “And you will raise your wand---thus---and cry ‘Riddikulus’---and concentrate hard on your grandmother’s clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big handhandbag.”

The entire class, including Hermione, shouted with laughter. The wardrobe wobbled more violently, and everyone quieted down and focused upon it, anxious to see what would happen when it was opened.

“If Neville is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn,” said Professor Lupin. I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical…”

The room went quiet. Hermione thought long and hard, but could not come up with anything that frightened her at all, let alone ‘the most of all’.

No… now she had it: failing at anything she had set her heart, mind and soul to accomplishing was her most absolute, bone-chattering fear. She shivered as the loss of a particular person came to mind.

“Take its legs off,” Ron muttered, shifting Hermione’s concentration onto him and off of her fears. She laughed, knowing his greatest fear was of spiders, as unlikely as that seemed when looking at the tall, gangly yet strong boy. He shot her and Harry, who had giggled as well, a dirty look.

“Everyone ready?” asked Professor Lupin, and everyone, including Hermione, Harry and Ron, focused their full attention on him and Neville.

Hermione gulped, knowing that she would absolutely die of embarrassment if the boggchoschose her after Neville and the entire class saw a vision of Professor Snape rejecting her. She slunk behind Ron and Harry, hoping to obscure herself from the boggart’s sight when it emerged from the wardrobe.

“Neville, we’re going to back away,” said Professor Lupin. “Let you have a clear field, alright? I’ll call the next person forward…. Everyone back now, so Neville can get a clear shot---”

The students all retreated, backing against the walls, leaving Neville alone beside the wardrobe. He looked pale and frightened, but he ha pushed up the sleeves of his robes and was holding his wand ready.

“On the count of three, Neville,” said Professor Lupin, who was pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. “One---two---three---now!”

A jet of sparks shot from the end of Professor Lupin’s wand and hit the doorknob. The wardrobe burst open. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape stepped out, his eyes flashing at Neville. Hermione’s heart skipped a beat.

‘It’s not really him, it’s not really him…’

Neville backed away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. Snape was bearing down upon him, reaching inside his robes. Hermione’s eyes widened at the spectacle.

“R---r---riddikulus!” squeaked Neville, at last.

There was a noise like a whip crack. Snape stumbled back, as if struck by a blow; he was suddenly wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he was swinging a huge, crimson handbag. Hermione’s mouth formed a perfectly round ‘O’ in shock.

The class roared in laughter; the boggart paused, confused, and Professor Lupin shouted, “Parvati! Forward!”

The boggart immediately changed to become what she most feared, and after she cast the ‘riddikulus’ spell upon it, it became far less menacing and moved on to the next student, who cast the spell again, and on and on and on, until it had gotten to everyone in the room.
At last it reed ted to Neville, having come full circle, and metamorphosed back into an evil-looking Professor Snape. This time, Neville charged at him, looking determined.

“Riddikulus!” he shouted, and the class had another split second’s view of Snape in his lacy dress before Neville let out a great ‘Ha!” of laughter, and the boggart exploded, burst into a thousand tiny wisps of smoke, and was gone.

“Excellent!” cried Professor Lupin as the class broke into applause. “Excellent, Neville. Well done, everyone…. Let me see… five points to Gryffindor for evpersperson to tackle the boggart---ten for Neville because he did it twice… and five each to Hermione and Harry.”

“But I didn’t do anything,” Harry said.

“You and Hermione answered my questions correctly at the start of the class, Harry,” Lupin said lightly. “Very well, everyone, an excellent lesson. Homework, kindly read the chapter on bots ats and summarize it for me… to be handed in on Monday. That will be all.”

Hermione thought thsignsignment was far too lacking in difficulty for someone of her mental caliber, so she decided that she would write a research paper on boggarts during her own time later in the library.

On the way back to their classroom to get their bags, the students excitedly reiterated the previous lesson with one another.

“That was the best Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson we’ve ever had, wasn’t it?” Ron said excitedly. Harry nodded absently, having appeared to be deep in thought since they’d left thaffraffroom. Hermione had noticed this, but decided to leave it to Harry’s best friend Ron to sort out later in their dorm, if, of course, he happened to discern his friend’s mental anguish.

“He seems like a very good teacher,” she said approvingly of Lupin. Ron nodded his effusive agreement.

“And the revolting things that boggart became, ugh! Did you see the…”

Ron went on for a long time about the horrors of the severed hand, the rolling eyeball, and his own six-foot tall spider. Harry’s interest became piqued by the ect,ect, and soon he was joining in the conversation with Ron, his unease of several moments ago seemingly forgotten.

But all Hermione could think about was Professor Snape in that long, lacy dress, and how on Earth she would be able to face him at eight o’clock on this critical night without laughing her head off.