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The buzz of the school made Hermione's blood fizz with an addictive craving for life. Laughter echoed through her bones, and she felt it even as they were filing in to their first class of the day.
Some of the students, the luckier ones, had already outgrown their animalistic features. Others, however, such as Lily, were still sporting whiskers or the like. The redhead was practically fuming that they hadn't worn off yet, and whilst she had been bursting with laughter earlier (Marlene's tail had her practically crying), her amusement subsided when Mary had pointed out that when she wrinkled her nose, the whiskers wiggled, and James had gushed at how cute she looked.
They had quickly escaped the chaos that ensued after breakfast, avoiding detention and the angry outburst of the students. Although from what they could see, (yes, she looked disapproving) Professor McGonnagall appeared rather proud, and Dumebledore was beaming, so they weren’t at risk anyway.
“Did you see Snivellus?” Sirius cried, eyes scrunched tightly as he laughed. He threw an arm around Hermione, who stumbled under his trembling weight. Another short burst of amusement, a single Ha! escaped his lips and he flopped his head on his arm and, by default, Hermione’s shoulder. She exchanged an incredulous look with Remus, who just snorted.
James commented thoughtfully, “I wonder if the potency of the potion reflects the amount of pure evil inside a person.”
Peter pulled a face, looking as though he had swallowed something sour.
“You do realise Lily still has her whiskers,” Remus said. “Are you calling her evil?”
Gasping theatrically, James clutched a hand to his heart and said, aghast, “I would never!” He paused, before adding seriously, “Although she’s got a dark side to her; you haven’t seen the colour of her soul. I guarantee it’s pitch black.”
“Mine is mauve,” Sirius said mildly, to no one in particular.
“How do you know what colour her soul is?” Remus asked, exasperated.
“An inkling.”
Not for the first time that morning, Remus glanced at Hermione, and shook his head in disbelief at his friends and their stupidity.
“What class have we got first?” Hermione asked, feeling her shoulder go numb from the dead weight that was Sirius.
Peter wrinkled his nose in thought, and then groaned, tipping his head back in anguish. “Defence!”
She laughed, looping her arm with his, shrugging Sirius off. The latter assumed an offended front. The small boy (and still, he was a few inches taller than her) blushed deeply. “Not your thing, huh?”
“N-no. I prefer History of Magic,” he admitted, and he seemed almost embarrassed at the fact.
“Oh!” Hermione exclaimed. “I loved learning about the 1612 Goblin Rebellion! It’s so fascinating! But the prejudice just gets me so angry!”
Peter’s eyes lit up and he said, “You know, it happened in Hogsmeade?”
“Really?” She lied, feeling a sense of happiness at the pride blossoming on his otherwise perpetually ashamed face.
“Yeah! The inn was actually the headquarters for the whole thing!”
Schooling her features into one of surprise, she nodded along, feigning interest as Peter continued telling her things she already knew. Hermione felt eyes on her, and switched her attention to the other three boys.
James was staring at her. There was nothing extraordinary in the way he was looking at her, but there was a softness to his eyes and a slackness to the set of his jaw; it was the type of look he had only ever given his very best friends. It was the very same look Harry used to give Ron.
Choked, she smiled at him, and he didn’t really seem to notice her. It was almost as if he wasn’t looking at her, but through her, staring at her soul with a breathless intensity that had Hermione hot and cold all over. Then, he blinked, and seemed to finally see her, and he smiled back, and looked away.
But even as she turned to Peter, she felt his eyes flick to her more than once, with the same softness, and felt her throat go dry.
They eventually reached the classroom, located on the 4th floor, after a particularly graphic tapestry of Herdunk the Hideous slaughtering trolls. Hermione grimaced when she saw it, remembering her distaste for it back in her time.
They slipped through the doorway, just as first period officially began.
The majority of the seats were already taken, by a mixture of all the houses, and even as the Marauders sat down in their usual seats, Hermione remained standing, loitering at the back, unsure of where to go.
“Kitten,” Sirius called. Sniggers erupted from the other side of the classroom, where the entirety of students with green ties sat, at the nickname. He shot a poisonous glare at them, before turning to her and patting the chair beside him. A charming smile morphed his features, and it was such a drastic contrast, Hermione paused momentarily.
“There’s no need for that.” A voice from the front of the room shattered that thought in her head. It was a warbled voice, weathered by age and wisdom, and shook with the promise of authority. “Today will be a practical lesson. No sitting down required.”
The voice, it turned out, belonged to an older woman, with straight grey hair, that reached her shoulders in strict precision- although, quite a few stray strands shot up in all different directions on top of her head, giving the impression she had just been electrocuted. This impression was furthered by the pinkness of her cheeks. She was small and stout, and rather round in shape, and wore a dark purple robe and hat.
“Now, come to the front- that’s it! And mind out of the way of the desks! Don’t want to knock any of you over before class has even begun!”
Once all the students were gathered at the front, the woman raised her hand and swept it across the expanse of the classroom and watched with satisfaction as all of the furniture tottered over to the far side of the room. She clapped her hands in delight, and smiled at the class. Her skin wrinkled, laughter lines protruding in a way that made Hermione feel a rush of fondness for her new professor. She reminded her immensely of Mrs Weasley.
“My name is Professor Meryl, for those of you who don’t know me,” her eyes, twinkling and bright like Dumbledore’s (Hermione wondered vaguely if all wise old people had twinkling eyes), lingered on her and the smile widened. “I am your Defence against the Dark Arts teacher for this year. I would like to think I am a gentle woman, but I expect the very best from the brightest bunch of students Hogwarts has to offer. If I do not feel your work is up to my standard, I will regretfully exclude you from my class. Is that understood?”
Hermione nodded. Her fondness increased tenfold; maybe this year, she’d actually have a decent DADA teacher.
“Tough and ruthless; just the way I like ‘em,” Sirius commented refreshingly, winking at Professor Meryl, who laughed good-naturedly.
“Today, we are going to be learning about Boggarts! First and foremost, can anyone tell me what a boggart is?”
Hand shooting into the air, Hermione felt a rush of relief as Professor Meryl raised her eyebrows, impressed. “Yes, Miss-?”
“Granger, Miss.”
“Miss Granger,” the Professor corrected.
“A boggart is an amortal shape-shifting non-being that takes on the form of the viewer's worst fear. Because of their shape-shifting ability, no one knows what a boggart looks like when it is alone, as it instantly changes into one's worst fears when one first see it. They can be found in a range of dark, confined spaces.”
Professor Meryl’s eyebrows shot even further up into her hairline, almost dissipating into the grey there. “Very well done! I already know what a valuable addition you’ll make to this year’s class, Miss Granger. Five points to Gryffindor!”
James clapped her on the back, grinning proudly. Remus quirked a wonky smile at her. Hermione felt warm inside.
“And do we know how to defeat a boggart?”
Again, her hand invaded the air, and Meryl looked equally pleased and amused. She chose, instead, a Ravenclaw boy; the only other volunteer.
“Laughter,” he said simply.
Hermione sighed, and added, “Laughter is the main weakness of a boggart because it depends and thrives off of fear. Therefore, the first step to defeating one, is to force the creature to assume an amusing form, by casting the spell Riddikulus. It causes the creature to unwittingly assume a form that is humorous to the caster, provoking laughter and thereby counteracting the Boggart's ability to terrorise.”
The class was silent. Then, Peter started clapping, before realising that no one else was going to join in, and he slowly lowered his hands to his sides again. Professor Meryl regarded Hermione with interest.
“Intriguing,” she muttered. “You’re a very intelligent girl, Miss Granger.”
She blushed profusely. “Thank you, Professor.”
“I wonder… Where were you schooled before you came here?”
Freezing, the truth died in her throat, and a hint of a lie burned her tongue. “I was home-schooled.”
“Ah, I see.” She trailed off, then clapped her hands (it seemed she liked doing that) and said, “Right! I want you to repeat after me: Riddikulus.”
“Riddikulus.”
“Very good, remember to emphasise the kul! Riddikulus- you see? Now with the wand action.”
And Professor Mereyl demonstrated, waving her wand in a swift and agile way, drawing what could best be described as a shallow bowl, complete with lavish flicks at the start and end. The class mimicked her movement.
“Brilliant! Now stand in a line. You’re going to take turns defeating this little beauty that I found in my old Grandfather clock a month or two ago.” She jabbed her wand into the empty space next to her, and a chest, bolted shut with multiple iron locks, appeared out of thin air. It juddered violently. The wood screamed. As she fiddled with the chains, Meryl said, “It isn’t compulsory. Whilst I would prefer for you to all do it, I don’t think we’ll have time. So if you’re less keen to face your greatest fear, join the back of the queue and count your lucky stars.”
The students burst into mumbling sound, shuffling to either the front or back of a makeshift line. James stared at each of them equally, checking for hesitance. They all felt it, nibbling at the back of their mind. For both he and Hermione, hesitance came in the form of dread; of fear of the unknown. They had no idea what was going to appear in front of them, and even less of an idea as to how to defeat it. For Sirius and Remus, on the other hand… They knew exactly what they were going to see, and it was that knowledge that fuelled their reluctance.
Peter was just plain scared.
“What? Too afraid, are you Lupin?” A slick, low voice drawled, disrupting their considerations. Severus Snape was even greasier as a teenager than he was as an adult. His black hair fell to his shoulders, and similarly dark eyes peered out at them from a sallow face, over a large hooked nose.
“Ironic, really,” Sirius said loudly, fixing Snape with a filthy look. “Slytherins taking Defence against the Dark Arts, when they are the Dark Arts.”
And all too vividly, a boy with hair the colour of untouched sunlight and icy eyes swam before Hermione. She found it hard to swallow.
Snape sneered. He continued on, as though Sirius had never even spoken. “Know exactly what you’ll see, don’t we both Lupin? Or should I say Moony-?”
In a split second, Sirius had lifted Snape off of his feet, one hand twisted in his collar, while the other held his wand in an unbelievably tight grip to his throat. “You might want to consider apologising, Snivellus. Before I do something I won’t regret.”
Peter said, in a voice as cold and sharp as flint, “I’d do it anyway, Sirius.”
Hermione watched this unfurl with bated shock. James had his arms folded across his chest, clearly unwilling to intervene and prevent Sirius from giving the Slytherin what he deserved. She glanced at Remus, and, with what felt like a blow to her gut, found him staring at his feet, disdain and shame evident on his pale face. She felt sick, and angry, and she really hated Severus Snape.
Taking a deep breath, she strode up, and unhooked him from Sirius’ clutches. The latter looked at her in surprise. She slid her wand into her hand, lifting it up to Snape’s face and said, in a low and silky voice, “Why don’t, instead of tormenting someone who is ten times the man you’ll ever be, you focus on your own issues and wash that greasy hair of yours?” His face flushed a blotchy purple. Hermione leaned closer. “Oh, and if I ever hear you even hinting anything about Remus, I will personally ensure you never speak again. Understood?”
He nodded robotically. She smoothed down his collar, letting the tip of her wand jab him, not so gently, in the neck, for good measure. “I’m glad we’re in agreement,” she smiled.
Pushing away from her, Snape turned around and immediately bee-lined to the back of the classroom.
Hermione spun around… And found all four boys watching her in awe.
“Hermione,” James began, before he cut off. Then, he let out a low whistle. “That was bloody brilliant!”
Sirius grinned, grabbing her arm to tug her closer to him, and then clasping both her cheeks in the palm of his hands, squashed her face. “I could kiss you right now, Kitten.”
Her eyes widened and through forced pouted lips, she managed to get out a “Please don’t.”
Peter was simply laughing, hard and silently. “His face!” He wheezed. “You shoulda seen his face!”
The three boys disbanded, merging into the front of the slowly forming line, reliving the moment before. Remus stepped in front of her. His cheeks were red, his eyes were both dazed and intense, and she wondered briefly how something could be such a contrast at the same time, before she realised that everything about the Marauders was a juxtaposition. There were loud, yet quiet; brilliant, yet stupid; loving, yet dangerous.
He scratched his neck; a habit of his, it seemed. “You didn’t have to do that,” Remus said quietly, awkwardly, looking everywhere but at her.
“Yes I did.”
There was silence. Then:
“Remus, I-”
“Right! Finally got this little bugger sorted!” Professor Meryl’s voice cut through the tenderness of their conversation, and Remus’ eyes, which had only just met hers, apologised, even though he had nothing to apologise for. “Who’s going first? Ah, Miss Meadowes! Start when you’re ready- and remember, I’m right here if you need me to intervene.”
Dorcas Meadowes was a tall and pretty girl, with brown hair and brown eyes and a demanding presence that screamed intelligence and daringness. She stepped forward, and she appeared confident, but the shaking of her hands gave it away. Professor Meryl flipped the final lock open, and the chest’s lid swung backwards abruptly, hitting the back with an almighty bang.
Nothing happened for the first few seconds.
And then something started crawling out of the chest. A darkness, groping and oozing, like a shadow, free of its restrictions, born of some hellish place, where blackness was an ally. It slunk across the floor, dragging its artificial body along with artificial limbs. When it came to a stop, it hesitated… Then reared up with a startling speed, building a huge, monolith wall of darkness, lifting itself higher and higher until it consumed the majority of the space in front of Dorcas.
And then it started to lunge forward. She clenched her eyes shut, fear invading her body, a squeal leaving her lips.
The dark.
And yet, it didn’t seem like Dorcas was scared of the dark. For, there was still plenty of light in the room; enough for the boggart’s attempt to be pitiful. And then, Hermione realised that it was a tunnel. Leading out to where? Well, that was the mystery.
It was fear of the unknown.
Dorcas shook; she looked hypnotised by the prospect of something, something not quite there yet, but still closer than she could ever imagine. Something indiscernible. Something unknown.
Beside Hermione, Remus shook. She bumped her shoulder with his. He bumped hers back.
“Come on now, Dorcas,” Professor Meryl encouraged. “Remember the incantation.”
Dorcas closed her eyes, stole a breath and then focused her gaze on the blackness with a ferocious determination. “Ridikulus!”
It was strange. The darkness didn’t really disappear. It swirled, like some kind of whirlpool, round and round, again and again, retreating back from whence it came, shrinking in size. Within mere seconds, where once was an impenetrable darkness, now floated a rather large black balloon. Dorcas frowned. Then exhaled, and whatever had been holding the balloon let go, and it zoomed around the room, clumsily bouncing off walls and heads and bodies, squealing and making the most ridiculous sound Hermione had ever heard. Laughter bubbled from the class, especially when it hit James directly in the face, pressing his glasses into his eyes. Dorcas tipped her head back and laughed loudly. The boggart had been defeated.
Professor Meryl, mirth tinging her voice, called, “Next! Who’s next?”
Sirius Black stepped forward.