𝐍𝐈𝐆𝐇𝐓𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐄 𝐅𝐔𝐄𝐋 ; h.potter

nine ; the patronus

Unfortunately, our first Divination lesson was much less fun; we were learning palmistry, which was just as boring and confusing as our usual lessons.

Defence Against the Dark Arts was the lesson everyone, especially Harry and I, was looking forward to. For the full two hours, Harry was jiggling his foot or tapping the desk, obviously eager for the class to end. At the end of class, he practically dragged me over to Uncle Remus' desk to remind him of his promise of the Anti-Dementor lessons.

"Ah yes," Uncle Remus said. "Let me see . . . how about eight o'clock on Thursday evening? The History of Magic classroom should be large enough . . . I'll have to think carefully about how we're going to do this . . . we can't bring a real Dementor into the castle to practise on . . ."

"Still looks ill, doesn't he?" Ron said, as we walked down the corridor to dinner. "Do you know what's wrong with him, Rory?"

Before I could tell him that I didn't, there was a loud and impatient "tuh" from behind us. It was Hermione, who had been sitting at the feet of a suit of armour, repacking her bag, which was so full of books it wouldn't close.

"And what are you tutting at us for?" Ron said irritably.

"Nothing," Hermione replied in a lofty voice, heaving her bag back over her shoulder.

"Yes, you were," Ron said. "I asked Rory if she knew what's wrong with Lupin, and you —"

"Well, isn't it obvious?" Hermione said, with a look of maddening superiority.

I frowned, confused. What was obvious?

"If you don't want to tell us, don't," Ron snapped.

"Fine," Hermione said haughtily, and she marched off.

"She doesn't know," Ron said, staring resentfully after Hermione. "She's just trying to get us to talk to her again."

I sighed. When would they stop being so childish?

. . . . .

A eight o'clock on Thursday evening, Harry and I left Gryffindor Tower for the History of Magic classroom. It was dark and empty when we arrived, but the two of us lit the lamps with our wands and had only waited five minutes when Uncle Remus turned up. He was carrying a large packing case, which he heaved onto Professor Binns' desk.

"What's that?" Harry asked, voicing my thoughts exactly.

"Another Boggart," Uncle Remus said, stripping off his cloak. "I've been combing the castle ever since Tuesday, and very luckily, I found this one lurking inside Mr Filch's filing cabinet. It's the nearest we'll get to a real Dementor. The Boggart will turn into a Dementor when he sees you, Harry, so we'll be able to practise on him. I can store him in my office when we're not using him; there's a cupboard under my desk he'll like."

"Okay," Harry said, sounding slightly apprehensive.

"So . . ." Uncle Remus had taken out his own wand, and indicated that we should do the same. "The spell I am going to try and teach you is highly advanced magic — well beyond Ordinary Wizarding Level. It is called the Patronus Charm."

"How does it work?" I asked curiously.

"Well, when it works correctly, it conjures up a Patronus," Uncle Remus explained, "which is a kind of Anti-Dementor — a guardian which acts as a shield between you and the Dementor. The Patronus is a kind of positive force, a projection of the very things that the Dementor feeds upon — hope, happiness, the desire to survive — but it cannot feel despair, as real humans can, so the Dementors can't hurt it. But I must warn you two, that the Charm might be too advanced for you. Many qualified wizards have difficulty with it."