Fifth year had started with the usual storm of parchment, prefect announcements, and first-day nerves—but something hung in the air this time, thick and sharp like the scent of autumn rain. Lennon felt it deep in her bones.
And today, that tension doubled.
Because Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn't just any class anymore—it was Remus's class.
And it was with the Slytherins.
She walked alongside Oliver and a few other fifth-year Gryffindors toward the third-floor corridor. There was easy banter—talk of Quidditch, of course—but Lennon barely heard it.
Because behind them, she could hear the murmurs, the measured footsteps, the particular hush that followed them.
Mattheo, Theodore, and Lorenzo.
The boys she hadn't spoken to since the train platform.
Lennon kept her chin high.
The corridor buzzed with the usual nervous energy of a first class, especially one shared with the snakes of Slytherin. Whispers surged around her like wind: that Professor Lupin was brilliant, that he'd fought werewolves, that he once hexed a banshee in a Romanian pub.
As they filed into the classroom, Lennon deliberately took a seat near the front, settling between Oliver and a quiet Gryffindor girl named Marlee.
Mattheo passed by her seat. He didn't look at her.
Neither did Lorenzo.
Theo hesitated—but only for a second.
The tension pressed like fog against her skin.
Professor Lupin stood at the front of the classroom, warm and slightly worn-looking as ever, his robes threadbare in places but his posture steady. The air seemed to settle the moment he smiled.
"Welcome," he said, voice calm and even. "Let's begin."
There were no desks today, only chairs in a half-circle facing a dusty wardrobe that trembled faintly. Remus paced before it as he introduced the lesson.
"Today we're covering boggarts," he said. "Shapeshifters. Creatures that feed on fear. They'll appear as whatever frightens you most—but they can be fought. And very effectively."
A ripple of curiosity spread through the room. Even the Slytherins looked intrigued.
Remus smiled. "The spell is Riddikulus. Laughter is our weapon."
And so began the most unusual Defense class Lennon had ever attended.
One by one, students stepped forward.
A girl from Gryffindor shrieked when a boggart took the form of a banshee; she turned it into a flailing fish in a teacup. Theodore faced a towering inferno of flames, then burst into nervous laughter as it morphed into dancing candles on a birthday cake. Lorenzo squared off with an impossibly large serpent, which promptly shrunk into a garden snake wearing a party hat.
When Mattheo stepped forward, the boggart hesitated… then transformed into a cloaked figure with glowing red eyes.
There was silence.
Mattheo's hand twitched—but then he snarled, "Riddikulus!"
The figure burst like smoke into a ridiculous balloon creature, and several students gasped—then laughed.
But Lennon didn't laugh. She watched him carefully. Something about the way he looked afterward—tight, shaken, even though he was hiding it.
Then it was her turn.
She took a slow step forward. Her wand didn't shake.
The wardrobe creaked open.
And out stepped—
Her mother.
Perfect, cold, unblinking. Behind her floated a memory—Lennon as a child, wide-eyed and quiet, clinging to a crumpled photo of her father.
The classroom fell deathly quiet.
She heard Mattheo inhale sharply. Heard Theo mutter something under his breath.
Remus started to step forward. "You don't have to—"
But Lennon raised her wand.
"Riddikulus!"
Her mother's image slipped on soap and fell face-first into a bowl of magically appearing beetle pudding. Letters from the Ministry rained down like snow. Her haughty expression melted into exaggerated cartoonish panic.
Students laughed—uncertain, but loud.
The boggart hissed, recoiled, and darted back into the wardrobe.
Remus flicked his wand, sealing the door.
"Well done, everyone," he said, though his eyes stayed on Lennon for a moment longer. "Class dismissed."
Students filtered out in twos and threes, buzzing from the lesson, still chuckling over their classmates' boggarts.
Lennon stayed behind.
So did Mattheo, Theo, and Lorenzo.
Remus approached, his voice quiet. "Are you all right?"
She nodded stiffly, clutching the sleeve of her robe. "I'm fine."
"You did well."
But she didn't feel like she had.
Mattheo stepped closer. "That was her, wasn't it? Your mother."
Lennon's throat tightened. "Yes."
Theodore spoke next, gentle. "After your father…"
"She changed," Lennon said quietly. "No—she broke. And she made sure I broke, too."
They all went silent.
It was Mattheo who finally added, "Sirius and Remus did a good job raising you. I mean it."
She looked at him, eyes softening. "They tried."
Remus gave her a nod—a quiet promise that he'd always be there—and stepped back toward his desk.
Lennon lingered for just a moment longer, then slipped out of the classroom.
She didn't know if the silence between her and the boys was truly broken—but for the first time since the platform, they had looked at her again.
And something in that look told her maybe all wasn't lost.