The Same Moment, Just Like Back Then

Harry Potter had a good habit, and it showed in many ways. Whenever he ran into a problem, he always thought of how to solve it right away. He never dragged his feet or tried to avoid it.

That was what people called Gryffindor courage.

Harry had three good points.

His objectivity about good looks.

His recklessness when facing enemies.

His bold, fearless courage.

In other words, he was a brave, simple-minded pretty-face enthusiast. So when he kept talking about seeing his good friend, he gave Hermione and Ron quite a shock.

He hadn't even straightened himself up. The intense dodging and spellcasting had left him exhausted and drenched in sweat.

They met in an unused classroom at school. Harry excitedly paced back and forth in front of the two of them, unable to sit still, and kept talking.

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. Watching Harry's excitement, Ron cautiously pointed at him, signaling for Hermione to speak first.

"Harry, what's wrong?"

Seeing this, Hermione lowered her voice in surprise to remind Harry, then pulled out a handkerchief and wiped the sweat from his face. The trio consisted of an exhausted mother, Hermione, and her two useless sons. Hermione treated Harry as naturally as if he were her own son. She stood up to wipe his sweat, and no one thought it odd.

Harry had never felt anything romantic toward Hermione, either. He was the most textbook example of a purely visual person. Whether it was Cho Chang or Ginny, beauty always came first in his choice of a partner. Hermione was pretty enough to leave him entirely free of impure thoughts. Ron watched Harry nervously from the side and asked, "What happened? Did Professor Lupin hit you?"

Hearing this, Harry's eyes widened. He stared at Ron in disbelief.

"No, no. Why would you think that?"

Harry asked in astonishment.

"Just look at yourself!"

Harry was surprised, but Ron was even more so. Facing Harry, Ron spoke even louder than he had. "Just look at yourself, Harry. You look awful. You're covered in sweat, and there's dirt all over your clothes. Look at you—you look like someone beat you up.

"Wait, why are you so happy?

"Did Professor Lupin give you candy? Or did he give Gryffindor points?"

Ron asked in confusion. Harry shook his head. "No, it's not that. It's something else, something more important to me.

"Hermione, Ron, I was right. My hunch came true. Professor Lupin really did know my parents. Do you understand? He really knew them.

"He might have been a friend of my parents.

"He promised he could tell me more about them. Do you know what that means? I can learn more about my parents."

Harry was incredibly excited as he spoke about his parents. He grabbed the other two and went on and on about what had happened that evening. Even Hermione patiently listened to him.

Ron fell silent, too.

They all sat down, listening to Harry's story and sharing his joy.

They all knew.

Harry was desperate to have some of the things that should have belonged to him all along.

A few days later, outside an empty classroom.

Dewey led the way down the corridor, motioning for Harry to bring a wardrobe inside.

His voice was calm and gentle, neither loud nor soft.

"Use magic, Harry. Use magic to make this wardrobe float along behind you. Control it, Harry. Understand? Control your magic!

"You are the magic itself. If you want this wardrobe to float, then it will float. Understand?

"You need to train yourself at every opportunity in your daily life."

Dewey spoke to Harry all the way there. Harry listened carefully to his professor. It was the first time he'd learned that he could wave his wand without using an incantation.

"It's a part of your body, Harry. Understand? Magic is a part of you.

"Make magic a part of your body. Magic doesn't come from your wand. It comes from you—from your heart, your feelings, your soul.

"The wand is a tool, and so is magic. You are the core of everything. Understand?"

Dewey spoke to Harry with conviction. Harry looked at "Professor Lupin" with trust in his eyes as he tried not to bang the wardrobe against the ground.

The professor is training me.

Harry was convinced this was what was happening.

It never occurred to him that he was doing all this work not because "Professor Lupin" was training him, but because "Professor Lupin" couldn't use magic at all.

Dewey had discovered it from the very beginning: after replacing Dewey Jones, his magic had vanished. So he strongly suspected that in Harry's world, magic didn't reside in the body. It resided in the soul.

If the soul changed, then the magic one had previously possessed disappeared.

In other words, if Dewey didn't want to use Cards to cast magic, he would have to start learning it properly from the basics.

But Dewey always felt that he was a Squib. Still, what did it matter?

We have Harry Potter. (The Twins)

He had Harry.

Just as they were nearing their destination, Dewey saw Snape in the corridor. The wardrobe hit the ground with a bang.

Harry poked his head out from behind the wardrobe and saw Snape.

Snape's expression frightened him.

Harry could swear he'd never seen Snape like this. His face looked livid, and flames seemed to burn in his eyes. If it were possible—if they weren't at Hogwarts, Harry thought—Snape would have pulled his wand from under his robes and cast a vicious curse at them.

Hatred.

There was unmistakable hatred in Snape's eyes.

Dewey could certainly understand why Snape looked so upset.

The corridors of Hogwarts had remained unchanged for hundreds of years. Here, a big person and a small one had come face-to-face with Snape. One was Lupin; the other was "young James." They were talking, spending time together, and meeting him in a corridor that had barely changed over all those years.

It was the same moment, just like back then.

It was as though time had turned back.

Snape felt awful.

He felt as if he had returned to that day, when he had been hoisted upside down and his trousers pulled down, humiliated in front of the girl he loved.

How could he possibly look anything but furious?

"Ha ha, you little Snivellus. Why aren't you crying now?"

"Uh-huh, pull his trousers down! Pull his trousers down! Pull his trousers down!"

"'Levicorpus!'"

Snape closed his eyes, and he could almost recall every detail of that day, just as he could that night when he had gone to Godric's Hollow.

Some things were impossible to forget.

How could Snape possibly look anything but furious?

He felt as if his chest were about to explode.

Seeing Professor Snape like this, Dewey kindly and considerately stepped aside to clear the way. Ignoring the wardrobe's repeated banging, he stood to one side and said, "Go ahead, Professor Snape."

Snape still didn't say anything. He glanced at Harry, then at "Lupin."

His eyes settled on Harry's.

Perhaps it was his imagination, but Harry thought Professor Snape's gaze was complicated.

As everyone knew, whenever Harry wondered if something was only his imagination, his instincts were never wrong.

Snape quickly turned and left the corridor without saying a word. He walked so fast that it was as if, had he slowed down even a little, he would have been unable to stop himself from putting a couple of holes in Lupin and Harry with a spell.

Only after he was gone did Harry breathe a sigh of relief.

"Phew, that was scary, wasn't it, Professor?"

Harry cautiously watched the direction Snape had gone. Dewey made a face at him.

"It's fine. Professor Snape's just in a bad mood. It's nothing serious. Let's get to today's lesson."

He found an empty classroom and led Harry inside.

From within the closed wardrobe came a steady banging. The wardrobe rocked violently as the Fantastic Beast inside crashed against it, as if a rhinoceros had been locked inside.

Harry swallowed.

"What's in there, Professor?"

He was a little afraid.

Could there really be a Werewolf locked in there?

"Of course not."

Dewey said.

*It's a teaching aid, Harry. A Boggart—a cheap imitation.

*I wanted to catch a real Dementor, capture them, imprison them, torment them, and run all kinds of experiments on them, making one your very best teacher.

*What a shame, what a shame. I can't do that.

*The Dementors would use that as an excuse to go to war with Dumbledore, and I'd be exposed. No, no, I can't do that, I can't. Hold back. Just for now, hold back, Dewey. You have to hold back!

Harry, my precious boy, this is one of the reasons I came here! A never-ending source of Purple Cards. Harry, you look so delicious!

A devil was whispering in Dewey's heart. The madness he'd worked so hard to suppress now seemed to be a wildfire, roaring to life inside him.

But his expression remained composed and gentle, as if the beast howling inside him had nothing to do with him.

"It's a Boggart, Harry."

Dewey sat to one side and took a sip of Potions before slowly explaining, "There's a Boggart in this wardrobe. A Boggart is a kind of shapeshifting Fantastic Beast. It turns into whatever a person fears most. Harry, everyone has fears.

"But no matter what, we have to face them.

"So, after seeing how well you did in a duel last time, I decided that today we'd look at your weaknesses. Before I let the Boggart out, there are a few things we need to go over. First, Harry, remember: no matter what you see, it's not real. It's just the Boggart changing shape.

"Understand?"

As he spoke, Dewey crouched down—there was no helping it; even at thirteen, Harry was still rather short. Lupin crouched down and looked Harry in the eyes. "To deal with a Boggart, all we need to do is cast 'Riddikulus' at it. Think of something happy, and you can drive it away. Understand?

"You must think of something happy. Against a monster like a Boggart, happiness and laughter are the only sure way to defeat it!"