At This Moment, Just Like That Moment

Harry Potter was a man of good habits, and these habits manifested in many ways. For instance, whenever he encountered a problem, he would always think of a solution immediately; he never procrastinated, nor did he ever shy away from a challenge.

This was what is commonly known as Gryffindor courage.

Harry possessed three distinct traits.

Objectivity regarding physical appearance.

Recklessness when encountering enemies.

Great and fearless courage.

In other words, he was a bold, single-minded fan of good looks. That was why, when he started rambling the moment he saw his best friends, he gave Hermione and Ron quite a start.

He hadn't bothered to tidy his appearance; the high-intensity dodging and spell-casting had left him exhausted and drenched in sweat.

Meeting in an empty classroom at school, Harry paced back and forth in front of the pair, unable to sit still, his words spilling out incessantly.

Ron and Hermione exchanged glances. Watching the excited Harry, Ron pointed at him gingerly, signaling for Hermione to speak first.

"Harry, what's wrong with you?"

Seeing this, Hermione lowered her voice in surprise to caution him, taking the opportunity to pull out a handkerchief to wipe the sweat from his brow—the trio's dynamic consisted of an overworked Mother Hermione and her two useless sons. Hermione treated Harry as naturally as she would her own child; she stood up to wipe his sweat, and no one thought anything of it.

Harry, for his part, never felt any romantic inclination toward Hermione—he was the most standard visual creature. Whether it was Cho Chang or Ginny, beauty was always his primary criterion for attraction. Hermione's looks were such that they kept his mind purely platonic. Ron watched Harry nervously from the side and asked, "What is it? Did Professor Lupin hit you?"

Hearing this, Harry's eyes widened, and he looked at Ron in disbelief.

"No, no, why would you think that?"

Harry asked, astonished.

"Look at yourself!"

He was surprised, but Ron was even more so. Ron spoke to Harry in a voice louder than his own: "Look at yourself, Harry. You look terrible right now—covered in sweat, dust on your clothes. Look at you, you look like you've been beaten up.

Wait, why are you so happy?

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

Ron asked in bewilderment. Harry shook his head and said, "No, it's not any of those things. It's something else—something more important to me.

Hermione, Ron, I wasn't wrong. My premonition came true. Professor Lupin, he really knew my parents, do you understand? He really knew my parents.

He might have been their friend.

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

Speaking of his parents, Harry was incredibly excited. He pulled the other two along, recounting everything that had happened that evening. Even Hermione set aside her patience to listen to him.

Ron fell silent as well.

They all sat down, listening to Harry's outpouring, sharing in his joy.

They all knew.

Harry was far too desperate for the things that should have belonged to him all along.

A few days later, outside a deserted classroom corridor.

Dewey took the lead, walking outside the hallway and signaling for Harry behind him to bring in a wardrobe.

His voice was neither too loud nor too soft, guiding him gently.

"Use magic, Harry. Use magic to make this chest float and follow you. Control, Harry, do you understand? Control your magic!

You are the magic itself. If you want this chest to float, it will float, understand?

In your daily life, you must exercise yourself at all times."

Dewey spoke to Harry along the way. Harry listened to the professor's words very seriously; it was the first time he realized that one could wield a wand without casting a spell.

"It is a part of your body, Harry, understand? Magic is a part of you.

Integrate magic into your body. Magic does not come from your wand; magic comes from you—your heart, your emotions, your soul.

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

Dewey said to Harry earnestly and firmly. The look in Harry's eyes as he gazed at "Professor Lupin" was full of trust, and he struggled to keep the wardrobe from bumping against the floor.

The professor is training me.

Harry thought, firmly convinced of the information he had deduced.

He never once considered that the reason he had to do all this manual labor wasn't 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 power had vanished. Therefore, he deeply suspected that the magic in Harry's world did not exist within the body; it existed within the soul.

If the soul changed, the original magic would disappear.

In other words, if Dewey didn't want to rely on cards to cast spells, he would have to learn from the very basics.

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

We have Harry Potter (in the twins' voice).

He had Harry.

Just as they were nearing their destination, Dewey spotted Snape in the corridor, and the wardrobe hit the floor with a loud "bang."

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

He was terrified by the look on Snape's face.

Harry could swear he had never seen Snape like this before; his face looked livid, and flames seemed to be erupting from his eyes. If it were possible—Harry thought—if they weren't at Hogwarts, he felt Snape would have whipped his wand from his robes and cast a hex upon them.

Hatred.

In Snape's eyes, there was undisguised hatred.

Dewey, of course, could understand why Snape's expression was so hideous.

The corridors of Hogwarts had not changed for centuries. Here, two figures—one large, one small—had stepped into Snape's view. One was Lupin, the other was "little James." They were conversing, they were together, and they had encountered him in a corridor that had remained unchanged for many years.

This was the present moment, exactly like that moment in the past.

Time seemed to have backtracked.

Snape felt terrible.

He felt as though he had been transported back to that day, when he was hung upside down by Levicorpus, his trousers pulled down, humiliated in front of the girl he loved.

How could his expression be anything but foul?

"Haha, Snivellus, why aren't you crying now?"

"Uh-huh, pull his pants down, pull his pants down, pull his pants down!"

"Levicorpus!"

Snape closed his eyes, and he could recall every detail of that day, just as he could the night he went to Godric's Hollow.

Some things are never forgotten.

How could Snape's face be anything but dark?

He felt as if his chest were about to explode.

Watching Professor Snape like this, Dewey kindly and considerately stepped aside. Ignoring the wardrobe that kept banging away, he stood to the side and said, "You go first, Professor Snape."

Snape still didn't speak; he swept a glance at Harry, then another at "Lupin."

His gaze landed on Harry's eyes.

Perhaps it wasn't an illusion, but Harry felt Professor Snape's gaze was incredibly complex.

As everyone knows, whenever Harry felt he might be imagining things, his instincts were never wrong.

Snape turned and hurried away from the corridor without saying a single word. He walked so fast that it seemed if he were any slower, he wouldn't be able to stop himself from blasting two holes into Lupin and Harry with a curse.

Not until he had left did Harry let out a breath.

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

Harry watched the direction Snape had vanished in with caution, while Dewey made a face at him.

"It's fine, Professor Snape is just in a bad mood. It's nothing major; let's get on with today's lesson."

He found an empty classroom and led Harry inside.

Inside a closed wardrobe, a constant "thumping" sound echoed, and the entire piece of furniture shook as if a rhinoceros were trapped within.

Harry swallowed hard.

"What's in there, Professor?"

He was a little afraid.

Surely there wasn't a real werewolf locked inside, was there?

"Of course not," Dewey said.

It's a teaching aid, Harry. A Boggart, a low-quality imitation. I originally wanted to catch a real Dementor—to capture them, imprison them, ravage them, and conduct experiments on them, making them your best teachers. Alas, what a pity, I cannot do that. The Dementors would use it as an excuse to go to war with Dumbledore, and I would be exposed. No, no, no, I cannot do that. I cannot do that. Patience, temporary patience, Dewey, you must be patient!!! Harry, my treasure boy, this is one of the reasons I came here—a constant source of Purple Cards. Harry, you look so delicious!

In Dewey's heart, a demon whispered. The madness he had struggled to suppress now burned like a wildfire, rising higher and higher within him.

Yet, his expression remained stern and gentle, as if the monster roaring inside him had nothing to do with him at all.

"This is a Boggart, Harry."

Dewey sat to the side, took a sip of a potion, and said slowly, "Inside this wardrobe is a Boggart. A so-called Boggart is a magical creature that can transform; it turns into whatever a person fears most. Harry, everyone has fears. But regardless, we must face our fears. So, after learning of your dueling ability last time, today we shall observe your weaknesses. Before I release the Boggart, we have some prerequisites to discuss. The first thing is, Harry, remember: whatever you see next, it is fake. It is merely the form the Boggart has taken. Do you understand?"

As he spoke, Dewey crouched down—there was no helping it; even at thirteen, Harry was still somewhat small. Lupin crouched down, staring into Harry's eyes, and said, "To deal with a Boggart, we only need to use 'Riddikulus' on it, understand? Think of something happy, and you can repel it. Do you understand? You must think of something happy. When dealing with monsters like Boggarts, only joy and happiness are the ultimate weapons to defeat them!"