This Is the Reward You Deserve, Harry

"Watch your step, Harry. Watch your step. Dodge the spells that are easy to dodge!"

"Draw your wand quickly, quickly! Harry, how many times have I told you not to dawdle? Speed!"

"Use the combination of spells you know best and feel most comfortable with! Muscle memory, read the situation, boy!

What comes after 'Expelliarmus'? What comes before it?

You can't rely on that one spell to deal with every enemy. Muscle memory—your muscles have to move faster than your brain!"

"Watch your surroundings while you're talking. Pay attention, understand? Ah, there you go, a parry! Thank goodness, you finally learned how to do that!"

"Yes, yes, yes, that's it. You're getting the hang of it, Harry! Deflect it, wave your wand, wave your wand, understand?

Thank goodness. Yes, yes, you finally know how to use spells."

"Don't slack off. No slacking, understand? You're slowing down, slowing down!

Losing the initiative means death, understand? Boy, snap out of it!"

"Be more agile, Harry. Even in the dark, your 'Lumos Maxima' can still be useful. Tactics, understand, Harry? Tactics!"

"Again!"

In the empty classroom, Professor Lupin's voice rang out with fervor!

After a few minutes of practical training, Harry understood what torture felt like.

He could swear that even the most grueling Quidditch Match had never left him this mentally and physically exhausted.

By the end of the "duel," everything before Harry's eyes seemed unreal. Professor Lupin's voice sounded as if it were coming from another world, reaching him slowly. Harry had no idea what he was doing anymore. All he could see were spells and flashes of light moving slower and slower.

The voice sounded unfamiliar. At that moment, Harry's mind slipped into a strange state.

He felt as though he were drowning, with water rushing into his ears.

He couldn't breathe, either.

His body felt weightless.

He wanted to sink forever.

Who am I?

What am I doing?

Where am I?

He felt his soul almost slipping free of his body. His whole body went limp, and he slowly collapsed, as if all his strength had been drained away.

It's all over.

Harry thought he was exhausted. He just wanted to close his eyes and fall asleep.

At last, he could sleep.

Just as he closed his eyes, a large hand caught him firmly. Then Harry felt liquid being poured into his mouth. As it ran down his throat, he suddenly felt himself come alive again!

Energy flooded back into his body. Like a fish out of water, Harry made a sound like a running fan and jerked violently.

"Professor!"

He frantically grabbed Professor Lupin's clothes with both hands and clung to them. It would have taken real effort to pry his fingers loose. He felt as though he'd died just moments ago, and he was terrified.

He stared at Professor Lupin in a panic, meeting the man's eternally calm face.

Harry immediately felt reassured.

"Don't worry, Harry. You've simply run out of magic. It's not a big deal."

Professor Lupin gave Harry several more potions. Sirius had brewed them after being told that he was training Harry.

At first, Sirius had strongly opposed Dewey's training Harry. "I can protect him."

In the Shrieking Shack, Sirius had said furiously to Dewey. Dewey sat on the bed, humming a nursery rhyme and swinging his legs as he rocked his head from side to side. "Oh, that's very impressive. Do you think you can take on the whole Bellatrix family, or Voldemort by yourself?

"Who do you think you are, Dumbledore?

"Don't be stupid, Black.

"Your arrogance and conceit have already cost you two good friends and made your godson an orphan.

"What, now you're going to abandon your own godson, too? Make him pay for your arrogance?"

Dewey had taunted him.

At that, Sirius could no longer hold back. He charged forward and punched Dewey twice. Dewey didn't fight back. He grinned at Sirius as blood ran from his nostrils and mouth, dripping onto the floor.

Seeing that, Black silently stopped punching.

He stared at Dewey, then released him helplessly and stepped back.

He covered his face with both hands.

"Can't handle anything but your own impotent rage, can you?"

Dewey didn't even wipe away the blood. Still speaking softly, he continued to twist the knife. He stood up, glanced around, then grabbed a chair and swung it with all his strength into Sirius's back. Sirius curled up on the floor, letting out a low groan and growl.

"If I were you," Dewey said, tossing the chair aside with a snicker and panting, "I'd use the opportunity to brew some potions for your godson. Replenish his magic, give him more resources and a better chance of escaping when the time comes."

In the end, Sirius used magic to heal Dewey's wounds and clean off the blood. Then he left with the potions.

Unable to find any trace of Peter Pettigrew, Sirius grew restless.

Every now and then, he began to lose control.

Dewey didn't comfort him. He had his own things to do.

Three weeks had passed since Dewey last used a Boggart to simulate a Dementor.

Dewey still hadn't found any trace of Peter Pettigrew. The least famous of the Marauders' hangers-on had an extraordinary instinct for danger.

He had casually questioned Ron, hoping to find out where the little rat Scabbers was. Ron was a little down, but unlike before, he hadn't fallen out with Hermione over Crookshanks.

The reason was simple: his little rat Scabbers hadn't been frightened off by Crookshanks. His brother Percy, the current Head Boy, had lost him. "Come on, Ron, it was only a rat, and it was already old. It could've died somewhere, for all we know.

"Are you really going to stop talking to your brother over a rat? I'll buy you another one."

Percy had said this to Ron.

Whenever Ron brought it up, he wanted to point his wand at Percy's face.

"Yes, Professor, Percy really is that much of a pain."

"Yeah, he's asking for it."

"He needs a little fun."

"If you can promise we won't get hauled off for detention, Professor."

The speakers were the Weasley Twins, standing beside Ron at the time. They had chimed in one after the other, apparently trying to set up a prank right under Professor Lupin's nose, but Dewey stopped them.

"If you try anything like that," Dewey said, "I'll send you to help Professor Snape clean up after Potions Class."

At that, the Weasley Twins immediately settled down.

They weren't afraid of detention, but they didn't like Snape.

"Oh, Professor, we were only joking."

"Yes, we meant no harm."

Dewey knew then that Peter Pettigrew had indeed been an outstanding Gryffindor student. Though he'd seemed thoroughly ordinary beside James Potter, Sirius, and Lupin, he had his own share of talent.

That judgment had nothing to do with morality.

Dewey wasn't in a hurry. He understood the sort of mind someone like Peter Pettigrew had. They weren't particularly strong inside, so when danger came, they always sought shelter.

They weren't bad enough to be wholly evil or good enough to be entirely pure. Dewey knew Peter Pettigrew was here. The Weasley family and Hogwarts were the places he knew best, which meant he wouldn't leave his shelter easily.

He wouldn't leave until that shelter was destroyed. Lupin and Sirius were only putting pressure on him, not bringing about his utter ruin.

"A thrilling game of cat and mouse, isn't it?"

Dewey said meaningfully to Harry, who barely even heard him. He looked like a poor child just hauled out of the water. His glasses hung crookedly on his nose, nearly falling off. He gasped for breath, his nasal passages stinging as if he'd inhaled chili powder.

The pain was sharp.

Tears streamed down his face.

He felt he'd reached his limit again that day.

Dewey looked at Harry with considerable satisfaction. He wasn't a scholar. Of the three kids, only Hermione could be called one; she had no weak subjects. But if Dewey had to choose someone to lead a charge, he'd choose Harry Potter.

Everyone had their place, especially since Harry was his old friend's son.

It felt only natural to think that way.

His old friend's son.

He isn't your old friend, Dewey. He's Lupin's old friend. Get a grip, Dewey Jones. You poor wretch without friends, family, or a place to belong.

A voice roared inside Dewey.

Dewey had no intention of listening to his inner voice.

I'm Lupin now. Shut up, you mad, twisted fugitive.

He spoke to himself. Then he looked at Harry tenderly, gave him some chocolate, and told him about his parents. Finally, he said to Harry, "Close your eyes, Harry. I have a reward for you for all the progress you've made these past few days."

The Boggart a few days earlier hadn't gotten Harry to cast "Expecto Patronum." It seemed the spell was even harder to cast than Dewey had imagined.

He planned to give Harry a little catalyst.

A happy little catalyst!