This is Your Due Reward, Harry

"Footwork, Harry, watch your footwork! Dodge the spells that are easy to avoid!"

"Your wand movement needs to be swift, swift! Harry, how many times have I told you? Don't be sluggish! Speed!"

"Use the spell combinations you're most familiar and comfortable with! Muscle memory, assess the situation, boy! What comes after 'Expelliarmus'? What comes before it? You can't just rely on that one move to deal with an enemy. Muscle memory—your muscles must be faster than your brain!"

"While you're talking, watch your surroundings, watch them, understand? Ah, good, a deflection! Thank heavens, you've finally mastered that trick!"

"Yes, yes, yes, that's it, you're starting to look the part, Harry! Deflect, flick your wand, flick your wand, do you understand? Thank heavens, yes, yes, you finally know how to use a spell."

"Don't slack off, no slacking, understand? Your speed is dropping, it's slowing down! Losing the initiative is equivalent to death, understand! Boy, pull yourself together!"

"Be flexible, Harry. Even in the dark, your 'Lumos Maxima' has its uses. Tactics, understand, Harry, tactics!"

"Again!"

In the empty, deserted classroom, the voice of "Professor Lupin" was impassioned!

After several minutes of practical combat, Harry understood what it meant to be tortured.

He could swear that even the most grueling Quidditch match wouldn't have left him this mentally and physically exhausted.

By the end of the "duel," Harry felt everything before his eyes turning illusory. The voice of "Professor Lupin" seemed to be coming from across a world, reaching him slowly. He didn't know what he was doing; he only saw the spells and lights growing slower and slower.

He felt the voice was strange, and his brain entered a miraculous state at that moment.

He felt as if he were drowning, with vast amounts of water pouring into his ears.

He couldn't breathe either.

His body felt weightless.

He wanted to sink down forever.

Who am I?

What am I doing?

Where is this place?

He felt his soul almost pulling away from his body, his entire frame going limp, and he collapsed slowly as if his strength had been drained away.

Everything is over.

Harry thought, feeling so tired that he just wanted to close his eyes and drift off.

He could finally sleep.

Just as he closed his eyes, a large hand gripped him firmly. Immediately after, Harry felt some liquid forced into his mouth. Once the liquid flowed down his throat, he suddenly felt as if he had come back to life!

Vitality surged back into his body. Like a fish out of water, Harry let out a sound like a wheezing bellows and gave a violent jolt.

"Professor!"

He frantically grabbed Professor Lupin's robes with both hands, clutching them so tightly that even if someone tried to pry his fingers loose, it would be a struggle. He felt as though he had just died once, and he was terrified.

He looked at Professor Lupin in a panic, seeing that face that never seemed to lose its composure.

Harry immediately felt at ease.

"Don't worry, Harry. You've simply run out of magic; it's nothing major."

"Professor Lupin" fed Harry a few more potions. These were the ones Sirius had brewed after he was told that he was training Harry.

He had originally been very opposed to Dewey's training of Harry. "I can protect him."

In the Shrieking Shack, Sirius had said to Dewey aggressively. Dewey sat on the bed, humming a nursery rhyme, swinging his legs, and shaking his head as he said, "Oh, that's truly impressive. Do you think you can beat the entire Bellatrix family, or handle Voldemort all by yourself? Who do you think you are, hmm? Dumbledore? Don't be stupid, Black. Because of your arrogance and conceit, you've already lost two good friends and turned your godson into an orphan. What, now you won't even spare your own godson? You want him to pay the price for your arrogance and conceit as well?"

Dewey said provocatively.

At this point, Sirius could no longer hold back. He rushed forward and landed two punches on Dewey. Dewey didn't resist; he cracked a smile at Sirius, his blood flowing from his nostrils and mouth onto the floor.

Seeing this, Black stopped his fists in silence.

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

He covered his face with both hands.

"Incompetent rage, isn't it?"

Dewey didn't wipe away his blood. He continued to speak in a gentle, soul-piercing tone. He stood up, scanned his surroundings, and finally grabbed a chair, smashing it with all his might onto Sirius's back, causing Sirius to curl up on the ground, letting out low groans and growls.

"If I were you," Dewey said, dropping the chair and panting heavily with a smirk, "I would just take the opportunity to brew some potions to replenish your godson's magic, so that in a short time, he has more capital and a better chance to save his own life in the future."

In the end, it was Sirius who used magic to mend the wounds and bloodstains on Dewey, who then left with his potions.

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

He occasionally began to lose control.

Dewey offered him no comfort; he had his own matters to attend to.

Three weeks had passed since the last time he used a Boggart to simulate a Dementor.

Dewey had also failed to find any trace of Peter Pettigrew; this most obscure little sidekick among the Marauders possessed a sensitivity to danger that far exceeded the norm.

He had sounded out Ron, hoping to get a lead on the little rat Scabbers. Ron's mood was a bit low, but he hadn't fallen out with Hermione over Crookshanks as he had before.

The reason was simple: his little rat Scabbers hadn't been scared off by Crookshanks; the rat had been lost by his brother, the current Head Boy, Percy. "Alright, Ron, it was just a rat. It was already very old; who knows where it might have died."

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

Percy had said to Ron.

Whenever Ron brought this up, he looked like he wanted to take his wand and hex Percy right in the face.

"Yes, Professor, Percy is just such an annoying git."

"Indeed, he's very punchable."

"He needs a bit of fun."

"If only you could guarantee we wouldn't be dragged off to detention, Professor."

The ones speaking were the Weasley Twins, who had been standing beside Ron at the time. They chimed in one after the other, seemingly attempting to orchestrate a prank right in front of "Professor Lupin," only to be stopped by Dewey.

"If you dare to do such a thing," Dewey said, "I'll send you to assist Professor Snape with the dregs of the Potions class."

As soon as he said this, the Weasley Twins immediately behaved themselves.

They didn't fear detention, but they didn't like Snape.

"Oh, Professor, we were just joking."

"Yes, we meant no harm."

Dewey knew even then that Peter Pettigrew was indeed an excellent student from Gryffindor—though he had appeared utterly unremarkable under the shadow of James Potter, Sirius, and Lupin, he certainly had a few tricks up his sleeve.

The above comment is devoid of moral judgment.

Dewey was not in a hurry. He understood the inner workings of a man like Peter Pettigrew—their hearts were not particularly strong, so when crisis struck, they always sought a harbor.

They were not evil enough to be thorough, nor good enough to be pure. Dewey knew Peter Pettigrew was right here; the Weasley family and Hogwarts were the places Peter Pettigrew knew best, which meant he would not easily leave his harbor.

He would not abandon his harbor until it had been destroyed. For now, Lupin and Sirius were bringing him pressure, not the despair of total destruction.

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

Dewey said to Harry with a double meaning. Harry didn't even listen carefully to the words; he looked like a poor child fished out of the water, his glasses hanging loosely on his nose, ready to fall off at any moment. He gasped for air, his nasal mucosa feeling as if he had inhaled chili powder.

Stinging pain.

Tears flowed freely.

He felt he had reached his limit again today.

Dewey looked at Harry, quite satisfied. He wasn't a top student—among the trio, only Hermione could be called that; she had no weaknesses. But if Dewey had to choose a general to lead a charge, it would certainly be Harry Potter.

Everyone had their place, especially since he was the son of his old friend.

He thought this, quite naturally.

The son of an old friend.

He is not your old friend, Dewey. He is Lupin's old friend. Wake up, Dewey Jones, you poor wretch with no friends, no family, and no belonging.

A voice roared within Dewey's heart.

Dewey did not intend to listen to his inner self.

I am Lupin now. Shut up, you insane, perverted fugitive.

He said to his inner self, then looked at Harry gently, fed him chocolate, and told him about his parents. Finally, he said to Harry, "Close your eyes, Harry. For your progress these past few days, I have a reward for you."

The Boggart from a few days ago had not prompted Harry to cast "Expecto Patronum." It was clear that casting the Patronus Charm was even more difficult than Dewey had imagined.

He intended to give Harry a little catalyst.

A little catalyst of happiness!