Harry Potter was miserable.
All thanks to that bastard Malfoy, who'd been telling everyone that Harry fainted because of the Dementors.
And the worst part?
He wasn't lying.
Not even the first-years fainted that day. But he—Harry Potter, the Boy Who Lived, the hero of the wizarding world, a brave Gryffindor—had collapsed like a rag doll.
Now, everyone knew.
Wherever Harry went, he felt eyes on him, whispers behind his back. Hogwarts had officially introduced him to the crueler side of society.
And Colin Creevey—his overly enthusiastic fan—was only making it worse. The kid shadowed him everywhere, camera in hand, eager for autographs and interviews like nothing had happened.
Normally, Harry could tolerate it.
But not now.
Not when he was nursing the humiliation of possibly fainting on purpose. Was it even a thing? Like playing dead in front of a bear? Could that be called a strategy?
No. It wasn't. He fainted, plain and simple.
Mortified, Harry fled through the corridors until he collapsed onto a bench, groaning in shame.
Then, from the corner of his eye—Colin. Poking his head around a stairwell, camera ready.
"Oh, come on," Harry muttered. "Can't I catch a break?!"
Snatching up his bag, he bolted up the staircase.
"Mr. Potter! Is it true that fainting was your secret strategy?!" Colin called after him.
Harry wished the floor would open up and swallow him whole. He just kept running—up and up—until Colin's voice finally faded away.
He stopped on the eighth floor, panting.
Then came the sound of footsteps.
"Merlin, no," Harry whispered, panicking. Was Colin coming up this time?
But it wasn't Colin.
It was Cassandra, a Slytherin girl Harry vaguely recognized. She usually carried herself with elegance, but now she looked flushed, her makeup slightly smeared. Her lips were unusually red—maybe even swollen?
Cassandra froze when she saw Harry, clearly startled. She raised a hand over her mouth and rushed past him down the stairs.
"…Weird," Harry mumbled, scratching his head.
Then Blake appeared from the same corridor.
He walked with a lazy confidence and a self-satisfied smile, as if he'd just eaten dessert.
Harry couldn't explain why, but seeing Blake filled him with a strange sense of security—like when Dumbledore was near.
"Blake!" he called, relieved.
"Ohhh, mate," Blake said in his odd accent, raising an eyebrow. "You look like Ronald's rat just took a chunk outta your arse."
Harry didn't laugh. "I need your help, Blake."
Blake tilted his head thoughtfully. "Help? Hmmm…" He stroked his chin, scrutinizing Harry like he could read his thoughts.
Harry shifted uneasily. It reminded him a bit of Snape.
"Let me guess," Blake said finally. "You're scared of Dementors."
Harry looked down, ashamed.
"Harry, you're my friend. Of course I'll help!" Blake said warmly.
"Really? You can help me not be scared anymore?" Harry asked hopefully.
"Absolutely. Come on."
Harry followed as Blake headed down the hall.
"To fix this," Blake explained, "we'll need Professor Lupin's help—he was your dad's good friend, and he's better at teaching than I am."
Harry's heart sank a bit. He'd hoped Blake would help him directly.
But Lupin was his father's friend. That meant something.
The two made their way quickly to Lupin's office—formerly Lockhart's, but now stripped of all pompous decoration.
Blake knocked.
"Come in!" came Lupin's tired voice.
The professor stood amid boxes, rearranging shelves. His belongings were modest—nothing like Lockhart's gilded memorabilia.
"Ah, you two!" Lupin smiled. "Still getting settled. House-elves helped, but I prefer doing some of it myself."
"Need a hand, Professor?" Blake asked.
"If you're offering—yes, please."
The three got to work. Harry tried moving a cabinet and failed miserably.
Blake, meanwhile, picked it up with one hand.
How is he that strong?! Harry wondered, stunned.
In no time, the office looked respectable.
"Thank you," Lupin said, handing them both glasses of sweet pumpkin juice.
Blake's smile widened. "Glad it's not tea."
Lupin chuckled. "So, what brings you here?"
Blake got to the point. "Harry wants to overcome his fear of Dementors. I thought you could help."
Lupin's smile faded slightly. "I understand…"
He looked at Harry with concern.
Lupin had known from the train ride that Harry's reaction wasn't due to weakness. The boy had simply endured more pain than most. The Dementors didn't just feed on fear—they devoured sorrow, and Harry had plenty of that.
"Can you help me, Professor?" Harry asked.
"Of course I will," Lupin said gently. "The Patronus Charm is the answer."
"Patronus Charm?"
Harry hadn't seen Blake cast it on the train, so the name meant little to him.
"It's an advanced spell," Lupin explained. "It conjures a Patronus—pure positive energy—that can repel Dementors. But it's difficult."
Harry gulped.
"Could you show me?" he asked.
Lupin hesitated, then glanced at Blake.
Blake caught the hint. Lupin didn't want to reveal his Patronus.
With a casual flick of his wand, Blake summoned a phoenix-shaped Patronus, brilliant white, circling the ceiling.
Harry's eyes widened.
"That's amazing!"
"Everyone's Patronus is different," Lupin said. "It reflects your character. Now, the spell is Expecto Patronum. But it only works if you can focus on a powerful, happy memory."
Harry nodded, determined.
He tried.
And failed.
Again.
And again.
Blake quietly sipped his juice.
Harry clenched his wand tighter, breathing hard.
But nothing happened.
No light.
No shimmer.
Nothing.
He collapsed into a chair, frustrated. "I can't do it… Am I just—stupid?"
"Not at all," Lupin said firmly. "This is advanced magic, Harry. Most adults can't do it."
Lupin watched him thoughtfully. "Perhaps… what you need is a little pressure."
"Pressure?" Harry asked.
"Yes," Lupin said. "A real Dementor would be dangerous. But a Boggart could take its shape. I found one this morning in the teachers' lounge. It might help."
"I have an idea," Blake interrupted, finally speaking.
Lupin turned to him with interest.
"Harry," Blake said, "you're struggling because you can't find a strong enough happy memory, right?"
Harry nodded, disheartened.
"Yesterday was awful. And today… even worse," he admitted.
"Exactly," Blake said. "But tell me—are you happy learning magic with Professor Lupin?"
"Yes. Very."
"Why?"
Harry hesitated. "Because he was close to my parents. When we talk… it feels like I'm closer to them too."
Lupin gave him a soft, sad smile and rested a hand on Harry's shoulder.
"So," Blake said slowly, "if your parents taught you the Patronus Charm… would that make you happy enough?"
Harry blinked. "What? Blake… you know they're gone."
"Are they?" Blake smirked. "Who said they can't help you now?"
Harry's eyes widened. "You're kidding…"
"Impossible? Maybe not," Blake replied. "Did no one tell you? I'm a necromancer."
Lupin choked on his drink. "What?"
"Oh," Blake said casually. "Dumbledore didn't mention that? Huh. Well—it's been a quiet year."
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