Seeing the Boggart sprawled so pathetically on the floor, Snape curled his lip in disdain and gave his wand a lazy flick. "Riddikulus!"
It was as if an invisible whip had cracked across the Boggart. With a sharp, ringing snap, the Dementor form vanished—replaced by a skeletal, towering figure. His skin was paler than bone, his blurred features twisted and waxy, grotesquely distorted.
The tall, thin figure flailed desperately, clutching at his waist, but couldn't stop himself from being split clean in two—his upper body collapsing to the ground, while his lower half stood eerily upright.
Crack!
The halved figure disappeared, and the battered trunk snapped shut on its own, falling silent.
"Heh. Dark Lord, indeed."
The silvery mist drifted through Snape, filling him with a warmth he'd never known before...
For a fleeting moment, he was transported to a gentler past—locking eyes with a red-haired girl beneath the golden sun, feeling the softness of the grass, his heart growing tender and warm once more.
"Lily..."
He forced his eyes wide open, refusing to blink—he wouldn't let his tears blur her face.
But the tears came anyway, hot and unstoppable, spilling over in an instant.
Awkwardly, Snape turned his back to Wyzett, fumbling through his mental catalogue of spells, searching for a dignified way to wipe away these tears.
It was the first time in years he'd ever felt so clumsy, so uncertain about which spell to use.
A sense of release welled up inside him.
To cast the Patronus Charm—that was a blessing.
A spell to protect oneself, to protect those you care about...
He hadn't managed it. But perhaps this boy could.
The thought lingered in his mind, and a faint smile tugged at the corner of his mouth.
"Mr. Riddle, did you know? Yesterday, when I returned to the common room, I saw Draco talking to Lovegood again."
Pansy Parkinson sat curled up on her copper-framed bed, back pressed to the wall, a beautiful peacock-feather quill in her hand as she scribbled in her diary.
The tip of her quill danced across the page, forming plump, rounded Uncial letters.
"When Draco finally came back, he was still smiling. I asked him over and over, but he just wouldn't give me a straight answer."
"I really don't get it—what's so special about that Lovegood? He's just an Obscurial; Merlin knows how much longer he'll even live!"
The black ink lingered for only a heartbeat before being swallowed by the diary, vanishing without a trace.
Pansy barely noticed. She just pursed her lips, shifted her position, and set the diary across her lap.
"Even Professor Snape seems to treat Lovegood differently! And Dumbledore—he actually came to my house, just to warn my father about that Lovegood!"
Suddenly, black ink seeped up through the paper, swirling into elegant, flowing script.
Pansy, I'm so glad you're willing to share your life with me. Before, you were always so exhausted, always asking me about your studies. I truly worried you weren't getting enough rest.
A fleeting blush colored Pansy's cheeks, and her handwriting grew clumsy, less precise.
"Mr. Riddle, thank you for caring. I never imagined you'd be so thoughtful—it's such a pleasant surprise!"
"My family has plenty of magical items, even magical portraits, but none of them are anything like you. I'm really sorry!"
New lines of graceful script appeared on the page.
Pansy, you don't need to apologize to me. In fact, I should thank you. You're the first person who's spoken to me in so many years.
I used to be so lonely, never able to meet anyone like you—a beautiful young lady who knows how to use this diary.
Pansy took a deep breath, her eyes wide. She pressed her quill so hard it nearly tore the page. "Mr. Riddle, can you see me?"
Pansy, I can't see you, but through your lovely handwriting and graceful words, I can sense the kind of person you are.
You must have practiced penmanship, haven't you? This script isn't easy. I bet you've worked hard—how impressive!
"Yes! Only you ever compliment my handwriting. Draco never once said anything like that. But he's kind—he's always been good to me since we were little..."
Of course! I trust your judgment, just as you chose to keep me by your side. That shows your excellent taste...
…
The conversation between Pansy and the diary went on and on—from afternoon until sunset, the ink in her bottle dropping a full notch.
Pansy rolled her aching wrist, but didn't stop writing.
She'd once treated the diary with indifference—she only took it because it had been on Draco's desk.
But now, the diary was like a confidant, a gentle big brother who always understood the source of her troubles.
He comforted her, praised her at just the right moments. His words were sweet as honey, warming her heart.
Pansy paused, then wrote with a sigh, "Mr. Riddle, if only you could come out and let me see you..."
Pansy, you're so thoughtful. How I wish I could. But there are still some obstacles I need to overcome.
"Obstacles?" she wrote, her quill flying. "Mr. Riddle, what obstacles? What can I do for you? You've done so much for me!"
Pansy, your words truly move me! I need a little life force. Do you know if there are any small animals at Hogwarts?
Of course, I'd never harm those adorable owls or cats... But perhaps you know if there are any roosters being kept at Hogwarts?
"Roosters?" Pansy frowned. "Probably only that gamekeeper—the half-giant."
"I think his name's Hagrid? He's just the servant at Hogwarts, helps with the pumpkins and all that. He should have some roosters."
Pansy, your memory is remarkable. You'd even tell me about people you'd rather not mention, just for my sake.
Perhaps you could bring me a few roosters? I can teach you a spell—one that will elegantly extract their life force.
"An elegant spell?" Pansy wrote, intrigued. "You mean... no blood? I wouldn't have to touch them, right?"
Of course! I could never let you touch them—so dirty! It's just a simple spell... You need to relax a bit more, and then I can teach it to you.
Pansy didn't hesitate. "Relax more? How should I do that?"
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