Chapter 95
"What are you most afraid of, Draco?"
At the Slytherin table, Pansy stared absently at the food in front of her. She was already full and clearly bored, looking for something—anything—to entertain herself. Soon, they would be heading to their first Defense Against the Dark Arts class of the term. According to the Gryffindors, the new professor was exceptionally capable, and the first lesson would involve Boggarts—creatures that transformed into a person's greatest fear.
Naturally, her curiosity was piqued.
"Obviously, it's you," Malfoy replied without hesitation, rolling his eyes. "If you'd like a Boggart to turn into you later and get blasted into smoke right in front of me, feel free to keep asking questions like that."
Pansy shut up immediately.
She knew perfectly well he was telling her—indirectly—to be quiet. Still, she wasn't convinced. She shot him a resentful look, lips pressed together.
"Fear changes over time," Malfoy said at last, glancing at her expression and sighing inwardly. "You might be able to laugh it off with a spell in Lupin's class today, but that doesn't mean there won't be worse fears waiting later."
He lifted his teacup and took a small, unhurried sip.
"Forgive my bluntness," he added, "but this lesson is largely meaningless."
"But I'm still curious," Pansy said brightly, a smile appearing as if nothing had happened. "I've never seen you show fear. Not even when we ran into the Dementors."
"Perhaps," Malfoy replied, setting the cup down.
"Oh! And that chubby Gryffindor said his Boggart turned into Sn—" Pansy broke off, then burst into laughter. "He said he turned it into Professor Snape and beat it up himself!"
Snape's popularity—or lack thereof—was nearly universal. Even among Slytherins, genuine affection for him was rare.
Because, frankly, he wasn't very likable.
"Professor, I will discipline her properly. Please forgive her thoughtless words."
Malfoy suddenly looked past Pansy and spoke with impeccable respect.
Pansy's posture snapped straight. "Of course," she said stiffly. "I'll make sure to teach him a lesson for disrespecting our esteemed Head of House."
She turned her head slowly—
No one was there.
Her face flushed red as realization hit. She'd been fooled. Again. By the oldest trick imaginable.
"Enough," Malfoy said calmly, standing. "It's time for class. Being late isn't a good habit."
"I'll blow you into smoke," Pansy muttered through clenched teeth as she followed him.
Despite herself, the corners of her mouth lifted faintly.
She had thought about it for a long time and reached the same conclusion again and again: maintaining the status quo was best. She still had time—plenty of it. That was her greatest advantage. If she fixed her flaws, she was certain Draco would fall for her eventually.
The boy walking ahead of her seemed entirely unaware that he was the target of such careful, persistent planning.
---
The classroom was already nearly full when they arrived. Malfoy and Pansy found their seats and sat down.
"What's inside that wardrobe?" Pansy whispered. "A Boggart?"
"Most likely," Malfoy replied.
At the front of the room stood Remus Lupin, calmly observing the students. He looked perpetually tired, his robes patched and worn, as though he lived in quiet poverty.
Only when the bell rang did the Slytherins finally settle.
"I believe you saw me at the opening ceremony," Lupin said gently. "Some of you may have seen me on the train earlier."
As he spoke, his gaze lingered briefly on Malfoy. A smile touched his face. A student capable of producing a Patronus at that age—regardless of circumstance—was undeniably impressive.
"I'll be your Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher this year. You may call me Professor Lupin."
A subdued murmur ran through the room. Many Slytherins were instinctively dismissive of the shabby-looking professor, but they'd been warned in advance: do not underestimate him. As a result, they kept their reactions restrained.
Lupin didn't seem bothered by the cool reception.
"You likely already know today's topic," he continued. "Fortunately, I managed to acquire a few new Boggarts. Otherwise, today's lesson might've been impossible."
He tapped the old wardrobe beside him with his wand.
"This is our subject—the Boggart."
"You may have heard the theory from your Gryffindor classmates," he said, clearing his throat, "but I'll repeat it anyway. Please pay attention."
"What is a Boggart?" Lupin asked—then answered himself. "A shape-shifting magical creature. It has almost no offensive capability, so there's no need to panic."
He glanced toward a nervous student. "You there—your legs are shaking so hard you're about to overturn the table."
Laughter rippled through the room, easing the tension.
"The Boggart inside hasn't seen us yet," Lupin went on. "So it has no form. No one knows what a Boggart looks like when it's alone. But once released, it immediately transforms into what it believes frightens you the most."
"What if it faces many people at once?" the earlier student asked, standing with visible effort.
"Excellent question," Lupin said warmly. "Sometimes, the right question matters more than the answer. Ten points to Slytherin."
He began clapping, and the class followed.
"This," Lupin said, swinging the wardrobe door open, "is your answer."
The Boggart burst out—but instead of assuming a clear shape, it twisted and warped continuously, unable to decide. With so many conflicting fears, it collapsed into something like a shifting mass of dark mud.
Disgusted sounds filled the room, but no one felt afraid.
Lupin then taught them the counter-spell step by step—using humor, imagination, ridicule. After some practice, he began calling students forward one by one.
"Are you alright?" Malfoy asked quietly.
Pansy hadn't noticed herself trembling. One hand was clenched into a fist; sweat dotted her brow. Her face was pale. The other hand had tightened around his sleeve without her realizing it.
"Yes," she said softly.
She'd always considered herself brave. Childhood fears had faded with time. But when Lupin asked them to recall their deepest fear, her mind had returned instantly to the Dementors' illusion. A chill crawled up her spine.
Even if she'd learned the Patronus through… unconventional means, the memory itself hadn't disappeared.
"Then don't go up," Malfoy said calmly. "No one should be forced to reopen their wounds in public. The professor won't insist."
In truth, Malfoy himself had no intention of revealing his fear either.