The Noctis Codex | DRARRY

THIRTY-ONE

The classroom was dimly lit, the atmosphere heavy with anticipation. Professor Sinistra, now taking over Defense Against the Dark Arts, stood by the wardrobe containing the boggart. Her gaze softened as she glanced at the students, remembering the last time they had faced such a lesson. A pang of sorrow hit her; the memory of Lupin guiding them through their fears felt fresh, though it had been some time since the battle that took his life.

She forced a smile. "Alright, let's begin. Remember, a boggart takes the form of your worst fear. The spell to counter it is Riddikulus. Who wants to go first?"

Seamus Finnigan stepped forward, his wand trembling slightly. The wardrobe creaked open, and with a sudden lurch, a massive blast of fire erupted out. Seamus's fear of uncontrolled explosions was well-known, considering his history with accidental spells. The flames crackled, licking the edges of the wardrobe.

"R-Riddikulus!" he stammered, and the fire transformed into a harmless puff of colorful smoke, followed by a comical whistle sound. The class chuckled, the tension easing momentarily.

Professor Sinistra nodded approvingly. "Well done, Seamus. Who's next?"

Hermione took a steadying breath and stepped forward. The boggart shifted, morphing into the figure of Professor McGonagall, standing sternly, holding a long piece of parchment filled with red marks. It was clear—failure, her greatest fear. Hermione's eyes narrowed.

"Riddikulus!" she commanded, and McGonagall began to tap dance, the parchment turning into a long, colorful scarf. Laughter erupted in the room, lightening the mood again.

But then, it was Harry's turn.

He stepped forward, heart pounding. The boggart swirled, and suddenly, he was staring at himself. But this version of him was different. Dark, angry black marks covered his entire body, spreading like poison. The boggart-Harry clawed at his throat, gasping, choking, before collapsing to the floor. The room fell silent, students watching in stunned horror.

Harry's hand trembled as he lifted his wand. He hadn't realized how deeply the curse had rooted itself in his mind, how much it terrified him. With a hoarse whisper, he cast the spell. "Riddikulus."

The boggart-Harry morphed into a comically oversized version of himself, with absurdly large glasses and a rubber chicken clutched in one hand. The class laughed uneasily, though the weight of what they had seen still lingered.
A pang of shame shot through the Gryffindor's veins. No one except his friends and teachers knew about the curse. What would they think now that they saw this?

Professor Sinistra, her brow furrowed, gently guided him back. "It's alright, Harry. You did well."

"Next," she said softly, eyes shifting to Draco.

Reluctantly, he approached the wardrobe. As it creaked open, a cold chill swept through the room. The boggart shifted again, this time forming into the imposing figure of Lucius Malfoy. His icy, unyielding gaze pinned Draco in place. The elder Malfoy stepped forward, his expression one of cold contempt. His hand stretched out, and the blond flinched, memories of past punishments flashing through his mind.

What was he going to do? Push him again? Grab his neck or his arm and injure him?

Frozen in fear, Draco couldn't move. He couldn't even breathe as Lucius's hand hovered, ready to strike or grab. His heart pounded in his chest.

But before Lucius could make a move, Harry's voice rang out, strong and decisive. "Riddikulus!"

The boggart-Lucius stumbled, his cold demeanor replaced by something absurd—a long, flowing pink tutu around his waist, and a dainty parasol in one hand. He pirouetted awkwardly, and the room erupted into laughter. But Draco didn't join in.