Argus stared at the scene, genuinely puzzled. Was Draco truly that scared of him? What had he done to warrant such fear? He scrutinized the Boggart emerging from the wardrobe and spotted the telltale detail: it clutched a stack of homework assignments—ones he'd doled out as a prefect.
Realization dawned. Draco wasn't afraid of him at all. It was the endless essays that haunted the boy. The Boggart, mute as ever, could only convey this through crude mimicry.
Draco, frozen before the wardrobe, gaped in shock. He hadn't anticipated Argus bursting forth like that. Glancing back at his friend's neutral expression, he exhaled quietly, relieved there'd be no backlash.
Snickers rippled through the room. Ron Weasley, Draco's perennial rival, guffawed loudest, making no effort to hide it. In past clashes, Ron had always ended up the loser, so this chance to rib Draco—and take a swipe at Argus too—was too golden to pass up.
As the Boggart lumbered closer, Draco wavered. Should he cast the spell? A private jest was one thing, but this was public, with Gryffindors and Slytherins watching. Argus wasn't just a mate; he was Slytherin's prefect. Mocking him would humiliate the whole house.
"Sorry, Professor," Draco said, voice steady. "I'm not quite comfortable with this spell yet. Let the others go first."
Lupin nodded curtly and flicked his wand, sealing the Boggart back in the wardrobe with a muttered incantation.
Ron's jeers cut through the line. "Malfoy, aren't you always trailing your prefect like a lost puppy? Turns out he's your biggest nightmare! Can't even manage a basic Riddikulus? Need a lesson from me?"
Lupin frowned, irritation flickering across his scarred face. No surprise Harry had passed out on the train from sheer stress—with a mate like Ron stirring the pot. It was obvious Draco had backed off to spare Argus embarrassment. Was that a crime worth mocking?
He'd come here partly to gauge Harry and Ron firsthand, beyond the rumors and reports. The reality hit harder: Harry's silence now felt like complicity. A pang of disappointment settled in.
"Quiet, everyone!" Lupin barked. "Next student, step up!"
A dozen more Gryffindors and Slytherins cycled through, banishing their fears with varying success. Finally, Ron swaggered forward, brandishing his wand with a taunting flourish toward Draco.
That did it. Lupin's voice sharpened. "Mr. Weasley, stick to the task at hand. Others are waiting."
Ron ignored him, wand at the ready. It was the same battered relic from last year—splintered and patched with electrical tape. In the original timeline, the Weasleys' lottery win would have funded a replacement before third year. But here, with Mr. Weasley's demotion slashing their income, Galleons were scarce. Ron made do.
The wardrobe creaked open, and an enormous spider scuttled out, legs skittering menacingly.
"Focus, Mr. Weasley," Lupin urged calmly. "Face your fear head-on. Be brave."
Ron's face twisted in horror as the arachnid advanced; tears welled in his eyes. He fumbled his wand higher.
"Riddikulus!" he yelped.
Under normal circumstances, the spell would've turned the spider into a farce—perhaps with clown-sized rollerskates. But Ron's faulty wand betrayed him again, as it had before. The magic backfired spectacularly, rebounding along the core.
With a crack, roller skates materialized on Ron's own feet.
He teetered, then crashed to the floor with a resounding thud, backside first.
Laughter exploded from the class. Two dozen students had faced the Boggart that lesson, and save for Draco's polite pass, every Riddikulus had landed true. Only Ron botched it.
The uproar spooked the Boggart, who fled to the wardrobe in a puff of rags.
"Mr. Weasley," Lupin said evenly, helping him up, "you might want to drill your spells more. And consider a proper wand. Next: Parvati."
A few more turns passed before Harry's moment arrived. Lupin's gaunt features softened with a rare smile.
"Your go, Harry. Dig deep—picture how you'll turn it ridiculous."
Harry nodded, steeling himself as he approached. Oddly, the Boggart lingered in its last form: a ludicrously dressed vicar from Parvati's attempt, wobbling comically.
Then, in a heartbeat, it shifted.
The vicar dissolved into a frayed black cloak, skeletal hands clawing toward Harry's face—a Dementor.
Gasps echoed through the room.
Lupin lunged forward, shielding Harry on instinct. But the Boggart adapted instantly, locking eyes on the professor. Its shape rippled again: a swollen, silvery orb hung in the air—a full moon.
Lupin's eyes widened, pupils shrinking to pins. His fists clenched, knuckles white. For a split second, raw terror flashed across his weary face—the wolf within stirring at the sight.
Before he could react, a brilliant silver light erupted behind him.
"Expecto Patronum!"
Argus's wand slashed the air, birthing a radiant stag that charged. The Boggart recoiled in panic, vanishing into the wardrobe with a final, ragged wail.
Patronuses were poison to dark entities like Boggarts. Lupin exhaled shakily, the moon's illusion fading as he forced composure. Sweat beaded on his brow, but he masked it well.
"Impressive Patronus Charm, Mr. Grindelwald," he said, voice steadying. "And for safeguarding your classmate, Slytherin earns five points."
Argus offered a modest nod, saying nothing. Even a simulated full moon rattled a werewolf—though less viciously than the real thing. Had Lupin dosed on Wolfsbane Potion, or was this raw endurance? Either way, the strain showed; he dabbed his forehead with a handkerchief.
They paused briefly to reset. "Short break, then we'll resume."
The line dwindled until only Argus remained. Eyes turned to him—Lupin's gleaming with curiosity, the students buzzing with anticipation.
"Mr. Grindelwald?" Lupin prompted. "I suspect everyone's dying to know: what's your deepest fear?"
---
Enjoying the story? You can read 3-5 chapters ahead right now on Patreon!
New chapters drop there much earlier than Web Novel.
Join P@treon & Read Ahead → https://[email protected]/c/Ren_Saga
Thank you for your support! ❤️