Argus stepped forward, and the wardrobe door creaked open with agonizing slowness. A faint, almost imperceptible brush of sensation flickered in his mind—his Occlumency shielding kicking in, activating his subconscious defenses.
In the inky darkness inside, a vague, writhing shadow lurked. Argus's brow furrowed as his fingers tightened around his wand. Why hadn't the Boggart emerged yet?
"Does the Boggart's fear-sensing instinct work like Legilimency?" he wondered. "Or was Legilimency born from studying creatures like these?"
Lost in thought, Argus ignored the wide-eyed stares from his classmates. Even Professor Lupin, standing nearby, looked baffled by the Boggart's hesitation. Normally, the creature could pinpoint a person's deepest fear in an instant—like it had with Harry moments ago, shifting forms in a heartbeat. But now? Nothing. It just cowered in the shadows.
Only two explanations fit: either the Boggart couldn't detect a target, or Argus had no fears for it to exploit. Either way, it was unnerving.
Deciding to test it, Argus eased his Occlumency just enough to probe the creature's instincts. The Boggart stirred, twisting violently as it reshaped into a swirling cloud of black mist that billowed out.
Wand raised, Argus fired off the counter-spell. "Riddikulus! Riddikulus!"
The misty form dissolved into a harmless puff of pink vapor, sucked back into the wardrobe with a final, feeble whimper.
"Black mist?" one student muttered, blinking in confusion. "What even was that?"
The class turned to Lupin and Argus, faces etched with bewilderment. Lupin, having pieced it together from their reactions, cleared his throat and addressed the group.
"As Mr. Filch mentioned earlier, Boggarts lack a fixed form. That black mist? It means the creature couldn't pin down a solid fear—or worse, the fear was something intangible."
He paused, choosing his words carefully. "More precisely, Mr. Filch fears... fear itself. Pure terror doesn't have a shape, so the Boggart can't mimic it."
The explanation landed like a tongue-twister, leaving the students dazed. "But why couldn't it judge at all?" a Ravenclaw piped up.
Lupin shot Argus a quick glance, noting his impassive expression, before answering. "That involves advanced magic you'll encounter in later years, if you're lucky. For now, class dismissed. Pack your books and off you go!"
"Thank you, Professor!" The third-years checked the clock and filed out in an orderly line.
As Argus moved to join them, Lupin's voice stopped him. "Yagos! Mind if I call you that?"
Argus turned with a warm smile. "Of course, Professor Lupin. It's an honor."
Lupin chuckled wryly, shaking his head. "Truth be told, in raw magical talent, there's little I could teach you. But as your professor..." His tone sharpened, eyes locking onto Argus with fresh intensity. "I have to warn you: leaning too hard on spells isn't always wise."
He'd clearly spotted the Occlumency at work—Argus only dropping it once the Boggart failed to shift. Argus dipped his head in acknowledgment, recalling the misty transformation. "Thank you for the advice, Professor. I'll keep it in mind."
"It's my job." Lupin nodded toward the Time-Turner glinting at Argus's neck. "Now, don't dawdle. Get to your next class on time."
...
Saturday morning arrived in a blur, the Hogwarts entrance hall buzzing with excited third-years and above. Weekends meant freedom for them—and a sanctioned jaunt to Hogsmeade Village, the only all-wizarding settlement in Britain. For most, it was a chance to burn through pocket money on Butterbeer and Honeydukes sweets.
Argus, weaving through the crowd, mused on an idea from his old life: the acolytes could use a foothold in Hogsmeade. School-adjacent shops always raked in absurd profits.
At the castle gates, Professor McGonagall and Filch were laying down the law for the first-time visitors. "Hogsmeade trips require special permission," McGonagall said sternly. "Misbehave, and you'll lose the privilege faster than you can say 'detention.'"
Harry edged closer, hope flickering in his eyes, but she held up a hand. "No consent form? No trip, Mr. Potter. Rules are rules."
Filch, scowling like the world owed him a Galleon, hobbled forward with his clipboard. "Signed forms, follow me. The rest—stay put and behave."
His dour face lit up like a Lumos charm when he spotted Argus in the throng. "Good morning, Mr. Filch!" Filch beamed, his voice suddenly syrupy. "Morning to you, sir!"
Argus grinned back. "Anything I can pick up for you in the village?"
"No trouble at all, sir—er, no need." Filch puffed out his chest and waved Argus ahead, leading the group down the path with uncharacteristic cheer.
Harry watched them go, anxiety twisting his gut. Ron and his Gryffindor mates were already inside the departing crowd, chattering about Zonko's pranks and the Three Broomsticks. He'd grilled them on the best spots, but now? He was stuck.
Swallowing hard, Harry approached McGonagall again, fumbling for the permission slip. "Professor, if you could just sign this, I could—"
"Absolutely not, Mr. Potter." Her voice was firm but kind. "Only a parent or guardian can approve it. I'm neither, so my hands are tied."
Harry glanced at Ron, who shot him a sympathetic wave before vanishing with the group. Forcing a smile, Harry called out, "It's fine—go on without me!"
But Ron didn't hesitate, blending into the excited exodus. Harry stood alone, the castle looming behind him like a sentinel, as the path to Hogsmeade emptied into the distance.
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