CHAPTER 27

Having looked around and ensured the students nearby were focused only on the Boggart's next form and what Lupin's latest "victim" would turn it into, I raised my left hand palm-up, took my wand in my right, and began tracing familiar construct contours—relying on intuition and blending them with the mastered basics of Transfiguration. These contours are among the simplest and don't manifest in the visible spectrum, so I wasn't worried about drawing attention.

Slowly gathering and compacting the surrounding air until light began to refract and distort, I selected the resulting sphere as my Transfiguration target, set the formula, visualized the object, and decided to have a bit of fun by adding constructs specialized for life energy.

"Here you go," I said with a slight smile, handing Daphne—who'd been covertly watching my manipulations—a real, icy, crystal-clear rose.

Daphne accepted the gift as if it were expected, which couldn't help but amuse me.

"And what's this?"

"Beautiful but cold—capable of pricking you until you bleed with any careless move," I replied with a faint smile. "But if you know how to warm it…"

I ran my finger along the petals of the transparent ice rose, and where I touched, they turned a vivid blood red, as intended. When I withdrew my hand, the rose reverted to ice.

"It'll blossom with bright colors."

"Subtle," Daphne remarked with an incredibly venomous—yet not outright nasty—grin. "I approve."

"It's, you could say, alive. Plant it in soil, and it'll freeze and sprout. Plant it in ice, and it'll sprout and shatter, turning into a bush."

"An intriguing cascade Transfiguration with added charms," Daphne offered her take on the creation process.

"Granger," I heard Lupin's voice and turned toward him.

Hermione took a step forward, but the professor, noticing, raised a hand in a stopping gesture.

"Mr. Granger, I meant."

"Yes, Professor?"

"To the front," he said, gesturing to where other students stood, casting spells at the Boggart.

Some students reacted so quickly that my memory—where experiments taming this creature lingered faintly—surfaced, and the Boggart didn't have time to retreat into the wardrobe. But sometimes it did, and the student approached the closed wardrobe where the creature hid. I should've been among them, but…

"I refuse."

Lupin's face took on an expression as if I'd soiled his shoes—a profound insult.

"Excuse me, Mr. Granger," he said, quickly regaining composure with a kind smile. "But as your professor, I ask you to come forward and demonstrate your skills against a Boggart."

"I refuse," I repeated.

A light nudge from Anthony drew my attention to him.

"Hey, what's wrong? Go out and do some magic—if anything happens, we'll cover you," he whispered.

Despite the growing murmur of disapproval directed at me, his words were, oddly enough, perfectly audible to Lupin.

"Your classmate's right, Mr. Granger. There's nothing terrible about facing your greatest fear—especially in a weakened form. With the support of your peers, I'm sure you'll manage easily."

"I refuse," I said again, unfazed by the general condemnation. "Let them split me in half."

"You chickened out?" Malfoy sneered, sidling up from somewhere.

"Oh, Mr. Malfoy," I beamed at the blond, whose hair had returned to its natural shade. "It's high time you showed Slytherin courage and bravery—charge chest-first into the fray, flaunting your fear to all your foes. Reveal your most vulnerable spot, where they can strike so hard only a name and bad memories remain. Why're you turning pale, Mr. Malfoy? Forward! Glory awaits…"

"Mr. Granger!" Lupin interjected, his tone much sterner. "If you don't come forward, I'll be forced—regrettably—to deduct points from your house."

"Don't waste points, Hector," Anthony nudged me again.

"Well… Professor, I refuse to display my fear without the chance of a reward."

"A reward? That's not quite what I expected from a Hufflepuff."

Despite his words, Lupin smiled again, signaling he had a solution.

"Since you, Mr. Granger, are so wary of your fear that you hesitate in the wings, I'll offer you ten points if you successfully defeat the Boggart on your first try."

I'd half-expected something like this.

"How's that?"

I hesitated for appearances' sake, catching Daphne's venomous grin out of the corner of my eye. Winking at her discreetly, I nodded to the professor and stepped forward amid the approving cheers of the other students. Standing before the wardrobe, wand in hand, I focused. Though I hadn't closely followed the proceedings, I'd drawn some conclusions about the Boggart.

"Ready?" Lupin asked.

"Of course, Professor."

He waved his hand, and the wardrobe door swung open. A shapeless mass began to emerge swiftly from the darkness, morphing as it came. Did I wait? Of course not! Concentrating neutral magic and channeling it through my consciousness—where I'd formed the outline of a basic yet destructive fireball—I conjured the orb at my wand's tip in a split second and hurled it at the wardrobe before the Boggart fully emerged. In an instant, the immaterial entity burst into flames along with the wardrobe, followed by an explosion whose directed blast shattered the wardrobe and dispersed the Boggart, flinging smoking fragments against the wall.

A deathly silence filled the staff room.

"It seems," I said, glancing at Lupin with mock fear, "I defeated the Boggart."

"You destroyed it, Mr. Granger," the professor replied, eyeing the still-smoking remains of the wardrobe with mild shock.

"Well, we didn't specify how I should defeat it or with what consequences. The main thing's the result."

"Very well—ten points to Hufflepuff for a decisive victory over the Boggart. But still… Why like that?"

Amid the less-than-joyful hubbub of the students, I caught faint notes of approval—tinged with smug satisfaction. It's not every day something "booms" so spectacularly.

"I'm a Hufflepuff," I shrugged. "I was so scared I just hit it in shock. You know, they say there are two reactions to a threat."

"Fight or flight," the professor nodded with a grin.

"Exactly, Professor. Seems I'm not much of a runner."

At that point, the lesson ended prematurely due to the Boggart's "sudden and unnecessary" demise. Where do all these phrases in my head come from? I can't summon them consciously.

The rest of the day passed without incident. At lunch, everyone had heard about the Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. The less discerning laughed at my supposed fear; the sharper ones chuckled at how cleverly I'd outwitted Lupin. A small faction of Slytherin girls eyed me dangerously—their looks carried a clear message: "Where do you think you're going, Mudblood?!" What can I say? You've scared a hedgehog with a bare backside—your prejudices pale next to elven discrimination based on magical aptitude!