Snap.
Something fractured—not just the silence, but the magic itself. A piercing crack rang out, sharp and sudden, as if reality had hiccupped. The temperature in the room plummeted.
The disturbance hadn't come from Draco.
It came from the Boggart.
Or rather… from whatever the Boggart had twisted itself into.
It had contorted, mangled itself into something so potent, so tangled in the deepest, most primal corner of Draco's mind, that it triggered a full-blown surge—a volatile spike in the magical atmosphere. The Boggart was supposed to mimic fear, not channel it. But this? This was beyond illusion. This was resonance.
A magical feedback loop.
The creature had accidentally latched onto something it couldn't comprehend.
And now, it was tearing itself apart.
The mist thickened, swirling faster, turning into a spiralling vortex around a flickering core of chained, distorted light. Lightning cracked at the edges of the conjured space, rippling out like claws. The classroom itself twisted. Its edges distorted into a bizarre, star-filled dimension, as if reality had been peeled back. The stars shimmered and trembled unnaturally. The air snapped and hissed with unstable magic.
The pressure kept rising—louder, sharper, heavier—like a magical storm wound so tight it was on the verge of rupture.
Lupin's eyes widened, breath catching in his throat.
"No… it's not Draco," he muttered. "It's the Boggart. It's overloading."
The creature had mimicked something it couldn't handle. Something too real, too raw. It was collapsing in on itself, and the collapse was pulling everything else in with it.
The ground quivered. Desks shifted noisily. Glass cracked in spiderweb patterns. Even the very walls of the room seemed to bend, creak, and stretch, warping under the magical pressure.
Lupin didn't wait.
He shot forward, wand flaring with light.
"BACK! EVERYONE, GET BACK!"
He slashed his wand through the air.
"Protego Totalum!"
A broad, shimmering barrier exploded into place between the students and the magical rift forming near the Boggart. The shield flared and trembled as wave after wave of destabilised magic slammed into it. A piercing, high-pitched ringing filled the air, like magic itself was screaming out of rhythm.
The Boggart's form shrieked again. Its voice warped and broken, a sound that wasn't quite animal or human. It was like listening to raw panic with a mouth. Like the sound of something glitching out of existence.
It was panicking.
It was flailing, wild and unpredictable, caught in the surge like a butterfly in a hurricane. It had bitten off more than it could chew, and now it was choking on it.
Lupin's gaze darted to Draco.
Still on his feet. Still breathing. Completely untouched. Not a single scratch. Encased in a gleaming, golden magical shield that buzzed with layered enchantments. Stable. Controlled. Solid.
But Lupin hadn't cast it.
He knew that much.
Someone else had.
And then…
"Don't worry," came a calm, confident voice from beside him. "I've handled this sort of situation before."
Lupin spun around.
There stood Professor Dumbledore. Robes calm as moonlight, wand resting loosely in his fingers. But this wasn't the usual twinkly-eyed, grandfatherly version of the man. No.
This Dumbledore was all sharp edges and cold magic.
Standing at his side was Fawkes, the great phoenix perched and watchful, wings half-spread, radiating an aura of purifying heat. His feathers shimmered brighter with every pulse of pressure that rolled off the vortex.
The classroom dimmed, just a flicker, but long enough to feel like time itself was hesitating.
Dumbledore didn't raise his voice.
"It's reacting to something it doesn't understand."
Lupin nodded, breathing heavily, eyes still locked on the storm.
"The Boggart?" he asked, heart pounding. "What in Merlin's name did it pull out of Draco?"
Dumbledore's expression didn't flicker. He nodded, voice quiet but heavy.
"It tried to mirror a fear that wasn't about darkness or monsters. This one was different. This was about identity. About existence itself."
Lupin went pale.
"That's… that's not normal. Not for a student."
Dumbledore didn't answer.
He didn't have to.
The walls groaned again. The air rippled like a lake before a tsunami. Magic pushed against their bones, heavy and unpredictable.
The Boggart wailed once more. This time, it changed. Its body fractured, bending like shattered glass. For one terrible second, dozens of eyes opened across its body, each one twitching, staring in every direction at once.
Then they vanished.
Fawkes launched skyward, fire blazing from his wings as he arced over the chaos. He soared above the Boggart's imploding illusion, his cry slicing through the din with crystalline clarity. His presence alone seemed to push the mist back, parting it like a divine flame.
Dumbledore finally raised his wand, eyes narrowing with focus.
"Prepare yourself, Remus," he said, his voice low and cutting. "This isn't a lesson anymore. It's a containment scenario."
Then he stepped forward.
The air went still.
"We need to shut it down," he continued, each word laced with certainty, "before it turns into something worse."
Fawkes let out another cry, piercing and radiant, and the swirling mist stuttered. The Boggart flinched hard, twisting violently as if struck.
Lupin blinked. He had no idea phoenix song could hurt a Boggart. Apparently, today was going to rewrite a few magical textbooks.
He lifted his wand, steadying his stance.
"Right behind you, Headmaster."
*******************
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