The Boggart Turns Into a Cat

The door to the Slytherin girls' dormitory slammed shut with a bang, making the windowpanes rattle.

Pansy Parkinson snatched a perfume bottle from the dressing table and hurled it at the wall. The crystal bottle shattered against the tapestry, soaking the silver-and-green silk in strong rose perfume.

Her roommates huddled behind the curtains of their four-poster beds, hardly daring to breathe.

"Damn Mudblood! Damn Potter!"

Her face stinging, Pansy marched angrily to the mirror. The handprint on her left cheek had swollen dark red, a shocking sight against her pale skin. The girl in the mirror suddenly contorted her face and let out a hysterical scream.

She grabbed a quill holder and flung it at the mirror. The shattered glass broke up her reflection, but it could not shatter the memory of Hermione Granger's icy gaze or Harry Potter's perpetually superior expression.

"I'll make them pay!"

Pansy yanked open the dormitory door and stormed out, gripping her wand tightly. As she crossed the dim corridor, she had already imagined more than a dozen jinxes, from covering Potter's face in boils to turning Granger's hair into venomous snakes.

The fire burned dimly in the common room, where Draco Malfoy sat alone in a carved armchair. He looked up at the sound of footsteps.

"Where are you going?"

The sight of the boy she liked instantly doused half of Pansy's anger.

She instinctively smoothed the disheveled hair at her temples, her swollen cheek suddenly burning hot. "I... I'm just going out for a walk."

The fire cast flickering light and shadows across Draco's profile, outlining his high nose and tightly pressed thin lips.

Pansy's heart skipped a beat. On the day of the Quidditch Match in their second year, his flying blond hair and arrogant smile had been etched into her mind as he swept over her head on his broomstick.

If only that damned Potter hadn't kept monopolizing his attention...

Regret gnawed at her heart like a venomous snake.

In their first year, when Draco had asked Goyle and Crabbe "how to make friends with girls," she had actually been stupid enough to suggest he go straight up and say it!

If only I'd told him to pull her hair or put spiders in her schoolbag instead!

Just as her older male cousin had once done when pursuing girls.

"What happened to your face?" Draco suddenly closed his book and stood, narrowing his gray-blue eyes slightly.

He already knew the answer. He had been nearby when Hermione slapped Pansy and had seen everything clearly.

Pansy hurriedly covered the swelling with her long hair. "I bumped into something by accident."

Draco stared at her for a few seconds, then suddenly sneered. "Did someone from Gryffindor hit you?"

"It's none of your business!" Pansy retorted shrilly, but held her breath when Draco picked up his wand.

"You don't even know a swelling-reduction charm?" He flicked his wand, and a trace of coolness brushed over her stinging cheek. "Don't disgrace Slytherin."

Pansy stood rooted to the spot, watching his back as he walked toward the boys' dormitory without looking back. Her fingertips rose unconsciously to her cheek, which no longer stung.

The fire crackled, and under her infatuated gaze, Draco's blond hair glimmered one last time before disappearing behind the stone wall.

Pansy's gaze grew infatuated, while Draco, back in his own dormitory, grew pleased with himself.

Look how clever I am. As long as Pansy's face is fine, she won't go looking for trouble with Potter. I'm a genius!

Meanwhile, Harry and Ron had given Pansy no thought at all. They were preoccupied with the question of Hermione's classes.

Or rather, only Ron was preoccupied.

The stone walls of the castle corridor held the chill of early autumn, and Ron's complaints echoed beneath the vaulted ceiling. He counted on his fingers so forcefully that his knuckles clicked softly. "It's bad enough that Arithmancy and Ancient Runes clash, but she can even show up in Muggle Studies!"

The red-haired boy suddenly stopped and grabbed Harry's sleeve. "Tell me the truth. Has Hermione secretly cloned herself?"

The snake scales on Harry's wrist shifted slightly, and Voldemort scoffed at Ron's childish theory.

She had to pretend to straighten her tie as she pressed down on the bracelet. "Cloning requires advanced alchemy. Who do you think she is, Nicolas Flamel?"

"Then how do you explain-"

"Good morning." Hermione's voice suddenly came from behind them. Ron froze as if struck by Petrificus Totalus and watched helplessly as the brown-haired girl deftly squeezed between them.

She smelled of parchment and mint toothpaste, and the ends of her hair tickled Harry's cheek as they brushed against it.

Hermione deliberately bumped Ron's shoulder. "If someone spent the time he uses to talk about me studying ahead, a third of your Potions notes wouldn't have been burned by your cauldron."

"That was an accident!" The tips of Ron's ears turned bright red.

The door to the Dark Magic Defence Class classroom creaked open, and Professor Lupin leaned against the doorframe. A smile played on his lips. "Children, come in. You're the only ones we're waiting for. Today we're dealing with something interesting."

The classroom smelled of old wood, and the familiar cracked wardrobe was trembling rhythmically in the corner, like a slowly beating heart.

Neville had already shrunk back into the last row, his face pale, while Draco Malfoy and the Slytherins had claimed a corner far from the wardrobe.

Though he pretended not to care, his gray-blue eyes kept glancing in Harry's direction.

"A Boggart turns into the thing you fear most." Lupin gave his wand a light wave, and the wardrobe's latch began to loosen. "Remember the spell-Riddikulus!"

When Harry's turn came, the sweat on her palm made her wand a little slippery.

The moment the wardrobe door sprang open, the expected Dementor did not appear. Instead, there was a mass of viscous darkness that seemed alive. It spread rapidly like spilled ink, swallowing her in the blink of an eye.

"Harry!" Ron's cry sounded as though it came through a thick curtain.

Silver threads glimmered in the darkness.

Harry narrowed her eyes and saw a snowy night in Godric's Hollow emerge from the mist: James's back as he stood in the stairwell, and Lily's red hair falling forward as she placed a baby in a cradle. And "Harry" stood in the corner like a translucent ghost, his fingers passing through the bars of the crib.

Time seemed to slow, and in that time, her parents, her teachers, and her friends fell one by one to Voldemort's wand.

Not one survived.

At last, even Voldemort died, leaving Harry alone, hailed by the world as the Chosen One.

A lonely Chosen One.

Harry stumbled back two steps, and the faces of Ron and Hermione, and even Draco, flashed at the corner of her eye. Only then did she come to her senses.

"Riddikulus!" Harry raised her wand.

The mass of darkness turned into a jet-black cat. It was as fat as a ball, its four legs barely visible. It opened its golden eyes and meowed at Harry.