Credit to: obviously_sherlocked_Anya
From Archive of Our Own
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There was always too much to say about Harry Potter. A marvel. A legend. The Chosen One. Incomparable. Invaluable. The most astonishing wizard of the bloody age. With his two abnormally fortunate friends, they were the Golden Trio. Merlin, and Potter called him pretentious. Harry Potter this, Harry Potter that, could there ever be a simple conversation without mentioning witless, obtuse, imbecilic Harry James bloody —
“Mister Malfoy!”
Draco’s head snapped up, blinking rapidly at just slightly peeved emerald eyes. Not the right hue, however. Too old, too tired. Lupin, then. Predictable, of course. Lupin had some keen senses for a simple professor.
“Yes, professor?”
“Where is your mind this morning? I don’t believe you’ve heard a single word I’ve spoken at all.”
“Professor, today’s lesson is about boggarts. You were reviewing the instructions for the second time because Longbottom was too mortified by the very thought of encountering one to pay good enough attention the first time around.”
Lupin’s eyes went large, before a slight grin twisted upon his lips and he nodded.
“Very good, Malfoy. Now, what is a bog—”
“A boggart is a physical manifestation of our deepest and most appalling of fears, professor.”
“Hmph. Yes, well, and what does one—”
“A boggart had no literal form in any sense, as it as I just said—a manifestation of fears. If there is nobody to look upon it, it is nothing. Are you quite finished with your questions?”
Lupin wet his lips, his brow creased as he inspected the Slytherin. Then, he stepped away, gesturing to the cabinet before all his students with his wand.
“Line up! We’ve practised the spell enough; let’s see some action, yes?”
A chorus of ‘Yes, professor!’ rang through the classroom, and once everybody had their fill of pushing each other and giggling about this whole scenario, the deafening click of the door unlocking echoed against the walls. It creaked open. The first student stepped forward, and everything went completely quiet.
It was simple enough. Fun, really. Spiders, snakes,professors, there were all the usual fears repeated with many students. Potter hadn’t gone. Whether it be the Dark Lord, a Dementor, Sirius Black, none of the options that could be stuffed in Potter’s mind would ever be acceptable for the normal folk to witness. The line was thinning out, and soon enough, Draco was being shoved up to the front of the classroom, right in front of the cabinet, of the boggart inside.
To be completely truthful, he hadn’t considered what his boggart would ever become. When he stepped out into the light, he almost collapsed to his knees.
It was Harry Potter. Bloodied up more than any proper pounding could ever provide. He was staggering, barely able to keep himself on his feet. His eyes were dull. He was dying. Bleeding out. Oh, the blood was everywhere. All over the ground, spilling around Draco’s freshly-polished shoes. It sounded as if Potter was wheezing, but it appeared to be more as if he was struggling to breathe because of the blood clogging up all the passageways.
“...’m...M’sorry, Draco...”
Draco blinked, shuddered, felt his wand being released from his grip and clattering onto the hardwood underneath his feet.
“Draco... Don...Don’t look-look a’me like tha...that... M’sorry...”
Not-Real Potter inched closer, pallid, bony fingers reaching out to grasp messily at Draco’s robes, smearing the rich green and silver with a ghoulish crimson.
