Disclaimer: I own nothing but the plot of this short story, all rights belong to JKR and Warner Bros!

I hope you'll like it and leave me a nice review! Also, I'd like to say a great thank-you to the lovely RunningQuill who took the time to help me through the correction of this OS (English isn't my first language).

The Boggart

Every single table and chair had been moved aside, leaving a large empty space in the middle of the room. There, stood an almost twenty-five feet long row of students, dressed in their school robes and ties in the colours of their respective houses: red and gold, green and silver. Lions and Snakes. After their double Potions class, the Gryffindors and the Slytherins, to their greatest regret, were sharing a Defence Against the Dark Arts class, overseen by the new teacher, Professor Lupin, who was facing them all before a tall, wooden wardrobe, which was imperceptibly moving as though it contained a hothead living being or another fidgety creature.

Lupin was wearing his usual shabby set of wizard robes, darned in several places, holed in others. He seemed to have been wearing it for years. And, if he had these more-than-poor clothes, his face, for its part, had an eager expression, and his lips were curled into a pleasant and friendly smile. His hands were hidden behind his back, both firmly holding his wand.

Draco hated this man. First, because he liked Potter and his friends very much ; they were obviously his little protégés and that moron of Longbottom too. In fact, he liked every student sorted into Gryffindor. Draco felt his fists clench at this thought ; being a Slytherin automatically made every teacher hate you, except Snape, who was one of the very few not to denigrate this house. Not that Draco was envious of the preferential treatment reserved to the three other houses of Hogwarts – he was really proud to be in Slytherin and had never concealed it - but his house had never been recognized to its worth. It was always all about Gryffindor, Ravenclaw and even Hufflepuff! Being sorted into the Snake's house more or less amounted to fall low on the ladder of living creatures. They were seen as nasty and deceitful people, always seeking for a mischief to accomplish, devoid of any common sense and morality ; He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named was once in Slytherin and gathered all these prejudices. Draco had never met a single student who was not proud to be in Slytherin, though.

"So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a Boggart?" said Lupin, still smiling at the crowd of students.

Lost in his thoughts, Draco had almost forgotten that he was in class. He blinked to clear his mind and recover his full senses.

A few rows before him, he saw, fast as lightening, Granger put her hand up, and he sighed. If there was, according to Draco, someone more detestable than Professor-Shabby-Lupin, it was certainly Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor bookworm, the filthy Mudblood ; she was convinced to be the cleverest witch of her age when she was as stupid as Weasel-bee. She just knew every single book of the library by heart ; it was no proof of intelligence. And she was always strutting, walking along the corridors carrying tones of dusty books, reprimanding everyone with this air of authority that never left her ugly face.

"It's a shape-shifter," reeled off her annoying voice. "It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us the most."

"Couldn't have put it better myself!" exclaimed Lupin, briefly clapping his hands together even though they were holding his wand.

Draco turned around to glance at Goyle, standing still behind him, a grin stretching the corners of his lips, and gave him an exasperated look. His classmate sneered and mouthed:

"Ten points to the Know-it-all."

Drago smirked and reported his attention back to the front of the class. The show taking place was gold ; Neville Longbottom was now standing next to Lupin in front of the wardrobe, aiming his wand at it, his hand shaking as though he was facing the Dark Lord himself. Most of the students couldn't hold back a giggle. He was so pathetic... Weren't Gryffindors supposed to be brave?

"At the count of three, Neville," said the grown man.

The room went so silent that Draco heard Longbottom swallow hard and let out a little scream. His whole body was trembling now. Then, a silvery trickle gushed from Lupin's wand and flew to the doorknob of the wardrobe door, wound around it and turned it with a quiet 'crack'. Draco found himself holding his breath like everyone around him as the door slowly opened.

A moment later, Professor Snape stepped out of the piece of furniture, stiff and harsh as always. For a second, Draco felt some kind of fear settle in his mind but he quickly pulled himself together, remembering that the intimidating man who just came out of technically nowhere was not the real Snape but a Boggart which had taken his shape the second it had seen Longbottom. So Snape was Longbottom greatest fear? Draco had always known that the Gryffindor was a chicken, but not to this extent. Who would be afraid of a professor if not a scaredy-cat?

Draco bit his tongue, almost to blood, trying hard not to shout something mean ; he would have plenty of time to harass Longbottom after the class anyway.

The Slytherin saw Lupin encourage his student with a nod. And gathering all his courage and strength, Longbottom raised his wand at the boggart, so close that it was almost touching it. The fake Snape was glaring at him, his narrow, dark eyes gleaming with hatred. The Gryffindor was about to take a step back but Parvati, who was just behind him, pushed him forwards.

"R-r-riddikulus!" mumbled Longbottom, almost whispering.

Immediately, there was a loud noise and Snape was dressed like an old-fashioned lady, a big, red handbag hanging from the crook of his elbow. He seemed terrified, his gaze darting in every direction, like a wild animal getting out of its cage for the very first time after its capture. The whole classroom burst out laughing as soon as they saw their Potions professor in that ridiculous getup. Even Lupin was not hiding his entertainment: it was no secret that he and Snape had been hating each other for years. What a pleasure it must be for Lupin to see his foe in such an awkward situation even if it was only a Boggart. He was laughing as well, his voice drowning out the students'. Of course, witnessing his favourite professor dressed in this kind of clothes amused Draco but he was not laughing. He couldn't help wondering what his Boggart would be. He, Draco Malfoy, was supposed to be fearless ; he couldn't tarnish his reputation.

"Parvati," called Lupin, still giggling. "Forward!"

The second twin of the Patil siblings did so and faced the Boggard, which, within a fraction of second, turned into a blood-stained, bandage-covered, faceless mummy. The room suddenly went quiet again, waiting for Parvati to cast the right spell to ridicule the creature. Again, there was a loud "crack" and laughter filled the room as the monstrous mummy tripped over its bandages and fell headfirst on the floor, letting out a groan of pain.

At this very moment, Draco stopped paying attention to what was going on in front of him, even if, student after student, his turn was getting closer. Staring off at an imaginary spot, he felt like in a daze, his classmates' laughter becoming a background noise, merely a quiet buzzing in his ears. He had not found yet what the Boggard would turn into for him, and it really worried him, so much that he didn't even react when Granger's Boggart turned into McGonagall telling her she, Hermione-I-Know-Everything-Granger, had not passed some stupid test. He didn't see her blush with awkwardness and missed the opportunity to have one more reason to bully her.

He had to find out what his Boggart would be ; he couldn't make a fool of himself in front of a class crowded with Gryffindors and especially in front of Potter and his crew. If the shape-shifter turned itself into some sort of harmless creature, they would never forget to remind him of it every day of the rest of his life. He couldn't let that happen or he would lose all his credibility and he would be nothing more than a deposed Prince.

However, he couldn't remember the last time he had really been scared or what was his greatest fear. Of course, like every teenager of his age, he was often scared; like in first year, when Professor Quirrell had rushed into the Great Hall, screaming and panting as though his life depended on it. Knowing that a Troll was wandering through the hallways of the Castle was the kind of thing that made you lose control of your whole body and try to escape the room without even thinking about the consequences it might lead to. Yet, it was not his worst fear ; he could still walk the corridors without looking over his shoulder every two seconds to make sure that there was no creature coming from the Forbidden Forest following him or waiting for him in a corner of a dark, empty classroom.

No, his greatest fear was something more powerful, something he didn't even think of as a fear, as a threat. To discover what it was, he would have to go deep into the abysses of his mind, to think about everything that had once frightened him and had settled in his subconscious. His greatest fear was something living inside of him, slowly eating him up, day after day, something that nobody could guess and that, someday, would become unbearable.

Then, coming out of nowhere, his father's harsh face came to his mind. He was looking at him, pointing his finger towards him, threatening him. His narrow eyes were gauging him and he suddenly felt defenseless like a very young child. And Draco immediately realised what his greatest fear was, what would make him shake from head to toe the second he would be grappling with it.

Ever since his early childhood, once or twice a year, his father would sit in his leather armchair, staring at him, an unreadable expression upon his face. And he would point his finger at him and say:

"In a few years, you'll marry a pureblood and no one else. Not a half-blood and certainly not a Muggleborn ; we can't desecrate our family's purity with filthy blood. Not even the tiniest drop. Am I clear, Draco?"

And he would nod obediently, wanting his father to be proud of him. He was his only child, his only son, the last Malfoy heir ; his family's name and pride weighed on his shoulders, and he couldn't take the risk to dishonour his bloodline. His own heirs would have to be purebloods just as his wife. But every single time his father would remind him of it, Draco would go to his room soon after, close the door behind him and lay on his bed, lost in his thoughts, staring at the spotless ceiling. What if he fell in love with someone whose blood was not as pure as his? What if he couldn't let her go and built a life with her, a family? His father would be furious and, even worse, disappointed. And Draco's only purpose in life was to make his father proud of him ; it had always been. Every time he would come home for holidays, he would tell his parents what had happened during the year, at the risk of embellishing the truth to appear a little bit braver, more heroic, and ambitious than he really was.

The Boggart would doubtlessly turn into his father's disappointment ; it couldn't be otherwise.

"Malfoy, your turn!" called Lupin, pulling him out of his deep thought.

Draco stepped forward, confident and self-assured, his wand firmly raised at the Boggart, which still had the shape of someone else's fear: a gigantic wasp with an almost two feet long sting. His would appear within seconds, and a tall man with white-blond hair and broad shoulders would overhang the whole class. Draco surely was not going to make a fool of himself ; in a certain way, every one of his classmates feared his father: Lucius Malfoy, the one and only.

He almost choked when the Boggard took the appearance of someone really different from his father. The Boggart had a human shape for sure, except that the hair was not blond and straight but dark and bushy, and the eyes were not silver-grey but hazel. A few inches in front of him, Hermione Granger was gazing at him.

This couldn't be happening ; he was simply dreaming and would wake up in his bed, comfortably curled up under his green quilt ornate with large slivery strips and snakes. But as time flew by, he had to be realistic: his Boggard was no one else than the Know-it-all. As laughter and unpleasant comments came to his ears, Draco tried to make himself the smallest possible. If he could turn into a mouse and disappear through a hole dug in the wall, he wouldn't have thought about it twice.

"You're so brave, Malefoy," laughed someone behind his back, and he was almost sure it was Weasley. "Hermione really is a dangerous creature ; we've always known it!"

Draco felt anger cloud his eyes but said nothing, unable to look away from his Boggart. It was so realist, and if he hadn't known that the real Granger was in the middle of the gathering behind him, he could have mistaken the Boggart for her. It had the same untamable mop of hair, the same too long teeth, and most of all, the exactly same confident gaze.

He didn't understand the reason why it had taken her shape. She didn't frighten him at all ; he hated her! The sight of her made him feel sick, her insufferable behaviour always got on his nerves, and he had been dreaming to punch her right in the face for so many years... How could she possibly be his worst nightmare?

As he was watching her carefully, he noticed that her skin was getting lighter and lighter, that her hair had lost its smoothness, and that her eyes were sinking into their sockets. Her skin tightened around her bones until she was nothing but a skeletal body. It was like every single drop of blood had been drained from it. Her breath was thready and sharp and gradually weakened until it became an almost inaudible murmur. She looked lifeless. Dead.

The room went quiet again ; everyone was holding their breath. Then, at the back of the class, behind the students that had already defeated their Boggarts, someone, a girl, let out a scream, loud and sharp, yet short as though she had put a hand over her mouth to muffle it. Granger. She had her exact copy only a few meters in front of her, and this copy was obviously dying: in her place, everybody would have at least screamed or even fainted.

But Draco didn't pay much attention ; he was terrified. He had never felt this kind of fear before ; it was visceral, knotting his stomach, running up and down his spine. It was so intense that he thought he was about to throw up. In front of him, the Boggart looked more than dead now. There was nothing left of the healthy young girl it had been a second before and Granger's features were almost unrecognizable. It was a corpse, rotting in fast motion, its dead eyes still plunged into his.

Shaking, Draco tried to keep his wand up and stay concentrated. But as he was opening his mouth to cast the spell to defeat the Boggart, the latter sighed and Draco froze.

"You have disappointed your father, Draco," the corpse said through its slightly parted lips, dry and cracked because of the lack of blood "Not even the tiniest drop. Not even the tiniest drop." It repeated this last sentence like a litany, louder and louder until it became impossible to bear for Draco.

His father's quote was echoing in his mind, buzzing and muffling the rest of the room. What did it mean? Why had the Boggart taken Granger's appearance and why was it repeating his father's own words? Draco couldn't think straight, the Boggart's eyes were hypnotizing him. He couldn't even make the slightest move: his feet were rooted to the parquet floor, and his body was refusing to obey him. His heart, trapped inside his ribcage, was pounding so fast and so hard that he thought it was going to jump out of his chest. At the back of the room, the whispers emerging from the crowd of students didn't reach his ears. He felt paralysed.

Time was frozen as well, and Draco had no idea for how much time he had been staring at his Boggart ; it could have been seconds, minutes or even hours for that matter. The only thing he was aware of was Granger's dead body in front of him.

Behind his back, Goyle patted his shoulder and leaned towards him.

"Draco," he said, "Come on, do something."

But he didn't move at all, and his hand, which was holding his wand, fell down weakly against the side of his leg. Then, even though everything around him was blurred, he saw Lupin step towards him and push him to make him shift to the side. Draco let him, not caring about looking like a coward anymore. He didn't care about anything now anyway. He almost fell because of his professor's strength but only stumbled and managed to stay on his feet.

As soon as Lupin took his place, Granger's corpse disappeared with a loud 'crack', immediately replaced with a small sphere, white and translucent, floating above his head.

"Riddikulus," he said quietly with a flick of his wand. Then, the small sphere deflated like a balloon and went back flying into the wardrobe that Lupin had magically re-opened a second before.

Draco had forgotten how to breathe and had to take a few deep gulps of air to be able to breathe calmly again and for his heart to recover a steady rhythm. All that had been unfolding during less than a minute had seemed like an eternity to him. He was standing still in front of the crowd of his classmates, trying hard to understand what had just happened. He could see dozens of eyes on him, staring at him as though he had sprouted a second head. Most of them seemed to be making fun of him, almost every single one actually. But there was someone who didn't look amused at all ; Granger had made her way to the front row of the crowd, pale as though she had seen the Bloody Baron. Her hands were shaking spasmodically, and she seemed unable to avert her gaze from the closed wardrobe in which the Boggart had disappeared. What was she thinking of? Probably the same thing as him: why was she - or precisely her corpse - Draco's Boggart? Why her and not someone else? Why not his father? It would have been less surprising if it had turned into Harry Potter ; but Granger's dead body…

"I think we should stop here," said Lupin, who was facing his students as well, "You did a great job with this lesson. All of you." he glanced at Draco with a worried look but didn't add anything.

"You may leave now."

They didn't need telling twice; all the Gryffindors and the Slytherins gathered on the threshold, exiting the room two by two, shoulders against shoulders, the doorframe being too narrow to allow them more space to pass through it.

Granger was the last to leave the room, while Draco remained on his spot, speechless and still wondering what was wrong with him. None of his mates had waited for him ; they had left as well, mingling with the sea of students flowing in and out of the classroom. Next to him, Lupin didn't move either and was now directly looking at him, not hiding his concern anymore. Draco had to admit that even if he despised this Professor and even if Potter was unquestionably his favourite, he was not as unfair as he appeared to be.

"Is everything alright, Draco?" he asked quietly.

Finally pulling himself together again, Draco nodded disdainfully, lifting his chin up and doing his best to glare at his Professor with authority.

"Of course it is," he snapped before turning around and running out of the room.

Once he was in the half-empty corridor, where only a few people were lingering, walking slowly with small steps and chatting eagerly, Draco glimpsed the shape of Granger's bushy hair in the distance. She was all alone and had her head low as though she was ashamed of something. Draco ran to cross the distance between them, not caring about everybody watching him again.

"Granger!' he called, breathless, "Wait!"

He saw her start and freeze. Her back suddenly stiffened and her head shot up. Her right hand tightened around the wood of her wand, and her knuckles went white immediately.

When he reached her side, she turned around to face him. Anger and fear were fighting for dominance in her eyes.

"What do you want Malfoy?" she spat.

He hesitated. What did he want exactly?

"I just … I just wanted you to know that I don't know what happened with the Boggart," he mumbled. "I believe it might be a mistake."

He wasn't convincing even himself.

"A Boggart is never mistaken, Malfoy," she said through her gritted teeth. "It can always read your mind to know what your greatest fear is."

"I swear I didn't know it would turn into you!" he assured her honestly "It was unexpected and… bizarre. I still don't understand."

For the first time he was completely honest with her ; there was no hidden threat or insult behind his words, and he wasn't even thinking about making fun of her. However, Granger didn't seem to realise it, obviously too accustomed to being bullied and mocked by the Slytherin. She was looking at him with aversion, her eyes filled with disgust and anger, glaring daggers at him. If looks could kill, he would have died immediately.

"Like I would believe you, Malfoy," she hissed before turning around and walking away.

This time, he didn't try to follow her and simply watched her disappear around the corner of the hallway. The sound of her steps on the stone floor was echoing through the corridor, in rhythm with the beating of his heart in his chest.

A moment later, and even though she was long gone, he could still hear his father's threatening voice in his head: "Not even the tiniest drop. Not even the tiniest drop…"