Disclaimer: Everything you recognize is J.K. Rowling's except for Jamie, Luka, and Ariana.
Chapter 5- The Boggart in the Wardrobe
Malfoy doesn't reappear in classes until late on Thursday morning, when the Slytherins and Gryffindors are halfway through double Potions. He swaggers into the dungeon, his right arm covered in bandages and bound up in a sling, acting, in my opinion, as though he was the heroic survivor of some dreadful battle.
"How is it, Draco?" simpers Pansy Parkinson. "Does it hurt much?" Merlin when she does that she sounds like a Chihuahua with a nasal condition.
"Yeah," says Malfoy, putting on a brave sort of grimace. But Harry and I see him wink at Crabbe and Goyle when Pansy has looked away.
"Settle down, settle down," says Professor Snape idly. I simply roll my eyes as Harry and Ron shoot each other incredulous looks. If any one of the Gryffindors had walked in that later the dungeon bat that Snape is would have blown a gasket and given us detention.
But Malfoy has always been able to get away with anything in Snape's classes; Snape is head of Slytherin House, and generally favors his own students above all others.
We are making a new potion today, a Shrinking Solution. Malfoy sets up his cauldron right next to Harry and Ron, so that they are preparing their ingredients on the same table. I watch on with cautious interest from the table behind them, where Hermione is coaching me slightly with the potion.
"Sir," Malfoy calls, "sir, I'll need help cutting up these daisy roots, because of my arm —" Oh why that little smarmy weasel I'll give him something to complain about!
"Weasley, cut up Malfoy's roots for him," says Snape without looking up. Ron goes brick red.
"There's nothing wrong with your arm," Ron hisses at Malfoy. Malfoy smirks across the table. At this rate I'm glad that he's not at our table for I'd probably already given Malfoy something to really cry about by now. I can't stand that cretin!
"Weasley, you heard Professor Snape; cut up these roots." Malfoy says arrogantly.
Ron seizes his knife, pulls Malfoy's roots towards him, and begins to chop them roughly, so that they are all different sizes.
"Professor," drawls Malfoy, "Weasley's mutilating my roots, sir." Snape approaches their table, stares down his hooked nose at the roots, then gives Ron an unpleasant smile from beneath his long, greasy black hair.
"Change roots with Malfoy, Weasley." Snape orders.
"But, sir — !" Ron has spent the last quarter of an hour carefully shredding his own roots into exactly equal pieces.
"Now," says Snape in his most dangerous voice. Ron shoves his own beautifully cut roots across the table at Malfoy, then takes up the knife again.
"And, sir, I'll need this shrivelfig skinned," says Malfoy, his voice full of malicious laughter.
"Potter, you can skin Malfoy's shrivelfig," says Snape, giving Harry the look of loathing he always reserves just for him.
Harry takes Malfoy's shrivelfig as Ron begins trying to repair the damage to the roots he now has to use. Harry skins the shrivelfig as fast as he can and flings it back across the table at Malfoy without speaking. Malfoy is smirking more broadly than ever. And what I would give to be able to be the one to knock that smirk off his face!
"Seen your pal Hagrid lately?" he asks us quietly.
"None of your business," I reply with clipped anger from behind them.
"I'm afraid he won't be a teacher much longer," says Malfoy in a tone of mock sorrow. "Father's not very happy about my injury —"
"Keep talking, Malfoy, and I'll give you a real injury," snarls Ron.
"— he's complained to the school governors. And to the Ministry of Magic. Father's got a lot of influence, you know. And a lasting injury like this" — he gives a huge, fake sigh — "who knows if my arm'll ever be the same again?"
"So that's why you're putting it on," says Harry, accidentally beheading a dead caterpillar because his hand is shaking in anger. "To try to get Hagrid fired."
"Well," says Malfoy, lowering his voice to a whisper, "partly, Potter. But there are other benefits too. Weasley, slice my caterpillars for me."
A few cauldrons away, Neville is in trouble. Neville regularly goes to pieces in Potions lessons; it is his worst subject, and his great fear of Professor Snape makes things ten times worse. His potion, which is supposed to be a bright, acid green, had turned —
"Orange, Longbottom," says Snape, ladling some up and allowing it to splash back into the cauldron, so that everyone can see. "Orange. Tell me, boy, does anything penetrate that thick skull of yours? Didn't you hear me say, quite clearly, that only one rat spleen was needed? Didn't I state plainly that a dash of leech juice would suffice? What do I have to do to make you understand, Longbottom?"
Neville is pink and trembling. He looks as though he is on the verge of tears. That's not right, a teacher should never treat their students this way. My potion is green maybe not exactly the correct color, so this potion is hard to make. Even Hermione doesn't have it a hundred percent correct yet. I glare at the back of Snape's head hoping the he can feel it.
"Please, sir," says Hermione, "please, I could help Neville put it right —"
"I don't remember asking you to show off, Miss Granger," snaps Snape coldly, and Hermione goes as pink as Neville. "Longbottom, at the end of this lesson we will feed a few drops of this potion to your toad and see what happens. Perhaps that will encourage you to do it properly."
Snape moves away, leaving Neville breathless with fear. "Help me!" he moans to Hermione. I can't believe what a git he is being today. There are some days when Snape is merely an obnoxious bother, but today he has been taking it way too far.
"Hey, Harry," says Seamus Finnigan, leaning over to borrow Harry's brass scales, "have you heard? Daily Prophet this morning — they reckon Sirius Black's been sighted."
"Where?" asks Harry and Ron quickly. On the other side of the table, Malfoy looks up, listening closely.
"Not too far from here," says Seamus, who looks excited. "It was a Muggle who saw him. 'Course, she didn't really understand. The Muggles think he's just an ordinary criminal, don't they? So she phoned the telephone hot line. By the time the Ministry of Magic got there, he was gone."
"Not too far from here . . . ," Ron repeats, looking significantly at Harry. He turns around and sees Malfoy watching closely. "What, Malfoy? Need something else skinned?"
"I can think of quite a few things, starting with that peroxide wig on his head." I mutter angrily while stirring my potion. Hermione can't help but snort a laugh from beside me.
But Malfoy's eyes are shining malevolently, and they are fixed on Harry. He leans across the table.
"Thinking of trying to catch Black single-handed, Potter?"
"Yeah, that's right," says Harry offhandedly. Malfoy's thin mouth is curving in a mean smile.
"Of course, if it was me," he says quietly, "I'd have done something before now. I wouldn't be staying in school like a good boy, I'd be out there looking for him."
"What are you talking about, Malfoy?" says Ron roughly.
"Don't you know, Potter?" breathes Malfoy, his pale eyes narrow.
"Know what?" Harry growls out. Malfoy lets out a low, sneering laugh.
"Maybe you'd rather not risk your neck," he says. "Want to leave it to the dementors, do you? But if it was me, I'd want revenge. I'd hunt him down myself."
"What are you talking about?" demands Harry angrily, but at that moment Snape calls, "You should have finished adding your ingredients by now; this potion needs to stew before it can be drunk, so clear away while it simmers and then we'll test Longbottom's. . . ."
Great this isn't going to end well. I look over at my two tablemates to see how they are faring.
Dumb and Dumber laugh openly, watching Neville sweat as he stirs his potion feverishly. Hermione is muttering instructions to him out of the corner of her mouth, so that Snape wouldn't see. Harry, Ron, and I pack away our unused ingredients and go to wash our hands and ladles in the stone basin in the corner.
"What did Malfoy mean?" Harry mutters to us as he sticks his hands under the icy jet that pours from the gargoyle's mouth. "Why would I want revenge on Black? He hasn't done anything to me — yet."
"He's making it up," I tell Harry. "He's trying to make you do something stupid. . . ."
The end of the lesson in sight, Snape strides over to Neville, who is cowering by his cauldron.
"Everyone gather 'round," says Snape, his black eyes glittering, "and watch what happens to Longbottom's toad. If he has managed to produce a Shrinking Solution, it will shrink to a tadpole. If, as I don't doubt, he has done it wrong, his toad is likely to be poisoned."
The Gryffindors watch fearfully. I have my fingers crossed that Mione was able to help him. The Slytherins look excited. Snape picks up Trevor the toad in his left hand and dips a small spoon into Neville's potion, which is now green. He trickles a few drops down Trevor's throat.
There is a moment of hushed silence, in which Trevor gulps; then there is a small pop, and Trevor the tadpole is wriggling in Snape's palm.
The Gryffindors burst into applause. Hah! In your face Snape! Snape, looking sour, pulls a small bottle from the pocket of his robe, pours a few drops on top of Trevor, and he reappears suddenly, fully grown.
"Five points from Gryffindor," says Snape, which wipes the smiles from every face. "I told you not to help him, Miss Granger. Class dismissed." I growl underneath my breath about the unfairness of it all and how all Slytherins must be born with a mean streak a mile long.
Harry, Ron, Hermione, and I climb the steps to the entrance hall. Harry is still thinking about what Malfoy has said, while Ron is seething about Snape.
"Five points from Gryffindor because the potion was all right! Why didn't you lie, Hermione? You should've said Neville did it all by himself!" Hermione doesn't answer. Ron and I look around.
"Where is she?" I cry shocked at her sudden disappearance. Harry turns too. We are at the top of the steps now, watching the rest of the class pass us, heading for the Great Hall and lunch.
"She was right behind us," says Ron, frowning. Malfoy passes us, walking between Crabbe and Goyle. He smirks at Harry and disappears.
"There she is," Harry points out. Hermione is panting slightly, hurrying up the stairs; one hand clutching her bag, the other seems to be tucking something down the front of her robes.
That's weird. How did she get there? "How did you do that?" says Ron.
"What?" says Hermione, joining us.
"One minute you were right behind us, the next moment, you were back at the bottom of the stairs again." I explain looking her over closely.
"What?" Hermione looks slightly confused. "Oh — I had to go back for something. Oh no —"
A seam has split on Hermione's bag. I'm not surprised; I can see that it is crammed with at least a dozen large and heavy books.
"Why are you carrying all these around with you?" Ron asks her.
"You know how many subjects I'm taking," says Hermione breathlessly. "Couldn't hold these for me, could you?" She shoves some into Ron's hands and some into mine.
"But —" Ron is turning over the books she had hands him, looking at the covers. "You haven't got any of these subjects today. It's only Defense Against the Dark Arts this afternoon."
Okay something is definitely going on with Hermione, and I'm not going to rest until I find out what it is exactly.
"Oh yes," says Hermione vaguely, but she packs all the books back into her bag just the same. "I hope there's something good for lunch, I'm starving," she adds, and she marches off toward the Great Hall.
"D'you get the feeling Hermione's not telling us something?" Ron asks Harry and me.
"You've got that feeling too huh?" I comment starting after her with Harry and Ron scrambling to catch up with me.
Professor Lupin isn't there when we arrive at his first Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson. We all sit down, take out our books, quills, and parchment, and are talking when he finally enters the room. Lupin smiles vaguely and places his tatty old briefcase on the teacher's desk. He is as shabby as ever but looks healthier than he had on the train, as though he has had a few square meals.
"Good afternoon," he says. "Would you please put all your books back in your bags. Today's will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands." Oh Merlin! Is this actually happening?
A few curious looks are exchanged as the class puts away our books. We have never had a practical Defense Against the Dark Arts before, unless you count the memorable class last year when Lockhart the dunce had brought a cageful of pixies to class and set them loose.
"Right then," says Professor Lupin, when everyone is ready. "If you'd follow me."
Puzzled but interested, the class gets to its feet and follows Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He leads them along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing they see is Peeves the Poltergeist, who is floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum.
Peeves doesn't look up until Professor Lupin is two feet away; then he wiggles his curly-toed feet and breaks into song.
"Loony, loopy Lupin," Peeves sings. "Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin —"
Rude and unmanageable as he almost always was, Peeves usually shows some respect towards the teachers. Everyone looks quickly at Professor Lupin to see how he will take this; to their surprise, he is still smiling.
"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves," he says pleasantly. "Mr. Filch won't be able to get in to his brooms."
Filch is the Hogwarts caretaker, a bad-tempered, failed wizard who wages a constant war against the students and, indeed, Peeves. However, Peeves pays no attention to Professor Lupin's words, except to blow a loud wet raspberry.
Professor Lupin gives a small sigh and takes out his wand.
"This is a useful little spell," he tells the class over his shoulder. "Please watch closely." He raises the wand to shoulder height, says, "Waddiwasi!" and points it at Peeves.
With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shoots out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves's left nostril; he whirls upright and zooms away, cursing.
"Cool, sir!" says Dean Thomas in amazement.
"I've got to learn that spell!" I cry.
"Thank you, Dean, and all in good time Jamie" says Professor Lupin, putting his wand away again. "Shall we proceed?" I nod my head in glorified amazement. Maybe this whole DADA class thing won't be so bad after all.
We set off again, the class looking at shabby Professor Lupin with increasing respect. He leads us down a second corridor and stops, right outside the staffroom door.
"Inside, please," says Professor Lupin, opening it and standing back. The staffroom, a long, paneled room full of old, mismatched chairs, is empty except for one teacher. Professor Snape is sitting in a low armchair, and he looks around as the class files in. His eyes are glittering and there is a nasty sneer playing around his mouth. As Professor Lupin comes in and makes to close the door behind him, Snape says, "Leave it open, Lupin. I'd rather not witness this."
That's perfectly fine with me Snape I'd rather not see you anymore today either. He gets to his feet and strides past the class, his black robes billowing behind him. At the doorway he turns on his heel and says, "Possibly no one's warned you, Lupin, but this class contains Neville Longbottom. I would advise you not to entrust him with anything difficult. Not unless Miss Granger is hissing instructions in his ear."
Neville goes scarlet. I glare at Snape; it is bad enough that he bullies Neville in his own classes, let alone doing it in front of other teachers. Professor Lupin has raised his eyebrows.
"I was hoping that Neville would assist me with the first stage of the operation," he says, "and I am sure he will perform it admirably."
Neville's face goes, if possible, even redder. Snape's lip curls, but he leaves, shutting the door with a snap.
"Now, then," says Professor Lupin, beckoning the class towards the end of the room, where there is nothing but an old wardrobe where the teachers keep their spare robes. As Professor Lupin goes to stand next to it, the wardrobe gives a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.
"Nothing to worry about," says Professor Lupin calmly because a few people have jumped backwards in alarm. "There's a boggart in there."
Most people seem to feel that this is something to worry about. Neville gives Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyes the now rattling doorknob apprehensively. Great I didn't know that we would be messing with one of these today.
I had a boggart in my toy chest when I was younger. I went to go and get my replica Quidditch player and then bam! "Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces," says Professor Lupin. "Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks — I once met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice."
"So, the first question we must ask ourselves is, what is a boggart?" Hermione puts up her hand.
"It's a shape-shifter," she says. "It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most." I could have told him that.
"Couldn't have put it better myself," says Professor Lupin, and Hermione glows. "So the boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears.
"This means," says Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville's small sputter of terror, "that we have a huge advantage over the boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?"
I glance over at my best friend who looks a little bit lost. Trying to answer a question with Hermione next to him, bobbing up and down on the balls of her feet with her hand in the air, is very off-putting, but Harry has a go.
"Er — because there are so many of us, it won't know what shape it should be?"
"Precisely," says Professor Lupin, and Hermione puts her hand down, looking a little disappointed. "It's always best to have company when you're dealing with a boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a boggart make that very mistake — tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening."
I chuckle at the image that I'm getting from that. Who knows there might be a person out there who's very terrified of the image of half a slug. I'm going to have to test that out.
"The charm that repels a boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind. You see, the thing that really finishes a boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing."
"We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please . . . Riddikulus!"
"Riddikulus!" says the class together.
"Good," says Professor Lupin. "Very good. But that was the easy part, I'm afraid. You see, the word alone is not enough. And this is where you come in, Neville."
The wardrobe shakes again, though not as much as Neville, who walks forward as though he is heading for the gallows.
"Right, Neville," says Professor Lupin. "First things first: What would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?" Neville's lips move, but no noise comes out.
"Didn't catch that, Neville, sorry," says Professor Lupin cheerfully.
Neville looks around rather wildly, as though begging someone to help him, then says, in barely more than a whisper, "Professor Snape."
This is going to be priceless. I can't help but snicker at that. Nearly everyone laughs. Even Neville grins apologetically. Professor Lupin, however, looks thoughtful.
"Professor Snape . . . hmmm . . . Neville, I believe you live with your grandmother?"
"Er — yes," says Neville nervously. "But — I don't want the boggart to turn into her either."
"No, no, you misunderstand me," says Professor Lupin, now smiling. "I wonder, could you tell us what sort of clothes your grandmother usually wears?"
Neville looks startled, but says, "Well . . . always the same hat. A tall one with a stuffed vulture on top. And a long dress . . . green, normally . . . and sometimes a fox-fur scarf." Oh well isn't that a lovely fashion sense?
"And a handbag?" prompts Professor Lupin.
"A big red one," says Neville.
"Right then," says Professor Lupin. "Can you picture those clothes very clearly, Neville? Can you see them in your mind's eye?"
"Yes," says Neville uncertainly, plainly wondering what was coming next.
"When the boggart bursts out of this wardrobe, Neville, and sees you, it will assume the form of Professor Snape," says Lupin. "And you will raise your wand — thus — and cry 'Riddikulus' — and concentrate hard on your grandmother's clothes. If all goes well, Professor Boggart Snape will be forced into that vulture-topped hat, and that green dress, with that big red handbag."
There is a great shout of laughter. The wardrobe wobbles more violently. Okay this should be interesting. "If Neville is successful, the boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn," says Professor Lupin. "I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical. . . ."
Great what frightens me the most, well there's Voldemort, Fluffy, Aragog, the list is just countless. "Everyone ready?" says Professor Lupin.
I feel a lurch of fear. I'm not ready. How could you make a any one of those less frightening? But I don't want to ask for more time; everyone else is nodding and rolling up their sleeves.
"Neville, we're going to back away," says Professor Lupin. "Let you have a clear field, all right? I'll call the next person forward. . . . Everyone back, now, so Neville can get a clear shot —"
"On the count of three, Neville," says Professor Lupin, who is pointing his own wand at the handle of the wardrobe. "One — two — three — now!"
A jet of sparks shoots from the end of Professor Lupin's wand and hits the doorknob. The wardrobe bursts open. Hook-nosed and menacing, Professor Snape steps out, his eyes flashing at Neville.
Neville backs away, his wand up, mouthing wordlessly. Snape is bearing down upon him, reaching inside his robes. "R-R-Riddikulus!" squeaks Neville.
There is a noise like a whip crack. Snape stumbles; he is wearing a long, lace-trimmed dress and a towering hat topped with a moth-eaten vulture, and he is swinging a huge crimson handbag.
There is a roar of laughter; the boggart pauses, confused, and Professor Lupin shouts, "Parvati! Forward!"
Parvati walks forward, her face set. Snape rounds on her. There is another crack, and where he had stood is a blood-stained, bandaged mummy; its sightless face is turned to Parvati and it begins to walk toward her very slowly, dragging its feet, its stiff arms rising —
"Riddikulus!" cries Parvati. A bandage unraveles at the mummy's feet; it becomes entangled, falls face forward, and its head rolls off.
"Seamus!" roars Professor Lupin. Seamus darts past Parvati.
Crack! Where the mummy had been is a woman with floor-length black hair and a skeletal, green-tinged face — a banshee. She opens her mouth wide and an unearthly sound fills the room, a long, wailing shriek that makes the hair on my head stand on end —
"Riddikulus!" shouts Seamus. The banshee makes a rasping noise and clutched her throat; her voice is gone.
Crack! The banshee turns into a rat, which chases its tail in a circle, then — crack! — becomes a rattlesnake, which slithers and writhed before — crack! — becoming a single, bloody eyeball.
"It's confused!" shouts Lupin. "We're getting there! Dean!" Dean hurries forward. "Crack! The eyeball becomes a severed hand, which flips over and begins to creep along the floor like a crab.
"Riddikulus!" yells Dean. There is a snap, and the hand is trapped in a mousetrap.
"Excellent! Ron, you next!" Ron leaps forward.
Crack!
Quite a few people scream. A giant spider, six feet tall and covered in hair, is advancing on Ron, clicking its pincers menacingly. For a moment, I think Ron has frozen. Then —
"Riddikulus!" bellows Ron, and the spider's legs vanish; it rolls over and over; Lavender Brown squeals and runs out of its way and it comes to a halt at my feet.
Suddenly where what used to be a legless spider is now a fully grown man who is hunched over slightly. He is wearing the same threadbare clothes from my dream. His long sandy hair is matted in a few places and, his shoulders shake as he begins to emit a raspy shaky laugh.
I'm frozen where I stand my eyes wide, and glued on the boggart. It can't be… but another laugh makes me startle in fear. "I knew it… I just knew that I would find you. There's no hiding from me Jamie, I found you just like I found them, and it won't be any trouble to find Luka." Augustus says snapping his head up and holding my gaze blue eyes to blue eyes.
My wand falls to the floor. No, no this can't be happening. More manically happy laughter echoes through the dead silent room. "That's enough!" Professor Lupin cries jumping in front of me and blocking the boggart from my sight. Shaking I grip my wand as tight as I can, and turn on my heel, streaking out of the classroom and away from everyone.
I don't have any particular direction in which I'm running but all I know is that I want to get as far away as possible from the staffroom and the boggart of Augustus inside. Why did it have to be him? Why couldn't it have been Voldemort or Aragog for crying out loud! Not the one person who has been haunting my dreams since the end of last year!
I finally come to a stop out in the courtyard gasping for breath because I had run all the way here. Now Harry, Ron, and Hermione have all seen him. They're going to want to know who he is and what exactly happened. I don't think that I can take that!
"Jamie?" A voice questions and I jump about a foot in the air because I'm not expecting anyone to be here. I whirl around in shock, but stop and heave a sigh of relief when I see that it's only Ariana standing there.
"H-hey Ariana." I stutter lamely. Her brown eyes hold me in a penetrating stare. I shuffle my feet nervously.
"What's wrong Jamie? You've been crying, I can tell." She says softly coming closer to me. I have been crying? I didn't notice that. I back up a step not wanting her to come any closer.
"I-its nothing Ariana just been a long day that's all." I lie hoping that she'll let me off the hook just this once. Ariana sighs softly and closes the distance between the two of us, wrapping her arms around me in a firm hug. I stiffen for a moment not exactly sure how to respond to her gesture, but before I can second guess myself I wrap my arms around her securely, and allow my tears to fall onto her robes.
"I am here for you Jamie, if you ever want to talk. You are my friend, and I do care about you please remember that." She tells me softly rubbing my back comfortingly. I don't know how long that we stand there but all to soon it seems I hear someone else clearing their throat.
Ariana pulls away from me, and I have the insane feeling that I should reach out for her so that she can protect me. Before me I see the worried faces of Ron, Hermione, and Harry. They look slightly out of breath.
"There you are Jamie, we've been looking all over the bloody castle for you!" Ron cries. I wince a little at all the trouble that I've put my friends through.
"Are you all right Jamie? I was worried about you when you ran out of the classroom. You're not in trouble with Professor Lupin by the way, he's only worried about you." Hermione tells me giving me a comforting smile.
I give her a wobbly smile in return. "What was that back there Jamie? That man, he knew things about you and your brother, you wouldn't have reacted that way to him unless you know him." Harry tells me seriously. He has his solemn protector face on and I wince internally knowing what that signals.
I turn my gaze to Ariana pleading with her to leave me alone with my friends for a little while. She nods. "I'll see you later Jamie if you want to talk. You know where to find me." She says bidding farewell to my friends, as she turns and slips back inside the castle.
I shuffle my feet nervously and wring my hands. "I-I guess that you want to know what went on back there?" I say softly. My friends nod their heads expectantly. Ron looks confused, Hermione worried, and Harry looks determined.
"Well there's some things that happened at the end of last year that I haven't really told you guys about. Things that happened when I was taken by Riddle." I start nervously. Harry and Ron wince, and Hermione frowns.
"He… he said that he had wanted to talk to me as well as you Harry. Riddle wanted me to know the truth, to have people stop lying to me. I-I didn't believe him at first, but then I asked Kingsley about it, and it is true. That man that you saw back there… his name is Augustus Pendragon, and he is my u-uncle." I finish shaking slightly at the admission.
I can hear shocked gasps coming from my friends but I refuse to look at them. "But Jamie, you don't have an uncle all of the books say that your father was an only child!" Hermione objects. I grit my teeth and shake my head daring to glance up to see her eyes.
"Books can lie Hermione especially books about my family. They had the history books changed after what my uncle did. See the Pendragons are a symbol of wizarding heritage and royalty, you don't want to show that they can turn bad just like any other wizard out there." I say.
"When my father was still a fourth year here at Hogwarts his older brother Augustus had just graduated. My grandparents were so proud of him but Augustus didn't turn out to be the type of son that they were expecting him to be. He was a Slytherin and fascinated in the Dark Arts. I guess that you can tell where this is all going."
"When he got out of school he joined the Death Eaters, and became closer to Voldemort, that's how Riddle knew about him. My grandmother died, and my grandfather didn't condone what Augustus was doing neither did my father. Augustus didn't like that and he ended up… he… killed my grandfather." I say blinking my eyes to stop the tears from coming.
More shocked gasps and disbelieving huffs come from them. "After he killed my grandfather, my father made it his goal to bring Augustus to justice. Well his plans got a little derailed when my mother became pregnant with my brother and me. My father abandoned his quest to protect his family. That worked for three years until Augustus found us, and killed my parents with other Death Eaters."
"That's how I ended up with Kingsley, my parents trusted him to take care of my brother and me. After he killed them he was caught along with all the other death eaters, and thrown into Azkeban. So that's who the boggart was of. Augustus still wants to kill Luka and me, and Kingsley knew about all this and lied to us, so now things aren't that great with him either!"
"So there! That's all of it. I have no more secrets!" I cry crossing my arms to try and provide some comfort to my suddenly cold body. The weight of the secrets has been lifted off my shoulders, but the looks on my friends' faces now are anything but comforting.
"So you've known about this for the whole summer and you didn't think to tell us!" Ron cries glaring at me crossly.
"Don't you trust us to help you out with this kind of stuff?" Hermione demands hurt plain in her voice.
"I do…" I say but I'm cut off by Harry.
"We can't keep secrets like this from each other Jamie. People like your uncle can hurt us and if we don't know about them then we can't help you. I trust you with everything, yet you can't do the same in return. You know what, I can't do this right now." Harry says angrily and throws his hands up turning away to go back to the castle.
"I thought that we are your friends." Ron says running after Harry. I turn my watery gaze pleadingly at Hermione begging for her to understand why I couldn't have told her in the first place.
"I-I just don't understand Jamie, I thought that we are best friends. We tell each other everything!" Hermione cries tears in her eyes as well.
"Of course we are Mione! W-we still are!" I plead.
"I-I'm sorry Jamie, but I just need some time!" She says hurrying after Ron and Harry. I'm left standing there in the courtyard watching my three best friends in the world leave me through blurry eyes. I collapse down onto bench and put my face into my hands, and start to sob.
With a flutter of feathers Dionysus lands beside me, and hoots mournfully at me. I know the feeling buddy.
Dear Mrs. Weasley,
You told me at King's Cross that I could contact you if I ever needed you. Well… I sort of need you now. I don't know what to do. Harry, Ron, and Hermione are mad at me and they won't speak to me at the moment. My brother is in a different house than me and he thinks that I should have already told them, but I didn't. I'm so alone Mrs. Weasley. I'm used to it but I at least had my brother then. Now I'm in this big castle filled with people and I've never been more lonely.
I'm sorry for writing to you about this but I just don't know what to do anymore. I've explained why we fought on the second page of this letter in case you were wondering. Well I'm sorry for taking up you're time, and thank you for reading my letter, it means a lot to me.
I should get back. I have class early tomorrow.
Thank you for reading my letter,
Jamie Pendragon