love, my worst nightmares
It was the day to revisit multi-fear boggarts. In other words, Draco Malfoy was fucked.
Professor Hannigan, new and untouched by the war, stood in the front of class, announcing the horrifying concept. He was younger than most professors and his French accent came through often. His long lectures were sometimes annoying but, he was really well-versed in spellwork which Draco appreciated. Professor Hannigan droned on about the origin of boggarts in the front of the class as Draco’s mind drifted off.
This year had been uneventful compared to years past. Professor McGonagall was kind enough to invite him to return to Hogwarts after a summer of working to rebuild Hogwarts. Draco served his time alongside now unionized elves and other professors. He found solace in the quiet spellwork, and the professors occasionally were kind to him. They ate lunches together in silence, the crumbled walls surrounding them.
He had been the only eighth year Slytherin to return to Hogwarts, meaning he was alone most of the time. He didn’t mind. He was in no place for company. His father was dead and he was completely in debt to Harry Potter who somehow decided that Draco and his mother were worth saving and gave his written testimony for their trials.
Twice during the trial, Draco almost lost his facade and broke into tears. The only thing that kept him together was the ever present pair of green eyes that bored into the back of his neck in the trial. He hadn’t said a word to Potter yet this year either. With his speedy escapes after class and his special arrangement to eat food in his dorm, Draco hadn’t given anyone the chance to speak to him. Keeping his head down until the year ended was his perfect plan. He only wanted to graduate with high enough N.E.W.T.S for employers to look past his Death Eater history and his family name. Though his return to Hogwarts had proven that that might harder than expected.
Within the last couple of weeks, Draco had met with quite a few “accidents”. Tripping over air, vomiting slugs, being pestered by bats, and choking on an endless supply of water were a few of the pranks Draco suffered through in the corridors by nameless jinxers. Several younger students had even taken it upon themselves to trip Draco whenever he crossed them. They met no resistance.
However, nothing hurt Draco like the looks he got from his fellow eighth years when he returned every evening to the common room. Heat spread through his body every time without fail as he felt the eyes of the Golden Trio stare at him. He could feel their magic radiate pity for him as though they cared for him. Potter was one of the worst of them because he didn’t just do it in the common room. He stared at Draco shamelessly in classes, the Great Hall, corridors and the common room, cautiously assessing him. It was humiliating.
His mind taunted him endlessly night after night in his lonely dorm as he wished away the eyes and the curses. Yet day and day again, he endured, his facade of neutrality unmoved. It was the price he had to pay for his sins. He understood he deserved all of it. Draco knew every taunt thrown at him was true. He was the coward that had caused the deaths of many. It was his fault. He felt his throat clench just thinking about it.
“Draco!” Professor Hannigan called to him. Draco nearly fell out of his chair in surprise. “Are you ready?”
Draco looked up at him, a deer caught in headlights, trying to understand the context of the situation. He gulped.
“Yes, Professor,” he answered as he rose to stand. He felt the eyes of all the eighth years boring into him, especially that particular set of green eyes. Before him and the class stood a tall drawer.
“Remember, Draco. Riddikulus ,” Professor Hannigan reminded him as he opened the cabinet. Draco nodded at the Professor as he tried to recollect his memory on boggarts. Why hadn’t he paid attention to Lupin when he had the chance?
A figure stepped out of the drawer, slowly walking toward him with a familiar gait. Draco braced himself. The shadowy figure grew tall as Draco began to make out long slender fingers around a wand and two red slitted eyes glaring at him. Gasps and cries sounded behind Draco. Soon, the Dark Lord stood in front of him, smiling thinly. He leaned toward a wide-eyed, pale Draco and whispered, “ Crucio ” into his ears. A shiver ran down Draco’s spine though Draco knew this would be coming. Carefully, a shaky Draco stepped back and flickered his wand.
“Riddikulus!” he whispered. Voldermort stopped smiling and melted to the ground. Then, like a phoenix, the black puddle of goo rose up into another figure. Slowly the one figure became many surrounding Draco. He felt Potter’s eyes glaring on the back of his neck. The familiar faces of those who lived in his house for ages started whispering. Draco couldn’t hear a word yet the furious whispers didn’t stop. They surrounded Draco, trapping him in a claustrophobic space. They aren’t real. His mind begged them to leave. Sweat dripped from his forehead.
His throat was ready to scream them to leave him alone, their hands ready to reach for his clothes to tear them off like a wrapper on a chocolate. Despair clouded his thoughts as he struggled to keep his mind intact. His mind flashed to all the times Lestrange and Greyback touched Draco in his bed as if they couldn’t hear his screams before silenced him and tied him one simple Incarcerous . All the times Yaxley decorate his body with bruises for target practice. All the times when Bellatrix taught him to Crucio by performing the spell on him till all his clothes were drenched in blood and sweat. But you deserved everything they did to you. Draco waved his wand once again, keeping his breaths as steady as possible. He wasn’t going to fall apart in front of his DADA class.
“Riddikulus,” he mumbled with a swirl of his wand.
Then something unexpected happened.
As the Death Eaters fell into the ground, another shape arose. Draco looked upon the new threat curiously, tightly gripping onto his wand as if it was a lifeline. What else could he have possibly feared? He had faced everything that hurt him in the past. The boggart slowly morphed into a person. At first faceless and then emerald eyes rolled into empty sockets. Messy, brown hair erupted from its scalp. Two long legs formed and a lighting bolt scar was carved into the creature’s forehead. No. No, it can’t be , Draco pleaded. Not here. The creature smirked maliciously unlike he had ever seen before.
Suddenly, there was no one else in the room except the Potter that was slowly walking toward Draco. Draco backed into his empty desk, blinking at the strange form the boggart had taken on. He was scared of Potter. That’s impossible. Harry Potter stopped walking suddenly. And then, in the voice he heard for years and years, the boggart screeched.
“USELESS, SPINELESS MURDERER!” it screamed at Draco. Draco’s eyes only widened. “YOU COWARD! HOW COULD YOU HAVE THOUGHT THAT YOU WOULD BE WELCOME HERE!”
Draco opened his mouth to respond, to protest. But words didn’t come. He could only blink as this nightmare he never had came true. Potter walked up to Draco, forcing him to move backward into the desk. Draco found it painful to breath.
“YOU DISGUSTING, LITTLE PRICK! YOU LET THEIR HANDS RUN ALL OVER YOU BECAUSE YOU ARE A FILTHY LITTLE BASTARD!” Potter yelled at him, his face twisted with aversion. He silently pleaded him to stop.
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, Draco’s head hanging low and tears fell onto his shoes.
“SORRY?! YOU THINK SORRY WILL CUT IT, MALFOY! PEOPLE ARE DEAD BECAUSE OF YOU!” Potter screeched. Draco crumbled to the floor, covering his ears with his palms. Images clouded his mind of all the memories, of all the crimes he had done and of those done to him. He rocked back and forth as wet tears blurred his vision of the floor. He didn’t notice when the real Potter shot a nonverbal Riddikulus spell at the boggart or when Professor Hannigan quietly dismissed the class. He barely cared when his blurry vision turned black and he fell to the ground.