Chapter 47: 2-3

I could say with absolute certainty that at this very moment, I was the student most looking forward to class in all of Hogwarts.

Professor Lupin’s Defense Against the Dark Arts lesson had finally arrived.

Wearing a gentle smile and clad in a set of shabby robes, the Professor announced, "Pack your textbooks away." The other students looked uneasy, remembering the disasters of the previous year. Between his appearance and the string of incompetent teachers we'd had, disappointment was written clearly on their faces.

I smirked to myself. Just you watch. Professor Lupin’s lessons were the best I ever knew in all my seven years!

"Waddiwasi!"

A wad of chewing gum zoomed straight into the nostril of the mischief-making Peeves. It was a truly delightful sight. The air of suspicion vanished, replaced instantly by anticipation, and everyone’s eyes sparkled as they looked at Professor Lupin.

We were led to the staffroom, dodging Professor Snape’s snide remarks along the way, and brought before an old wardrobe. The wardrobe rattled and shook as if something inside were desperate to get out.

"Inside this... is a Boggart."

Tapping the wardrobe with a soft clack, the Professor called on Hermione to explain what a Boggart was. Hermione answered as she always did—like a living textbook.

Come to think of it, a long time ago, Draco used to call Hermione a "walking dictionary" or "violence-prone wisdom"... usually while he was drinking. And she certainly lived up to it. Mostly the "violence" part.

While my mind drifted through those past memories, Neville had been ushered to the front of the wardrobe. Everyone was buzzing with excitement for what was about to happen... everyone except Neville, the one chosen for the practical demonstration.

"Neville—it’s okay, you can do this. Because you're Neville."

"Maria..."

I nudged Neville’s back toward Professor Lupin just as he was about to retreat. Lupin smiled as if praising his courage, and Neville gave a firm, albeit trembling, nod in return.

What do you fear most? — Professor Snape.

What does your grandmother wear? — A green dress, a red handbag...

The questions continued, and laughter was already breaking out among the students as they imagined how the Boggart-Snape would be transformed. In such a lighthearted atmosphere, there was no reason to fear failure.

"Riddikulus!"

Boggart-Snape was suddenly clad in a ridiculous lace dress. This time, the room erupted in genuine laughter.

"Riddikulus!"

A mummy tripped over its own bandages.

"Riddikulus!"

A banshee lost her prized singing voice.

"Riddikulus!"

A severed hand was caught in a rat trap.

"Riddikulus!"

The giant spider Ron had imagined lost its legs and went rolling away.

The remains of the spider rolled toward Harry. — Oh, no.

"Harry!"

I leapt out in front of him. The Boggart, which was about to transform into a Dementor, shrank in an instant. — Shrank?

...Wait, what?

The cheerful atmosphere froze like a winter’s night, and confusion washed over the room.

"What... is that...?"

I don't know whose voice it was.

It was a hideous infant. It was huddled small, desperately trying to escape the light. It looked painful, as if its skin had been flayed—pitiful... tiny...

The miserable child I had left behind at the station on the way to death.

Just as Harry groaned, clutching his scar, Professor Lupin leapt forward. He pushed me aside, and the pitiful infant transformed into a full moon.

"Riddikulus!"

Neville finished the job. Professor Snape appeared once more, only to be turned back into the dress-wearing version. Great peals of laughter broke out again—Riddikulus! How absurd!

The lesson ended while the excitement was still high. Everyone forgot about the strange infant and chatted away about the "best lesson ever." Neville’s face remained bright red for a long time.

"Did you see that spider?! Like this! Riddikulus!"

Both Ron and Hermione were in high spirits. The only ones who couldn't say a word... were us twins.

The communication parchment I used to ask where he was flickered with a single word: Library. Since I had nothing else planned, I headed straight there.

Harry didn't ask me anything. I didn't say anything to Harry. I couldn't. I could never explain the true nature of that infant—the thing presented to me as the symbol of my terror.

Though, given that his scar had ached, Harry might have guessed.

I can’t tell anyone. No one in this world. "My" words can only be understood by "him."

"Dra—co—"

The hand I had raised cheerfully was lost in an instant. Because of the beautiful girl sitting next to him.

She had deep brown hair that almost looked black, and brown eyes. Her face was slender and elegantly refined. She was a girl of unmistakable noble bearing.

She was—Astoria Greengrass.

I, as "Harry," had only seen Astoria—Astoria Malfoy—in person a handful of times before she became someone who only existed in photographs. I had heard of the suffering of those she left behind from both the father and the son.

The woman that Scorpius—that Draco—had spent his life yearning for.

Draco seemed to be helping her with an essay or some such report. As they peered into the same book, he smiled at her with eyes melting with affection. She, too, leaned into him, her whole being radiating her devotion to Draco.

I couldn't possibly interfere.

They looked so... so happy.

"Maria?"

He suddenly looked up. Standing there like a lost child, I must have looked so stupid. So pathetic.

He should just laugh. He didn't need to look so worried. He finally had Astoria, the one he had longed for, right there beside him—so why did he have to find me?

"Sorry, Astoria. Let's stop here. I had an appointment with her."

"No, it's fine, Draco. It wasn't anything important."

"Maria? But you—"

"It's fine!"

My voice came out too loud, and I quickly covered my mouth. I was glared at by a nearby Ravenclaw and received a sharp look from Madam Pince. But more than anything, I couldn't bear the wide-eyed look from him and the gaze of the girl watching us.

Astoria’s eyes were steady. She looked at me without curiosity, or disgust—or even jealousy. I thought her eyes looked like Hermione’s when she was trying to discern the truth.

"...Sorry, I—"

"—Maria has plans with me."

A dignified voice spoke as a hand took my arm, directed at them—and then at me. Right? The girl who smiled mischievously at me seemed like the most adorable person in the world.

"Ginny."

My beloved redhead raised the corners of her mouth defiantly and stared Draco down.

"Do excuse us, Prince of Slytherin. Could you save your appointment with Maria for another time? I’m feeling very much like being spoiled by my big sister right now. Please, do continue tutoring your junior."

Still holding my arm, Ginny gave a curt bow and led me out of the library. I was completely at her mercy. Once we had walked a fair distance, Ginny stopped and looked up at me.

"Maria, you looked like you were in pain. ...Was I not supposed to do that?"

I shook my head slowly at the kindness of this girl whose love knew no bounds.

"No. Thank you, Ginny. ...Truly, thank you."

I hugged her—she was only as tall as my chin. Ginny reached up and hugged me back with all her soul.

"It’s okay. I’m on your side, Maria. I’ve heard Draco Malfoy is a decent guy for a Slytherin... but if he makes Maria sad, that’s another story. Even if you forgive someone for making my sister sad, I won't. Didn't you know that?"

She let out a little giggle. Her bold words were filled to the brim with affection.

A faint warmth lit up my heart, which had been exposed to a cold draft.

"Ginny, I love you."

"I love you too. My big sister!"

Even wrapped in that soft warmth... the hole where the cold draft blew through remained unfilled.

"Aren't you going to go after her?"

The girl whispered, looking up at the fragile-looking boy beside her. The boy remained in a half-standing position, his eyes wavering, unable to decide.

"...No, Ginny Weasley is with her. I’d only be in the way. I’m not the type to play a game I can’t win."

"Oh, my."

The girl tilted her head, her dark hair swaying as she smiled. It was a refined, calculated smile that spoke of a thorough upbringing as a lady.

"You really are a coward, Draco-oniisama."

"Astoria..."

"If you are satisfied with that, Draco-oniisama, then I have nothing more to say. Shall we continue with the assignment?"

Astoria smiled. The image of the red-haired girl she had just encountered was burned into her mind. She simply smiled—

"So, that was Maria Potter."