On Thursday, Potions was our first lesson of the day.

  To be honest, I didn’t expect anything good from Snape this year. With Dementors hanging about, everyone in the castle was on edge—irritable, short-tempered, and prone to snapping over the smallest things. Arguments that might’ve blown over in minutes were now ending in full-blown brawls. By the end of the first week, half the upperclassmen had already been through the Hospital Wing for scrapes and bruises. And if regular people were this bad, what could you expect from Snape, who didn’t need Dementors to be a total git?

  My gut feeling was spot on. Snape was an absolute nightmare. He deducted points left, right, and centre, nitpicking over the tiniest things. He didn’t resort to personal insults, but he regarded everyone with irritation and threw scathing looks of undisguised disgust at Potter. Poor Neville, though, got the brunt of it. He was sensitive at the best of times, and the tense atmosphere in the classroom had him so rattled he kept making mistakes.

  “Orange, Longbottom!” Snape’s voice rang out from behind me as I added rat spleen to my cauldron. “You’re hopeless. Wipe your eyes and look at the board. Two drops of leech juice! One spleen! When will you start paying attention in my class? You’d think we were brewing Alchemical Mastery-level elixirs instead of the simplest potion with four ingredients. Troll for the lesson, Longbottom, unless you start over. And just to motivate you, I’ll test your finished potion on your toad. Perhaps when it dies, you’ll finally learn some responsibility. Take your cauldron to the back and start again. And if I hear a single word from Miss Granger—our resident know-it-all—I’ll dock fifty points from Gryffindor. The clock’s ticking.”

  With a flick of his wand, Snape emptied Neville’s cauldron, then swept over to the Slytherin side, robes billowing behind him. Neville, bright red and trembling, dragged his cauldron to the back table, while the Slytherins snickered. I caught a glimpse of Hermione weighing out fresh ingredients and swapping trays with Neville as he passed her. Hopefully, he’d manage not to muck it up this time.

  “Now,” Snape said, pacing back to the front, “your potions should have settled by now. Bottle your results and bring them to my desk.”

  He made a beeline for Neville, stopping dramatically beside his cauldron to draw everyone’s attention. Neville’s potion had turned blue instead of green—not great, but at least it wasn’t orange. Still, it didn’t look promising for Trevor.

  “Gather round,” Snape sneered. “We’ll test Longbottom’s latest masterpiece on his toad.”

  Neville froze, clutching Trevor to his chest like a lifeline. Snape held out a hand, his expression cold and expectant. “Your toad. Now.”

  Neville looked ready to burst into tears. The Slytherins were howling with laughter, and even some of the Gryffindors avoided meeting his eyes. No one wanted to step in—not against Snape.

  I didn’t want to either, to be honest. But then Neville’s panicked gaze locked on me and Harry, pleading silently, and I cracked. I moved faster than Harry—thank Merlin—before he could lose his temper and earn himself a month of detentions. He wasn’t handling the Dementors well, and even Malfoy had been steering clear of him for fear of a punch.

  “Excuse me, Professor,” I said, stepping forward and silently cursing my sense of duty. I positioned myself between Snape and Neville, subtly nudging the poor bloke back towards our group. “But, with all due respect, Trevor is Neville’s personal property. And as far as I know, there’s nothing in the school rules allowing teachers to damage students’ belongings, even for the sake of a demonstration.”

  The Slytherins fell silent, staring at me like I’d just grown another head. Then, slowly, their faces twisted into gleeful smirks, clearly anticipating Snape’s retaliation. Behind me, the Gryffindors rallied, forming a protective wall around Neville. When he reappeared in their midst, Trevor was nowhere to be seen.

  “There is, however, a rule allowing me to punish insolent students at my discretion,” Snape said icily, his eyes glittering with malice. “It’s a shame corporal punishment has been abolished.”

  I braced myself. “Detention with me tonight at eight, Weasley. And every night until next Saturday. Thirty points from Gryffindor for disrupting my class, and another ten from Longbottom for botching his potion. And you, Longbottom, will report to Filch for detention on Saturday. Dismissed.”

  With a dramatic swirl of his robes, Snape disappeared into his storeroom. We all exhaled in relief, hurriedly packed up our things, and escaped the classroom under the jeers of the Slytherins.

  By the time we reached the Great Hall, my housemates had rallied around me. Lavender gave me a wink, Kelly thumped me on the back of the head with a grin, and Hermione fussed over my plate, making sure I got the best cuts of meat. Only Neville got on my nerves, endlessly thanking me and whining about Trevor. Honestly, why did he bring that toad to class anyway?

  I didn’t mind the detentions, not really. But outside, the sky was darkening, and the creeping cold from the Dementors was starting to get to me. It was going to be a long week, especially with Defense Against the Dark Arts and that boggart coming up next.

  We filed into the Defense classroom, waiting quietly as Professor Lupin entered. His clothes were just as shabby as the first time we’d met, which only deepened my unease. Looking at him, I couldn’t help seeing a version of myself I hated—the scruffy, directionless Ron who let life kick him around. Even Snape, for all his faults, commanded respect. But Lupin? I couldn’t bring myself to trust him.

  “Good morning,” Lupin greeted us warmly. “Put your books away. Today’s lesson is practical. All you’ll need are your wands. Ready? Follow me.”

  We marched down the corridor as a group, following Lupin. On the way, he had a run-in with Peeves and sent him packing with hardly any effort. By the time we reached our destination, Lupin had already become a bit of a hero.

  He opened the door to the staff room and ushered us inside. Sitting in one of the chairs was Snape, engrossed in a book. At the sight of him, we froze, while he curled his lip in distaste.

  "Well, I think I'll take my leave," he drawled, standing. "What follows promises to be most unpleasant."

  He made his way to the door, and I nearly sighed in relief when he paused and turned back.

  "I should warn you, Lupin," he said icily. "Among your students is one Neville Longbottom. I strongly suggest you avoid giving him any task requiring even the most basic competence. His inadequacy puts everyone around him at risk." With a cold smile, Snape swept out, not waiting for a response.

  "Strange," Lupin said thoughtfully, turning to Neville with a kind smile. "I was just about to ask you to help me with a demonstration. I’m certain you’ll do brilliantly."

  Neville turned beet red and gripped his wand tightly. At the far end of the room, a large wardrobe began to tremble, making us all freeze.

  "Oh, don’t worry," Lupin said soothingly. "That’s just a Boggart—a shape-shifting spirit that takes the form of your worst fear."

  That didn’t exactly put anyone at ease. But Lupin carried on, explaining the nature of Boggarts and asking questions as he went. He had a way of making the topic genuinely interesting. Still, I barely listened—I’d read up on Boggarts with Hermione before class. Instead, I found myself wondering what mine would look like.

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  I mean, I’m not fearless, but I’m not exactly a coward either. Snakes are unpleasant, sure, but after the basilisk? Not so much. Spiders? Only if they’re bigger than me. Mummies and whatever else—meh.

  Whales, though—they’ve always given me the creeps. Once, in the Bay of Biscay, this massive one surfaced right next to our little boat, sending water everywhere. Scared the life out of us. But to actually fear one? Not really. Where would I even run into a whale on land?

  Honestly, I kept picturing the alien from Alien. Not because I’m still scared of it, but as a kid, it was the scariest thing I’d ever seen.

  I doubted it’d be Voldemort—I’d never even met him. Dementors, maybe? If I’d experienced them the way Harry did. But I hadn’t—not properly.

  "Now, Neville," Lupin’s voice interrupted my thoughts, "imagine Professor Snape in your grandmother’s clothes."

  I snorted, earning a round of stares.

  "Something funny, Weasley?" Lupin asked, though he didn’t seem offended.

  "Just the thought of someone being afraid of Professor McGonagall," I said, grinning. "Picture her in men’s boxers, a stretched-out T-shirt, and a pint of beer in hand. And Snape, finding out about the dress—he’d hex poor Neville into next week. Then there’s Neville’s gran, furious he borrowed her clothes for a bloke…"

  Laughter rippled through the room, starting with stifled chuckles before bursting into full-on belly laughs. Even Lupin joined in, while Neville went from pale to crimson.

  "Professor," I said when the laughter died down, "couldn’t we do this one-on-one? You never know what someone’s fear might be. I’m not sure my eyes are ready for some of the sights."

  "Fair point," Lupin said with a chuckle. "Perhaps we’ll wait on Neville. But the rest of you—we’ll proceed. I’m here if anything goes wrong. Line up, everyone. Remember the spell?"

  "Riddikulus!" we all shouted in unison.

  What followed was chaos—but the good kind. A mummy morphed into a banshee, then a snake, then a skeletal figure. Kids’ imaginations are wild. No wonder Freud had a field day with stuff like this.

  Finally, it was my turn. I shook off my grin and focused, picturing the skeleton turning into the alien from Alien. I could already see the laughs when I slapped it with Christmas lights and skates. But things didn’t go as planned.

  The skeleton vanished in a swirl of grey mist. Then, sharply, the figure of my mum appeared—collapsing sideways, her lifeless eyes staring blankly at the ceiling, a thin trickle of blood running down her chin.

  I froze. My brain knew it wasn’t real, but my body didn’t get the memo.

  The vision held for a moment, then shifted. Fred, broken like he’d fallen from a great height. George, lying in a pool of blood. My dad, his chest ripped open, wearing the kind of naive expression that somehow made it worse. A charred, unrecognizable heap of flesh that I knew was Charlie. Ginny—oh God, Ginny—covered in blood, her face twisted in a terror I’d never seen on her before.

  The images flickered faster, each one more vivid, more horrifying. I didn’t need to see the details—my mind filled in the gaps all on its own.

  Then came Luna. She looked like she was sleeping on snow. No visible injuries, no blood—just her empty, lifeless stare. And the pain hit like a curse, draining me completely.

  "What’s going on here?" Snape’s sharp voice cut through the nightmare.

  The familiar irritation snapped me back to reality. Snape swept past me, heading for the Boggart. Before he could reach it, I let out a low growl, raised my wand, and focused on one thought: I had to protect her. And I felt the Path, clearer than ever before.

  And I felt the magic surge through me, raw and unrelenting.

  Snape’s voice cut through the haze. “What the devil is going on here?” He jerked back, startled, as the girl’s body he had been about to check for a pulse shimmered and began to shift.

  From my wand, in response to my will, burst a silver cloud of light. As it neared the Boggart, it shaped itself into a bird—a luminous, graceful thing that hurtled forward and collided with the now amorphous Boggart. Together, they vanished into the wardrobe with a resounding slam. The door quivered, light seeped through the cracks, and then… silence.

  Everyone stood frozen, as though hit with a Full Body-Bind. The silence felt tangible, heavy enough to slice with a knife.

  “Weasley, are you alright?” Snape’s voice broke through the fog in my head. He shook my shoulder lightly, and I blinked up at him. He looked... worried. Behind him, the clock showed less than five minutes had passed, though to me it had felt like hours.

  "You didn’t seem in much of a hurry to step in, sir," I croaked, my voice rough as if I’d been yelling at a stadium, lifting a weary gaze to Lupin. Words caught in my throat, choking me, unable to fully express the storm within.

  “I…” Lupin stammered, his shock apparent as he glanced down at the wand clutched in his hand, as if seeing it for the first time.

  “Come with me, Mr. Weasley,” Snape commanded, his grip firm on my shoulder as he steered me toward the exit. The other students parted for us like I carried the plague, their wide eyes fixed on me.

  That’s it, I thought bitterly, catching the horrified looks on their faces. I’m the school’s new pariah. Who’d want to be friends with a paranoid freak seeing blood and guts where none exist?

  Passing Hermione, I caught the mix of fear and pity in her expression. Harry didn’t look much better, and something inside me snapped. Anger bubbled up, sharp and hot.

  “Leave me alone,” I snarled, shrugging off Snape’s grip. “All of you, just—leave me the hell alone!”

  Ignoring their shouts, I ran, panic driving me through the halls with no clear destination. All I could see were the lifeless faces of Ginny and Luna, replaying over and over in my mind. I had to know they were alright.

  My feet carried me to the Charms classroom. Bursting in, I scanned the room, locking onto Ginny seated on the third tier of the lecture hall.

  “Mr. Weasley,” Flitwick began in his measured tone, unfazed by my sudden appearance. “Is there something you need?”

  “Yes, sir,” I said, my voice distant as I climbed the steps toward Ginny. “I need Ginny. Just for a moment.”

  “Ron, what’s going on?” she whispered urgently, throwing embarrassed glances at the other students.

  “Nothing,” I said, managing a faint smile as I reached her. “Just… felt like I needed a hug.”

  Before she could respond, I pulled her into an embrace, pressing a light kiss to the top of her head. For a moment, I buried my face in her hair, hiding the turmoil etched across my features. Then, straightening, I turned to go.

  “Professor, mind if I borrow Luna too?” I asked as I noticed Luna calmly packing her things, while Flitwick read a note that had floated in from the side.

  “Not at all, Mr. Weasley,” Flitwick replied serenely. “She’s already completed her test. But do see that you both make it to dinner—regular meals are important, especially at your age.”

  “Understood, sir,” I replied. Luna joined me without a word, slipping her hand into mine as we left.

  Once outside, I broke into a run, pulling her along. Two flights down, we ducked behind a dusty curtain into a small alcove with a window. It wasn’t exactly hidden, but it would do. I helped Luna up onto the windowsill, laying my robe beneath her, and leaned my forehead against the cool stone frame, clutching her hand like a lifeline.

  “You’re not yourself, Ron,” Luna said softly, her fingers threading through my hair. “It seems I’ll need to craft something stronger than my usual charms against Nargles. My amulet hasn’t helped much. Look.”

  She freed her hand and tugged the cord around my neck, pulling out her homemade charm. The radishes on it had shriveled, blackened like dried husks. Oddly, the sight didn’t surprise me.

  Luna untied the cord, her gentle fingers brushing against my neck. The steady, deliberate motions soothed the storm inside me.

  “What happened, Ron?” she asked, her hands cupping my face and drawing my gaze to hers.

  “We faced a Boggart today,” I admitted.

  “Ah, I see.” She pulled back slightly, her eyes distant. “We had one in the house once—lived in a wardrobe. I always saw my mum. I didn’t tell Dad; if he got rid of it, I wouldn’t be able to see her anymore. What did you see?”

  “All of you,” I said hoarsely. “Ginny, you… everyone. Dead.”

  “Then we fear the same thing,” she said, her lips curving into a sad smile. “Losing those we love.”

  “No, Luna,” I groaned, burying my face in my hands. “I’m terrified I made a mistake… and that your blood will be on my hands.”