Luna gently pulled my hands away from my face, her touch firm but soothing. I let out a weary breath and leaned my forehead against her shoulder. She didn’t hesitate, just wrapped her arms around me and pulled me close.

  “Tell me,” she said, not asking but demanding. And so I did—rushed, stumbling over my words like a fevered confession, spilling everything about the Boggart…

  “…That was when I realized—there’s no excuse anymore,” I muttered, words tumbling out in a messy stream. “I could’ve kept quiet, let things run their course, but no—I had to be arrogant enough to think I could handle it. I did something, made a choice. And now, if it all goes wrong, there’s no one else to blame.” I swallowed hard, my voice shaking. “All those deaths, flashing by like a twisted kaleidoscope… Dumbledore, Harry, Ginny, Lupin, you, Snape, Hermione… Faces I know, faces I don’t… I’m terrified I’ll lose control and let it all happen. But I’ve no idea what I’ll do if my plan fails.”

  “I think you’re torturing yourself for no reason, Ron,” Luna said with that quiet, unwavering certainty of hers, her fingers combing gently through my hair. “There’s always a way to solve a problem—you just have to find it. And you will, Ron, I know you will. You’re not the kind of person to take on responsibility unless you’re sure you can bear it.

  "You can’t control the storm at sea, but you can steer your ship. And you can bring it to safety, along with everyone who chooses to sail with you. There’s no need to worry about the passengers—you’re on that ship too, after all. Either you all sink, or you all make it. Maybe not everyone, but those who are meant to. So why blame yourself for deciding to captain your own ship instead of boarding someone else’s? If your companions don’t like the journey, they can always switch to another boat.

  "Don’t let fear of what might be stop you from seeing clearly. It’s blocking your view of the path ahead. Trust me—it will be alright. I’m sure of it.”

  “You’re a wonder, Luna,” I murmured against her hair, a real, tired smile finally breaking through. “You know that?”

  “I have my suspicions,” she said, and I could hear the smile in her voice. “Ron, show me your Patronus?”

  Reluctantly, I pulled away. The night outside the window was too dark to make out more than Luna’s faint silhouette. I looked at her, at the way she simply existed in the moment, and it struck me again how lucky I was to have her. My mind, oddly, leapt to Shrek of all things—how he told Fiona he’d always thought he was rescuing her from the dragon, only to realize it was the other way around.

  Had I thought, back when I pulled Luna out of that freezing puddle, that she’d come to mean this much to me? That she’d do so much for me without even trying?

  The comparison to an ogre made me chuckle, and I realized with surprise that the anxiety had loosened its grip on my chest.

  Raising my wand, I cast the spell. The Patronus burst forth—its silvery form twisting through the air before settling on the windowsill beside Luna. It was a bird.

  “A hawk, I think,” I guessed, feeling oddly pleased it wasn’t something ridiculous like a rat or a beetle.

  “No,” Luna corrected with quiet confidence. “It’s a falcon. I’m sure of it—I have an album at home, I’ll show you… I wonder what mine will be? You’ll teach me, won’t you, Ron?”

  The soft glow of the falcon lit up Luna’s face, catching the pale gleam of her eyes and giving her an almost ethereal look. My Patronus flapped its wings once and then faded, plunging us back into darkness.

  I let out a disappointed sigh before instinctively pulling Luna back into my arms. She nestled against me without hesitation, her cold nose pressing into the crook of my neck.

  “You’re freezing,” I said, alarmed, shifting back—but she wouldn’t let go.

  “Stay like this a little longer,” she murmured. “It’s… nice.”

  We stood there, still and silent, wrapped in the moment.

  Then—

  “Well, well,” came a voice from behind me, smooth and cutting. “While the professors are running themselves ragged searching for a runaway, it seems Mr. Weasley is tucked away in an alcove, groping some girl who isn’t exactly burdened with a sense of propriety.”

  I jerked back from Luna, spinning on my heel, heart hammering with rage. How dare Snape say that about her—!

  But as the dim light from his wand fell across Luna’s face, something unexpected happened. Snape hesitated. His gaze flicked from her to my furious expression, and, rather than double down, he actually… backtracked?

  “My apologies, Miss Lovegood,” he said, his voice still sharp but lacking its usual venom. “I didn’t realize it was you. Nevertheless, I suggest you hurry along—dinner begins in seven minutes, and your Head of House will expect you there.”

  Luna didn’t react beyond a small nod, but I could tell she’d already moved past the insult. I, however, was still fuming.

  Wordlessly, I helped her down from the windowsill. Whatever warmth the moment had held was gone. If Snape had been sent to track me down, things were bad. Dumbledore was bound to get involved now. Not that I had much right to complain—I had caused quite the scene.

  “See you later, Ron,” Luna said breezily, tugging on my tie until I bent down. She kissed my cheek, swift and sure, and left me standing there dumbfounded as she picked up her school bag and strolled toward the exit. “Goodbye, Professor Snape,” she added as she passed him, not waiting for a reply.

  For a moment, Snape simply stood there, studying me in the dim light. His expression was unreadable, his face in shadow. Then, without warning, he extinguished his wand, plunging us into total darkness.

  “Come, Weasley,” he ordered curtly, turning on his heel and striding off without looking back.

  I followed, expecting to be marched straight to Dumbledore’s office, but as we climbed higher instead of lower, realization dawned.

  We were heading to the Hospital Wing.

  And when we arrived Madam Pomfrey was already waiting for me.

  She wasted no time, casting diagnostic spells with practiced efficiency before pulling a privacy screen around a bed and summoning a set of hospital pajamas.

  “Change into these and get in bed, Weasley,” she instructed, waving her wand toward the wardrobe as the garments floated out.

  Snape, meanwhile, stood with arms folded, watching me like I might bolt at any second. The moment I so much as reached for the pajamas, though, he turned on his heel and stepped behind the curtain.

  I wasn’t given any answers. Instead, Madam Pomfrey fed me a meal, forced down a series of potions, and before I could argue, the world went black.

  I woke up early to hushed voices.

  “…He’ll be fine,” Pomfrey was saying, her voice firm but gentle. “When I got the report, I feared he might tear the place apart—but by the time Severus found him and brought him in, the magical disturbance was gone.”

  “But it was there,” Snape’s voice cut in, edged with something that sounded almost like unease. “The boy fed so much fear into that Boggart, it nearly transformed into something beyond a mere specter.”

  “But how?” Mum’s voice trembled. “My boy…”

  “Could Ron really be that magically powerful?” Dad asked, and I could hear the mix of doubt and barely concealed worry in his tone.

  "Of course not, Arthur," Dumbledore interjected gently. "No wizard, no matter how powerful, can manifest a malevolent spirit into physical form—let alone a child his age."

  "But I’m telling you," Snape countered sharply, "the girl was solid. I personally checked for a pulse, Albus. And yet your Lupin just stood there like a statue, not even attempting to take control of the situation. I’ve voiced my concerns about his appointment more than once," he added, with a touch of smug satisfaction.

  "You’re mistaken, Severus," Dumbledore replied calmly, the faint rustle of fabric suggesting he was settling more comfortably into his chair. "Remus is an excellent teacher. He simply didn’t expect such overwhelming fears from a student and was caught off guard when he saw all of us—including himself—lying dead. By then, it was too late. The Boggart had gained too much power, feeding on the collective fear in the room. Lupin, like everyone else, was paralyzed by its influence. It was sheer luck that you returned for your book when you did—who knows how it might have ended otherwise?

  "Boggarts are far from harmless creatures, which is why we introduce them in third year—before children reach an age where their fears become… more dangerous. Conducting the lesson with multiple students also mitigates the risk, as their individual fears dilute the Boggart’s power. But once they all saw themselves dead, their fears aligned into a single overwhelming terror. That’s what strengthened the Boggart enough to ensnare the entire room, feeding on their fear.

  "Fear shared by many is always stronger—it breeds panic, which is precisely what we saw with young Mr. Weasley when he broke free. But what concerns me most is the boy himself. These aren’t the usual fears for someone his age."

  "This is our fault," my father’s voice came next, thick with regret. My mother’s quiet sobs followed.

  If you stumble upon this narrative on Amazon, be aware that it has been stolen from Royal Road. Please report it.

  "When Ron was seven, he had a near-death experience and spent a month in St. Mungo’s recovering. It took him months to fully come back from it. We thought he’d put it behind him…"

  "My poor boy," Mum choked out, her voice breaking.

  "It makes sense," Madam Pomfrey interjected with the certainty of someone who had just solved a puzzle. "After going through something like that, he must have developed a deep fear of death—his own, at first. But as he grew older and became more aware of how fragile life is, he transferred that fear onto others as well. He’s no longer just afraid of dying—he’s afraid of anyone he loves dying. That’s why his Boggart took such a severe form."

  I nearly choked. What? That’s what they thought?

  "It does seem plausible," Dumbledore mused, the room growing tense with his thoughtful pause. "The Dementors came too close to the castle last night—they must have intensified those fears, pushing him into panic. What puzzles me, however, is why there was no magical outburst afterward. Severus, you said you felt a strong magical surge. The boy was on the brink of losing control. But you, Poppy, claim he was completely fine when he arrived."

  "He found an anchor," Snape said simply.

  "A what?" Mum asked, still sniffling.

  "She stabilized him," Snape clarified. "His magic settled, and the residual energy dissipated."

  "She?" Mum echoed warily.

  "Miss Lovegood," Snape confirmed. "She was the last vision he saw—her lifeless body. That was when he lost control and conjured a nonverbal Patronus, driven purely by instinct. And I knew he would run to her, to make sure she was alive. I sent Flitwick a note, so he could assess the situation himself. He determined that Weasley posed no danger to her and let them go. She was his anchor. She brought him back to himself."

  "You handled that remarkably well, Severus," Dumbledore said, his voice tinged with approval, though Snape only scoffed in response. "Keep an eye on Mr. Weasley. He and Remus may have some tension between them after this. We don’t want any further incidents—his magical instability combined with his sensitivity to the Dementors is a dangerous combination.

  "Speaking of which, how is Remus?" he asked Pomfrey.

  "He’ll be fine," she assured him. "But he should take some calming draughts—he was shaken more than the boy. Lupin has suffered real losses, seen real death. His fears aren’t imagined, they’re lived. The shock hit him harder than Weasley."

  I frowned at that.

  Lupin, being a werewolf, had likely spent years fearing the day he’d lose control and tear his friends apart. He must have pictured it over and over—waking up to find their mangled bodies, knowing it was his fault.

  And in a way… I wasn’t so different. I’d stared at those dead faces, feeling responsible. The more bodies I saw, the heavier my guilt became.

  The realization made my stomach churn. I didn’t want to have anything in common with him. I didn’t want to be weak.

  "You can go, Severus," Dumbledore said, breaking the silence. "I’ll check on the boy later. Poppy, see if he’s awake. Molly, enough tears—let’s not distress the child further. He’s already been through enough. And Arthur—congratulations. Your son is a remarkable young wizard. A Patronus at his age… It’s extraordinary.

  "Frankly, the children in his year are shaping up to be exceptionally talented. I wouldn’t be surprised if half of them master the Patronus Charm by Christmas." He sighed, the warmth of a smile evident in his tone. "Good evening to you all."

  The voices faded as people began to leave.

  Then, the curtain around my bed rustled, and my mother peeked in.

  I never thought I’d be so relieved to see her.

  "Ronnie, sweetheart, you’re awake?" she fussed, immediately sitting beside me. "Did we wake you? You look so pale—so thin, my poor boy, nothing but eyes now—" She sniffled, smoothing the sheets over my chest with frantic energy. "I brought you something from home… Oh, my love…"

  Some things never change.

  They let me go after dinner.

  I figured they did it so I wouldn’t have to walk into the Great Hall under everyone’s stares. Better to face my dorm first—deal with my classmates in private before the inevitable rumors spread.

  Not gonna lie, I was dreading it. The last thing I wanted was people treating me like some nutter.

  That said… the pile of sweets stacked neatly on my bedside table was encouraging.

  Apparently, Pomfrey had turned visitors away, but the fact that people had come at all gave me hope.

  Turned out, I didn’t need to worry.

  Percy intercepted me halfway up the stairs, out of breath and clearly flustered. He fussed over me like a mother hen, patting me down as if to check I was still in one piece, then pulled me into a firm hug. For the rest of the way up, he bombarded me with well-meaning platitudes about family, friendship, and how "everything would be alright in the end"—the kind of comforting nonsense he probably picked up from one of Mum’s howlers.

  Then the twins found us just before we reached the Fat Lady’s portrait. They practically tackled me, clapping me on the back and ruffling my hair. Fred cheerfully suggested setting off enchanted fireworks in the girls’ dormitory—complete with white mice—just to lighten the mood.

  But before I could even attempt a response, Ginny appeared in the passageway. Looked like the Fat Lady had tipped off Lady Camille from the common room portraits, and my little sister had come running to meet us.

  The moment she saw me, she threw herself at me, clinging to my neck and sobbing. The lads went uncomfortably silent, suddenly finding the floor very interesting, unsure of what to do with themselves.

  I won’t lie—it all got to me. But I was relieved when Ginny finally started calming down. I could never handle seeing girls cry, let alone my little sister. The twins took charge, suggesting she take a few laps on her broomstick to clear her head. She flat-out refused to step back into the common room looking like a blotchy mess, and honestly, I couldn’t blame her. Percy, looking sheepish, adjusted his glasses and muttered something about prefect duties before scurrying off, and with the Fat Lady sniffling melodramatically behind me, I finally stepped inside.

  To my surprise, the common room wasn’t crowded. Only my year mates had gathered there. Dean and Seamus immediately flanked me, steering me towards a sofa like I was some sort of fragile relic. They didn’t even let me veer off towards Harry and Hermione, who were sitting in armchairs by the far end of the room. But we caught each other’s eyes, exchanging a look that said later.

  The girls immediately started chirping away with reassuring nonsense, stuffing chocolate into my hands, while the lads kept up a steady flow of chatter, trying to keep the mood light. I had not expected this kind of reception. And when I finally registered that it was Lavender warbling away next to me, I was completely thrown.

  "Of course, I was so scared at first," she was saying breathlessly, "but then I thought about it, and honestly, it’s so sweet—"

  "You think it’s sweet that I imagined you with your throat torn open?" I interrupted, utterly baffled.

  "Obviously not, you dolt," she huffed, playfully swatting at my arm. "But the fact that I was in your vision means you care, doesn’t it? I had no idea you were so thoughtful, Ronald." She batted her eyelashes at me and slipped a Chocolate Frog into my hand like some sort of peace offering.

  When the chatter finally died down, everyone just looked at me, clearly expecting an explanation. So, I launched into the same story I’d overheard from Dumbledore and the professors—the tragic tale of my childhood near-death experience and my deep-seated fear of losing people I cared about. It had satisfied the staff, so I reckoned it would do for my dorm mates as well.

  The girls got misty-eyed, and everyone solemnly swore that the whole thing would never leave the Gryffindor common room. Oddly enough, the incident didn’t cause as much of a stir as I’d feared. If anything, most of the school was still too busy talking about me legging it through the castle with Ginny and Luna, assuming it was just some sort of dramatic teenage rebellion. To my shock, the girls actually liked that idea.

  And, honestly? Everyone had their own stuff going on. I’d worked myself up for nothing.

  Hermione fussed over me more than anyone—she even offered to check my homework so I could get more rest. Harry, meanwhile, got it in a way no one else could. Ever since he’d learned about the prophecy and started having those eerie mind-link moments with You-Know-Who, he’d been terrified of the same thing. That Voldemort would come back and take everyone he cared about. That he’d see all their deaths in his nightmares first, only to watch them happen for real.

  Time passed, and everything gradually went back to normal. And honestly? I don’t dwell on things. I’d scared myself more than anyone else, that was all.

  Two days later, I got summoned to Dumbledore’s office for what turned out to be a completely pointless chat. He offered his sympathy, advised me not to hold a grudge against Lupin, and rambled on in his usual grandiose way.

  "So that’s why you let me overhear your conversation in the hospital wing?" I asked bluntly. "So I’d understand him better? So I wouldn’t think he was a rubbish teacher?"

  Dumbledore studied me for a moment, then got straight to the point. He expected me to keep my issues with Lupin out of the classroom. No sabotaging lessons. No open hostility.

  "Professor Lupin has suffered many losses, Ron," he said. "He has endured things no one should have to face. Like all of us, he has his weaknesses. But I would ask you, my boy, not to be so harsh as to hold them against him."

  That was that.

  From then on, Lupin and I mutually ignored each other. I turned in my essays on time. He graded them and never called on me in class. Simple.

  When Snape substituted for him, I finally got to redo my Boggart test. This time, I stuck to my original plan—Alien from the Muggle films. Passed with no trouble.

  The detentions, by the way? They were scrapped. Apparently, "severe psychological distress" was punishment enough.

  Neville, for some reason, insisted on doing his test privately with Lupin. What he saw remained a mystery.

  But somehow, word reached Snape that Lupin had planned to put him in a dress in front of the whole class. Considering that it was the only part of the lesson that our lot still found hilarious—something they openly cackled about in hallways, often when Snape was conveniently within earshot—it was bound to get back to him eventually.

  Snape did not take it well. Now, when he looked at Lupin, it wasn’t just with his usual sneering disdain—there was a new glint in his eyes. Something vengeful.

  Ancient Runes turned out to be interesting. It was considered a more "primitive" form of magic, mostly used by craftsmen—enchanting objects, tents, household items, even creating magical portals. But most wizards preferred wandwork—it was quicker, less room for error. Still, runes were reliable. You could trust them to work. Unlike spells, which could misfire if you were distracted or exhausted, runes were steady. Predictable. Hermione and I both took a liking to them.

  Hagrid’s lessons had improved dramatically. We spent two weeks studying unicorns, then moved on to these dog-like creatures—looked a bit like Jack Russells, but with two tails. Crups, they were called. Absolute chaos. They tore around their enclosure, yapping and chasing each other, and within minutes, half the class wanted one as a pet.

  Nifflers were a hit too.

  Knarles—essentially magical hedgehogs—were decisively not. Might’ve been the whole "getting yanked out of hibernation" thing, but they were not pleased to see us.

  Still, Hagrid was turning out to be a solid teacher. Probably thanks to Hermione keeping him in check.

  Divination, meanwhile, was driving Harry up the wall. Every lesson, Trelawney would clutch her heart, get all weepy, and dramatically predict his death. It was infuriating.

  I mean, really—who does that to an orphan?

  Not to mention it was her bloody prophecy that got his parents killed, and now she had the nerve to mess with his head?

  Eventually, Harry snapped. He just stopped going.

  We figured a "Troll" in Divination wasn’t exactly going to ruin his life.

  McGonagall tried talking sense into him. Even dragged him to Dumbledore. But we backed him all the way. Hell, we even got Percy to send a formal petition to the Headmaster, signed by half of Gryffindor.

  In the end? Harry got an exception. He switched to Muggle Studies with us.

  Life went back to normal. And I couldn’t have been happier.