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Even if she really predicted something," Snape hissed, his hand gripping the edge of Dumbledore's desk so tightly his knuckles were white. "She cannot release information like that in public! Have you considered the panic? The students are terrified! The parents will be furious! How are we supposed to clean up this mess?"
Dumbledore, who was calmly swirling the pumpkin juice in his goblet, set it down. "Severus," he said, his voice quiet and thoughtful. "Have you ever considered that Hermione might have done this intentionally?"
Snape paused, his furious expression faltering.
"She saw the resurrection," Dumbledore continued, his tone slightly appreciative. "She saw the danger. And she knew no one—not the Ministry, not the faculty—would take the threat seriously until it was an undeniable, public fact. She forced the school to acknowledge the truth. I just found out today that her gift for seeing patterns extends to the future. This would explain her… let's call it 'special' behavior over the past two years."
Snape sank into the chair, the raw logic of Dumbledore's interpretation hitting him hard. Hermione's chaos, when viewed through the lens of a long-term strategic leak, made terrifying sense.
"But still," Snape muttered, rubbing his temples, the effort of processing Hermione's mind-games giving him a profound headache. "She is creating global panic. This news will reach the Ministry, and those self-serving bureaucrats will descend on us like vultures. I cannot imagine the damage she will inflict when she inevitably clashes with that lot."
Dumbledore smiled but did not object. He knew Hermione was not a good-tempered child. And he knew the Ministry was full of pompous fools. "That," he said, his voice laced with genuine concern, "is indeed the problem. We must worry less about Voldemort's return and more about the diplomatic fallout when Miss Granger loses her temper with Cornelius Fudge."
Snape let out a low, weary curse. Every time the name Hermione Granger was mentioned, his blood pressure spiked. He really couldn't understand how Harry Potter, the boy he was sworn to protect, could have become friends with a "creature" of such glorious, unrelenting chaos.
The Defense Against the Dark Arts Classroom.
The air was humid with the nervous energy of the students. Professor Remus Lupin stood before a large, rattling wooden cabinet, his gentle smile contrasting sharply with the tension in the room.
"Inside this cabinet," Lupin explained, his voice low and kind, "is a Boggart. It will transform into the thing you fear most. Our spell, Riddikulus, is meant to defeat it with laughter. Who would like to volunteer?"
A heavy silence fell over the room. No one wanted their deepest, most embarrassing fear revealed in public.
"Malfoy," Lupin offered gently, his eyes landing on Draco. "How about you?"
Draco, sensing the opportunity to reassert his status after the disastrous Quidditch match, puffed out his chest and walked to the front, trying to ignore the subtle tremor in his knees.
Lupin gave him a brief instruction. "Are you ready, Draco?"
"Ready," Malfoy said, his voice surprisingly firm.
Lupin pulled the cabinet door open.
The Boggart shot out, and the air around it shimmered violently. It didn't become a giant snake, or a disappointed father. It transformed instantly into Hermione Granger.
She stood there, her arms crossed, her eyes narrowed into familiar, terrifying slits, her mouth curled into the cold, ruthless sneer she had worn right before she snapped and choked him at the Dueling Club.
The entire classroom went silent for a beat, then erupted into a fresh, chaotic wave of laughter.
"Hahahaha! Malfoy! You're afraid of Granger!" Ron howled, nearly falling off his chair.
Malfoy's face, already pale, flushed crimson. Humiliation and terror seized him in equal measure. He saw the cold promise of pain in the Boggart-Hermione's eyes. He raised his wand, his hand shaking, and tried to remember the spell.
"R-r-ridicu!" he stammered.
The spell failed. But the intensity of his subconscious fear and a massive, unspoken internal desire slammed into the Boggart. The terrifying, cruel Hermione dissolved, and the Boggart transformed again.
The creature's posture softened. Its fierce eyes became large, watery, and blue, like a frightened fawn's. The cruel sneer smoothed out into a plump, pouting mouth. Its intense, severe black robes shimmered with a faint, soft-pink glow, and the whole figure tilted its head, looking at Malfoy with a look of helpless, innocent appeal.
The chaotic laughter in the room stopped instantly, replaced by a collective, stunned silence.
"Wow," someone finally breathed.
The Boggart was now a sweet, saccharine, devastatingly cute Hermione. A completely docile, utterly affectionate "soft girl" whose entire being screamed purity and vulnerability.
"She's… she's so adorable," a seventh-year boy whispered, his knees weak.
Malfoy stared at the figure, his own internal world collapsing. This was the person his heart secretly feared the most: not the cruel witch, but the soft Hermione. The Hermione he secretly harbored an intense, embarrassing attraction for.
The real Hermione, who had been leaning against the back wall, enjoying the show, went rigid. Her eyes fixed on the Boggart, and her skin, which was usually pale, began to turn a sickly, vibrant shade of HULK GREEN.
No! The silent, primal roar tore through her mind. That's the weakness! That's the opposite! That's the version of me I killed!
The Boggart had exposed her ultimate psychological fault line. The version of herself that was sweet, pliable, and defenseless. The anger, massive and uncontrollable, surged through her, shaking her entire body.
"Professor!" Malfoy shrieked, pointing at the sweet, cooing Boggart. "I—I don't know what happened! I don't! It must be a mistake!"
The Boggart tilted its head, its voice a soft, melodious whisper. "W-why are you looking at me like that?"
Malfoy, utterly defeated, could only manage one, desperate, final thought: I'm finished. She saw it. She knows.