"Mr. Dursley really is something else," a young witch said, her voice full of awe. "No flaws, no fears—nothing scares him!"
Her words sparked a chorus of agreement from the other young wizards around her.
"I've never seen Mr. Dursley afraid of anything," one piped up.
"Trolls, Basilisks, even those Dementors outside—Mr. Dursley handles them all like it's nothing," another added.
The Discipline Committee members puffed out their chests, basking in the praise as if it were meant for them. Lupin, meanwhile, gave Dudley a curious glance. Even he had things he feared, but this kid? Dumbledore had mentioned him more than once for a reason.
"Boggarts are shape-shifters," Dudley said slowly, his voice loud enough for everyone to hear as he repeated the creature's traits. "They turn into whatever you fear most."
The Boggart on the floor stayed in the form of a harmless clip, as if it couldn't sense Dudley at all.
"Professor Lupin, that spell you taught us is brilliant," Dudley continued. "It deals with Boggarts in a snap. But from what I know, there are two other ways to stop a Boggart from transforming."
He tapped his temple. "One is to have no fear at all—nothing for it to latch onto. The other? Occlumency. It blocks any kind of mental probing, including from Boggarts."
Lupin nodded, impressed. "Exactly right, Mr. Dursley. Those are two other ways to handle a Boggart. But let's be honest—most wizards can't pull either of those off."
The students nodded, soaking it in. A few Muggle-born witches and wizards whispered to their friends, asking what in the world "Occlumency" was. After all, fearlessness was one thing, but Occlumency? That was a rare skill. Only a handful of wizards in the entire magical world could master it.
"Professor," Dudley said, a spark of mischief in his eyes, "I've got a bold idea. Can a Boggart transform into something I want it to be?"
The moment he'd seen the red "TAMABLE" label hovering over the Boggart's head, his mind had started racing. Whether its transformations were illusions or real, a Boggart could be incredibly useful. If it was just an illusion, it'd be like having a master of disguise, a Zoroark. If it was solid? A Ditto, capable of becoming anything.
"What do you mean?" Lupin asked, puzzled.
Dudley twirled his wand in a slow, deliberate circle. "Like this."
The Boggart, still a clip on the floor, began to shift. Lupin nodded, recognizing the spell. "A clever Confundus Charm," he said.
A well-cast Confundus could throw a Boggart off, making it misjudge what it was supposed to become. In a way, the "Riddikulus" spell was a cousin of the Confundus family.
But Lupin's calm didn't last. The Boggart morphed into a figure—a man in black robes with a bald head and, most strikingly, no nose.
"Who's that guy? A professor?" one student blurted out. "Why doesn't he have a nose?"
The other young wizards burst into laughter, poking fun at the figure's appearance.
"Blimey, he's ugly!" one said.
"His skin's so pale, it's like he's been dunked in flour!" another chimed in.
"His teeth are all rotten!"
"Anyone else smell garlic? He stinks!"
"It's like that canned fish I tried in Germany," another added, wrinkling their nose.
The students weren't scared—they knew it was just a Boggart. Even if it turned into a dragon, they'd probably keep joking. But Lupin's expression darkened. His hand gripped his wand tightly, his eyes locked on the figure. He knew exactly who this was. He'd seen him before, fought him alongside the Potters.
Harry and Neville, too, stared wide-eyed. They'd seen that face before—on the back of Quirrell's head.
Voldemort. The Dark Lord.
If the students knew, it'd cause a panic. They'd heard of "You-Know-Who," but his actual appearance? Most had no clue. Even parents who'd seen Voldemort wouldn't describe his face to their kids.
"Everyone, step back!" Lupin ordered, his voice sharp. He couldn't let this go on. "Riddikulus!"
Even as a Boggart, this was far more dangerous than the Dementors outside. But the figure reacted instantly, pointing a finger that shot green sparks, blocking Lupin's spell.
The students gasped. "Whoa, he's strong! He blocked the professor's spell!"
"Since when are Boggarts that powerful?" another asked. The Boggarts they'd faced earlier could barely dodge, let alone fight back.
"Why did Mr. Dursley make it turn into that?" a Slytherin student wondered aloud, sharper than the others but still clueless about the figure's identity.
No one could've guessed Dudley had conjured a Voldemort.
"Fascinating," Dudley said, stroking his chin. "It's got some of the real thing's power, but not all of it."
A Boggart could take on traits of whatever it became. If someone feared a Dementor, it'd mimic one, even pulling off a weaker version of a Dementor's Kiss. That's why the Ministry classified Boggarts as dark magical creatures. Their danger depended on what you feared. If your worst fear was a pile of dung, a thousand Boggarts turning into dung would just be gross, not deadly.
The Boggart-Voldemort glanced at its charred fingertips, a faint smirk crossing its egg-white face. Boggarts had some intelligence, but how much depended on what they transformed into. A dung-Boggart? No brains, no movement. But this one? It thrived on fear, growing stronger with every ounce it absorbed.
It turned to Lupin, its lipless mouth splitting into a grating laugh. "Heh heh heh, you're afraid of me!"
Lupin's face tightened. He'd faced the real Voldemort before, and this Boggart was feeding off that fear, growing stronger by the second. In the books, Voldemort had undergone countless magical transformations, emerging so altered that few recognized him when he returned.