Third year had barely begun, and it was already looking grim.

Harry Potter had also fainted. And privately, Xavier had told her that Malfoy had as well. Drew didn't know what to make of that.

The Dementors floated around Hogwarts, "protecting" the students from Sirius Black, who the Ministry was somehow convinced would come to a school. Drew wondered just how many students were going to be seriously affected by the soul-sucking monsters.

Only a week into the term, Cyndee had fallen unconscious again when she came face-to-face with one in the corridor on her way out of a bathroom. Carolina, their seventh-year prefect, had found her bleeding from the head in the middle of the corridor. That was when Drew decreed that Cyndee was not permitted to walk the castle halls alone.

Anyway, their very first class was Divination, and to describe it in just one non-swear word, it was bizarre.

First and foremost, it was in an attic.

They had to climb up the North Tower and through a circular trapdoor. The classroom itself resembled a cross between a musty attic and an old-fashioned teashop.

Drew sat between Wilby and Cyndee at a small cloth-covered table, flipping through the textbook and noting the abominations.

Professor Trelawney kind of reminded Drew of a hippie. She was thin, dressed in a gauzy and starry shawl. Beads, bangles, and chains decorating her spindly limbs and neck. On every stick-like finger, she wore a glittering ring of every colour of the rainbow and more. But most prominent were her eyes.

She wore spectacles of the thickest glass, which magnified her eyes beyond proper human anatomy.

"Is she blind?" Drew whispered to her friends.

"She could be," Wilby said back. "We could also be blind to whatever she's seeing."

"Oh stop," Drew grumbled. She stopped at a page titled Healing Crystals. "Oh god, not these."

That was when Professor Trelawney introduced herself, then pranced around like a deranged bat, spewing predictions to gain their favour.

"Fifth year," she said, pointing at Wilby.

"Actually, I'm in third," he informed her politely.

"No no," she held her temple dramatically. "Something will happen in your fifth year..."

The class waited for her to continue.

She shook her head, "That's when it will happen."

Drew was utterly unimpressed. The old nutcase might as well have predicted that the earth will sometimes grow things. "Could you be more specific?"

Trelawney closed her eyes and thought for a few seconds. "Him. You'll find him."

And with that, she marched over to Padma Patil and her friends, leaving the three to ponder her words.

"What are the chances that she means the Death Eater?" Wilby asked.

"I don't know," Drew conceded, not sure whether it'd be better to say that it's likely or unlikely. " 'Him' could literally be any guy in the world. Plus, she could've just plucked that prediction out of a hat. But...you never know."

Hearing her interpretation and taking it as a cue to come on over again, Trelawney unwelcomely floated over to them. She stared straight into Drew's soul without any consent. "The thing you dread. It will happen during the most cloudless of days."

Drew swallowed. No, she was not going to think about that now. Not going to even acknowledge it.

Wilby shot her a knowing look which she ignored, and Cyndee leaned forward curiously, "What do you dread?"

"I don't know," Drew retorted testily, defences rising like tower walls. "Wilby growing a mustache."

As Wilby examined his reflection in a nearby crystal ball, Trelawney directed her bug-eyed gaze to her next victim, Cyndee. "What's your name, dear?"

She hesitated, and gave Drew a nervous sideways glance, "Cyndee Piramyd."

"Mmm hmmm," the teacher murmured thoughtfully. "Is that your only name?"

"Yes."

"Everything is volatile and evanescent with you, dear. I'll try to figure you out some other day. Today we are starting with tea leaves."

She commenced with the teacup ritual.

Half an hour later, Drew was declaring that Cyndee was going to vanish into oblivion due to an accident related to dirt. Cyndee was half-sure that Wilby would experience great happiness after becoming acquainted with a deadly creature. Wilby squinted at his textbook and announced that Drew would suffer from an attack but be showered with unexpected cats.

"Either that or more suffering," Wilby said, peering at the margins. He sounded very unsure.

"Give me that," Drew turned his book around and scanned the section he'd been reading. She eyed her teacup. "That is so not an arch. That's a sadistic smile which means I'll become a serial killer."

Wilby took her cup and turned it. "Oh, I see it now."

Cyndee arched her eyebrows, "She's a future serial killer?"

"Yeah," he muttered, turning a few pages.

"Wait, seriously?" Drew asked in disbelief, trying to see.

"Nah," he gave the cup back. "It's a happy smile, which means you're a wonderful human being who deserves all the love in the—ah!"

She'd chucked a crystal ball at him.

 * ° * ° *

If the man-eating textbooks were politely ignored, Care of Magical Creatures had potential. Only, Draco Malfoy had parents who didn't give up trying for a kid when they should've. Therefore, he existed. And needless to say, he took matters into his own little arrogant hands and ruined it all.

Honestly, fainting did not come with a bonus right to become an uptight drama queen.

Drew, Wilby, and Cyndee had all managed to get Buckbeak the hippogriff to bow to them. They even got to pet him. His feathers were soft like the best pillow, and Drew wanted to stick her face into his fluffy neck. Jinx was never going to bow to her like Bucky would.

Naturally, Malfoy had to earn himself a little scratch on the arm for being an idiot. Once that happened, he — to the chagrin of the other Slytherins — proceeded to scream like a banshee and flop around the floor like a useless prat.

He'd toned the shrieking down by the time he'd gone to the Hospital Wing and returned to the common room.

The dungeons had been filled with the usual subdued chatter before his arrival. Duncan was arranging his pastel pink dreadlocks, ignoring the scorn Eliza sent his way. Seventh years discussed their Potions homework by the fire. Drew and Wilby tested Jinx's intelligence by having her find a treat under one of three cups. Quentin read what looked like a mystery novel while Xavier berated a first year for spilling pumpkin juice all over someone's pet snake.

Then Malfoy had burst onto the scene, collapsing melodramatically onto a vacant couch. Pansy doted on him with genuine worry, and Malfoy pressed the back of his other hand against his forehead, recounting his tale of great sorrow and stupidity.

By the third exaggerated narration, Xavier had angrily ordered the cretin to shut his trap, with the rest of the Slytherins nodding their agreement.

"But then what?" Pansy whispered fearfully to him, still craving to learn more.

Malfoy looked away, keeping his voice low but loud enough for everyone to hear, "I fought the dreaded creature. I drove him away with all the knowledge of magic I knew."

"No!" Pansy gasped. "All by yourself?"

"Pansy," Drew groaned, setting down Jinx's treat. "You were there."

"Then what?" the pureblood cried to Malfoy, completely ignoring her.

 * ° * ° *

Defence Against the Dark Arts came on Tuesday, and it was only Slytherins. Remus Lupin proved to be loads superior to the stuttery Quirrell or the weasel-haired Lockhart.

Professor Lupin was dressed in shabby robes that Malfoy had turned pale at, and he led them to the staffroom, announcing that they'll be having a practical lesson.

"If it's more Cornish pixies I'll smash them into pixie dust," Drew growled.

Wilby stared at her, "Whoa."

"Joking..." Drew amended, albeit unconvincingly.

They arrived in a long panelled room scattered with mismatched chairs. A tall wooden wardrobe stood at the end of it. "Today we shall be dealing with the boggart," said Professor Lupin. "I had the fortune to discover one in the teacher's wardrobe. They like dark, enclosed spaces, so closets, cupboards, and the spaces beneath beds are the ideal place for them. Does anyone know what a boggart is?"

"It's a shape-shifter," Isabell — cringe — spoke up. "It'll take the form of whatever it thinks will scare us the most." 

"Exactly right. Five points to Slytherin." He strode to the armoire and patted it. He explained how they would have an advantage over it, since it would become confused as to whose fear to morph into. Next, he had them practice the spell a few times.

"This class is Riddikulus," Malfoy scoffed.

Drew clapped mockingly, "Oh wow, I bet nobody ever thought to make that pun. I think you're the first. Want to patent it now?"

Malfoy stared at her, "What in Merlin's beard is a patent?"

"Oh never mind," Drew sighed.

Professor Lupin had them line up, and when they were all ready, flicked his wand. With a creak, the doors spilled open.

Eliza was up first, and to Drew's absolute amusement, the boggart that stepped out had been her.

The boggart Drew didn't even say anything. Just stood there and glared with its arms crossed.

Eliza stared at the two Drews uncertainly.

"Riddikulus," Lupin gently reminded her.

"Right," she muttered, sighing inwardly. "Riddikulus!"

The boggart froze into solid ice, then tipped forward and smashed into pieces.

"Isabell!"  the professor beckoned.

Eliza scurried out of the way as Isabell stepped forward, and the boggart reformed into a towering fanged serpent with vivid green scales.

The Basilisk.

"Riddikulus!"  There was a snap, and the snake became a small colourful slinky.

"Draco!" shouted Professor Lupin.

Malfoy rapidly shook his head, dodging behind Goyle. "No. Absolutely not. Do you see my arm?" He waved around his totally-broken-appendage, "I could get even more seriously injured."

"Alright alright," the professor relented. "Come on then, Gregory. Quickly!"

The Slytherins mocked Malfoy for his refusal. "Oh shut it," he complained. Then, more quietly, "Like you lot would dare shoot a spell at your father's face."

Before Drew could process this, it was Wilby's turn.

The class stared in shock as a green misty light formed a skull high above their heads, a fierce viper bursting out of its wide-open mouth.

"The Dark Mark," Drew whispered. Of course he would be afraid of that. She imagined him coming home one day to see the sign of Death Eaters floating over his house. To realize that his mother had been attacked again.

The thought was too horrible to dwell on, and Drew watched Wilby.

He only hesitated for a second. "Riddikulus!" he shouted. She watched as cracks somehow formed along the skull's surface, widening and spreading until the whole thing burst into colourful confetti.

"Very good!" Professor Lupin praised. He gave Wilby a kind smile, "You'll have no problem with boggarts, Wilby. Next!"

Cyndee stepped up in front of the boggart, shaking with nerves.

The confetti dulled to black and brown, then merged and expanded to a massive Doberman, almost the same height as the closet. Its ears were pointed up, and a black collar with a broken chain attached to it was around its neck. The dog growled, baring impossibly sharp teeth and glaring down at her with fierce dark eyes.

Cyndee blanched, taking a step backwards.

"You can do it, Cyndee!" Drew encouraged. "Just use the spell!"

Cyndee raised her wand, but the boggart changed, and her wand hand shook.

Professor Lupin stared in confusion, "But she's the only one there..."

The canine had shrunk down to a little boy of around eight with mousy brown hair and sky blue eyes that were unnaturally blank. Dried blood ran down his head and to his clothes, and he wasn't moving.

Cyndee pressed her hands over her ears, spinning away. Her face was aghast. "No! No!" she screamed. "He's not dead he's not dead!"

Professor Lupin ushered her out of the way, "Duncan! You next."

Torch came forward, and the boggart turned into a filthy rat, but not before the young boy's face came to life and twisted into a snarl still directed at Cyndee, "You're not real."

"Cyndee?" the professor cried, coming over to her. "Are you alright? You can go to the Hospital Wing if you'd like."

"Come on," Drew placed a hand on her shoulder. "Cyndee, it's okay. You can go lie down at Madam Pomfrey's."

Cyndee shook her head stiffly, "No, it's fine. I'm alright now." Her voice was not as soft as usual.

Drew studied her. She didn't understand how, but her friend really did seem fine, and it unnerved her. It was as if she'd just gone out for ice cream. Nevertheless, Drew still wanted another confirmation, "Cyndee, you sure?"

"Don't call me that," she said curtly.

Drew blinked, "What?"

Cyndee broke into a sudden and misplaced playful grin, "Sorry. Don't mind that. I do want to see what your boggart is though."

"Who was that boy you saw?" Blaise asked her, and her smile wilted and died. "Was he your...cousin?"

"I guess so," she grumbled, turning away.

Something was really up with Cyndee Piramyd, but Drew couldn't figure out what. Her changing moods was causing them all a lot of confusion. She glanced at the two guys for an explanation, but Wilby looked just as clueless. Blaise appeared to be thinking about something.

Drew led Cyndee to the door, "Are you aware of how, er, weird you're acting? I kind of noticed it last year, but after what happened on the train, I'm really noticing it."

Cyndee's eyes went wide as galleons. "I-I'm real!" she insisted. "You think I-I'm real, right?"

Drew stared at her, not understanding why on earth she'd feel like she wasn't. "Of course I do. I'm not imagining you."

The blonde clutched her head and stumbled. "Headache," she moaned softly, "I have a h-headache."

"Wilby," Drew snapped her fingers and he plodded over. "Get her to the Hospital Wing."

He nodded, taking her arm. "This way," he guided her one way, then turned back around. "Wait no, this way."

"Something's wrong with her," Drew told Blaise once they'd exited. "We've got to find out exactly what it is and help her."

Zabini sighed, "Sometimes I feel like she's being controlled by someone else. You feel that?"

Drew shifted uncomfortably at the thought. "Yeah, I do get that feeling."

Professor Lupin called them over. Torch was shooting the spell at his boggart repeatedly and entertaining the class.

"Is your friend alright?" Lupin asked Drew worriedly.

"She'll be fine," she assured him, and he nodded, relieved.

"Riddikulus!" Torch shouted. The giant scorpion changed into a five-layer cake, which Lupin sent floating back into the closet.

"Are you ready?" the professor asked her, watching the wardrobe shake as the creature tried to break out.

Drew readied her wand. "Yes."

Lupin instructed her to stand in front of the wardrobe, Blaise just steps behind her.

"What are you most afraid of?" Lupin questioned her.

Drew shrugged, not really knowing. How was she to know what she was most afraid of? "Wasps or something."

The teacher considered this. "Perhaps think about turning them into candy. Just remember, think of a happy memory."

She watched as the DADA professor spoke an incantation, and the closet burst open, spilling out Wilby Blue covered in blood.

The students gasped, and Drew's heart skipped a beat. At first, seeing the crimson liquid dripping down his clothes, she thought her boggart was Wilby getting injured.

It made sense, only it wasn't.

Drew stared uneasily as the boggart broke into a crooked and unpained smile that Wilby would never wear, and should never.

He continued to grin, bringing a serrated knife out from behind his back. Not even a wand, but a knife. "He hurt her. He deserved it. They all deserved it. Whoever tries to stop me deserves to die."

Drew's head spun. Wilby would never say that. Wilby wouldn't kill anyone. She tried to think of a happy memory, but most of them involved Wilby and he was glaring at her murderously.

"Drew..." Blaise said nervously from behind her.

"Do you want me to take care of it?" Lupin whispered to her, quiet enough so that the class wouldn't overhear.

"Are you going to stop me!?" the boggart bellowed at her, thunderously loud. He seemed to be getting bigger, feeding off of her fear. "If I became evil and killed everyone, would you kill me?! You can't!"

"No," Drew glared right back. "There's no way in hell you're turning into this. You are a literal ball of sunshine. You are a literal basket of annoying puppies. And you're not like this." She waved her wand, concentrating on the real Wilby. More specifically, the time he got frosting all over his face while devouring his birthday cake. Yes, that was a happy memory. "Riddikulus!"

A humongous and unflattering mustache popped onto his face, and he shrieked in fear. "I don't know how to shave!" he panicked, voice squeaking.

Lupin shot a spell that sent Wilby hurtling back into the wardrobe. "I think that's enough for today. Class, word of anyone's boggart does not leave the classroom. If I find out someone didn't keep their mouth shut, I am deducting all the points from Slytherin. Clear?"

The students nodded vigorously.

"Class dismissed."

"I didn't get to go," Blaise mumbled ruefully to her.

"Oh please," Drew scowled, "you know what you'd see. Yourself with a unibrow and redder hair."

"Wait, what do you mean redder hair?!" Blaise cried, momentarily losing his cool demeanour. "I'm not anywhere near a redhead!"

"That's what you think," Drew said ominously.

Blaise glowered at her. "So, your boggart was interesting."

"Don't tell Wilby," she snapped at him, not in the mood to talk about it. "No sense in upsetting him."

"Alright," he shoved his hands in his robes. "Whatever you say, Your Highness."

Drew huffed, severely annoyed. "Don't start with the sarcasm."

He looked around, "Sarcasm? I don't know her."

"Shut up."

"You know he has a crush on you, right?"

Drew flushed, "Of course I know that. And I said shut up. Or I'll rip the red roots out of your scalp."

He tried to hit her, "Will you quit it with the redhead jokes?!"