Draco let out a startled yell, reacting with lightning speed. He kicked off the sofa and dove to the side.
It was a textbook Quidditch maneuver for dodging a Bludger, just as Professor Lockhart had taught him—use the skills honed in Quidditch matches to aid in combat.
And it worked. A foul, rancid gust swept past as a massive, furry beast missed him and crashed into the fireplace, letting out a furious roar.
He saw it clearly now.
A werewolf!
This town actually had a werewolf!
"Ron! Ron!" Draco shouted, lunging toward Ron and shaking his arm desperately.
But no matter how loudly he called, Ron remained fast asleep, oblivious.
"Damn it, damn it!"
Draco was panicking. "Wake up, you bloody Weasley!"
He slapped Ron hard across the face, finally rousing him.
Ron blinked groggily, rubbing his stinging cheek, looking confused. "Why does my face hurt? What did you do to me while I was drunk?"
"Run, you idiot!" Draco's voice was laced with terror as he saw the werewolf struggling to free itself from the fireplace. He grabbed Ron's arm, trying to drag him away.
But the werewolf was too fast.
It burst from the fireplace, sending a cloud of ash swirling through the air, and was on them in an instant.
The beast's struggle in the fireplace had clearly enraged it. It wasn't interested in infecting this young wizard—it wanted blood. Its razor-sharp claws slashed toward Draco.
Fast. Incredibly fast!
But not as fast as a Golden Snitch.
To his astonishment, Draco found he could track every detail of the werewolf's movements, anticipate its next attack, just as he predicted the Snitch's path in a match.
He ducked low, scrambling backward on all fours toward the left.
Sure enough, the werewolf missed again.
It crashed into a nearby cabinet, smashing it to splinters.
"Run!" Draco didn't have time to worry about Ron anymore. He'd done all he could. He turned, slammed the door open, and bolted outside.
Glancing back as he ran, he realized the werewolf wasn't chasing him. From the dark doorway, he heard its furious roars and Ron's terrified, desperate screams.
"Aaahhh!"
Ron's cry turned blood-curdling, ending with the sickening crunch of breaking bones. Then silence.
Draco swallowed hard, his heart pounding, and sprinted toward the hunter's tavern—the only safe place in this town.
A gentle breeze rustled through the Białowieża Forest, the sunlight warm and bright.
Ron yelped as he stumbled to the ground, flailing his arms wildly before blinking in confusion.
"I'm not dead?"
He frantically patted himself down, checking his neck to make sure there wasn't a gaping hole. Finally, he let out a shaky breath of relief.
Coming to terms with the sudden attack, he looked around, bewildered.
This was the forest lake where they'd first arrived through the fireplace. Lockhart was there, wand raised, painting a vivid, dreamlike world. Everyone else stood frozen within that scene, like statues.
He called out to them. "Professor Lockhart? Harry? Hermione?"
No one responded. They were like carvings, unmoving.
He tried to approach, but no matter how he tried, he couldn't step into the scene.
Despair crept in as he stared blankly around. "What do I do now?"
No one answered. No one could.
He tried talking to Lockhart's terrifying pets, but the dark magical creatures ignored him. Defeated, he shuffled to a large rock by the lake, curled up, propped his head in his hands, and stared at the others.
Maybe they'd wake up soon.
He hoped.
But they didn't.
He waited until night fell, his stomach growling, the forest's chilly wind whistling around him. Nothing changed.
It was an endlessly long night. Reflecting on this adventure, he felt a wave of frustration and shame.
He'd been so comfortable in that wealthy, pampered life as an only child, so much so that he hadn't wanted to leave the town to join the twins and the others at the circus.
He'd never had a life like that—parents and relatives doting on him, good friends by his side, even if Harry had somehow turned into Draco.
The shame hit harder.
Professor Lockhart had called this an adventure, but he'd abandoned it. He'd chosen to stay put, betraying the faith Lockhart had shown when he gave him his wand.
He could've done better.
His "father" in that world had hunters under his command. Ron could've used that influence to help the group's adventure.
But he hadn't.
And to top it all off, he'd gotten drunk—for the most ridiculous reason.
Ron slapped himself again, not as hard this time, but his cheek still burned.
Being drunk felt awful. When Malfoy had been dragging him, shouting, Ron had been too weak to even try to escape.
He sighed heavily, unsure how he'd face everyone now.
He fidgeted with his wand, stirring the lake water, lost in worry.
He was always such a disappointment. His brothers and sister were all so talented, so brilliant, and he was just… terrible.
He stared helplessly at the sky, drowning in teenage despair.
But then, he rubbed his eyes, squinting.
What was that?
Ron scrambled to his feet, gripping his wand tightly, staring into the pitch-black night sky.
There it was!
A massive, crimson cloak with a hood, its hem billowing across the sky, large enough to cover the heavens.
It flickered, like the Muggle television his dad kept in the shed, the screen blinking from a bad connection.
Suddenly, he heard bubbles breaking the lake's surface.
Looking down, he saw a round, colorful fish—like a balloon with webbed feet—paddling like a duck.
A flash of blue light streaked past as one of Lockhart's pets swooped in, snatching the fish from the water and soaring upward.
Crunch!
The sound of snapping bones turned Ron pale, instantly reminding him of the werewolf snapping his neck.
But then, Lockhart's pet dropped the fish, seemingly unimpressed, and flew back to its master's shoulder.
If you're not eating it, I will!
Ron was starving. He leaned over the rock, stretching to grab the floating fish, but it was just out of reach.
A stick! He'd use a stick.
But before he could act, a golden flash darted across the lake. That golden monkey, one of Lockhart's pets, scooped up the fish and pried out an oval-shaped bone that gleamed like a jewel.
The monkey scampered over, holding out the fish. "Guji?"
"For me?" Ron asked.
The monkey nodded, waiting for Ron to take it before playing with the bone and scampering back to Lockhart.
Ron looked at the fish, then at the monkey. "Thank you," he said earnestly.
But could he eat it?
He didn't know. All he knew was he was starving.
He gathered some branches, piled them by the lake, and used his wand to light a fire.
Skewering the fish on a stick, he roasted it over the flames. It was surprisingly delicious—tender, savory, even without salt or spices. He nearly crunched through the fish's skull in his hunger.
Finally full, he sat back, unsure what to do next.
Looking at Lockhart and the others, sadness welled up. "They're still out there, adventuring, and I'm stuck here…"
He was so unwilling to accept it.
He'd always wanted a chance to prove himself, but when the moment came, he always messed it up.
"What do I do?"
"What's that cloak in the sky?"
Just then, a swirl of black smoke crashed in front of him, forming a figure in a tattered wizard's robe, its hooded face a dark void. Lockhart's voice emerged. "Ron, you said there's a cloak in the sky?"
Ron's face lit up with excitement. "Professor! Haha, finally, someone's talking to me!"
The figure approached, a pale, skeletal hand reaching out to ruffle Ron's hair. "We all need to learn to embrace loneliness, to find our true selves. Ron, maybe your adventure isn't with the group—it's about moving forward on your own."
Ron stared, still too young to fully grasp the words.
Lockhart didn't dwell on it. "I'm in a bit of a complicated state and can't stay like this for long. Ron, are you sure there's a wizard's robe up there?"
Ron nodded, pointing. "Yes, Professor, look! It's huge, bright red!"
Lockhart could communicate through the Boggart but couldn't sense magical phenomena through it. He nodded. "Ron, I need your help. Are you willing?"
"Of course!" Ron was thrilled, desperate to be useful. "Professor, just tell me what to do!"
"Cast a Patronus Charm at the cloak in the sky. I know you might not be able to hit it yet, but you have to try. Helping from this dimension will make things easier for us in there."
Ron's face fell. He knew his Patronus Charm was pathetic—a faint silver wisp you could barely see unless you squinted.
Hit a cloak that high up? Was that even possible?
"Believe in your strength! Believe in the power of your heart!" Lockhart's voice was warm, encouraging. "Find the joy and beauty deep inside, Ron. I believe in you."
But… I don't believe in myself.
Ron opened his mouth to protest, but the figure dissolved into black smoke, crashing beside Lockhart and transforming into a towering, axe-wielding beast.
Ron scratched his head, frustrated.
If only the Patronus Charm drew on fear instead of joy—he'd have no problem. Spiders used to be his worst fear, but now werewolves had joined the list.
That would've been easy.
But joy and beauty in his heart?
What did he even have?
One thing he knew for sure: he couldn't let everyone down again. He didn't want to be overlooked anymore. He… he didn't want to be invisible in the crowd ever again!