The Staff Room felt like it had been plunged into a deep-sea trench. The silence was heavy, broken only by the sharp, ragged gasps of the students. The entity standing before Allen wasn't just a ghost; it was a concentrated manifestation of pure, unadulterated spite. Its skin was the color of a drowned corpse, and its eyes—dark, wet, and wide—seemed to be screaming a million curses at once.
Allen felt a cold sweat prickle his hairline. He was genuinely stunned. He'd spent years convincing himself that the baggage of his previous life had been left at the door of his rebirth. He thought he'd grown, evolved, and become a master of his own psyche. But apparently, some scars don't fade; they just wait for the right trigger.
This wasn't a wizarding ghost. This was a J-Horror nightmare from a life he'd lived long ago. He remembered it clearly now: the flickering screen of a forbidden movie, the heavy, oppressive dread of the "Ju-on" curse, and the name that had once made his blood turn to ice—Kayako Saeki.
Back in his old life, that movie had sent him into a week-long delirious fever. He had been a kid, vulnerable and imaginative, and Kayako had become the architect of his every nightmare. For a long time, he couldn't even look at a dark corner without expecting to hear that signature, guttural death rattle.
When he'd arrived in this world of magic, he'd almost laughed at the "scary" things wizards feared. The ghosts at Hogwarts were, frankly, charming. Sir Nicholas was a gentleman, the Fat Friar was a delight, and even the Bloody Baron, for all his chains and gore, was just a grumpy aristocrat with a tragic backstory. They were people. Kayako, however, was a force of nature—a cycle of unending resentment.
Seeing her here, in the middle of a Hogwarts classroom, was surreal. Those eyes were locked onto his, and for a split second, Allen felt like he was back in that cursed house, hearing the floorboards creak above him.
He glanced down at his feet, almost expecting to see a small, pale boy—Toshio—crouching there, staring up with cat-like eyes.
Get it together, Allen, he told himself, his knuckles white around his wand. This isn't Tokyo. This isn't a movie. You're a wizard, and that thing is just a shapeshifting pile of smoke.
"Riddikulus!" Allen's voice boomed, cutting through the silence like a thunderclap.
The transformation was instantaneous and absurd. Kayako didn't just change; she began to puff up like a giant, over-inflated parade balloon. Her hollow cheeks filled out with rosy, farm-girl fat, her terrifying eyes squeezed into tiny, happy slits by the sheer volume of her face. Her long, matted black hair suddenly wove itself into two neat, bouncy pigtails tied with bright pink ribbons.
Without that chilling gaze, she looked like a local villager who had eaten too many meat pies. Allen couldn't help it—the contrast was so ridiculous that he let out a genuine, booming laugh.
Bang!
The Boggart couldn't handle the shift from bone-deep terror to belly-aching laughter. It exploded into a thousand wisps of harmless white smoke, drifting lazily toward the ceiling.
"Superb! Absolutely magnificent!" Professor Lupin shouted over the roar of applause.
The Ravenclaws were cheering with a mixture of relief and awe. Some of them looked like they were on the verge of tears—they'd been so caught up in Allen's fear that they'd forgotten it wasn't real. To them, the "female ghost" was a new kind of terror they hadn't even imagined in their worst dreams.
"Excellent work, everyone," Lupin said, his face glowing with pride. "Let's settle the scores... Five points to Ravenclaw for a collective display of courage, and an additional ten points to Mr. Harris for a perfect, textbook dismissal of a high-level manifestation."
Lupin leaned against his desk, looking refreshed. "That concludes our first practical. For your homework, I'd like a concise summary of Boggart behavior—keep it simple, focused on the 'why' rather than just the 'how.' Due Monday. Dismissed!"
As they filed out, the hallway was a buzz of frantic conversation. Allen walked in a bit of a daze. Seeing Kayako had opened a door in his mind he wasn't sure he was ready to walk through. It was a reminder that he wasn't just Allen Harris, the prodigy; he was still a man with two lives worth of baggage.
"Hey, Allen! Wait up!"
Lisa Turpin caught up to him, her face still a bit pale. "I honestly thought I was the only one who had a thing about creepy ladies in white. But yours... Merlin, Allen, where did you even see something like that? It looked like it wanted to swallow the whole room."
Allen offered a small, tired smile. "Let's just say she's a specialized nightmare. She's the kind of horror that transcends the difference between Muggles and wizards. She's universal."
"I'm just glad she's gone," Lisa shivered. "I'm definitely looking forward to Lupin's next class, though. He's the first teacher who's actually made me feel like I can do this."
Defense Against the Dark Arts quickly became the highlight of the week for almost everyone. The only ones who weren't enjoying the new curriculum were Draco Malfoy and his Slytherin circle.
"Did you see the state of his cuffs?" Malfoy drawled loudly as they walked through the courtyard. "He looks like he's been sleeping in a haystack. I've seen better-dressed house-elves at Malfoy Manor."
Ever since Allen had humiliated him in the Great Hall, Draco had been keeping a wary distance. He knew he couldn't win a direct magical confrontation, so he resorted to what he knew best: petty insults and mockery.
When the rumor spread that the great Allen Harris was "scared of a girl in a white dress," Malfoy found his new favorite weapon. Whenever Allen passed by, Draco and his cronies would pull their hair over their faces and make weird croaking sounds, trying to trigger a reaction.
Allen ignored it for three days. On the fourth day, he decided he'd had enough of the blonde pest.
Deep within his "Encyclopedia of Spells," Allen found exactly what he needed: the Nightmare Charm. It wasn't a dark curse, but it was incredibly finicky. It required a specific mental anchor to be 'planted' in the target's subconscious. It was difficult to cast without being noticed, but Allen was a master of subtle wandwork.
Every day during lunch, Allen would take the long way to the Ravenclaw table, walking right behind the Slytherin bench.
"Allen, why do you keep doing that?" Penelope Clearwater asked, watching him with a frown. "You're literally walking into their line of fire. Malfoy's being a total brat."
"Think of it as character building, Penny," Allen said with a wink. "I'm testing my patience."
Luna Lovegood, who was staring intently at the back of Malfoy's head, suddenly spoke up. "Malfoy's aura is turning a very sickly shade of grey. I think he's having a disagreement with his dreams."
Penelope looked at Allen, her eyes narrowing. "What did you do?"
"Nothing major," Allen whispered, leaning in. "I just introduced him to a new friend. He's going on a series of very vivid, very long dates with Kayako. She's quite the conversationalist."
"Who?"
"An old acquaintance. Someone who makes 'The Bloody Baron' look like a cuddly bunny," Allen chuckled.
By the end of the week, the change in Malfoy was undeniable. The arrogance had evaporated, replaced by a twitchy, frantic energy. His pristine platinum hair looked like he hadn't combed it in days, and there were dark, purple bags under his bloodshot eyes. He looked like a man who hadn't slept since the 19th century.
As the Slytherins left the Great Hall, Malfoy was practically being carried by Crabbe and Goyle. He kept glancing over his shoulder, his hands shaking.
At the threshold, he bumped right into Cho Chang. Cho was wearing her white summer robes, her long black hair straight and shining in the sunlight.
Malfoy looked at her, let out a high-pitched, strangled shriek, and shoved Goyle aside as he sprinted down the corridor like his life depended on it.
Cho stood there, blinking in confusion, before walking over to the Ravenclaw table and sitting down next to Allen.
"Did I do something wrong?" she asked, bewildered. "Malfoy looked like he'd seen a ghost. A really, really bad one."
"Oh, ignore him, Cho," Allen said, struggling to keep a straight face. "He's just realized that white robes and long black hair are a devastating combination. Personally, I think it's your best look. Very... striking."
Penelope kicked Allen under the table, but he just grinned. He'd never been one to shower girls with blatant compliments, but watching Malfoy's terrified retreat made him feel particularly generous.
With Malfoy effectively sidelined by his own subconscious, the atmosphere in the school improved significantly. Even the Slytherins stopped complaining about Lupin's wardrobe—partly because Malfoy wasn't leading the charge, and partly because the classes were just too good to hate.
They moved on from Boggarts to Red Caps—nasty, club-wielding goblins that Allen described as "violent toddlers with a blood fetish." Then came the Kappas, the scaled, monkey-like water demons. Allen became the star of these lessons, consistently racking up ten points a session for his perfect demonstrations of containment charms and his encyclopedic knowledge of creature weaknesses.
For Allen, Defense Against the Dark Arts wasn't just a class anymore; it was a playground where he could finally bridge the gap between his two lives, one spell at a time.