Dumbledore studied the boy's face.
No fear. No confusion. No panic.
Just… stillness.
Expressionless, like a quiet lake at midnight. But it wasn't blank. It was focused. Sharp. Like his mind was turning over something far more important than what had just happened.
Not what you'd expect from a fourteen-year-old who'd just caused a Boggart to collapse in on itself.
And certainly not what you'd expect from a Malfoy.
Most kids would have been on the floor, crying or unconscious. Some were. But Draco? He stood there like he was analysing a chessboard, not recovering from a magical outburst.
It was unsettling, and a bit fascinating.
That kind of calm doesn't come from having a fancy last name or generations of pure-blood pride. That comes from someone who truly believes in themselves. Someone with something deeper going on.
Dumbledore cleared his throat gently.
"What did the Boggart turn into, Mr Malfoy?"
A simple question. The one everyone had wanted to ask but hadn't had the chance to.
It wasn't like Dumbledore hadn't seen magic go haywire before. He had, many times. But this? A Boggart too scared to even return to its usual form? That was something else entirely.
Draco blinked, finally turning his head. His voice was quiet. Matter-of-fact.
"Creator."
Dumbledore's brows lifted slightly. Just a twitch. "Creator?" he echoed, voice a bit softer now.
Not accusing. Just curious.
Like he was trying to make sure he had heard it right.
But Draco didn't flinch. Just nodded once.
"Yes. I fear the one responsible for all this. Us. Wizards. Muggles. Beasts. Trees. The stars. The magic that flows through everything. Everything, if there's someone who created it all."
His tone didn't waver. No drama. No hesitation. Just plain, unsettling truth.
Which wasn't wrong, considering the appearance of The Presence and the One Above All.
Telling the truth is often easier than telling a lie. And someone like Dumbledore didn't need magic to tell the difference.
So Draco told the truth. Just differently.
"I fear that my presence here wasn't meant to be. That it was a mistake."
Silence followed.
Even the castle itself seemed to pause, the usual quiet hum of ancient magic holding its breath.
Dumbledore blinked, slowly.
That wasn't the answer he had expected.
He could tell Draco hadn't lied. He didn't need magic for that.
And it made sense, in a strange, uncomfortable way.
He could see it now—why the Boggart had unravelled. That fear, that kind of existential dread, wasn't something you could laugh away with a silly hat or a snort. It was the kind of fear that left a crack in the world.
Most pure-bloods didn't talk about gods or creators. That sort of thinking didn't have much footing in magical circles. Certainly not in families like the Malfoys.
And yet, here was Draco. Talking like a philosopher trapped in a schoolboy's body.
Dumbledore didn't claim to have all the answers. Not in that realm. His knowledge of such matters was patchy at best—some theories, a bit of Muggle reading, the occasional conversation with someone who almost understood.
But he was a headmaster.
And a good one knew when to offer more than just explanations.
He offered steadiness.
"That's quite the perspective, Mr Malfoy," he said, voice calm and kind. "And a unique one, I must admit."
He paused, watching the boy carefully.
"But if I may—based on a great many years and more than a few regrets—I don't believe people end up where they are by accident. Not truly. However strange, however impossible your path may seem, I don't think you are here by mistake."
Draco didn't answer right away.
But something shifted in his expression. Not much. Barely a flicker.
Almost like… relief.
A breath he hadn't realised he'd been holding.
And then, quietly—almost like it was meant only for himself—he said:
"Then I suppose I'll try to believe that too."
"Looks like your attraction toward Potter has rattled your mind, Mr Malfoy."
The words cut in sharp and smooth, Snape's signature brand of criticism curling at the edges with disdain.
But Draco didn't rise to it. He didn't even blink. The cold tone didn't land like it usually might have. There was no flinch, no protest. Just a calm, muted silence as Snape's dark robes flared around him and he stepped closer.
"Sorry, Professor," Draco said quietly, his voice even and steady. "For the trouble caused by me."
Snape's eyes narrowed, not entirely satisfied with the apology, but not sure what to do with a Draco who wasn't defensive or smug. Before he could fire back another jab, Lupin stepped in through the side door.
"I've cleared the others out, Professor," he said with a brief nod.
"Thank you, Remus," Dumbledore replied, nodding.
He appreciated it.
Turning his attention back to Draco, he said, "You should leave too, Mr Malfoy. It's going to be a little dangerous here."
Draco didn't object. He nodded once, then glanced toward the Boggart, which had shifted into a mass of swirling dark clouds, and began walking toward the door.
Just before he stepped out, Dumbledore called, "Mr Malfoy."
Draco turned.
"Why were there three?"
Draco understood, despite no clarification.
"I don't think there's can be only a single creator and it will be a male . Nor do I believe the creator must be humanoid."
There was a brief silence, thick with thought.
Then Dumbledore nodded once, quietly.
"You may go."
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