The clock is ticking. About two days, 56 hours.

Mark feels light-headed as he leaves the great hall after lunch. He could not avoid any more classes today, so there has not been time to talk to Jackson, which is sad, although Mark doesn't know what he should tell him anyway.

I really like you...

Does that sound warm-hearted or pathetic? Brave or desperate?

Anyway, a mere confession won't be the solution to the deeper problem. It's not only complicated with Jackson. It's complicated within Mark himself, which is because his mind and body seem to not work in sync at all. On the one hand, he feels so emotionally exhausted and mentally deranged, yet on the other, physically excited. Like, really really excited. It is as if his mind is anxiously negating the whole approach while is body says „hell yeah let's do this“.
Mark never experienced anything alike.

With such thoughts going through his head, he enters the classroom behind It. The students are glad as they find that the chairs and tables have been moved out of the way. No chairs means no sitting, which means no reading which further means: hands-on lesson.
The Hufflepuffs and Slytherins like their Defense against the Dark Arts lessons best practical.
 

Mrs. Potatopuffer sets her students' attention on a wooden footlocker opposite from the door.

The curtains are closed. The room is plunged in twilight. Only a few candles radiate a glinting light that reflects on the teacher's round glasses. Mrs Potatopuffer sure knows how to set the mood for a task.

„What I have here today is something you have encountered already, thus I will not tell you what it is just now, but let you guess. Whoever feels like they know what's in there may step forward and try to defeat it.“, Mrs Potatopuffer says ever so mysteriously.
The students look around the room or shrug toward each other.

„I have a clue for you: A Hufflepuff is more likely to deafeat this opponent than a Slytherin is.“, Mrs Potatopuffer adds, making a murmuring sound through the classroom.
Hufflepuffs overpowering Slytherins in Defense against the Dark Arts is very uncommon, factually.

But this time it's something they encountered before and Hufflepuffs are better at fighting it. Mark turns to It, but It's expression is just as clueless.

However, after half a minute, a Hufflepuff girl with small hazel eyes steps forward.

„Do you want to try?“, Mrs Potatopuffer asks. The girl nods, pulling out her wand and clutching it tightly.

„Yes“

Mrs Potatopuffer opens the coffer with a small spell.
For the blink of an eye nothing happens. Slytherins and Hufflepuffs alike wait with bated breath.

Finally, there is a crunching noise and a white, weathered hand protrudes from the footlocker, gripping the frame.

A person emerges. A pale woman with long black hair and eyes like the surface of a deep lake at midnight.

The Hufflepuff girl lets out a small scream and steps back, her wand quivering between her fingers.

Some other students are yielding, too, hiding their faces in their hands.

Finally, the girl gathers her courage and stands still and strong.

„Riddikulus!“, she yells and suddenly the scary Lady's white gown goes red, her stomach grows just like the new hair on her face. Eventually, a jingle bag cap completes the look. The ghost does not look as frightening in a the Santa clause outfit. The students burst into laughter.
The Hufflepuff girl displays a relieved smile and lowers her wand.

„What was it?“, Mrs Potatopuffer asks her after sending the creature back into the chest.

„A boggart“, the Hufflepuff girl answers proudly.

„20 points to Hufflepuff“, Mrs Boggart says generously. The Hufflepuffs clap and cheer. The students from Slytherin look rather displeased though. It's true after all. Accepting one's biggest fear and then also standing face to face with it is a Slytherin's weakness.

„In fact“, Mrs Potatopuffer goes on.

„This boggart is a young exemplar. Therefore it will not go as deep into one's psyche but instead display the fear that is most prominent in the victim's mind.“

With mixed feelings, the students make a queue in front of the coffin and begin fighting the boggart one after another.

First one to fail is Chava. As she sees herself emerge from the coffin, drenched in blood, she loses control and starts attacking the boggart with useless, physical charms. Mrs Potatopuffer jumps in and sends Chava's double away by making it sing a Justin Bieber song. Defeated and embarrassed, Chava heads back to the end of the line.

Mark, who is now afraid of failing, too, wonders if his boggart will just be giant sign that reads „failure“.

I really don't feel like I am afraid of something at the moment, he thinks confidently.

When it's his turn, Mark has a bunch of options in mind that could make the boggart look stupid and funny.

He smiles slightly and tightens the grip around his wand.
The coffin opens with a creaking noise.
Once again, it's a hand first, but not a pale ghostly hand.
 

A neat tuft of dark hair appears from inside the chest and finally, the belonging face turns toward Mark.
The Hufflepuff gasps and, immediately, all the options that were on his mind previously are wiped from his thoughts.

„J-jackson?“

The boggart-jackson pushes himself up, revealing a bare upper body that is defined by perfect skin and a slight six-pack.

Mark feels a shiver run down his spine, his legs, vibrating in his toes.

Jackson climbs out of the coffin slowly, his eyes never leaving Mark's.
The students' faces go red with embarrassment as they see that Jackson is completely and that he he makes his way toward Mark in a very seductive manner.

The latter can't do anything but stare. His heart is racing, his thoughts circling and sweat forming on his forehead although he is literally doing nothing. Just standing there, watching Jackson approach.

The elder's steps are attentive, his eyes engrossing.
Mark awaits his touch fearfully, excitedly.

A smile plays over Jackson's lips as he is right in front of the younger, his hand already reaching out for Mark's waist.

„I will you... hard.“, he whispers, but the room is quiet enough for everyone to hear and understand it.

A girl murmurs in the back :„Seriously, what the “, but other than that the silence is all over.

Mark's skin is as hot as in fever, his throat dry as Jackson touches him shamelessly. The elder lowers his lips onto Mark's sweaty neck as...

„Riddikulus!“, Mrs Potatopuffer shouts, casting a strong spell that makes Jackson stumble backwards. He looks down at himself, watching his shrink. It sounds like a balloon that loses all air.

The classroom explodes into laughter. A few guys drop to their knees and roll around, laughing hysterically.

Mark just stands still, feeling incredibly exhausted, almost like crying.