#aghprompt14

There was a reason this was done in third year, Hunter grumbled to himself as he made his way to the front of the classroom. 

When he’d first faced a boggart his deepest fear had been so simple. A zombie had come tumbling into view, which had been expected after he’d discovered horror films and had nightmare after nightmare about flesh falling off of bones and sickly yellow teeth coming after him. Three years later and he had no clue what his biggest fear was. His parent’s disapproval had faded to a dull roar in his head and he didn’t think he had any other fears tucked away anywhere.

Sucking in a deep breath Hunter tumbled towards the front of the classroom and waited in front of the cabinet, knuckles white and hands shaking as the door to it slowly creaked open.

When the boggart first started forming into Sebastian Smythe’s figure he almost wanted to laugh and call the whole thing a failure. Then the voice spoke and it was Sebbie the child in front of him, the first person to truly give a shit about him outside of what he could become one day, leaning in with a menacing tone that belied the sweet features. “You’re going to be nothing,” it - he whispered.

“You’re already so unimportant. When you leave the castle, who will remember you? When you enter the real world, what wizard will know who you are besides Cubicle #4? You have nothing special. You are nothing special.”

Toddler Sebastian swirled into Clara, and then Marley, and Roderick, and Albus James and Gracie and everyone who’d ever mattered chanting the same words in his face. “You were never more than a name,” and that was his parents, his mother’s somewhat kind face twisted into an ugly smile and his father’s usual condescending stare turning downright disgusted. Then back to Sebastian, the face he loathed (the face that drove nails in his heart everytime he saw it), flickering for a few moments before settling on his image.

Every word the boggart spit out was a hit straight to his heart. When he finally managed “RIDDIKULUS!” and Sebastian turned into a monkey-version of himself clanging away on toy symbols, Hunter only managed a sharp bark of laughter before pushing his way back to his seat. 

As soon as she found out about the assignment, Lydia ran to the library to read everything she could about Boggarts. She knew the vague idea, of course, but she needed to know exactly what to expect so that, when the time came in class, she could vanquish it easily and quickly. Lydia didn’t fancy having her fears displayed in front of everyone and hoped quickly dispelling the beast would earn her some respect.

She was quickly disappointed, though; the information on Boggarts was vague and too general. There was a spell, sure, but no one even knew what a Boggart looked like and the spell wasn’t even to kill it; it was just to give the wielder the ability to laugh and thereby spook off the Boggart. Moreover, there was no way of knowing beforehand what your Boggart would turn into for you. If Lydia knew that, she’d feel completely at ease, but the uncertainty ate away at her.

The night before class she stayed up late, thinking about what scared her. Too many people. Failure. Disappointing her family. Disappointing herself. Failure. Big dogs. Bad hair days. Pain. A murderer. Failure. Somehow, failure kept coming up and she wasn’t totally sure what that would look like, personified. Perhaps it’d be a bad report card or something of the sort. She fell asleep picturing it and wondering how she could make failure funny. 

She walked to class, practicing the wand motion in her pocket all the way. Thankfully, she had the chance to volunteer to be one of the first kids to face the Boggart. Not having to wait in line forever would surely ease the suspense and tension, right? The few kids that went before her did well, but there was still a chance she could do it faster. When it got to her in line, Lydia pushed back her leeves slightly and leaned her center of gravity forward like wshe was playing Quidditch. It was time.

Angling her wand at the Boggart that was shape-shifting in front of her, Lydia mentally prepared herself for anything - an image of her brother, lying on the floor dead; a giant dog; a teacher telling her she’d failed at life. Instead, in a few short moments, what materialized in front of her was...her.

Lydia was undeniably looking at herself and it was jarring. This Lydia had to be at least 90 years old, with straggly hair and a saggy face and a doughy body. Her eyes were little and beady, all youthful innocence gone. Not only was she aged, she was homely. And she was crying. 

Streams of yellowed tears trickled down every bump, crevice, and wrinkle, dribbling off her horrid weak wobbly double-chin. This old Lydia held her spotted hands with old broken nails out helplessly, and she opened her thin lips, revealing gigantic gums and cracking teeth. And then she croaked: “Spare change, miss? Spare change?”

Lydia backed up, grossed out and shocked. The old woman approached her still, hands out, gums flapping, body wobbling. This wasn’t Lydia’s future. No. It couldn’t be. It was just a Boggart. Just a Boggart. And she could defeat it.

Hand shaking, Lydia raised her wand to the hag. She pictured the funny old people on television shows her mother used to watch, she pictured a funny old cat, and her mind wandered to a million more places until it finally focused and she uttered the curse weakly. “Riddikulus.”

The little woman shrank down into a tiny wrinkled mouse, her paws out like she was still begging when a poofy skirt appeared around her tiny waist. The mouse started doing a dance and everyone behind Lydia laughed, giving her the courage to laugh as well and walk away from the Boggart. She tried projecting confidence as she made her way to the other students that had finished, flashing a smile as she walked, but on the inside she was still shaking.

So that’s what failure personified looked like.

Blaine was a little nervous for Defense against the Dark Arts. Not because he didn’t think he could do it but because he had no idea of what his fear was going to be. There were many things he was afraid of but he couldn’t think of the worst thing. He figured he would find out very shortly.

The wait was long and it only built up the nervous feeling. It was incredibly interesting to see everyone trying to defeat the boggart and he actually didn’t mind seeing it all, if only he had already gone himself. Then it was his turn and he took a deep breath before stepping to the front of the class. He looked at the case where the boggart was captured and waited. 

Then the creature appeared and it wasn’t long before it shifted shapes. Blaine was faced with the beautiful smile of his older brother and it confused him for a moment because if there was someone who Blaine loved it was his big brother. Why would he be a fear? Then the smile turned into a frown and Cooper looked him straight in the eyes. He didn’t like that expression on his brother’s face and it made him take a cautious step backward.

“You’re such a disappointment, Blaine.” Cooper said with a shake of his head. “I had such high hopes for you. You were supposed to follow your big brother’s footsteps and look at you.. a Ravenclaw.” Cooper sounded so disappointed and the look on his face was one he hated to see. His brother rolled his eyes and folded his arms. “Blaine Devon Anderson, family disappointment.. Gay.. a Ravenclaw.. You don’t even have any solos in Frog Choir. Dad doesn’t even like you and Mom pities you. You are worthless.” Cooper’s voice sounded angry and disappointed. It was the voice that Blaine had heard before when he was younger and he had placed his ear by the key hole so he could hear Cooper screaming at his parents when he was defending him again. That same voice but now used to bring him down.

Blaine’s heart was raising as he listened to his brother ramble on. It was so real, it was like he was talking to Cooper. He could feel his eyes starting to water at all the words that left Cooper’s mouth. It was so easy to believe the words that came out of the mouth of someone he considered a hero. It was his hero standing in front of him, talking him down and making him feel like a failure. He had been over it for so long, he had accepted the Ravenclaw house and he was comfortable with it. He was pulled back to feelings that he hadn’t felt in a long time. He felt like he just wasn’t as brave and amazing as his older brother was. “Cooper..” His voice felt so defeated, like he had already accepted the words that came out of his brother’s mouth.

The only reason he snapped out of it was because of Professor Howlett who said it was time to cast the spell. Suddenly he was brought back to realization and his eyes darted around the room when he remembered where he was. This wasn’t Cooper, this was just a boggart and he fell for it. Anger flared up from inside of him and his hand shot up from his side with his wand grasped tightly with his fingers. How could that boggart even dare to make his brother seem bad?

“Riddikulus!” He said loudly while thrusting his wand in the direction of the form of his brother. It was the anger that was building up inside him and the passion to show the boggart that he couldn’t just pretend to be his big brother. Cooper was too good to be portrayed like that. He wanted to see his brother doing something that he actually would do and that was acting.

The image of Cooper went from angry looking to the guy he had seen before with a bright smile on his face. “Come on Blaine, watch!” Cooper shouted out. His face got serious and his hands came up in a way that made him seem like he was holding a wand. “The aliens from outer space are coming to get us! Oh no! Quick, blast them with spells!” Cooper made sound effects with his voice and he swung his wand dramatically. He ducked, jumped and twirled as he pretended to dodge the laser guns which Blaine could tell because of the amazing sound effects. Cooper did a barrel roll but landed wrong flat on his back and the older brother chuckled himself. “I have been taken down!” He dramatically said with coughs following.

A smile came up on his face and he laughed as he shook his head at the dramatic antics of his brother. Cooper’s passion was acting and he had such a great way of making things dramatic and hilarious, even if his brother didn’t mean to always put it that way. It was such an amazing scene and Blaine loved it when his brother would do that. His laugh was enough for the boggart to go up in smoke.

Ryder was bouncing on the balls of his feet, feeling anxious as he waited for his crack at the boggart. He felt like he had already watched almost all of his classmates go up against the shape shifter, but even viewing them in action and watching the kinds of fears that were popping up, he still wasn’t quite sure what his was.

A year ago, he would have been able to tell you without doubt that it was a textbook. He would have been mortified to admit it, but he would have known it was true. There had been plenty of things that scared him in his life, but the thing that had always worried him the most was that he wasn’t good enough for people. That he wasn’t nice enough, wasn’t talented enough, wasn’t smart enough…

That was the biggest one that had weighed on him, the idea that he would never be able to keep up in school because of the way the words swam in front of his eyes every time he tried to read a book. The way things seemed to slip out of his mind as if it was a sieve every time he tried to learn something new. He was surrounded by his brilliant Auror mother, his father, who was full of all kinds of trivia facts, and Melanie, who never hesitated to frown upon people she thought were too dumb for her.

He watched as Lily finished up, offering her a reassuring smile as she returned to the line of Hufflepuffs he was standing in, and then he heard Professor Howlett call out for him. “Lynn, you’re up – show us what you’ve got,” he instructed, prodding the fifth year gently as he urged him forwards.

He may act gruff, but Ryder knew that deep down Logan Howlett had a bit of a soft spot for him. Ryder had always excelled in his class – one of the only ones where he did so, really – and more than just performing, he cared. He genuinely believed it was important, rather than just going through the motions, which was why Howlett had recruited him for Dueling Club, among other things. That was all the more reason Ryder didn’t want to let his professor down as he stepped forward with his wand raise, still not sure what his boggart would reveal to him.

After the attacks on Lily and Melanie, and Fran's mum and Stella, and especially Kurt, would it show him being unable to save the people he cared about? Would it show him losing people? He wondered if his boggart was going to show him something that made him worry he couldn’t protect people, worry about the ones he loved slipping through his fingers.

Ryder took a definitive step forward, and the boggart shifted shape.

It wasn't a book, nor was it his babysitter, although that had been a possibility Ryder had been too scared to even let play out in his head. It wasn't even the Dark Wizards that they knew to be loose in the Wizarding World at that moment. At least, not exactly. Cloaked figures had their backs towards him, hovering over a lifeless seeming body as they hurled spells at it. Ryder watched the form writhe, frozen in fear and confusion as he tried to make out the scene, and then it clicked.

Why, oh why, couldn't it have just been something normal? A vampire, or a werewolf, or a banshee, like most other people seemed to have had?

Instead, there before him was Lily Luna Potter -- or an exact replica of her -- as he'd imagined her in his head the entire time she'd been kidnapped last fall. He knew it wasn't real, but that didn't stop the fear from gripping every inch of him as he helplessly watched the sight.

This was why he had broken up with her. Because he'd let this happen to her, instead of just going into Hogsmeade with her like any decent boyfriend would have done. And now more than ever, it was an image he'd never be able to get out of his head.

The figures were voiceless, but Ryder knew the spells that had been used on Lily. He'd never seen a Cruciatus curse firsthand before, but he'd oftentimes wished that they'd try these on them in DADA just so they could get practice warding them off. He'd even considered asking to try them in Umbra, but that had been a no-go too, between the fact that none of them knew how to cast the Unforgivable Curses, and none of them wanted to taint their magic with that kind of evil.

Focus, Ryder, he told himself. This was usually his best class, but today his reflexes just weren't what they usually were as his stomach twisted with terror at the image. Time seemed to slow down and almost stop, and he didn't even think about his classmates or their reactions, just about how much Lily had gotten hurt on his watch and how, based on his sister getting attacked too, he was only bound to fail her again.

As the hooded figures raised their wand again, ready to sear more pain into the tiny redheaded body on the floor, the blood boiled in Ryder's ears and he remembered his task. He wanted nothing more to stop them, and he hurled a  hex their way, then another, before he regained his composure.

He wasn't fighting an actual enemy here -- he just had to remember how to laugh. But how, when his worst nightmare was right in front of him, being played out over and over for the whole class to see? He squeezed his eyes shut hard, trying to visualize something funny, and then raised his wand again, this time crying out the correct spell.

“Ridikulous!Ryder  bellowed, and suddenly the robes fell away from the first of Lily's tormentors, leaving his face still shrouded in a mask but otherwise clothed in a hula skirt and flowered necklaces. Behind him, several stunned chuckles rang through the classroom, but there were still more of the attackers, and Ryder just wanted this moment to end.

“Ridikulous!” he cried again, and again, as each of the attackers shifted shape. One was a clown; another dressed in the very same Yoshi costume Ryder had worn to the Halloween Ball. The fourth seemed to be dressed like Grandma Weasley, who he'd met during the Chrsitmas holidays and who'd seemed to like him very much (although he attributed that to the fact that he'd worn the Weasley sweater she'd knitted for him when he'd showed up at the Burrow Christmas day).

Focusing hard, Ryder aimed at the last of the villains, and its clothes gave way to show cowboy boots that seemed to start dancing on command. As the class laughed and laughed at the image, Ryder couldn't even take joy in how silly the scene was. Instead, his eyes stayed focused on the limp body on the floor, feeling sick that the one thing he hadn't managed to fix about the picture before him was the way she looked so broken and helpless.

Howlett put a hand on his shoulder and indicated that it was time for Ryder to go back into the line, calling the next student forward as he squeezed Ryder’s hand and smiled at him in understanding.

Since Professor Howlett told them about the Boggart lesson, Piers had been shaky.

He didn’t want the whole Slytherin and Gryffindor house to know just how pathetic and afraid he really was. The worst thing for him was to be vulnerable. Especially when he knew that if he showed people that he was scared, they would laugh at him. They would pick at him like they always did, during his whole life. And he couldn’t have that.

Piers didn’t really know what his biggest fear was. If it was losing Lysander, or anyone that he truly cared for. If it was all of his friends and everyone he loved in his life just turn their backs at him, because he already went through enough rejection already. It wouldn’t be the first time people would turn their backs on him. His family was the first to do it. So why wouldn’t everyone else?

He heard his name being called, and took a hesitant step closer to the wardrobe. Piers hadn’t realized he had been clenching his jaw so hard, but it hurt his teeth. He looked around the room, eyeing every student in the class, searching for Professor Howlett. He just couldn’t back out on this. With a deep breath, Piers nodded, signing it was okay for Howlett to release the Boggart.

From the closet, emerged a towering figure walking towards him. Through the wild hair and beard and all around savagery of how the vulture moved, Piers saw familiar eyes. He should’ve guessed it would be his father. He had grown up listening about the things his father did, in detail, like he was some sort of hero. And whenever Piers went to visit him, the man seemed pleasant and pondered. He had steel in his look. The same kind of steel Piers saw in his grandmother.

But Piers knew who Antonin Dolohov was. And he knew that when his father lost control, he was just vicious. And the Boggart Antonin was anything but under control. Piers reached for his wand with shaky fingers, his breath just got caught in his throat. The vision of his father without bars in front of him was terrifying. Piers just couldn’t bring himself to say the spell.

Before he could force himself to get the word out, Antonin raised his hand and put on his mask. The Boggart took another step. The classroom had fallen into a deafening silence, and Piers could sense Howlett’s eyes on him. Come on, Dolohov. You’ve got this. He kept repeating to himself. Piers mustered up the self-control to draw his wand. The Death Eater took off his mask.

And a collective exclamation pervaded the class.

Beneath the mask, Piers could see himself smiling back at him. Boggart Piers had the same look his father did. A madness that chilled Piers to the bone.

His Boggart rolled a sleeve up, revealing the same pattern he had seen countless time around the manor, and on his parents’ forearm. The Dark Mark gleamed and moved, alight. Piers tried to do something, but he was petrified.

“You look shocked. Like you haven’t thought about it.” The Boggart teased. “But you did, Piers. You killed them. All of them. Lysander, Lorcan, Lauren, Dani, Elliott, the Potters and Gracie. And you loved every minute of it.” The Boggart Piers told him with delight, beginning to laugh maniacally. Every laughter just made the room colder. Before he knew, the laughter became louder, unbearable.

Piers hadn’t realized how the sweat was dripping from his forehead until that moment. He felt like sinking to his feet. But something was making him stand. Just the tiniest voice in his head, saying to fight against it. And he heard them like a collective sound. All of his friends’ voices overlapped. His grandmother raised him to be a soldier. Not for the same side she wanted him to be. But he was a soldier, nonetheless. And he had been through painful things. He was damaged beyond repair, yes. But he endured.

Before the Boggart could say anything else, Piers drew his wand. “Riddikulus!” The boy shouted, averting his own eyes gazing back.

The armor crumbled, becoming dust before it could touch the ground. From its midst, a terrified cockroach spun, running away from the pile of dirt. Before it could make its way any further, Piers stepped on it. Some of his control came back to him when he heard it crushing under his shoe. Still shaky and breathless, he wiped the sweat off his forehead with a hand. Piers could feel everyone’s eyes on him as he turned on his heels and stormed out of the class.

Marley didn't actually dislike Professor Howlett at all. Some students found him gruff and toocoarse to be believed, and she had to admit a part of her wiltedunder such Spartan instruction, but the fighter part of her thrived.The part of her that snapped back when people pushed too hard, or who made herself talk to people who scared her, or who went to parties even when that many people made her breath come short and then shorter. The part that knew that where her friends went, however dark and cold and dangerous, she would be only a step behind to guard their backs. The part of her that had heard her own name and a million horrible things combined into things that broke hearts and said nothing, but had heard her mother's name involved and performed her first and only violent act, slapping the speaker so hard across the face that she could see where her nails as bit into the skin. That girl thought Professor Logan was a genius and drank in her DADA lessons like a parched man in a clear lake. She trusted him.

And yet, at this very moment, she wasn't sure she could ever face him again. Not when he and her whole class were staring at her, at the shape her boggart was starting to take.

His face was indistinct, blurred features that could have been any man, save for bright blue eyes that mirrored her own, her brown hair, short on him and streaked with some grey now. Long, expressive fingers and a slim build. Nothing out of the ordinary here, just a man, not even one she would know on the street, except she knew him. Knew those eyes and that hair and those fingers. She dreamt them often enough. Those features narrowed, the nose flaring in disgust as she surveyed her up and down. You could hear a pin drop. 

“So this is what your Mother popped out, hu? Not much of anything, are you?”

Marley stared, frozen. Eyes wide, half formed tears threatened to spill but they seemed stuck in whatever moment the rest of her was. His voice was even colder now, a snarl wrinkling his brow.

“Dirty little thing, that comes from your mother, you know? I should have gotten her to dispose of you when we still had the chance.”

She felt dizzy, her breath barely entering her chest before it got wheezed out again. She wanted to tell him to stop it, but the words fit exactly where she thought they would in her heart. Like they had always been there. “Don't...”

His hand snapped across her cheek so fast that she fell to the ground, disbelief clouding her features, she could feel his fingers grabbing her hair. “Who gave you the right to speak? You're a mistake that got too big Marley Marie Rose, and if I had any say-”

“You don't!” She couldn't even tell the words had come from her own mouth until she realized her lips were moving. “You don't. You're a selfish, awful, stupid horrible old man who never did anything of worth his whole life and didn't even have the damn balls to see his daughter come into this world!” She grabbed his hand where it was in her hair and pried it away from her head before coming to her feet shoving him back roughly. “You're a little boy with no sense of consequence who never gave a shit about anyone. Who left his daughter to find out she was a wizard from a fucking owl! A goddamn owl. You left the best, brightest, loveliest woman to a life of being poor and mocked and hurt because you couldn't find the sense within yourself to be a man. How dare you? Where is your right? Not here! I don't need you. I hate you. Riddikulus!”

The features crumbled slowly, and she found herself sobbing. She'd never live this down. She watched her father become Peanut, tangled in Christmas lights and utterly dumbfounded by the fact her claws could not now move. Through her tears, wiped violently away, Marley began to giggle, covering her face in her hands. She felt Professor Logan's hand on her shoulder and he gave her a small nod. With that she wrapped her sweater tighter around her and went to find her seat. Eyes on her feet until she found her chair.

If there was one thing that was undoubtedly set in stone, it was that James Potter had a lot of fears.

Not that he voiced them, of course. He would to Elliott, on occasion, or Fran, when things were particularly rough. Even recently, he had taken to turning to Albus for advice on one thing he feared more than anything, - but still, that brought nothing other than more frustrations, and a dead-end.

The thing about facing a Boggart, - in front of his whole class, no less, - was that there was absolutely no room for privacy. And, with the impending war, and losing Kurt, and struggles with his father, and helping to form Umbra; James had a realisation that only came just before it was his turn to step up.

He had no idea what his biggest fear was.

There was anything it could have been. Seeing Elliott dead. Seeing Albus or Lily dead. Hearing words of disappointment from his parents, or from his grandfather, despite never actually having met the man himself. Being told he wasn’t a true Gryffindor, being told he wasn’t brave enough, being told, for the millionth time, he wasn’t worthy of holding the Potter name.

Wasn’t worthy of being The Golden Boy.

The thought made James roll his eyes, and he tried his best to push the anonymous jeers and insults out of his mind, focusing on the task at hand. Whatever the Boggart would turn into, it was bound to be something he had faced before. His fears ran deep, sure, but the eldest Potter had spent years upon years between Godric’s Hollow and Grimmauld Place, and Merlin knew the old house was riddled with a multitude of Boggarts and monsters, hidden in the dark corners he had every intention of clearing out once he graduated.

Graduation. Another fear. He had been putting in the extra study time, to the point where his life had become an endless cycle of quidditch-study-Umbra-study-class-study-sleep-study, and so on. James had been trying to keep it all managed, but when Elliott had pulled him aside one morning after catching him almost going face-first into a bowl of porridge, he knew things had to change.

Maybe that was his biggest fear. Maybe he couldn’t change to do what people needed him to do. 

The Slytherin in front of him stepped away, and James blinked, having been so wrapped up in his own thoughts that he hadn’t registered what the boy’s Boggart actually was, or what it had changed into after the spell was cast. Howlett was still standing in the corner, watching each student carefully, and when he caught James’ eye, the latter had to look away, putting his focus entirely onto the cupboard in front of him.

Elliott. Lily. Albus. Artie. Francine. His parents. Gryffindor. Voldemort.

Azkaban.

The Boggart crawled out of the cupboard slowly, deformed and shifting, changing it’s shape as James’ heartbeat sped up. It crawled, only stopping when it was kneeling before him, hands outstretched like they were gripping bars, - like it was trapped in a jail cell. The outfit it wore changed, slipping into the black and white striped outfit that was commonly associated with an Azkaban inmate, and when the Boggart finally looked up, it took everything James had not to look away from himself.

“I didn’t do it,” he was whispering frantically, and James automatically stepped back at the sound of his own distorted voice. He looked older, with sunken eyes and hair matted like black fur, a sight that made something inside him twist painfully. “I didn’t do it, it wasn’t me, I didn’t kill them, it wasn’t me, I’m not meant to be here, the dog, -” an arm came out from between the invisible bars, and James stumbled back, bumping into Elliott who grabbed his arm to keep him steady. 

“It was an accident!” the other James yelled, and something inside the Gryffindor snapped. 

“Riddikulus!” he yelled back, wand firm and surprisingly steady in his hand as he tried to cast the spell. But James felt too weak, too terrified of seeing what could actually happen in the future if he wasn’t careful. 

“You killed them!” the Boggart screeched, and James yelled out the spell again, pulling away from Elliott to round on the cowering creature. 

“Riddikulus, riddikulus, riddikulus!”

It was the third time that finally did it. The reaction took a moment, but soon the other James’ limbs were stretching, turning all kinds of bright colours as the prisoner transformed into a balloon animal, eventually popping to leave an explosion of confetti in its wake. Not something James found particularly amusing, but finally getting the Boggart to go away was more than enough of a relief to make up for that. 

The first time they’d done this, back in third year when they’d studied creatures, Elliott hadn’t actually been afraid of their boggart. No, their biggest fear back then hadn’t been frightening, it had just been a life that Elliott couldn’t live. Muggle life, conformity, having everything that Elliott had valued above all else taken from them. Having everything that made Elliott themself stripped away.

It had been easy to conquer too, though. Even back then, Elliott had been in touch with who they were enough to know how to make everything okay.

Now though, life was different. Now, Elliott faced their biggest fear twice a week, in Umbra meetings. Now, Elliott had a locket around their neck with a picture of their dead best friend, and the two living ones who made life good still. Now, Elliott lived every day constantly afraid that their preparations wouldn’t be enough, that Umbra wouldn’t be enough. That no matter how hard they tried, Elliott would lose someone else before the war was over.

So this was probably a very, very bad idea.

Elliott had told Howlett as much when they’d entered the class. It had been very matter of fact, despite the nerves that they felt. It had been simple enough to look him in the eye and say straight up that their best friend had died two and a half months ago -he’d been murdered, but Elliott still had trouble saying that to all but a select few- and Elliott had a feeling what the Boggart would become.

If anyone came out of this traumatized, at least Howlett couldn’t blame Elliott for it.

And then they’d settled in to wait among the throng of other Gryffindors and the Slytherins they had DADA with, breathing in slowly. Could their meager training in Occlumency be of any use here? Could they project a different fear forward and lock the truth of what they felt behind?

The thoughts occupied Elliott’s mind as they watched their classmates go forward, and stuck close to James, taking comfort in his close proximity. Sometimes it was good to share classes with a friend. Moments like this made it that much better, because Elliott knew they’d go out of their mind without a little familiarity.

But that didn’t mean that Elliott would stand down, run away or refuse, as they moved forward, wand held aloft and hands steady. They were a Gryffindor, being brave wasn’t ignoring your fear, it was acting in spite of it. In trying, no matter what.

So wand held aloft, Elliott waited as the boggart focused it’s attention on them and Elliott focused on it completely. Maybe it would turn into the old evil -a Death Eater- or the faceless new evil that had hurt Mel and Stella, that had taken Lily, that had killed-

The thoughts stopped as the boggart’s form solidified, and Elliott had to take a step back at the sight before them. Quinn Fabray, dead, blood pooling around her body, cut open by Sectemsepra and burned by God only knew what curses. Elliott heard gasps fill the room, thought someone might have screamed, but could focus on no other thought other than the fact that Quinn had been murdered.

Quinn had been killed like Kurt had been and Elliott hadn’t been able to stop it.

The thought hurt and it made Elliott want to scream in horror, this was Elliott’s deepest fear, the subject of their nightmares come to life. They managed not to, though, managed to bite down on the reaction, to keep themself from reacting at all, at least on the surface. It was easier to shut down, they couldn’t stop their fear but they could stop the outward reaction. 

“Riddikulus!”

The spell was solid, the wand motion accurate, but there was nothing in that moment that could make the situation funny. There was nothing that could make Elliott laugh.

Maybe that was why the Boggart changed forms as it did, shifting from Quinn to Amy. Amy, who was only eleven years old. Eleven years old and torn apart by curses. Amy who Elliott had chosen to keep everything a secret from, just like they had the rest of their family. And it had failed it had failed and she was dead.

“Riddikulus!”

The boggart was Unique, now. Unique who Elliott hadn’t told anything because they didn’t think she was ready. Because she wasn’t ready and Elliott wouldn’t put the burden on her until the time was right and she was dead and gone, just like Kurt had been, because Elliott hadn’t been able to tell either of them what had happened, at the end of it all.

“Riddikulus!”

James Potter. James who Elliott knew was behind them, who Elliott knew beyond a shadow of a doubt was okay and alive, but who lay before them, bleeding out on the ground and dead. Barely recognizable from the magic that had destroyed him, but dead. Dead despite all of Elliott’s promises, promises to James, to Fran to themself. They’d promised everyone they’d protect James.

The death of the people Elliott cared for most, the people Elliott cared for more than everyone else dead, murdered like Kurt had been. Taken by the war that was still just beginning, murdered by the people that Elliott hated without knowing. That was Elliott’s greatest fear. 

Somehow the failure and breaking their promises, made it worse.

“Riddikulus!”

Finally, something gave, probably because James was behind them, because James was in the room and not dead. Finally the boggart didn’t take the form of another body, Elliott didn’t have to see their sister or another friend gone. They didn’t have to see one of the people they loved so, so much taken from them by a war that no one wanted to fight, but that Elliott would gladly so that they never had to see this again. Never for real.

Fireworks that sparked and cracked from James’s body from the blood that had pooled around him. Fireworks that made this not a murder, but a prank at it’s finest, even if only in the worst of ways. It wasn’t something that James would ever do, it wasn’t funny in the slightest, there was nothing that would ever be able to make Elliott laugh after the sight of what the boggart had shown them.

But it was the shock of it all. The shock of fireworks after death and blood and reality closing back in that pulled a breathless laugh from Elliott’s throat. Relief, the return to what was really going on. The fact was they were in Defense Against the Dark Arts. Howlett was watching, and James was there, and James was alive.

Amy was at home, she was safe, she’d written them two days ago. Quinn and Unique were both in class, safe, and alive. Nothing had happened to them. Almost everyone that Elliott cared for, above all else was alive and well. And they would stay that way. Elliott had to believe in that, above all else.

So it was with that thought, firm in their mind that Elliott stepped back as the next student stepped forward. Grip too tight on their wand and face a little pale, Elliott turned their attention to the scene at hand, and away from the memory of their fears.

There was no avoiding them, there was no way to deny that what Elliott feared most could so easily be a reality. But in that moment, Elliott vowed to be sure that it never would be one. They’d lost Kurt first, and now they’d seen what it looked like, to see the remaining people they loved most dead.

And as terrifying as it was, Elliott would use this to strengthen their resolve that it would never become a reality. Elliott had made a vow to themself once already, to protect everyone they loved. They’d failed once, even if it was in a situation they couldn’t control. They’d failed to protect Kurt, and the result had completely destroyed Elliott in every way.