Lupin's wand shot out a spray of sparks that blasted the wardrobe doors open.
Out strode a tall, gaunt witch with deathly pale skin and wild, unkempt hair, advancing with a menacing air. She was not unattractive, but her sunken features and thin, tight lips gave her a cruel, vicious look.
"Is that… that wanted criminal? Why would Longbottom be most afraid of her?"
No one in the room failed to recognize that face. In fact, they were nearly sick of seeing it. For weeks now, the front page of the Daily Prophet had been dominated by her and Lockhart's wanted notices.
Bellatrix Lestrange.
Lupin's momentary shock quickly gave way to understanding. A flicker of pain passed through his eyes as he turned toward Neville.
Neville stood frozen in place, pupils dilated, watching as Bellatrix stalked toward him. He did not move.
"Neville!" Lupin shouted sharply. "That's not the real Bellatrix. It's a Boggart! Use the spell, just like I taught you!"
Neville finally snapped back to himself, stumbling backward. Lupin's voice dragged him out of the nightmare. He raised his wand with shaking hands and cried out, "Riddikulus!"
A loud crack split the air, like a whip snapping. Bellatrix staggered, her body twisting grotesquely, shrinking in on itself until she became a toad with long black hair.
"Trevor?" Neville blurted out in disbelief. It was his beloved pet toad.
The class burst into laughter, finally shaking off their fear.
"Well done, Neville!" Lupin called. "Next, Parvati, step up!"
Parvati took Neville's place. The Boggart morphed swiftly into a bloodstained mummy, only to be dispatched with ease.
"Seamus!"
"Goyle!"
"Crabbe!"
There was something particularly amusing about Goyle and Crabbe. The thing they feared most turned out to be Draco Malfoy. When two separate versions of Malfoy were transformed into a circus clown and a goblin, the real Malfoy's face turned a sickly shade of green. He glared darkly at his two lackeys, clearly planning to deal with them later.
"Riddle!"
The laughter in the staff lounge stopped abruptly.
All eyes turned to Tom, curiosity blazing in them.
Did Riddle fear anything?
And if he did… what could it possibly be?
In everyone's impression, Tom had never made mistakes. He had never been suppressed or outshone. Even the professors spoke to him differently than they did to other students. He was an anomaly, an absolute oddity.
Could an oddity feel fear?
Under the weight of countless gazes, Tom stepped forward toward the Boggart, which had now shrunk into the shape of a turtle, inching along the floor.
Not just his classmates, but even Tom himself wanted to know.
Hermione frowned sharply. Daphne had suddenly gripped her hand and was tightening her hold more and more.
"Daphne, what are you doing? Are you trying to crush my hand?" Hermione hissed.
"Sorry." Daphne snapped out of it and whispered excitedly, "I'm just too curious about what Tom's afraid of. I need to remember it. Then I can scare him with it someday, and he'll hide in my arms so I can comfort him properly."
Hermione's mouth twitched. She truly could not follow Daphne's train of thought.
...
Tom stopped before the turtle.
With its usual explosive crack, the Boggart abandoned the turtle form and twisted into a violently writhing sphere.
But this time, it did not transform immediately.
The sphere spun in midair for over ten seconds. Gradually, its rotation slowed.
"Even the Boggart doesn't know what Riddle fears?"
The students began to sense something strange, watching the restless mass with uncertainty.
Tom frowned faintly. So that was not it either.
A few seconds later, just as he was growing bored and about to step aside for someone else, the Boggart froze in midair.
Then it began to stretch.
Lengthening.
Flowing downward like a waterfall, spilling onto the floor before taking shape.
A woman stood there, clad in ancient, archaic wizarding robes, a wreath resting upon her head. Her face was indistinct, shrouded in a hazy mist.
A stunned silence fell over the room.
No one had expected that the thing Tom feared most would be… a woman.
Who was she?
"Tom, who is that?" Daphne asked bluntly, not bothering with restraint.
She was already suspecting that this woman must have bullied him when he was younger.
Tom did not answer. He simply stared at the Boggart's form with an unreadable expression.
There was no doubt.
It was Rowena Ravenclaw.
But he feared Ravenclaw?
That was absurd.
He had merely been shaken by her former ideals and words, his worldview struck with a certain impact. That did not mean he feared her as a person.
Still… the Boggart was impressive. It had even sensed something as subtle as that.
Was it Legilimency? Or pure instinctive talent?
He had never paid attention to these little creatures before. Now, however, genuine interest sparked within him.
He resolved then and there to capture a few Boggarts for research once he returned.
Tom lifted his wand, preparing to cast the spell.
Suddenly, the entire castle trembled.
A surge of magic gathered from all directions, converging violently. It pierced through the roof and slammed down upon the woman's head.
The Boggart managed only a single wail before bursting like an overinflated balloon, vanishing from existence without leaving the slightest trace.
The young witches and wizards were stunned.
Lupin was equally dumbfounded.
...
In the Headmaster's office, Albus Dumbledore lifted his head from the Pensieve, confusion etched across his features. Just moments ago, the castle's magic had bypassed him, its Headmaster, and erupted into unrest.
Who had done it?
And what had happened?
Dumbledore's brows drew tightly together as he rose at once and strode out of his office.