The Boggart

The Boggart

She heard Fred and George talking about him at lunch.

"Amazing!"

"He's been there ..."

"... done that ..."

"But no tee shirt," added Lee Jordan. "Don't think he's into tee shirts."

She smiled slightly. All the same, the man was a little bit scary. Well, more than a little bit. Quite a lot really.

They had their first Defence Against The Dark Arts lesson that afternoon. Their class waited rather apprehensively for their new teacher, who entered the room to complete silence. As with all the new teachers, when he got to her name whilst taking the roll, he asked: "Another Weasley?"

"Yes, Professor."

"Any more to come after you?"

"No, Professor."

And that was that out of the way. Always the same questions, with very little variation. Yes, she was the last. Yes, she was the youngest. No, all brothers. Okay? Happy now?

They were paired with Ravenclaw for Defence Against The Dark Arts. That was okay really, although it did mean that the Gryffindors had to work harder than usual. Keeping up with some of the Ravenclaws was impossible really – she just did her best. And she was good at the practical side of things, which helped.

Professor Moody was indeed something else, as Fred and George had said. And that eye of his meant you couldn't get away with much in his lessons. Not that Ginny tried it on in the way that some did, but she knew some of the other Gryffindors, given a chance, would get up to all sorts of mischief. Having Fred and George about had soon cured her of that sort of thing – it wasn't worth competing.

They had started the term dealing with hexes and curses. Moody didn't mess about with the simple hexes – he went straight into some really quite nasty ones. Ginny was good at this. It was one way of keeping her brothers at bay. Moody obviously realised this, because she was often called up in class to demonstrate one hex or another. And because she was so good at it, she earned quite a few House points as well.

So Defence Against The Dark Arts became one of her favourite lessons. It wouldn't be true to say Professor Moody became one of her favourite teachers, because he was a bit too – fierce was the wrong word, perhaps, but he was sharp, and stood no nonsense. So she found she respected rather than liked him.

And there was enough excitement that term to take her mind off other things. There was the TriWizard Tournament – with Harry as one of the champions. She had sat in the stands, watching as one champion after another took on their dragons. She had been on the edge of her seat when Harry came in, and then she saw him summon his Firebolt. She could hardly breathe as she watched Harry weave and dive, let out a great gasp as he caught the edge of the dragon's breath, and cheered as loudly as she could when he finally got his egg.

She had hoped – well, she knew it was something of a forlorn hope – but she had hoped that just possibly, maybe, he would ask her to go to the ball with him. Not that she really expected him to – but when she found out that he'd asked Cho Chang ... and then to go with one of the Patil girls ...

Neville had been kind and attentive, but no one could really say he was a good dancer. She would sit between dances, positioning herself so she could see Harry – who certainly did look very miserable. And Ron was glowering about something. Better perhaps to be out of that one then. Neville was nice – but somehow not very exciting.

Had she wanted Harry to ask her? Yes, she admitted. But he hadn't. So get over it, she said to herself. And she really tried to. Threw herself into her lessons. And come January they were starting something next in their Defence Against The Dark Arts lessons. Moody was bringing in all these creatures to show them. Not even the worst teacher – well, maybe Binns – could have made these lessons boring.

Then came that particular Monday afternoon. Walking into the classroom after lunch and taking her place near the front as usual. And then Moody came in, a trunk floating before the tip of his wand. He put the trunk down near the front of the room.

"You'll need your wands and that's all," he told them in that gruff voice. "But I'd better tell you what I've got first. It's a Boggart."

Most people knew about Boggarts, even if only because of Neville last year. There were some smiles, although others looked distinctly worried.

"Easy enough to deal with if you know how," Moody went on.

That was another good thing about Moody as a teacher. He went through everything very carefully beforehand, and if you listened you'd get it right. Some teachers made you find out for yourself, but Ginny liked the way Moody would go through what had be done very carefully and very methodically.

He finished by telling them about the Riddikulus charm, and then they all stood up, as with a wave of his wand Moody swept all the desks away to the side of the room. He stood behind the trunk, wand at the ready.

"Mr Henderson," he cried.

Paul Henderson was a rather tall goodlooking Ravenclaw who Ginny rather fancied from a distance, but they'd only spoken a few times, and then about something mundane, like what the homework was. Paul stepped forward, and Ginny could see he was rather tense. He gripped his wand firmly, and as Moody opened the trunk, an enormous rat began crawling out. Paul gulped and waved his wand. "Riddikulus!" A mousetrap appeared in front of the beast and snapped shut, pinioning the creature.

"Very good," from Moody. "Mr Bendigo."

Another Ravenclaw. He stepped up, looking distinctly apprehensive. The rat's eyes fixed on him. Suddenly it became a loathsome snarling beast –a beast which Ginny had never seen before. Was this a childhood memory of the beasts that used to lurk under the bed.

"Riddikulus!"

A blanket smothered it, reducing to piteous whimperings.

It obviously had been a bogeyman from Bendigo's past. He gave an embarrassed smile at having been caught out like this.

"Well done." Bendigo turned to go back to his place. "Miss Weasley!"

She should have been expecting this, and she wasn't. She stepped forward and the creature peeked from under the blanket, eyed her, before turning into ... a tall rather handsome eighteen year old boy. A very familiar teenage boy. One she know all too well. One that had haunted her dreams for eighteen months now. She froze.

He stepped forward and smiled at her, an attractive smile,. A smile with charm.

"Ginny," she heard a voice whispering in her mind. "Remember me? I'm not only a memory, you know ..."

She stood transfixed to the spot. The boy smiled at her again – a rather winning smile. Round her she could hear her classmates begin to murmur. This attractive boy? Ginny's worst fear? What was this all about?

But still she could do nothing. Her mouth remained open but no words came out. Her wand was gripped in her hand, but her hand was down by her side. The boy smiled and began to saunter forward.

"Ginny ..." that voice whispered in her mind again.

Moody stepped forward, obviously concerned by her lack of action. As he did so, the boy turned and looked sideways, his attention diverted from Ginny for a moment. He caught sight of Moody and turned further to look at him, while Moody looked back. The boy smiled at the old man –then, suddenly, confusingly, became Moody himself. The two Moodys looked at each other for several long moments. A murmur began to rise from the class. Then their teacher raised his wand and in a hoarse voice cried "Riddikulus!".

Suddenly the wooden leg fell from the other Moody; it looked confused and stumbled, falling to the ground. With another wave of their teacher's wand, it was forced back into the trunk.

The room fell completely silent now. The boggart had obviously caught sight of Moody –but why was their teacher so afraid of himself? Moody afraid of Moody? It didn't make any sense. First Ginny with that handsome boy, and now Moody seeing himself in the boggart –this was all very peculiar.

And Moody now was looking very pale. It was difficult enough to discern his expression at the best of times, but it was obvious he was looking very unwell. With a flick of his wand the desk re-arranged themselves.

"There," he said in a voice much rougher than usual. "You've seen it now. To your places, please."

There was a palpable air of disappointment now. An afternoon's fun looked like becoming work again. They began taking their seats again –except for Ginny, who was still rooted to the spot. Moody stared at her, and she knew he was as confused as she was. His bewilderment helped shake off the fear that had gripped her.

"Are you alright, Miss Weasley?" She nodded silently. "You sure?" She nodded again. "Then ..." He motioned to her desk. Numbly she turned and sat down.

"Page 617," she heard Moody say. But her book remained closed in front of her. She sat, still numb, as the class began to prepare their twelve inches of parchment on Boggarts. They wrote in silence until the bell went – all but Ginny. Her quill was left untouched.

Moody dismissed them with a few curt sentences: sensing his mood, the class began to pack their things away without a word.

Moody caught her eye as people began to leave.

"Miss Weasley." No, she said to herself. I am not going to tell you. She stared at him defiantly. "An unusual Boggart." She shrugged, saying nothing. "I thought ..." he said slowly.

"Thought what?" she asked him.

"That boy seemed somehow familiar ... he's no one in the school? No one I should know?"

"No," she said, "no one in the school."

Which was true in a way. For after all, it had been fifty years since Tom Riddle had been at Hogwarts.

"Someone from home?"

"No," she said to Moody. She sighed. "It was someone you've probably never seen, and never ever want to see."