Riddle's Boggart

Boggarts seemed like a simple enough thing to defeat.

Tom twisted his wand smoothly through his fingers as he watched the dresser rattling and rocking behind Professor Reap.

What was his greatest fear?

That was the trick to it, of course- be prepared for what was going to fly at you, think of how to make it comical.

He thought of a few things that had made him uneasy, but so many of them lacked material forms.

Maybe the boggart wouldn’t know what to do. That would be fun.

Professor Reap opened the dresser and a giant snake landed hissing in front of a terrified Hufflepuff girl.

Oh, PLEASE.

Tom absentmindedly ticked off a few rather frightening things in his mind’s eye and invented ways to make them humorous. The boggart was snapping from person to person as each shouted ridiculous in turn, except for those who couldn’t manage, and had to be helped. Tom began to feel uncomfortable as the boggart worked its way in his direction. Was he getting nervous? In a last-minute rush, Dumbledore leapt into his mind and he hastily pictured his Transfiguration teacher in a what-he-considered-to-be-funny-but-was-actually-quite-too-morbid-to-mention condition.

The boggart had been a corpse, walking slowly towards Annie Sparks, who had found her parents dead after Grindelwald got them, but she made its head fall off. The head rolled and came to a halt at Tom’s feet. Its empty eyes gazed up at him, and for a moment everything stood still, and the students seemed to hush, waiting.

SNAP!

A wizard towered over Tom, though he couldn’t have been much taller than him, really. A wizard like none of them had ever seen before, with white hair that blinded and a lined face that seemed like stone, and cold, steel-blue eyes.

Tom’s stomach fell out of him. The whole room seemed to wash away in the presence of Albus Dumbledore’s fury. He wanted to look away, but his eyes were glued to those searing blue abysses. He could feel the air around him burning, making his muscles twitch in anticipation of something- something terrible.

"You don’t understand, Tom," a voice too steady floated out of Dumbledore’s white lips. The fire burned green behind his eyes. "It’s your fear of it that makes it terrible."

His mouth was hanging open, but he couldn’t breath. He knew in an instant what his professor was talking about. Not even death scared Dumbledore. Not even death defeated him.

And Tom knew he was going to die.

He didn’t hear his teacher trying to encourage him. He’d quite forgotten everything about boggarts, actually.

Dumbledore raised his wand, and the air crushed Tom lightly, a void formed in his chest, ready, holding; he could see the first syllable waiting on Dumbledore’s lips- NO-

"AVADA KEDAVRA!" he shrieked, only a moment before Dumbledore began the curse. A jet of green light shot up his arm, flew out of his wand, and crashed against the nearest wall as the boggart snapped away. The light was illuminated for a moment, frozen in blinding, burning green lightening, which fell as quickly as it came. A burn mark was splattered wide on the wall across from him.

Professor Reap had shakily snapped the boggart from existence.

The room was dead still.

Tom knew he was flushed- from embarrassment, adrenaline, and horror. He glanced beside him. Annie Sparks was gaping, white as the corpse she had just laughed at.

He looked away from her stunned face, and all the others staring shamelessly. His wand fell with a soft clunk onto the floor.

"Mr. Riddle, have you ever cast the... that spell before?"

He met his teacher’s eyes.

"No."

It was a bull-faced lie, of course. Who could cast a killing curse with that much force, that naturally, after only having read about it?

But he was really afraid now. He hoped it made him look more innocent. A panic was slowly rising in his chest as his professor eyed him cautiously.

"Please don’t tell Professor Dumbledore, sir. I didn’t mean... don’t want him to think..." he stumbled quietly over an array of requests, reasons, explanations. He began to doubt that the teacher would listen to him. He’d go running right to Dumbledore. A rock fell into his stomach, which had only just returned to his body.

"Sir... I’m not going to be expelled, am I?"

His voice came out in a mortifying squeak.

Professor Reap bent over and picked up Tom’s wand.

Oh no, he’s going to snap it. Currently crashing down from casting an incredibly powerful spell and panicing at the same time, Tom got dizzy looking at his teacher’s hands wrapped around his wand. He couldn’t tear his eyes from it, even as Professor Reap murmured quietly that he had better go see the Headmaster.

The Headmaster? Tom’s knees nearly buckled from relief. Just keep Dumbledore out of it. Please, please.

He followed the teacher quietly from the room, just as another rushed in to watch the remaining students. He didn’t say a word, and he kept his eyes plastered to that delicate, beautiful wand, caught precariously in that large, clumsy hand. He leaned against the wall as they went up the stairs, dragging himself with an effort, although his elder, a few steps ahead, didn’t notice.

They made there way up to the Headmaster’s office. Tom carefully let the walls slide down over his thoughts. Dippet wouldn’t be too hard to keep out. A little pleading, a little repentance, and this would be just fine. He just didn’t know his own power, hadn’t been thinking clearly. He certainly wouldn’t cast such a terrible curse at anyone real. He hadn’t even killed any people yet, at any rate, so he’d barely be lying.

They stepped into the office.

A light voice floated over from the Headmaster’s desk. Tom froze.

"Goodness," Headmaster Dippet blinked from his desk, "you look as though you’ve seen a ghost, my dear boy."

Dumbledore stood beside the desk, looking mildly surprised.

"Are you alright, Tom?"

His heart was pounding in his throat as he carefully emptied his mind. He imagined all his thoughts sliding down out his toes, underneath the carpet where no one could see them.

"I feel a little sick," he managed hoarsely.

Dumbledore waved his wand and a chair appeared perfectly behind Tom, who sat down without the least hesitation. Fell down, even.

He wanted so badly to check on his wand, in that buffoon’s hands, again, but he swore he felt Dumbledore’s eyes on him, so he looked shamefacedly at his shoes.

"I think I’d rather discuss this in private first, if you don’t mind, Albus?" Professor Reap asked politely.

Albus shook his head.

"Certainly not. I’ll leave you gentlemen alone."

He swept over towards the door, Tom’s blood turning to ice as he neared.

He leaned over and Tom was forced to look up and meet his worried blue eyes.

"Do take care, Tom. I hope you feel better."

Tom had the terrible feeling, as Dumbledore left the room, that he knew everything- everything that had just happened, and every thought that was now racing beneath the carpet under Tom’s feet,

and that he still somehow meant sincerely every word he’d just said.