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Now, if one were to ask Sirius Black what he feared most, the answer would be utter codswallop.
He would most likely rattle off a list of things, each with its own equally terrifying backstory, that, sure gave him the heebie-jeebies, but would most definitely not make the top spot. A few examples: spiders (James was constantly having to get rid of any spiders that had found their way into the same room as him- his friend kept bringing them home as well, hoping that he would be bitten magically, and transform into some mutated half-human, half-spider hybrid, ever since Remus had introduced him to Muggle comics. Stupid Remus.); monsters under his bed (James also checked for these too.); mullets (why anyone would do that to their hair was frightening enough). And also, but not limited to: small spaces, big crowds, being alone, letting someone down and asymmetrical things.
He would say that he had so many trivial fears, that they all battled each other and essentially cancelled each other out to claim that top spot.
But that wasn’t true. In fact, Sirius knew exactly what his boggart would turn into. And that was why his hand were sweating, and he felt like he was going to vomit.
He was vaguely aware of the silence that had settled over the class; that hush of quiet that made everything, including the beat of his own heart, magnified. The balloon, lying pitifully on the floor, twisted and writhed, sprouting upwards with a speed that gave no chance for thinking twice. The blackness merged into colour, dark colour, and the plastic gave way for skin, and hair, and material.
And then it stopped.
In the place of the balloon, now stood Sirius Black. Not as Sirius was now, wearing elegance with a defiant sort of shabbiness to it, in his school uniform, but a Sirius as grand and regal as his potential granted him to be.
This Sirius had his hair combed back, all in line, and was wearing clothes one might find in a History Museum; a dark emerald tunic reached his mid-thigh, secured with a jewel encrusted belt. Under which, he wore smart dark trousers. Surrounding his shoulders was a long cape with a silver lining.
He was swinging a crown around his index finger, almost lazily and watching, with a predatory hunger to his gaze, the real Sirius.
The two stared at each other; one, a collected prince of a man, the other, a bundle of static nerves and electric charge, and the two were different monsters hiding under the same mask.
Eventually, the doppelganger drawled, “Look what’s become of you.”
Sirius didn’t answer, ashen and stunned.
“You’re a waste of a man, you know. Your parents didn’t want you, hell- they would have shipped you off if you hadn’t left. Good riddance, they said, finally free of a fucking. worthless. inconvenience.” The boggart spat out the words with a more refined version of Sirius’ accent. “Your brother, well, he was just glad you left him alone with ma and pa. They’re lovely people, you know. You’re brother found that out all by himself when you left.”
The black undercurrent to that last sentence remained unsaid, but he knew what it meant anyway. Sirius’ neck throbbed with veins, his eyes grew stony with tears. When it came to Sirius, seeing this much anguish on a boy who you have only ever seen laugh, made it a weakness. It was like they were all escaping into his subconscious; a place dark and twisted beyond rational belief.
“Sirius,” James said quietly. Hermione looked at him. The set of his shoulders was tight, and his whole body was rigid with the anticipation of intervening. His hazel eyes were glassy, his knuckles clenched. “Sirius, come on. This isn’t real!”
He moved forward, standing close enough so that Hermione couldn’t hear anything he was murmuring.
“There’s no reason to be scared. That isn’t you! This isn’t real,” James urged again, an insistency to his words and a desperation to his body language.
“You’re wrong,” Sirius whispered. His eyes were burning.
“What do you mean?” James asked. “This is all in your head.”
“I know. That's what scares me.”
The boggart, it seemed, got tired of this conversation, for he leapt forward with a gracefulness only aristocrats could possess. “Enough of the lovely, heartfelt chat.” Its grey eyes pierced James, who flinched, for this was a beast wearing his best friend’s face, and how could anyone ever be okay with that? It focused back on Sirius, who looked broken. His face verging on crumbling. “What about James? Hm? When have you ever benefited James? When have you ever been worthy of him? He doesn’t even like you, never mind love you. You’re not his brother. You’re just some posh boy who ran away from home. You’re such a charity case.” It got closer and closer, until its nose was almost touching Sirius’, who refused to look away. It smiled, although the action resembled a snarl and inhaled deeply, thriving on the fear it tasted there. “Did you really think he ever cared for you at all?”
James stumbled backwards, overthrown by the weight of the words. It was a low blow, everyone knew. To Sirius, James was the thing that made the world turn, and the oxygen in the air. To Sirius, James was his lifeline.
“And Remus? Well, after what happened, he’s never going to trust you the same, is he? You really messed up there. You can see it in his eyes when he looks at you; that disgust, that distrust.” Remus looked torn. “What about the girl?” Sirius’ eyes sparked. “Oh, you like her don’t you? You don’t know why but we like her… You fall too easily. You’re just so desperate for love. It’s pitiful. She’s too good for you, though. You know that, right? So is Peter. He’s got more spine than you could ever hope to possess. And you want his approval? Ha! Why would Peter ever look up to someone like you? Why would he ever like you?” The creature got angry, clenching his fists and swinging them, gritting his teeth as though Sirius’ refusal to understand actually pained him. “You’re just one big, colossal fuck-up! That is all you have ever been! Don’t you understand?! How do you not understand that?! You are Sirius Black. You belong to the darkness-”
“Riddikulus.” His voice was feeble but strong, yet it worked. The boggart Sirius screamed on its descent; skin being replaced by felt, control by string. It had turned into a human-sized puppet that danced and sang and tripped over all the grooves in the floor. Only half the class laughed; the rest, too shaken up about the slither of a tormented soul that resided inside Sirius Black, whose boggart was himself.
James swooped in, immediately. He wrapped his arm around Sirius’ shoulders and escorted him past a pale Remus, traumatised Peter and shocked Hermione, past a soft looking Lily, past the smirking Slytherins, and out of the classroom. Professor Meryl didn’t even bother to stop them. The door shut with a harsh bang.
The boggart was already assuming its next form, when the students returned their attention to the front. It shifted and swam between visibility and invisibility, ducking in and out of being. It assumed a white colour, but still continued raging.
That was when Hermione noticed.
Remus was next.


He didn’t seem to fully realise what was going on, and stood there, staring blankly. The boggart rounded in shape, whiter than ever.
Hermione knew what it was before it even stopped transforming. The moon.
Peter looked at his best friend, alarmed, as Remus’ back finally tensed. She swallowed. There was no way Remus could avoid this, not when the class was rapt in the scene.
She remembered her third year. The memory was so random in the moment, but the vision of Professor Lupin throwing himself in front of Harry presented itself to her, replaying over and over and over again.
Hermione didn’t even think. The boggart verged on the moon, and she stepped in front of Remus.
It flickered, thrown off by the sudden interference. Then, morphed quickly, quicker than before as if to make up for the lost time.
She felt empty, a blow to her stomach leaving her breathless. Tears spiked her eyes, stinging and hot.
“Harry.”
He stood before her, looking just as she remembered him. Black hair was stuck up in all directions, and his glasses were round on his nose, and she noticed now that he had a slightly rounder face to James, and of course, bright green eyes. His nose was smaller and less narrow also. In fact, looking at him now, Hermione realised with a starling clarity that she had lost her best friend in James.
Harry stared at her. She started forward, reaching for him. “Harry-”
He recoiled. “How could you do this?”
She froze. “D-do what? Harry?”
“How could you do this?”
Desperately, Hermione begged, “Do what? Harry, what have I done?”
“You just let it burn,” he said, his voice ragged. His green eyes were wet. His scar red and throbbing.
She choked, feeling herself cry, but she couldn’t stop the tears from falling. Her voice was a fractured whisper. “What?”
“The world, Hermione. You just let it burn.”
“I- I don’t understand…”
Harry tried to move forward, towards her, but his body shook with self-restraint, as though it pained him to get closer. “You came here to save it, and you didn’t. I’m still… I still-”
He trailed off, eyes fixated on his hands, with were bubbling. The skin writhing, as though there were insects crawling beneath it. Hermione watched, in muted horror, as her best friend looked up at her, agony and regret flashing across his face, which was also bubbling. The skin was draining of colour, fading to a white, and his nose was shrinking, being swallowed by his cheeks. Red dropped into his eyes, like food colouring into water.
She stared. Her throat wanted to shriek. A few students let out gasps, a girl screamed.
Where once, the prophesised saviour of the world was, Voldemort stood there now.
“Silly girl,” he hissed. His eyes flashed. “You’re just a child, and you think you can change the world.” His voice was lofty, yet slick; a light, yet inexplicably dark hiss. “You think you can save him, but you can’t. You’re just going to let it burn… You’re just going to let him burn.”
“No,” Hermione managed to get out. Her voice was strong, but tripped over her tongue.
“Oh yes. Everything’s already laid out for you. It’s all there for the taking,” Voldemort told her.
Hermione watched him, trembling. “I’m not scared of you,” she whispered.
His lip curled. “You’re a smart little Mudblood, tell me, you’re not really thinking I’m your biggest fear?”
She frowned, confusion seeping through her skin. Tears still fell. “Then why…?”
“Come now, Mudblood, don’t tell me Draco died for nothing.”
She inhaled sharply. Her eyes grew cold, and her throat clenched. Voldemort smiled.
“Ah, there it is. The defiance. How very… Gryffindor of you.”
“Don’t say his name,” Hermione gritted out. She didn’t look at him as she said. “Don’t you dare say his name.”
He tilted his head, slithering towards her, closer and closer. His spidery fingers wrapped around the wand and traced her pulse. She craned her neck away from him. The tip of the wand prodded into her skin.
“Who’s name? Draco Malfoy’s?”
“Stop!”
“You’re going to be swallowed by me, my dear. And I’m going to savour you.”
And that was when Hermione realised that it wasn’t Lord Voldemort standing before her, not even a boggart, but something else entirely.
“Caligo!”
The creature didn’t even turn into anything amusing, simply melted, eyes popping, human bones disintegrating, into a puddle of dark mist on her shoes. Hermione turned numbly to register who cast the spell, and saw the professor holding her wand out. The elderly woman leapt into action, hurrying to close the lid of the chest once the mist had seeped back into the confines of its existence.
“I thought you were ready,” Professor Meryl said faintly to the class, in way of apologising. Her eyes were downcast.
Peter looked at her steadily, the curl of his lip hinting his disgust, and said, “How can anyone be ready for that?”
Hermione felt unstable. Her head was light and her body was too heavy, and she collapsed before she could properly contemplate her predicament. The floor was cool and a relief on her feverish skin. Someone’s touch, tender and tangible, grazed her arm, and their fingers were cold and coarse. Remus kneeled in front of her, his presence soft yet demanding, and his hand was a reassuring pressure on her arm. The other hand cupped the back of her head, pulling her to him, and she let her head rest on his shoulder, gripping his shirt. Hermione’s eyes never closed. They were wide, still seeing her best friend morph into Lord Voldemort. Her lips gaped. Her cheeks were wet.
Remus’s grip tightened. He pulled her even closer. “Hermione. I’m sorry. I’m-”
He couldn’t even finish. His voice caught on the words, and he tugged her into him. Hermione held him like he was her only connection to the world, and, in that moment, he was.
Dimly, she was aware of Peter being told to fetch Madam Pomfrey. Dimly, she was aware of the eyes that bore into her, of the bewilderment that fuelled the other students in the class. Dimly, she could feel her heart erratically shattering her ribcage. But for all of that, Hermione could only hear the boggart’s words, sharp and strangely clear:
“You’re going to be swallowed by me, my dear. And I’m going to savour you.”