The Boggart. The Hogwarts grounds glittered with soft, white snow. Owls bearing letters and parcels soared through the blue sky as the winter sun sparkled behind the castle's old turrets. Chatter and laughter filled the air while a group of third years filed into a darkened classroom. Professor Hudson, the quirky head of Hufflepuff, was the new Defence Against the Dark Arts teacher.
"Okay, students. Today we are learning about Boggarts. Can anybody tell me what a Boggart is?" Her shrill voice carried through the silent room.
One hand shot up, but the only remaining movements were awkward shuffles of naïvety. It was Sherlock Holmes, a Ravenclaw and undoubtedly the smartest pupil in the school, even at the ripe age of thirteen, was the owner of the hand in the air. Having no other option, Professor Hudson called upon the mildly arrogant boy to answer her question.
"A Boggart is a shape-shifter, ultimately," he said, in a matter-of-fact tone. He began to list their properties on his long, bony fingers, "they don't seem to have a particular form, or at least no-one knows what a Boggart looks like because they shift to a different form for every individual. They take on the form of each person's biggest fear. People can tell if it is a Boggart because they can force it to change by casting a spell while thinking of something funny. This particular incantation makes the Boggart appear humorous, defeating the Boggart's purpose."
The silence in the room intensified, as everyone was stunned by the incredibly detailed description. John Watson, a bold Gryffindor and notably Sherlock's best friend, had piped up.
"That was brilliant," he said. He always found Sherlock's intellect astounding and inspiring. Sherlock beamed at the not-so-humble compliment.
"Correct," Professor Hudson noted, "and the incantation is 'Riddikulus'. Everybody, repeat after me; 'Riddikulus'."
The class chorused the incantation and practised a simple wand-movement. Sherlock watched his companion carefully, taking each motion into consideration. Soon, the students were lining up in front of a magnificent, rattling wardrobe. Everyone was nervous, except for Sherlock, and the allusive Slytherin, Jim Moriarty.
"Miss Hooper, are you ready?" The professor asked. A small Hufflepuff girl stepped forward, robes slightly askew. "Did Molly do something different with her hair?" Sherlock remarked. "That shade of red suits her."
The door swung open and everyone held their breath. A deep, thunderous growl echoed around the room. From the dark shadows emerged a large creature, a wolf with evil, black eyes and spit hanging from his gruesome jaws. He snarled, showing his teeth. Molly squeaked, and appeared to shrink in front of the ragged, grey beast.
"R-R-Riddikulus!" She cried. Nothing happened.
A Gryffindor boy, Greg Lestrade, spoke from behind her. "Remember, think of something funny!" His voice grew louder towards the end of his sentence, for the wolf-Boggart began to howl.
"Riddikulus," Molly shouted, and shortly after the wolf twisted and writhed, transforming into a chihuahua in a tutu. The class laughed and the dog yapped back at them, infuriated at his own absurdity.
The class continued in this fashion, and at the back of the line stood Sherlock, John and Jim. While Sherlock's attention was seemingly elsewhere, Jim leant in towards John, towering over the smaller teen.
"I know what you're scared of, Watson," he sneered. "You're worried you'll lose your boyfriend!" Moriarty cackled, and John shuffled closer to his friend. He blushed, feeling the embarrassment flow through him.
Although Sherlock appeared to be distracted by the Boggart, he had been listening and felt John move closer to him. Putting his arm around his friend, Sherlock motioned for him to go in front. He kept his hand on John's shoulders to assure him he was fine, while shooting a fire-stricken look at the bully behind them.
Twenty minutes had passed and most of the class were now at the back, leaning against the wall. It was Watson's turn to face the mysterious Boggart.
"Remember, John, the incantation is 'Riddikulus'. Ready?" Professor Hudson asked.
John gulped, glancing at Sherlock's piercing blue eyes. Sherlock smiled, patted the boy's shoulder and gave him a gentle nudge forwards. John nodded. "Ready," he said.
With a wave of the professor's wand, the wardrobe door clicked unlocked. John closed his eyes. There was a loud thud, and many students gasped. Someone screamed. It was this scream which caused John's eyes to fly open, a tear tumbling down his red cheek.
At his feet lay a dead Sherlock Holmes, neck sliced open and blood on his uniform. Lots of blood. John raised his wand but couldn't utter a word. He sobbed.
"John, I'm here. It's just a Boggart." Sherlock's calm, baritone voice floated into Watson's mind. The boy said nothing and wept. "Come on, John. 'Riddikulus'. It isn't real." He placed his hands back on John's shoulders, steadying his trembling.
"I-I can't..." John cried, and turned to his friend, sobbing. Sherlock held up his wand.
"Together, we can. Think of bubbles, John."
"Riddikulus," the boys called out, and the Boggart transformed into a single, shining bubble. It floated towards the wardrobe door and popped. The Boggart was gone.
The shock, however, was too much for John Watson, who usually was fearless and composed. He had experienced the terrible torturing curse before, but still hadn't given in. He was strong, but not strong enough for this. He fell to his knees and salty tears fell at a tremendous speed from his blue eyes. Sherlock knelt beside him and hugged the boy with his long arms, allowing John to melt into his stance. Greg and Molly also scampered over, trying to find a way to comfort their friend. Meanwhile, Jim laughed at John's defeat.
"That's enough trauma for today. Class dismissed."
