The Boggart
By: xxlostdreamerxz
Disclaimer: HP is owned by J.K. Rowling; this fic was created for fun.
Summary: Harry is raised by a boggart.
My Assumptions: The food source for boggarts are emotions (good, bad, and everything in between); like dementors, they are not visible to Muggles.
Chapter 1: A Boggart's Story
Once upon a time, there was a boggart. It had been nothing special; merely a normal, terror-inducing magical creature that thrived on instinct; one that would mindlessly eat, sleep, and hunt through life. Though sentient, it had never had any reason to exert any energy on anything as plebeian as thought. Well, at least that had been true before it had the misfortunate of stumbling across a particularly vindictive witch. Instead of banishing the poor boggart like most magical folk did, the witch, in a moment of cruelty, had cursed and banished it to a random muggle neighborhood (where its prey were immune to its powers as it was invisible), and bound it to a small cupboard under the stairs.
It was a terrible existence.
Though it had initially fought, screaming mindlessly as it tried unsuccessfully to rattle the walls and break through the door, eventually (after a couple of decades), the creature reluctantly came to terms that escape was impossible. At that point, the poor boggart decided that it needed a new diversion. Having never studied its food source in any real depth, it found the exercise strangely fascinating. Though it took awhile, the boggart slowly began to learn about the others that chattered endlessly outside of its door; it listened, pondered, and thought.
Half a century passed in a snap.
One day, the boggart had been interrupted mid-musing by the sound of a shrill scream. It unfurled its limbs and shuffled closer to the door. It could hear muffled yelling, a few curses, and loud footsteps that stopped right outside its door.
"I take it he's one of them, Pet?" asked a loud, gruff voice.
A woman's voice answered. "He has to be," she said firmly. "Only a freak would have been left on a doorstep." There was a pause before the woman continued. "But Vernon, we must keep or no. The man that wrote the letter - Dumbledore is supposedly the leader of the freaks and incredibly powerful."
"But we're not freaks," Vernon protested. "This has nothing to do with us."
"I know," she said softly. "But I don't want to risk having them come after our Dudley."
The boggart tilted its head as it heard the argument grow louder and louder. After a couple of minutes, there was a loud creak and the door of the broom closet slammed open. The boggart flinched, automatically darting towards the darkest corner, high in the rafters, as it peaked out - seeing a large, pudgy man put a bundle on the ground.
"He'll be fine here till tomorrow," the man said, looking back at a horse-faced woman with a thin neck. "We'll deal with this later."
The woman nodded and shut the door.
The boggart hesitantly peaked out from the rafters, unfurled its limbs, and crept towards the small bundle on the ground. It knew that whatever was in the bundle was alive as it could feel the emotions wafting off in warm, soothing waves. The first thing that it saw was a curiously shaped lightning bolt scar and burning green eyes. And, surprisingly, those eyes were focused directly on him.
After more than half a century of pure isolation, the boggart couldn't believe its luck. There was a wizarding child in its closet and it could see him...
TBC
Note: Reviews would be appreciated! I'm doing my best to try to get back into writing, so I'll do my best to try to update consistently but no promises.