Dean stumbled back, crashing into the edge of his four-poster bed. He could feel his stomach lurching, feel his heart pounding in his chest, could feel a shriek building in his throat. Don't, he tried to catch himself, tried to calm down. Don't yell. Relax.
But despite the comforting words he fed himself, he still couldn't tear his eyes away from the form in front of him. A perfect replica of himself; the same Hogwarts uniform, same frizzled black hair, same dark brown eyes, same faint birthmark on the scruff of his neck. It was unreal. Exactly, he thought, trying to steady his heartbeat, It's not real.
"Ri-Riddikulus," he said, his voice strained. No. That's not going to do. He cleared his throat. "Riddikulus!"
The boggart slowed, tilting its head with an eyebrow quirked. Dean stepped back, gripping the bed posts behind him loosely. It was just him, for crying out loud! Why was it so goddamn hard? Yet he knew the answer the moment the door had swung open. He knew why his heart was thudding in his throat, why his palms were covered in a layer of sweat, why his throat was raw and dry and why he couldn't stop his body from trembling.
"Riddikulus! Ri - Ridd - Riddikulus!" Damnit, why wouldn't it work?
And then another sound joined his own heavy breaths, something loud and high-pitched, something that sent a shiver down his spine and cause him to yell while dropping his wand. "Out! Out of this home! Get out! How dare you commit a sin like that? Out!"
He dropped to his knees, shaking his head. "I'm sorry. Mum, I'm so sorry. I'm sorry... I'm sorry, Mum. Mum, please..."
Dean was only faintly aware of a pair of arms hoisting him to his feet, of the loud, Irish voice booming in his ears. "What's happening? Dean, why're - why's there - wait a sec..." His voice faltered as he fiddled with his robes, pulling from a pocket his wand. Dean shook his head, still repeating his apologies, still feeling a weight hard and heavy on his shoulders. "Riddikulus!"
When he looked up next, his boggart had been replaced by a tall woman with braided hair, her mouth agape and her hands clutching at her neck, but Dean paid her no heed when he clambered quickly to his feet. He shook away Seamus's hands, feeling a lump form in his throat, and rushed toward the door.
His legs buckled under his weight when he reached the Lake, and he collapsed in a crying heap with his head buried in his hands and his long limbs close to his body. I'm sorry, he thought desperately, that shrill voice still echoing in the back of his head, I'm so, so sorry.
When Seamus returned to the dorm-room after dinner, he was almost overwhelmed with relief. Dean sat on his four-poster, his chin resting on his knees as he cradled them, and he did not stir at the Irish boy's arrival, he only continued to stare out the window, transfixed.
"Mate?" Seamus said, fiddling with his tie as he stepped forward. Flames in the centre of the room cast orange light on his skin, dancing with the natural light-pink. He raised an eyebrow when he received no response, stepping forward at the lack of recognition. "Dean?"
Dean shook his head, sighing. "Seamus."
"What s'matter?" Seamus asked, sitting down on the edge of his own bed. "You skipped all classes today - very un-Dean of you."
"You know what's the matter," Dean muttered.
"The boggart?"
"No, Seamus, it's because it's that time of the month. What do you think?"
"Could be either with that mood." He paused. "Dean, I don't understand... how did that affect you so much... I mean, it was just you."
"It's not that simple. And - and I heard something..." Dean shook his head. "Don't worry. I'll get over it."
"What'd you hear? I won't tell anyone if you don't want me to. Promise."
"I know you wouldn't, I just don't think it would be smart. It's not your fault, Shay."
Seamus looked down at his hands, frowning. "And you're sure you don't want to talk about it? That... that thing got you pretty bad, mate. It might help to talk."
"I - I really don't think so..."
"Oh," Seamus said, nodding slightly. "Right. Well... well if you're really sure..."
"I'm not. But I'm not sure I want to talk about it, either."
"Right."
"Thanks, though."
"No problem."
Seamus turned on his heels, ready to go down to the common-room and relish in the warmth and liveliness accompanied, but he stopped abruptly, his fingers grazing the wall. He turned to face Dean, who still stared into space with his long limbs gathered around his torso, and felt his shoulders sag. His best friend didn't trust him. Why didn't his best friend trust him? And why did knowing that make him feel as though he'd failed?
"Dean?" The boy looked up when addressed, raising an eyebrow. Seamus cleared his throat. "Er - when you do decide you want to talk about it... just - just find me, right? I'll listen. Promise."
Dean smiled meekly. "Thanks, mate. I'll do that."
