"Riddikulous!" Severus shouted.

It was good that he was a talented occlumens; having Voldemort see what he had to do to dismiss his Boggart would likely have resulted in an extensive session with the Cruciatis curse.

Locking the boggart in the box, he turned the corner and glared at Travers, who was coming down the hall.

"You had to teach boggarts," he snapped.

Travers had the grace to look ashamed. "It seemed important."

Any other year, Severus would have applauded the effort; it was rare to have a competent teacher in Defense, and students would find a strong background in defense useful in the coming years.

"Then you should have excused Hebert. You were informed of her background."

"I expected to see her parents dead, not... what I saw."

There was a certain cruelty to that, but Travers had always thought of the muggleborn as being a little less than human. It wasn't a sentiment shared by Severus, even though his own muggle father had barely been human. He'd been abusive enough that Severus had a fair idea of what his own Boggart would have been at eleven, and he knew that some of his charges would have similar boggarts.

Even without the present situation, had the man never considered privacy?

"You know how boggarts are created!" Sevarus snapped. "Which is why we're having to deal with... this."

"I had no idea the girl was so disturbed. I did notice that the muggleborn seemed somewhat less bothered."

"They've seen similar things on television and in movies," Severus said. "At least some of them, even if not quite to the detail of her vision."

The purebloods tended to live more protected lives, at least in some ways, although often what they most needed protection from was their own did not generate Boggarts, any more than they generated ghosts... only Wizardkind did, and most often Wizarding children, because their fears tended to be more intense, and they had fewer emotional defenses.

There were now Voldemorts and versions of Taylor Hebert being seen all over the castle; along with Giant spiders and snakes. Travers had inadverdently spawned at least a half-dozen boggarts when he'd traumatized a class of first year by showing them exactly what was in Hebert's head.

Even the bits and pieces he'd managed to piece together from his glimspes inside her mind had shown him what a spectacularly bad idea that was. The girl was seriously disturbed; whether it was seeing the deaths of her parents, or brain damage from the Cruciatis curses she'd been exposed to, Sevarus sisn't know.

It was odd that she seemed to have a strange sort of affection for him; it was something that he could read in her body language as much as from her mind. She wasn't afraid of him at all, no matter how much he tried to distance himself from her.

If it had been any other child, he would have assumed it was because he had rescued her from that culvert and the life she had been living. He hadn't seen anything like that in her mind, however. Instead, she had a strange feeling of... kinship with him. It was as though she recognized something in him in herself.

The thought gave him chills. He couldn't even begin to imagine what they might have in common, and if they did, what it might imply about his own sanity.

"We've caught half of them," Travers said.

They'd caught three. Half a dozen was only an estimation, and most of the ones they had caught had been in the form of Voldemort. The Taylor Heberts had been a great deal; more cunning and difficult to catch, which was concerning in many ways.

If they were a pale reflection of the real thing, but had some measure of whatever Seer ability she was using to seem to know a little bit about everything, they were going to be almost impossible to catch, other than by Taylor herself, and she was still having trouble with the counterspell.

Apparently not having much of a sense of humor was a crippling impediment at times. It made Severus wonder how Hebert would manage a patronus charm. He suspected that she'd have even more trouble with that spell than with Riddikulous. Did the girl even have any good memories?

Sevarus scowled. "They're getting better at hiding; we have no idea how many of them there really are."

Were multiple sightings actually just the same boggart in different places, or were they different boggarts?

Even sending all of the students to their respective dorms wasn't enough to eliminate the danger. Boggarts were drawn to the taste of fear, and Travers hadn't had a chance to teach the rest of the classes the spell.

"And what will you be teaching them next? The Unforgivables? We'll end up with dead children in the hallways over schoolyard squabbles."

"I'm not that stupid," Travers said.

"I've seen your memories in the Pensieve... you should have shut it down sooner than you did. What were you trying to accomplish? The fears of the children in my House could be dangerous; if you had revealed that Mr. Malfoy was afraid of being beaten by his father for example and revealed it to all of his classmates, I suspect that your job would be the least of your worries."

"I'll take that into account for the future lessons," Travers said. He scowled. "Why do we even have that girl here? She beat three of her classmates with a sock, and then threatened to push others off the stairs. I don't understand why the pureblood parents aren't demanding her head."

"Because they don't think a muggleborn is ever going to be a real danger," Severus said. "After all, they're poor at magic, or haven't you heard."

"It's not her magic I'm worried about," Travers said. He grimaced. "I was hoping to get a clue as to what motivates her."

"I know what motivates her," Severus said. "I'm far more concerned about what she has experienced. That last memory was too... specific to be manufactured. I fear Ms. Hebert is damaged more than we first suspected."

"So you will help get rid of her?"

"If I got rid of all the students who inconveienced me, I would be teaching an empty classroom. The Headmaster, in his... wisdom, has chosen to keep her in my House as an object lesson."

"That muggles are dangerous?" Travers said. "I couldn't agree more."

"That some of them are competent."

Travers snorted. "I'm not even sure she's really a mudblood. She's a little too talented, and her first vision showed a spell I've never seen before."

"There are strange magics in parts of the Americas," Severus said. "As well as other countries."

Something skittered at the edge of his vision, and Severus scowled.

"Deal with your mistake," he snapped, and he headed down the hallway.

"Do you really think we're safe?" Tracey asked.

"We'll be fine," Millicent said. "You know her. She was afraid that she might be terrible, but that means she's not, right? Do you think You-Know-Who would be afraid of what he might do?"

"The thing that scares me is... what if that wasn't what she was afraid of. What if that was the funny version, like putting a Death Eater in a dress or something?"

"The boggart didn't go away until the Professor sent it back," Millicent said. "It was what she was afraid of."

"And the rest of it? Worrying that the world isn't real? That's what people who are mental worry about."

People who didn't think things were real could do anything. Nothing would stop them because there was no sense that there were consequences. Part of the reason some people were so cruel to muggles was that they didn't see them as human.

The thought of someone who didn't think of anyone as human was terrifying.

"Are you talking about me?" Taylor asked, coming around the corner. She was wearing her pajamas, and she looked like she'd just bruhed her teeth.

"No...no..." Tracey said. "We weren't. We were talking about... boys."

The terror in her voice made her want to jump up and run, but there wasn't any place to go. The girl seemed to know everything even before anyone had said it, and Tracey suspected that she wouldn't be able to hide no matter where she went.

Taylor stared at them, her eyes unblinking. Her head tilted to one side. "You wouldn't lie to me, would you?"

Her voice had gone flat in a way that was terrifying. There had always been something strange about the way she moved, like she was a preying mantis instead of a human being, but when she was angry there was something...

"No..."

Tracey's voice quavered, and she fought to suppress a grimace. Her bowels felt tight, and she felt like throwing up.

"That sounds like a lie," Taylor said. She took a step toward Tracey. "I don't like lies."

Her movements became even stranger as she walked forward. She stared directly at Tracey, and there was a look of almost predatory anticipation.

"You know what I do to people who lie to me, don't you?" Taylor asked. She smiled, and her smile seemed to stretch across her entire face. "I make them disappear."

She snapped her neck to one side, and there was an unnatural cracking sound. She began walking toward them, her limbs moving in an exxagerated, unnatural fashion.

"But before I do that, we're going to have a little... discussion."

Tracey screamed, and a moment later a second Taylor appeared at the door. It looked as though she'd been rushing to get to the room, even before Tracey had screamed. Behind her was the Prefect, Gemma.

"Riddikulous!" Gemma shouted.

The Tayor who was closer to them was suddenly wearing a pink tutu and was singing a weird little song. It rushed to jump into their wardrobe.

"I'm not sleeping with that in there," Tracey said.

"I'm afraid of You-Know-Who!" Millicent said quickly to the real Taylor, who was staring at the both of them.

"I'll get the professors," Gemma said. "I've got your wardrobe locked so it can't get out."

She left, leaving them alone with the real Taylor.

"I'm not afraid of you," Tracey said.

"You should be," Taylor said. Her smile grew and grew, and her face turned into something inhuman, and almost insectisoid.

She started walking toward them, her arms and legs twisting unnaturally with a strange cracking sound. "I've got to start somewhere, don't I?"

Tracey gasped and woke up.

"We've got more than a dozen traumatized students," Madam Pomprey said. "And this Bevy of Boggarts is not making the situation any better. I ran out of calming potion three hours ago."

"It was perhaps unwise for Mr. Travers to hold his lesson in public," Dumbledore said. "Some of the students may have fears they would have rather kept private."

"And her?" Madam Pomfrey asked. "She's showing signs of serious instability."

"Is it any surprise?" Dumbledore asked. "What would you have me do? Expell her? She'd be dead within two weeks. You know what's happening out there, and she hasn't made any friends among the Pureblooded parents with the things she has done."

""I'm just concerned," Madam Pomfrey said. "I'm almost as concerned about the first two visions as the last. Someone who believes that the world is not real... if the world is not real, why hold back?"

"I believe that her last fear means that she doesn't really believe that she is dreaming," Dumbledore said. "As you say, why worry about killing everyone if they are just a phantasm? In a way, I am relieved to see the contents of her final fear."

"Why?" Madam Pomfrey stared at him, horrified.

"Because it means that she is not lost," he said. "That image is not one that Voldemort would have ever had, because he would not have believed that it mattered what he did to anyone other than himself. She is actively afraid of hurting other people."

"She's rather good at it for someone who is afraid."

"And that's why she is afraid," Dumbledore said. "Precisely because she is good at it. She has skills that are... unusual for someone of her age. Those do concern me. Yet I have seen hints that ultimately she is a good person. She protects the innocent, and the helpless, and she is not dangerous if she is treated with even a modicum of respect."

"This is a school full of children!" Madam Pomfrey said. "Most of them at an age where respect is the last thing they understand."

"Then perhaps it is time they learn," Dumbledore said. He expression tightened. "Being told that they are superior has given some of the purebloods ideas...ideas that make them vulnerable to certain outside influences."

"Miss Hebert is not an object lesson. She could have killed any of those students."

"But she didn't. She applied exactly the amount of force she intended to, and no more," Dumbledore said. "She has shown a level of restraint that is surprising in someone her age."

"If that is what you call restrait, I'm not sure I want to see what losing control would look like."

"I think we already have," Dumbledore said. "My greatest concern is the detail of her final fear. Had that been an image taken from muggle entertainment, there wouldn't have been the other elements."

"Other elements?"

"You didn't notice the smells?" Dumbledore asked. "To my regret, I have seen a scene like that once, when I was in Africa, and I will never forget how it smelled. Those smells were absolutely authentic, and if the Death Eaters have escalated to that level of cruelty, then we have much more to be concerned about than we thought."

"So you plan to speak to the girl?"

"I think I must," Dumbledore said. "If only to find out more about the crimes that have been perpetrated against her. It is something I should have done at the beginning of term, but I suspected that she was too traumatized to deal with it. However, now I am reconsidering. Some boils should be lanced, after all."

"Muggle quackery," Madam Pomfrey sniffed.

"They do the best they can," Dumbledore admonished mildly. "And their methods are much less barbaric than they were even when I was a child. Perhaps one day they will surpass us."

Madam Pomfrey sniffed. "As though that will ever happen."

"As soon as this situation with the Boggarts is resolved, Miss Hebert and I will have a chat,' Dumbledore said.

"Good. It's about time."

"You didn't see it," Hermione said. "It's... I don't know what to think."

"You can't hold somebody responsible for what they're afraid of," Neville said, leaning close to her. "At least she's not afraid of Professor Snape."

Hermione laughed mirthlessly. "The only thing she's afraid of is herself. That's what everybody is saying."

"Well," Neville said. "That's good, right? If she is worried about killing you, that means she cares about you."

"She's afraid she's going to snap and kill everybody," Hermione said. "Not just me, or you, but all wizards everywhere."

"She couldn't do that, could she?" Neville asked, frowning. "It's silly to think that one wizard could do something like that."

"You-know-who wants to kill all the muggles, and they outnumber us six thousand to one," Hermione said. "I can think of a couple of ways to kill all of us, and if I can, I know she can think of ten times as many."

"Wait... how?"

"I'm not going to tell anybody!" Hermione said, staring at him. "Those aren't the kind of ideas that you talk about."

"Imagine that you had those kind of ideas all the time," Neville said. "Because you'd had to have them to defend yourself. Wouldn't that worry you?"

Hermione was quiet for a moment. "It worries me that I can even think of the things that I've been thinking about."

"How much worse must it be for Taylor? Even imitation Taylors are giving the Professors a run for their money, at least from what I hear."

The students were being escorted to and from class by Prefects, and otherwise were being confined to quarters. The library was one of the few places where students from other houses could still talk to each other, and so it was more crowded than usual.

"You're mate is mental!" Hermione heard a redhead say loudly from one table over. Apparently he'd been listening to their conversation. She needed to learn the muffling charm, sooner rather than later.

Hermione fought the urge to make a rude gesture. The last thing she needed to do right now was to lose house points. She was already getting pressure from older members of her house about associating with Taylor. The general consensus seemed to be that she was a dangerous, unstable loner.

If it was this hard for Hermione, how much harder was it for Taylor? To have the whole school look at her and think she was mental, or worse, a killer?

Taylor had always seemed above it all, as though the words people used didn't bother her at all, but Hermione knew that couldn't be true. The fact was that the boggart had proven that she had emotions, that she could be hurt.

She felt her face flush.

"What must she think of me? She saw my boggart!"

Neville patted her on her back, but it did nothing to eliminate her shame.