Bruce made an effort to find out that night at dinner. Passing through the Great Hall, he paused behind Talia's seat at the Slytherin table, "I spoke to Mister Hagrid, like you said. You were right, he did explain what they were. How - ?"

"I thought he would," she cut in and turned back to her plate in a clear indication that she wouldn't speak any further on the matter. Just like she'd avoided the topic at the carriage, when she'd told him to talk to Hagrid instead of answering directly about the thestrals.

Then again, he mused, absently pushing peas around his plate, didn't he want to avoid the topic of why he could see the thestrals, too? It was a rather... personal question.

That night, Bruce drifted through dreams of corpses turning into horses that spoke with Talia's voice, then it was Helena Ravenclaw's face speaking but the voice was his mother's. All the while he swam through a maze of hallways that turned into streets that turned into tunnels and back again. The voices kept repeating a question - a riddle? - that he couldn't answer. Always he felt that it - or was it they? was he looking for the answer or the questioner? - must lay just around the next corner...

When Julian's alarm clock woke their dormitory that morning, Bruce couldn't shake the feeling that it had interrupted something important.

By the time he was dressed and on the way to breakfast, he'd managed to put it out of his mind. Dreams and thestrals and lack of appetite all had to be set firmly aside, he reminded himself over eggs, since he had more urgent concerns. Defense Against the Dark Arts class was this afternoon and his boggart worksheet was still blank.

Fortunately, Bruce had found a strategy for dealing with just this sort of problem. With History of Magic first thing in the morning, he had the full hour of Binns' lecture to finish any last minute assignments. The desk was just large enough to hold both his textbook and the sheet of parchment with Nygma's five questions.

"What: Boggarts take a form they believe will scare whoever who finds them.
When: Boggarts aren't active at any special time, just when disturbed.
Where: Boggarts like to hide in tight, dark spaces, like forgotten cupboards and dressers.
Why: Boggarts can mimic the abilities of what they transform into and can be dangerous if the frightening thing is dangerous.
How: Boggarts are harmed by laughter and can be defeated by forcing them to transform into something funny with the incantation Ridikulus."

After a moment's thought, he added, "Fear can drive people to make dangerous mistakes." That wasn't mentioned in the textbook, but it was obviously true. Maybe the author felt it was so obvious that it didn't need to be said.

Finishing the worksheet was only half the preparation he needed, though. Nygma had implied they would be practicing on a real boggart in class. What form would it take to try to frighten Bruce?

The man from the alley, of course.

How to make that figure less terrifying, though? Bruce tried to imagine the killer appearing in their classroom, picturing yet again the face looking down at him from the other end of the barrel, and shuddered. Remembering Dr. Thompkins' coping strategies, he took a deep breath forced himself not to become lost in those memories and instead to center himself on the here and now. Focus on the question at hand.

How do I make him funny?

The image of the gunman's manic grin inspired an idea, What if he were a clown? Inspired, he kept going with that thought, Armed with a gun that just shoots out a little flag that says "BANG!" on it? That wouldn't be scary or dangerous at all. In fact, the new image of someone in a silly wig with giant shoes threatening him with a little flag - or maybe a seltzer bottle - was funny enough that Bruce almost giggled.

Armed with this plan, Bruce packed up his Defense Against the Dark Arts assignment just in time for the end of the lecture when Binns floated absently back through the blackboard. Since yesterday had been Miles' turn with the Folio, Bruce had no reason to dawdle and even managed to be one of the first out the door. Which meant he was also the first to arrive for their study group in the library.

He'd barely unpacked his History of Magic notes when Miles actually ran into the Library, tailed by an equally excited George. As soon as they spotted him, Miles started to shout, "I've got - !" but wisely broke off after a quick look toward the main desk and Madame Pince's icy glare. Miles slowed to hurried walk that was just barely short of a jog and managed to wait until he was close enough for an excited whisper, "I've got it!" To punctuate, he dropped a thick book on the table between himself and Bruce.

"Got what?"

With a triumphant flourish, he flipped the book open a page marked with his folded over Herbology homework, "Look at this!"

Obediently, Bruce read the section Miles pointed to, next to a picture of what looked like a blue rose:

"Blaue Blume (Rosa Caerula) is a rare magical flower, native to certain cold mountainous regions in Central Asia and used in many magical rites. The flower's petals are coated in a dust which, when inhaled, cause the subject to perceive what appears to be their worst nightmare brought to life. Under the influence of the dust, even close friends may appear to be mortal enemies or terrifying monsters. Drying and crushing the flowers can produce a more potent version of the dust, which is sometimes used during rites of passage by various..."

The remainder mentioned a few groups and some potions that Bruce had never heard of.

"So... you want to do this for the Herbology assignment?" What was so exciting about that? "I thought we already finished the homework, but - "

Miles cut him off, shaking his head and hands, "No no no no! Not that! Well, I mean, yeah, that, too. But this is how we'll get back at Manny and Eddy!"

Bruce reread the description, this time lingering over the phrase "their worst nightmare brought to life." Manchester Black losing his mind in front of the whole school, screaming and crying about... well, whatever it was that scared him. His whole gang with him, terrified even of each other. Then, afterwards, the whole group trying to explain why they'd been so scared at nothing at all.

It was a very attractive vision.

It also had a few issues, "How are we going to get the flowers out of the greenhouse, or get them to breathe in the dust?"

Miles tapped the page again and recited, "'native to cold mountain regions.' They can't grow in the greenhouse, we'll have to take the seeds outside and it'll be easy to sneak one into an empty potion jar while everyone's freezing and wants to get back in!"

That still left the problem of getting close enough to the Elites to - "The Shadow Cloak."

George nodded, grinning widely, while Miles carried on, "After dinner, one of us heads down towards the Slytherin common room, finds a shadowy spot, and waits. When they get close, we spray the dust at them and hide."

"How do we make sure only they get any? What if we accidentally breathe some in? What if - ? What about - ? How do we - ?" They argued over the details of the plan in hushed tones all the way until lunchtime came, but finally Bruce agreed that it could be made to work and they headed to the Great Hall without having bothered to copy any History of Magic notes.

Bruce propped Miles' book open on his thigh at lunch and absently shoveled food into his mouth while recopying his Herbology homework with Rosa Caerula in place of Lycoris Squamigera.

After lunch on Friday, the Ravenclaw first years had Defense Against the Dark Arts, and the promised encounter with a real boggart. This would be their first encounter with a genuine "Dark Creature" and nobody was quite certain what could happen. The room was thick with anticipation and a combination of nervousness and excitement as they filed in and took their seats.

"Of course," Louisa Ferret airily reminded a nervous Tommy Smythe, "Professor Nygma isn't about to let anything get out of control. And how dangerous could it be, anyway? All boggarts do is scare people."

As usual, Nygma sauntered in just as class was scheduled to start and managed to make a show of casually placing his hat and coat on the rack, rolling up his sleeves, and correcting his glasses.

Finally, without even a riddle to open with, Professor Nygma faced the class, "I hope that you've all finished your assignments and considered properly our lesson today, since there won't be any redoes. In that cabinet back there," he used the head of his cane to gesture at an ancient wardrobe at the back of the classroom that certainly hadn't been there on Monday, "is your adversary.

"Now, who can imagine an advantage against it today that your textbook failed to?"

No one dared raise their hand. An advantage? Bruce had considered the disadvantage not mentioned by the text, but what could the class offer that -

"There are too many of us for it to know who to frighten properly," Joanna Stubbs offered at last.

"Exactly right! Well done, take a point, I knew Ravenclaws were my favorite house!"

Of course. Why hadn't Bruce considered that?

Professor Nygma pressed on, "So, of course, I want you all to stand well away so that only one at a time can try. Don't worry! If anything goes awry, you have your classmates to come to your aid!"

And so the gauntlet began. One by one the class faced the wardrobe while the rest stood back in a loose semicircle around them.

Tommy Smythe was the first to go. Bruce knew very little about Tommy, even though they shared a dormitory, and so what happened next was a complete surprise. The thin, brown haired boy squared off before the closed door of the wardrobe, wand in hand.

Nygma gently reached out with his cane from beside the wardrobe, hooked the door of the wardrobe, and yanked it open.

Somehow the interior of the wardrobe was completely dark, as though it were some impossibly deep cave.

Without warning, something leapt out from the darkness. The figure was that of a woman, but she hunched over, so that her pure white hair hung over her face, showing no features. Then she lifted her face and it was clear that she was no human. She fixed them all with a white-eyed stare and opened her mouth far too wide.

A piercing, horrible screech filled the air.

"Ridikulus!" Tommy somehow shouted over her and, all of a sudden, the shrieking stopped. In it's place came singing. The woman had transformed in an almost imperceptible way. No longer pale, but fair, her stark white hair and eyes now a gleaming silver. Her shriek had become an entrancing melody, " - where the day goes? Only time..." It wasn't funny, but it was soothing.

"Half points, Tommy." Nygma shouted over her and interrupted the trance. "Replacing a banshee with a siren might seem less frightening but no less dangerous." His cane now rested against the wall, fingers planted firmly in his ears. "Joanna, can you do something about this?"

With the siren's spell broken, Joanna Stubbs had no trouble interrupting the creature. She stepped forward as Tommy stepped back and, with a sudden crack, the boggart changed form again. Now the figure wore a military uniform, soaked through entirely. It shed water as it slowly moved forward towards Joanna. This time the face was clearly visible. It was bloated and bluish. Clear signs of a drowning victim, Bruce recalled from his readings.

Joanna hesitated a moment before she waved her wand, "Ridikulus!" In that instant the drowned figure became healthy again, having been saved by nothing less than a child's floaty, complete with happy duck face, around his waist. The image brought a quick bout of laughter from the class and the boggart visibly cringed.

"Excellent work, Joanna, well done indeed. Bruce, show us what you've got!"

Bruce squared his shoulders and took Joanna's place at the center of the circle. The boggart recovered from its surprise, it looked at Bruce and there was a loud crack!

No menacing gunman appeared. No threatening voice sounded. No mocking laugh echoed.

Instead, a shrill note pierced through Bruce's head.

Sounds of rushing wind and flapping wings crowded around him. A series of shrieks and a cloud of darkness filled the air. The sunlight from the windows was blotted out.

In an instant, a distant memory filled Bruce's mind. A long forgotten hole, barely covered somewhere on the family grounds. The feeling rotten wood giving way underneath his weight. The sensation of the fall. A hard landing on a rocky shelf.

The frightened residents of the cave swirling around him.

Bruce could do nothing but throw up his hands to defend himself from the swarm, wand forgotten.

He was finally brought back to reality by Nygma's voice, "Well, there's a disappointment. Let's see if Ms. Ferret can make anything of this."

Louisa cautiously pushed her way into the swarm of bats and took position at the center, the boggart popped again and the bats vanished, allowing a trembling Bruce to make his way back among his classmates. He barely paid attention as the class continued to battle the boggart one after the next.

The source of his terror was just the shapeshifter trying to frighten him and, in any event, bats were nothing that he needed to be so fearful of. He knew both of these things.

So why was he still so afraid?

He managed to recover enough of his nerves to watch Julian Desmond replace the sickly, decaying body of a young girl with a healthy, happy child that danced and sang nonsense words. The boggart-child's antics brought laughter from most of the class, though Julian's was rather strained.

Nygma hooked the door open with his cane again and the boggart hastily retreated back into the wardrobe. A quick push and it was safely sealed away. He produced a key from his waistcoat pocket and locked the door behind it. With a smile he pocketed the wardrobe key and faced them again,

"You can't leave me behind if you put on your face,
I'm what you do when the truth you need to replace,
What am I?"

It didn't seem like it should difficult, but Bruce was still feeling too shaken to think clearly. When Joanna eventually answered, "make-up" he nearly kicked himself.

"Precisely, well-done again! Yes, there is make-up work for anyone who didn't manage to successfully confront the boggart the first time around." He held up a hand before anyone could begin to protest, "Now don't worry, I said that I shan't be sending anyone against it a second time. Instead, I want an essay about your encounter and failure here today. The topic is simple, 'Why couldn't you defeat it?'

"We shall be doing something similar for each creature we study with from now on. Dismissed."

With this, the class returned to their desks, gathered up their things, and filtered out. Most seemed in good spirits, of course most had done far better with the boggart than he had. Bruce staggered back to the desk with his bookbag, consumed with Nygma's question. Why had he failed so spectacularly against the boggart?

He looked down at the wand still feebly, futilely, dangling from his fingers. American Chestnut with a core of batwing tendon, Mr. Olivander had said it was made of. He remembered what else Mr. Olivander had said, "it's really the wand chooses the wizard, you know." If that was true then somehow bats meant something to Bruce, or he to them, right? But then, why had he totally frozen up when he encountered the boggart-swarm just now?

For that matter, Why bats?