Facing Fears

A/N:

Oni: Hi everyone! Back again with another chapter, which was thankfully not TOO long of a wait… right?

Eridan: It's nearin a year.

Harry: Honestly not too bad knowing how long it usually takes.

Oni: Shaddaaaaap. Anyways, I hope you enjoy the chapter! I have a more concrete plan for this one so we'll see how this pans out.

Eridan: Oni does not owwn Harry Potter or Homestuck.

Harry: And onwards!

Oni: Hey that's my line!

Snape was out of the count for the rest of the day, freeing the first year Ravenclaws and Hufflepuffs from his wrath. The Observer was discharged from the Hospital Wing right before lunch ended after Madame Pomfrey checked him over and found he had not pulled something while throwing a full grown adult across the room. Ron had explained to him in a mystified voice what he had done on autopilot while they had made their way to the Hospital Wing in the first place.

Which told the Observer (he really needed to find a better name) that his troll physique was starting to bleed into his human side (which would explain the quirk, now that he thought about it). Would fins start growing? Would horns? Would his skin turn grey and would his blood once more run in that shade of royal violet that he'd been so proud of for thirteen years?

A part of him, the part that was Eridan, felt excitement and even longing at that prospect, while Harry faced the idea with trepidation and a worry that he was losing himself as it was. Perhaps it was something to think about at a later date.

In the current moment, he was being accosted on all sides by the Gryffindors who had heard through the grapevine of what he had done. He'd decided to go straight to the Common Room to avoid much of the attention (he could always find a way to get his food earlier—he had a time turner now after all) but it looked like the damage was only mitigated slightly. Many were hailing him as a hero, some, who had seen it in person or had gotten a more detailed explanation, looked at him with slight fear. Others like Hermione and Percy were tutting at him for manhandling a teacher. The Observer could only squeak out that it was an automatic defense tactic, but shut up as soon as someone questioned why that never happened in the two years prior.

He could tell that his friends were getting frustrated with the situation as each new thing popped up. There was only so much he could get away with explaining cryptically and really, he owed them all an explanation. The truth, even. But with the new addition of the 'Signs of Creation' (as they were called in Ancient Runes) and the knowledge of the 'gods' that the wizards apparently had, would they even believe him?

Would they leave, once they knew the extent of his sins?

The angsting was put on hold as the Gryffindors and Slytherins prepared for their second joint lesson (Runes didn't count, as that contained all houses) for the day—Defense Against the Dark Arts. The Observer was rather curious as to how this lesson would go, since as far as Harry was concerned the previous two were utter failures (one tried to kill him and the other tried to wipe his memory). Eridan did not see the issue, but then again there weren't adult teachers in Alternia and everyone was trying to kill each other anyway even after the planet blew up.

Everyone had already sat down and were chatting amongst each other when Professor Lupin walked in. The man looked less shabby than he had been on the train, which brought some credit to the previous poverty theory going on in his head. Briefly the Professor's eyes locked with the Observer's. His smile grew ever so slightly, as if recalling something funny.

Oh right, Snape hated this man's guts for some reason and the Potions Professor was currently unconscious in the Hospital Wing instead of whatever he might have been planning to do to the new DADA Professor.

"Good afternoon," Professor Lupin finally stated with mirth swirling around his form, "Would you please put all your books back in your bags? Today's will be a practical lesson. You will need only your wands."

A few curious looks were exchanged as the class put away their books. They had never had a practical Defense Against the Dark Arts class before, unless you counted the memorable class last

year when their old teacher had brought a cageful of pixies to class and set them loose.

"Right then," said Professor Lupin when everyone was ready, "If you'd follow me."

Puzzled but interested, the class got to its feet and followed Professor Lupin out of the classroom. He led them along the deserted corridor and around a corner, where the first thing they saw was Peeves the Poltergeist, who was floating upside down in midair and stuffing the nearest keyhole with chewing gum.

Peeves didn't look up until Professor Lupin was two feet away; then he wiggled his curly-toed feet and broke into song.

"Loony, loopy Lupin," Peeves sang. "Loony, loopy Lupin, loony, loopy Lupin —"

Well that was odd. Despite the Poltergeist's lack of respect to the Prefects and Head Students, Peeves generally gave way somewhat to the teachers. A wave of fondness came from Professor Lupin, and his interest was piqued, especially when the man continued to smile.

"I'd take that gum out of the keyhole if I were you, Peeves," the professor said pleasantly, much to the surprise of the students "Mr. Filch won't be able to get to his brooms."

All he got in return was a wet raspberry that made ectoplasmic spittle fly everywhere. Professor Lupin gave a small sigh and took out his wand.

"This is a useful little spell," he told the class over his shoulder. "Please watch closely. Waddiwasi!" he intoned, pointing his wand at Peeves.

With the force of a bullet, the wad of chewing gum shot out of the keyhole and straight down Peeves's left nostril. The Poltergeist fled, cursing loud enough to cover the laughter members of the class were trying to hold back. It was rare to see anyone one-up Peeves. Not to mention, that spell was something he'd have to look into.

"Cool, sir!" shouted Dean Thomas in amazement.

"Thank you, Dean," said Professor Lupin, putting his wand away again. "Shall we proceed?"

They ended up going to the staffroom, which was empty at this time of day. Professor Lupin guided them further in, stopping at a wardrobe where the spare teaching robes were kept. As Professor Lupin went to stand next to it, the wardrobe gave a sudden wobble, banging off the wall.

"Nothing to worry about," Professor Lupin assured calmly as a few people jumped backward in alarm, "There's just a Boggart in there."

Despite the 'just', some of the wizarding kids paled at the name. Neville gave Professor Lupin a look of pure terror, and Seamus Finnigan eyed the now rattling doorknob apprehensively. The Observer didn't recall meeting such a creature, but the name was familiar as he thought back to the textbook he read. When it finally hit him, he paled as well.

Oh shit.

"Boggarts like dark, enclosed spaces," he heard Professor Lupin say, "Wardrobes, the gap beneath beds, the cupboards under sinks—I've even met one that had lodged itself in a grandfather clock. This one—" he tapped on the side of the shaking wardrobe, "moved in yesterday afternoon, and I asked the headmaster if the staff would leave it to give my third years some practice. So, the first question we must ask ourselves is: What is a Boggart?"

"It's a shape-shifter." Hermione answered, hand aloft to no one's surprise. "It can take the shape of whatever it thinks will frighten us most."

"Couldn't have put it better myself," said Professor Lupin, and Hermione glowed. "So the Boggart sitting in the darkness within has not yet assumed a form. He does not yet know what will frighten the person on the other side of the door. Nobody knows what a Boggart looks like when he is alone, but when I let him out, he will immediately become whatever each of us most fears."

Both Eridan and Harry were now panicking somewhere in the mindspace for similar reasons. Which was making the Observer panic. What shape would his take? Would it be something from Harry's memories? Would it be from Eridan's? What is it that he most feared? There were so many things it could be, so many things that could be revealed to everyone in the class, and then everyone would know about it.

"This means," continued Professor Lupin, choosing to ignore Neville's small sputter of terror, "that we have a huge advantage over the Boggart before we begin. Have you spotted it, Harry?"

He quashed down the panic as much as he could before trying to figure out the answer. Everything will be fine. Everything is going to be fine.

"There's too many of us." The Observer answered after a few thundering seconds. "The Boggart wwon't knoww wwhat to transform into. It'll get confused until it's able to isolate one of us."

"Precisely!" Professor Lupin commended with a smile, "It's always best to have company when you're dealing with a Boggart. He becomes confused. Which should he become, a headless corpse or a flesh-eating slug? I once saw a Boggart make that very mistake—tried to frighten two people at once and turned himself into half a slug. Not remotely frightening."

A chuckle rippled across the gathered students in red and gold.

"The charm that repels a Boggart is simple, yet it requires force of mind." He turned to face the students completely. "You see, the thing that really finishes a Boggart is laughter. What you need to do is force it to assume a shape that you find amusing. We will practice the charm without wands first. After me, please... riddikulus!"

Ridiculous? Was all the Observer could think as the class related the incantation with a kind of squashed derision. It did the trick of alleviating his panic, though, so maybe there was some merit to it. Then could it be said that by finding the opposite 'element' of whatever the magical effect was, the magic would reverse in a way?

Was the enemy of fear 'laughter', or something deeper than that? Boggarts and Dementors both relied on fear and bad memories, and he doubted those floating rotting corpses could be turned with a mere Riddikulus. That would be… haha.

Neville was pulled aside to be the first to test his mettle against the Boggart. He walked forward as though he were heading for the gallows.

"Right, Neville," began Professor Lupin. "First things first: what would you say is the thing that frightens you most in the world?"

At this, Neville lowered his head, and seemed to ponder something. "Professor Snape." He mumbled, the sound so quiet that even with what the Observer could assume was his troll hearing could barely hear. The Professor even had to ask him to repeat it, much to the lad's embarrassment. Nearly everyone laughed. Even Neville grinned apologetically. Professor Lupin, however, looked thoughtful. Before he could speak though, Seamus piped up.

"Got a sure way to get a laugh out of that!" the Irish lad chuckled out, and all eyes turned to the Observer. That wasn't going away anytime soon, was it? The Observer waved a bit, feeling his face flush in his own embarrassment.

"Maybe something a bit less… violent. Sorry, Harry." Professor Lupin commented, looking not sorry at all and instead as if he were about to laugh. "Perhaps… well, I recall your grandmother was notorious for her fashion style."

"Er, yes," Neville nervously mumbled. "But I don't want the Boggart to turn into her either."

"No, no, you misunderstand me," there was now an almost conspiratorial smile on his face, "Imagine her clothes in your mind's eye… and then imagine Professor Snape in those clothes."

A louder wave of laughter rippled across the class.

"If Neville is successful, the Boggart is likely to shift his attention to each of us in turn," continued Professor Lupin, smiling wide. "I would like all of you to take a moment now to think of the thing that scares you most, and imagine how you might force it to look comical..."

Well that was the kicker, wasn't it? Neither Harry nor Eridan were good at looking on the bright side of things. The Observer wondered what might pop up.

Beside him he saw most of his classmates with their eyes shut tight. Ron was chanting "take its legs off" under his breath. That seemed like a good counter to his arachnophobia.

Maybe a Dementor or Voldemort (but Eridan wasn't scared of him), or a LOWAA Angel or Jack Noir (but Harry didn't seem to care about him).

The lesson began with Neville actually putting Snape in an absolutely horrible attire. Eridan was more afraid of the fashion faux pas than anything else. The laughter surrounding the Boggart gave the not-Snape a confused expression. Pavarti strode in next with a mummy, and then Seamus with a banshee.

He supposed the Eridan route to any of those popping up would be imagining them with a gaping hole in their chest. Like Fef-

A rat. A rattlesnake. A floating eyeball. Dean's fear was a severed hand. Ron came next, taking the legs off of the Acromantula that the Boggart became. The body dropped at the Observer's feet. Clammy hands raised his wand.

Oh god, what if it was one of Eridan's dead friends? Coming back, chanting about his sins? What if it was Feferi dripping fuchsia from her sternum? What if it was Kanaya with white glowing skin and a chainsaw OH GOD THE CHAINSAWW-

"Here!" shouted Professor Lupin suddenly and Eridan felt something move in front of him.

Crack!

Eridan opened his eyes to see Professor Lupin in front of him. The Boggart had become silvery-white orb hanging in the air. Was that… Earth's moon? He didn't get to ponder it much as the professor turned it into a cockroach, allowing Neville to once again grace the class with the image of Snape wearing a dress before the sound of laughter literally made the Boggart explode. That got a bark of laughter from Eridan, whose nerves had become frazzled thinking of his fear.

"Excellent!" cried Professor Lupin as the class broke into applause, "Excellent, Neville. Well done, everyone... Let me see... five points to Gryffindor for every person to tackle the Boggart—ten for Neville because he did it twice... and five each to Hermione and Harry."

"But I didn't do anythin." Eridan stated in confusion. While he was grateful he didn't have to show whatever fear he had in front of the class, it felt a bit like he was being coddled.

"You and Hermione answered my questions correctly at the start of the class, Harry." Was the light reply from the Professor, which mollified him somewhat.

Well fine. He'll take the blow to his pride if it meant not having to deal with a manic rainbow-drinker. The real nightmare would be explaining the Boggart's form if it turned out to be anything from Eridan's past. If it was a troll, he'd be screwed. If it was Jack Noir… he could probably blame it on Trelawney and the whole Grimm thing. Still, he'd rather not dig himself too deep a hole. Sometimes it was better to omit things than to lie outright.

He let the chatter of the surrounding students calm him down. Professor Lupin certainly knew how to teach a class. This was the best one they had so far. Hermione was chastising Ron as they walked back to the DADA classroom, the redhead having joked that her boggart would have been a less-than-perfect test. Neville was practically glowing, far from what he'd been before the class began.

A silent sigh of relief. For now his secret was safe. For how long, he didn't know. But there was work to be done, secrets to unveil, and questions to answer. Absentmindedly he touched the time-turner under his robes.

Hopefully he'd do it all in time.

September passed far quicker than it had the prior two years. Professor Lupin proved his worth as a more superior Defense teacher with continuously interesting and fascinating lessons—though the death glares from Professor Snape had only intensified for the poor defense professor.

Speaking of Snape, the Potions Professor was now on some kind of warpath. After recovering from being hurled into a wall by a spaced-out thirteen-year-old and learning that another thirteen-year-old had subjected both Gryffindors and Slytherins alike to the image of him in various dresses, it was a miracle the Gryffindor House was staying afloat with all of his bullshit excuses for taking his anger out on children. Poor Neville was getting the brunt of his rage along with Eridan (the Observer was sticking with that misleading name for the time being, the Harry Potter side of him hating titles). Though, nowadays he kept a short distance from the bespectacled teen. Probably didn't want a repeat incident to happen. Ha. He was sure the only reason Neville was getting by was by imagining Boggart Snape or the Potter Suplex, as the Hogwarts grapevine had started to call it.

The other core classes had become easier for him since his past memories had surfaced, many of the theories taught having been in the previously-deemed 'bullshit magic' books that Eridan Ampora had been fond of reading. Especially Transfiguration and Charms. Potions, too, which had previously been proved on the autopilot incident, came from Eridan's muscle memory back in his little laboratory on the WarshipHive and on the Meteor.

Eridan ended up surpassing Hermione in Arithmancy, which had shocked the bushy-haired girl and nearly spurred another study session if he and Ron hadn't convinced her that the reason he was doing better was due to proper rest. Which wasn't entirely truthful, but the girl looked ready to keel over at any moment. He was sure she was taking entirely too many classes and even with the time turner wasn't taking a breather at all.

After the little incident with the Hippogriffs, Hermione had apparently worked with Hagrid to implement a few safety measures for Care of Magical Creatures, stating that he got lucky with Harry brushing off the injury. If Malfoy had been the one injured, Buckbeak could've very well lost his life to ease the hearts of the school board. Instead things were dialed down initially as they worked with Bowtruckles, Porlocks, and Pixies (which everyone from the year prior already had some experience in due to Lockhart). While he was a little disappointed to be starting with such small, weak little creatures after having a taste of the power of beasts like hippogriffs, the lessons weren't bad at all. If anything they showed how much hands-on experience Hagrid had being the groundskeeper.

Watching Pixies tug at Malfoy's shiny hair had also been a huge plus.

Troubles were more prevalent in Divination, where Professor Trawney kept glancing at him as if he were already walking to his grave. Lavender and Pavarti, who had taken to spending most of their time with the alcoholic Professor, had taken to whispering to him as if he were on his deathbed. This would've been annoying enough had it not been for the fact that they behaved like Serket when she got new blackmail information. Eridan wasn't sure if keeping this subject was worth the hassle, since it seemed he had no talent for it.

Strangely enough, Ron did, not that the redhead noticed. The predictions he came up with (a Cathedral-a lonely march of great responsibility; a pair of wings-there is hope in your darkest time; a harpoon-your enemy is far bigger than you realize) spooked Eridan to no end. Ron just laughed them off as being ridiculous, and he'd laughed too to cover the spike of fear.

The worst by far was Ancient Runes, which had gotten more in-depth with the "Runes of Creation".

Eridan sat with Hermione as usual, though the studious girl glanced at him every so often, waiting for him to go out of it again. Luckily, he was able to quash the meltdown the actual Eridan side had every time anything related to his life or his ex-friends and anything to do with that damned game. And the Observer found it more fascinating how the lives weaved into one another in such strange ways. It was both fascinating and terrifying to know that they were the basis for more complex Runes, even moreso than Nordic Futhark.

Everything about them meant something in this world. Not just the 'zodiac' signs either. The color of each was important (their blood color, which defined them even here, even now) as were their titles, what they 'gave' (or the way the professor had stated excitedly, presided over, which caused Eridan Ampora to break out into almost hysterical laughter within the mindspace and gave the Observer a huge headache), and their names.

He was never so grateful for reading ahead then that day, having realized what the lesson would be about and skipping class entirely. It's not like that knowledge was new, and it would only bring pain and suffering to relive that. To hear those names in this place. His name in this place.

At the end of the month, Eridan was given blessed distraction in the form of Quidditch. Yet another experience that was both new and old for the reincarnated troll. He supposed it was better said that he was seeing it now from a different point of view. Oliver Wood had corralled the members of the Gryffindor Quidditch Team into the locker rooms one cold, dark October morning.

"This is our last chance—my last chance—to win the Quidditch Cup," he told them, striding up and down in front of the yawning teens. "I'll be leaving at the end of this year. I'll never get another shot at it."

Since regaining his past memories, Eridan hadn't been on a broom even once—and doubted the ride on Buckbeak counted. Wood was doing his best to hype the team up for the season.

"Gryffindor hasn't won for seven years now. Okay, so we've had the worst luck in the world—injuries—then the tournament getting called off last year." Wood swallowed, as though the memory still brought a lump to his throat. "But we also know we've got the best — ruddy — team — in — the — school!" he hollered out, punching a fist into his other hand, the old manic glint back in his eye.

It really wasn't an issue of skill. Something always seemed to happen on game day, at least for when Harry Potter was involved. With the broom issue (courtesy of Quirrel) and the rogue bludger (courtesy of Dobby), Eridan's pessimism and pattern-seeking superstition was certain something was going to happen this year as well.

"The Quidditch Cup should have had our name on it these last two years." Oliver continued, pacing back and forth again, "Ever since Harry joined the team, I've thought the thing was in the bag. But we haven't got it, and this year's the last chance we'll get to finally see our name on the thing..." Wood spoke so dejectedly that even Fred and George looked sympathetic.

"Oliver, this year's our year," said Fred consolingly.

"We'll do it, Oliver!" piped up Angelina with energy.

"Definitely." Eridan added, if only to put his two cents in. Already he was trying to figure out the most possible issue to arise in the games, and if the past few years said anything, there were a lot of possibilities.

Full of determination, the team started training sessions, three evenings a week. Training with the team confirmed some of his suspicions — seeing as the likes of Quidditch athletes were in better physical shape than Ron or Hermione — of the changes to his person brought on by his past-life recollection. What had previously been absolutely grueling physical training at the hands of Captain Wood, had become… laughably doable.

Harry Potter had been so used to getting in the zone in order to survive the trainings before that Eridan hadn't realized how fast he was going until he passed the Twins and then Oliver, then Angelina, and Katie, and Alicia (many of whom heckled him that they weren't even halfway across the pitch yet) and heard their Captian's maniacal whoop of joy.

Eridan winced. Looks like he accidentally set the bar a smidge too high for his still-human teammates.

The weather was getting colder and wetter and the nights darker, but it didn't faze Eridan as much as it should have. Now that he had a new benchmark to go by, Eridan noted (half excited, half terrified) that his troll physique really was bleeding in and the Snape thing wasn't just a fluke. His eyesight in the dark had improved to troll standards (though unfortunately his normal eyesight was garbage across both lives anyways, so it looked like the glasses were staying…) and during dinner time one night he glanced his reflection on a bowl and was shocked that his mouth sported a much sharper canine than he was used to. A trip to the bathroom revealed that his canines were indeed slightly larger and sharper. Not as bad as his seadweller chompers (which had an extra row of teeth), but certainly more so than a human's.

In his mindspace that night he had to try to console his Harry side, who was now doing his first freak-out over the possible loss of his humanity. The Eridan side scoffed at the idea that being human was somehow considered 'sacred', and the Observer felt like he was once again corralling the two of them so they didn't beat the other up into a pulp.

How could one soul be so different in two lives?

Ronald Billius Weasley was generally considered to be an unobservant person.

He would beg to differ, though he was rarely the type to beg. Was he opposed to more studious habits? Yes. Did he prefer a more practical approach to things? Of course. Was he usually more crass than publicly polite and blunter than a bludger? Absolutely. But he wasn't unobservant. Anyone playing chess with him would know that.

So it bothered him a tad that Harry was shouldering some unknown and unspoken weight… again. You would think that the incident with Snape would have opened him up a bit more, but it seemed to have had the opposite effect. If anything, he's clammed up more than usual. Harry's never been the most forthcoming with information, but he's never been this avoidant before.

He'd talked to Neville about it, who said much of the same thing but also didn't know what was going on with him other than what was already (cryptically) revealed to them. What was more puzzling was that Fred had grumbled something about extra drills and George had elaborated that Harry was doing excellent in Quidditch practice, but Hermione had complained that Harry wasn't showing up to Ancient Runes at all recently (but had remarked that she wasn't surprised since apparently the stuff they were learning was hard to memorize). Ginny said she swore he looked shaken whilst looking at his spoon (which… Ron wasn't going to comment on that one) and had dashed out of the Great Hall as if a Grimm were chasing him (he remembered that Harry seemed rushed, but was he really that scared?). Everyone was worried about him, but no one knew how to brooch the subject without the chance of Harry bolting like a terrified mouse.

Then again, Hermione was barely keeping her eyes open these days. Last week her bag tore and they had to carry her things. Both her and Harry had become wrecks and he doubted they were for the same reason. Hermione could be coaxed at times with nagging to rest, or food, or that godforsaken beast she called a cat. Harry… well he usually didn't turn down a game of chess, but he'd been hard to find lately. Physically, he'd be there, but it was like the first Potions lesson where it was like his brain had grown legs and walked off somewhere.

It had been evening when it happened.

Ron had to make a detour to the bathrooms after dinner, and had told Harry and Hermione that he would catch up with them later. After doing his business he'd started off towards the corridors that usually led to the Gryffindor Common Room, but ended up going through one of those trick doors and ended up in an area he wasn't familiar with. Not uncommon even after two years of living in the castle. He wasn't sure if anyone was able to map out the entire place with all of its moving parts. But if anyone did… well, maybe Fred and George could since they seemed to be able to sneak around everywhere.

But he wasn't Fred and he wasn't George. He wasn't Bill, who was an amazing Chaser like Charlie and a wicked Curse Breaker. He wasn't Charlie who worked with dragons. He wasn't Percy, who memorized the entire list of rules and regulations on the school before he even started going to Hogwarts.

He was just Ron. And now he was also lost.

After wandering around and muttering out language that would have had his ears boxed by his mother and scolded by Percy and Hermione, he heard a noise coming from a door on the right. It was slightly ajar. Was someone doing weird shit in an abandoned classroom again? Something in his gut told him he should go in though, just like something had told him to go in that train compartment during the first ride to Hogwarts. It hadn't led him astray yet, right?

Just like that day two years ago, Ron Weasley opened the door to reveal the room's lone occupant—Harry Potter.

Harry jumped a few feet in the air and whirled around like Hermione's feral cat, pointing his wand and him in the dark before immediately lowering it with a sigh of relief.

"Oh… hullo Ron. You wwere supposed to be back at the Common Room by noww…" the black-haired boy mumbled, though his tone did not indicate he was upset by the fact Ron was here with him instead. "Howw did you get here?"

And there it was again. That Not-Stutter. Too smooth and sure. Not like Quirrell. More like an integral part of him; like a weird accent.

Before Ron could reply, a cabinet in the room began to lurch as something banged around inside. Both boys jumped again, and Harry trained his wand in its direction. They looked at each other.

"Boggart?" Ron asked. Harry nodded silently, grimacing. He could see the bead of sweat down his face, his friend's haggard appearance. Remembering back, Harry wasn't able to tackle the Boggart in Professor Lupin's first class. Was he trying to deal with it alone? "Mate, I can't believe I'm saying this, but we can let the teachers handle it…"

"No… I… I need to face them." Harry sounded adamant, but there was something just below the determination. Fear.

Ron trained his wand on the cabinet as well. "Look, I'm not letting you face it alone. Whatever it is, I have your back, remember?"

He was expecting Harry to get cagey again. The Boy-Who-Lived certainly looked like he was considering turning him down for a moment. His face went completely blank again as some internal struggle warred behind his eyes. In seconds it ended. Harry nodded. With a flick of his wand, the cabinet unlocked.

There were a few things that came to mind for what Ron thought was going to come out of the cabinet. Maybe You-Know-Who, maybe a dementor, or Snape, or a Basilisk, or his relatives. What did come out was a strange-looking girl. She seemed to be about their age with rather short black hair, dressed in a red skirt and a black shirt (with a green symbol that Ron vaguely recalled from somewhere) and a violet sash around her waist. But her skin was a distinct grey, with strangely shaped horns on her head that reminded him of candy corn. The 'whites' of her eyes were yellow, though she had Harry's green eyes. Undoubtedly inhuman, but she didn't look all that frightening.

Beside him Harry tensed, wand trained on the weird girl. Green paint leaked from her middle, staining the sash, as her expression turned furious. Suddenly her skin was no longer grey, but a blinding, glowing paper-white. Her black lips opened to reveal sharp fangs, and the object in her hand (it was too small for Ron to see what it was) transformed into a large metal thing with whirring teeth, revving it at Harry.

"You Did This!" The girl howled in an odd accent as she lunged, and Harry looked frozen in place in terror.

"Riddikulus!" He heard Harry scream out, a beam of light coming from his wand and seeming to bore a hole through her, causing the girl to fall backwards and turn into… another grey skinned girl? This one had long black hair and pastel clothing and… fins? Her eyes were unseeing, and there was pink paint everywhere, mostly centered around her middle where…

Oh.

That wasn't paint.

Ron felt ill, but he couldn't turn away. This new dead girl lifted her eyes, slightly glassy, to Harry.

"You did t)(is." she whispered, her voice strange, making a sound that he couldn't quite explain with her words.

"Riddikulus." He heard Harry whisper. The girl turned into Hermione, the pink blood becoming red.

"You did this."

"Riddikulus." Hermione became a screaming grey-skinned boy with a black shirt and grey pants and nubby horns.

"YOU DID THIS!"

"Riddikulus!"

The strange boy became Ron, and he felt odd seeing himself scream abuse at his best mate, blood pouring from his chest.

"YOU DID THIS! YOU MONSTER!" Boggart-Ron screamed, "You think you could change? I hate you! We all hate you!"

"Harry!" Ron shouted, barreling through to put himself between Harry and Boggart-Ron, "That's total bullshit! Riddikulus!" He found himself faced with the giant spider again, and promptly took its legs off. A small chuckle escaped him seeing that again, and the Boggart rolled around helplessly for a moment. "You have to think of something that'll make it funny!"

"I'm tryin!" Harry said in a shaking voice, eyes wide and wand clutched tightly in his hand "Nothin's wworkin! I can't fix this-"

"Don't try to fix it!" Ron hollared as the Boggart flew towards Harry again, "Just focus on making it look as stupid as possible!"

The first girl in the red dress and the loud whirring death-machine in her hands had returned. Once again she lunged at Harry.

"Eridan!" She screeched.

"Riddikulus!"

This time, paint came out of his wand in a myriad of colors, coating this girl head to toe in what Ron hoped was paint. The girl stopped, looked down at herself, and screamed at Harry in rage again.

"You Did This! My Dress! It's Ruined! It Took Me Four Perigees To Finish The Design!" She wailed out in her strangely graceful accent, causing Harry to burst out laughing to Ron's surprise, but he found the situation absurd enough to laugh along. The boggart appeared equally confused before exploding into nothingness. Silence befell the dark classroom between the two boys, whose laughter had petered out.

"Mate," Ron began, but Harry put up his hands in resignation.

"I owwe you a thorough explanation of evverythin." He said, taking the words out of Ron's mouth. A small sigh escaped him, and Ron saw how exhausted and nervous he was. "Thanks… for helpin me. I'd havve been screwwed if it wweren't for you."

Ron smiled. He felt like this was a big step in getting his friend back.

"No problem, mate. Now what the hell is going on?"

A/N:

Oni: That's all for now, folks!

Eridan: If you like this story consider followwin, favvin, and revviewwin.

Oni: And I'll see you next time, My Pretties!