A/N: Here we are! Boggarts, my one two parter! This was a fun pair of chapters to plan out because I got to try and pinpoint each character's worst fears and try to translate that into a boggart. I hope my choices work and seem in character.
Part two will be coming out in a little while, once I get the doc properly uploaded. There's got to be a more efficient way to crosspost than whatever I'm doing, but I haven't figured it out yet.
I'd really appreciate reviews and comments, so feel free to say whatever you like. Enjoy!
Uneasiness hung through the halls of Hogwarts. The corridors were nearly dead quiet, the students bustling quickly to their classes and common rooms to avoid being out in the open for very long.
"This is ridiculous," complained William Murdoch, ignoring the glances of alarm and edginess he earned from the other students. "Why is everyone so nervous to be in the hallways? Everybody knows that boggarts like small spaces. The hallway is the exact opposite place you would find boggarts."
Thomas ran a hand through his hair, sighing. "It's panic, Murdoch," he said. "Everyone's just afraid that they might come across one."
Thomas, William and George stood at the top of a moving staircase, waiting for the right time for it to swing over. On the wall next to the staircases hung a notice, posted by the professors and staff at Hogwarts:
STUDENTS TAKE NOTE:
SEVERAL BOGGARTS HAVE BEEN SPOTTED ON HOGWARTS GROUNDS AND IN THE CASTLE. STUDENTS ARE ADVISED TO AVOID NARROW PASSAGES AND SMALL ENCLOSED SPACES. ANY AND ALL BOGGART SIGHTINGS ARE TO BE REPORTED TO HOGWARTS STAFF.
"Well, as long as everybody knows the Boggart-Banishing Spell," said William. "We can all deal with them, fairly easily, I might add." He glanced at George. "You remember how to do it, right?"
George nodded. "Ridiculous," he said earnestly. William had taught him the spell the minute the news first broke that the number of boggarts in Hogwarts castle had grown exponentially.
"Riddikulus," corrected William. "Ri-di-kool-os. Watch your pronunciation. You never know what might happen if you mess up a spell."
Thomas leaned in to whisper to George. "I once gave McGonagall a tail trying to turn a mouse into a snuff box."
George squinted. "You're making that up," he smiled.
"Am I?" Thomas raised an eyebrow, smirking.
They both giggled.
"At least it isn't like last year," William pulled down the cuffs of his sleeves. "Somebody let loose about twelve nifflers in all of the common rooms."
Thomas groaned. "Oh, don't remind me! I still can't find the emergency galleons I kept under my bed."
"What's a niffler?" asked George with interest.
William looked surprised.
George smiled, jabbing his thumbs into his chest. "Muggle-born, remember?"
"Ah, right." William nodded. "Nifflers are little, burrowing creatures with a long nose—"
"Like a mole?" interrupted George.
"Yes, and they really like shiny objects."
"They steal them and put them in this special pocket thing they have in their stomach," finished Thomas.
George paused. "So…" he said, blinking. "Like a kangaroo mole?"
"That's one way to look at it, I suppose," said William
The moment the staircase locked into place, at least fifty students piled onto it, packing in tightly.
"We better get on quick," observed Thomas, stepping onto the stairs, William following on his heels. "Come on, Crabtree." He glanced at the youngest of them, a frown forming. "Crabtree?"
George looked pale, taking a tiny step backwards as he stared at the mass of people crowding on the staircase.
William blinked. "Are you all right, George?"
"Uh…yeah," George breathed, blinking, but not looking any better. "I'm coming."
Thomas glanced at the group of students, clueing in. "Ah," he said. "Murdoch," he motioned towards the other students with a wave of his hand. "This staircase is a bit packed," he said. "What say you we take the side staircase by Ravenclaw tower?"
"Why?"
Thomas elbowed him and jerked his head towards George.
William blinked. "Oh, OH!" He practically jumped off the staircase to be at George's side.
George grinned in relief. "You don't have to do this for me," he said. "We're going to be late if we don't take the moving stairs."
"You're right," Thomas ruffled George's hair with a smirk. "We will be late if we don't get a move on. Let's go." He gripped George's wrist and pulled him along the corridor, with William following behind.
The side staircase was so out of the way and inconspicuous, you wouldn't have known it was even there if you weren't looking for it. It spiralled tightly around itself, with a wooden door on either end. The staircase was dimly lit by a few torches hanging on the walls, but the boys still had to squint to see the steps ahead of them. The staircase twisted so violently, the boys had to walk sideways in order to not trip and fall down the entire flight.
George sighed, relaxing his shoulders. "Thanks," he said quietly. "I just… I don't like big crowds or tight places." He grinned weakly. "It makes me feel like I can't breathe."
"That's quite all right, George," said William, carefully watching his next step.
Thomas waved his hand in front of his face, grimacing. "Oof," he said. "It smells in here."
"I don't think Filch has ever been in here," William commented, gazing uneasily at a spider's web hanging from the ceiling.
Suddenly, bright colours were everywhere, rolling and ducking all around them. The boys looked around, Thomas drawing his wand and George standing his ground as the passageway was suddenly filled with hundreds of butterflies.
"Bloody Hell!" cried Thomas in surprise, swatting at a bright orange monarch.
"Where did these butterflies come from?" asked George, ducking to avoid their wings.
William swallowed, looking very tense as he pulled out his wand, gave it a flick, crying, "Riddikulus!"
The butterflies immediately morphed into an army of tiny, clumsy parrots, squawking and wobbling around as they flew through the stairwell. One landed on George's head, making him giggle, and the moment the laugh escaped, the parrots vanished like fog on a mirror.
Thomas and George glanced at each other, then at William, who was staring at his shoes.
"Those butterflies," Thomas began. "They were a boggart?"
William nodded.
"Your…" George blinked. "Your deepest fear is butterflies?"
"No!" William cried, his voice a little too defensive for the others to believe him. "Come on, we're going to be late."
Again, Thomas and George exchanged a look before following William down the stairs.
After dropping William off at his Defense Against the Dark Arts class, Thomas and George continued down the tiny spiral staircase to get to the third floor for George's Charms class.
George held his breath, trying not to pant. He was never especially athletic, and he never really cared, but he did feel a bit embarrassed that he got winded going downstairs. "Thomas?" he asked hesitantly.
"Mmm?"
"What if there's another boggart?"
Thomas let out a laugh. "I'm a fifth year, Bugalugs. You think I don't know how to cast Riddikulus?"
George rubbed his thumb and fingers together anxiously. "I mean," he began, wetting his lips. "What if I'm alone?" He swallowed. "What if I'm alone and I can't do the spell? Or what if it doesn't work?"
"Listen, Crabtree," Thomas gripped George's arm firmly. "It'll work."
Nodding, George sucked in a slow, deep breath. "But just say it doesn't…"
"Crabtree."
"It's just that," he sighed, clenching his fist to stop his fingers from rubbing each other. "I'm in Hufflepuff. I'm not brave or smart or anything. If I see a boggart, I'll freeze, I won't be able to do anything, and—" George's eyes met the floor, his body tensed anxiously.
Thomas put a hand on his shoulder, looking warmly into George's eyes. "Let me tell you something about fear. Fear is like…" he paused for a second, thinking of the right metaphor. "A wild horse, okay? Every time you try to go near it, you'll probably get trampled. So, you avoid it. And that's okay, you can manage pretty well without getting close to it." He smiled and lowered his voice. "But let me tell you a little Gryffindor secret about being brave. If you can tame the wild horse, then you can ride it, and if you can ride it, then you have power that other people don't."
George blinked, nodding slowly. "Yeah," he said.
Thomas smirked. "You didn't understand any of that, did you?"
Bashfully, George shook his head.
Patting his shoulder, Thomas chuckled. "You'll understand it when you need to." He said. "I didn't really get it at first either, when my dad told it to me. But you will."
"But…" George let the sentence hang unfinished in the air.
"You will." Thomas asserted, opening the door at the bottom of the staircase, holding it open for George to walk through. "Look, Crabtree, do you trust me?"
"Of course."
"Then trust me when I say that if you have to face a boggart alone, you'll be able to handle yourself. You're a talented first year. I was there last week when William taught you the spell, I know you can do it." He stopped outside of the Potions classroom and glanced at his watch. "Here you go," he said. "Right on time."
George glanced at the clock, a slow grin spreading on his face. "Thirty seconds late, actually."
"Then you better get inside." Opening the door with a smirk, Thomas pushed George inside. "Catch you later, Crabtree." he said with a wink.
As the door closed, Professor Snape sneered down at George over his long nose. "You're late, Crabtree," he snapped.
"Sorry, sir," George discreetly fidgeted his feet. "There was a boggart in the stairs."
Snape's expression was full of contempt. "Five points from Hufflepuff, see that you aren't late again."
George nodded, knowing better than to argue with Snape.
"The class is in partners for today's lesson," continued Snape. "I have assigned the pairs." He pointed to a lone student in the corner, his lips curling into a sly smile. "Your partner is waiting for you."
George looked over, his blood turning cold. James Gillies. He bit his lip. Of course, it had to be him. There's no one else my rotten luck would let me be paired with.
"Crabtree, your partner is waiting for you." Snape all but shoved George into the corner with Gillies.
James glanced at George with an eye roll. "Stay out of my way, Crabapple," he said. "Potions is my top subject, and I don't want you messing it up."
"Wasn't planning on it," mumbled George.
William scratched his quill on the parchment, pretending to take notes. He normally paid full attention in every class, but he found that today, he couldn't focus. Besides, he'd already read three chapters ahead. He was doodling a picture of a parrot, like the ones his boggart had turned into. He was so enthralled in his art that he almost didn't notice when the student next to him slid him a note.
Nice bird, it read.
He glanced to his right to find Julia Ogden smirking at him. Her bushy blonde curls framed her face, half of it up in a ponytail.
He grabbed the note. Thanks, he scribbled back, pushing it towards her.
Working on any mysteries right now? She wrote.
No.
What about the boggarts? She asked, raising an eyebrow.
William hesitated before writing back. What about them?
She took a while to write down what she had to say. Boggarts don't just appear out of nowhere; someone must be setting them loose. Are you going to figure out who it is?
They'd filled up one side of the scrap of parchment, so William turned it over to write on the other side. Why should I?
She stared at him incredulously for a second before scrawling her reply. Isn't solving mysteries kind of your thing?
Maybe I don't need a thing, he wrote back.
Come on, you like doing it. It might be fun.
He glared at her. It just sounds like you want to do it. He replied.
As she read his reply, a bashful blush spread out on her face.
He grinned with a surprised blink. You do? He mouthed at her.
She nodded silently, shrugging as she picked up her quill, drawing a single line on the parchment and sliding it back towards him.
She'd underlined the phrase; it might be fun.
William paused for a second. She was right. It would be fun to solve another mystery. The one issue was the boggarts. If he investigated them, he'd be sure to see another one, and then he'd have to explain his fear to people, and he didn't quite like thinking about it.
But still, he glanced at Julia's hopeful expression, it could be fun.
Slowly, so that he didn't make too much noise, he ripped off a large section of his roll of parchment. They were out of space again on their previous scrap. Julia read over his shoulder, beaming with excitement as he wrote: The Mystery of the Boggarts: Case notes.
George swirled the pestle in the stone mortar, grinding the snake fang into a fine white powder, his heart thumping hard in his chest. He glanced at his Potions partner apprehensively, then gulped as his partner looked his way, immediately forcing his gaze to his lap. He poured the powder into the cauldron, then put another snake fang into the mortar and started crushing it.
"You have to add four measures of that to the cauldron," said his partner, glancing down at his textbook.
George nodded. "Yeah," he said. "Got it."
"That one makes five."
George blinked, glancing at the snake fang. "Oh," he said. "Right." He smiled tightly. "Thanks, James."
James Gillies nodded absently. "No worries." He waved his wand over the cauldron. "Right," he said. "Now we wait thirty minutes."
Thirty minutes, George thought glumly. Thirty minutes of awkwardly sitting here with James Gillies. He bit his lip, feeling guilty for thinking it. He barely knew James Gillies. He was working entirely off a bad first impression. Or well, a bad first, second, and third impression, rather.
He'd first met James Gillies on the Hogwarts Express. George had just stepped into a compartment, hiking up his new robes that were a tiny bit too long for him when he tripped over his untied shoelace.
He landed face-first on the carpeted floor with a small yelp. As he sat up and brushed himself off, he heard a lilting voice ask, "Are you all right?"
George nodded. "I'm okay," he said, looking up at the boy standing next to him.
"Oh," the boy said, feigning disappointment. "That's a shame." He giggled. "I was sort of hoping you'd have gotten hurt. Might have been funny."
George blinked. "Er, I'm George," he said, holding out a hand. "George Crabtree."
The boy smirked. "If you want people to be friends with you, George Crabapple, you might want to get better in the first impressions department. Being so hung with stupidity that you trip over it isn't exactly what people want in their friends." He sauntered off with a chuckle.
George saw him again at the Sorting Ceremony, watching from the Hufflepuff table as his name was announced to be James Gillies, and the Sorting Hat cried "Slytherin!" the moment it touched his brown curls. As he walked past towards the Slytherin table, he caught George's eye with a smug, patronizing smile, mouthing "loser" to him.
And then there had been that little encounter in the Slytherin common room, and well…
He didn't dislike James Gillies. George Crabtree wasn't quite the type to dislike anybody. He disapproved of people, and he tended to avoid people who made him feel bad about himself, but he never really disliked anybody. He knew that people usually did things for specific reasons, and while he might not like their actions, he couldn't really hold that against people. Love the sinner, hate the sin, that was his philosophy. In fact, any time he found himself thinking negative things about other people, he forced himself to stop thinking them.
You don't get anywhere with thoughts like that, he told himself. Just turn them off. Besides, thinking that stuff is just as bad as saying it.
"So, Crabapple," Gillies' voice shocked George out of his thoughts. "What's your story?"
"Er…what?"
"What's your story? Tell me about yourself."
George blinked, staring at him. "What do you mean?"
Gillies sighed, polishing his wand on the sleeve of his robe. "I'll make it simpler for you," he said. "Worst day, best day. You tell me the worst day of your life, and the best day of your life, got it?"
"How am I going to figure out what the best and worst days of my life are if I'm only eleven?"
"So far, obviously."
"But—" George let out a breath. He thought back, trying to pinpoint the worst day of his life. He'd had a lot of bad days: when his Aunt Rhododendron passed away, when his best friend Oliver moved to New York, the day he discovered just exactly what his aunts did for a living…
"I guess," George fiddled with his yellow and black scarf. "My worst day was Aunt Primrose's birthday when I was nine. I saved up all my allowance, got her the perfect present, this really pretty vase, but when I was coming back home to give it to her, a boy tried to steal it. When I pulled it away from him, I dropped it. The vase shattered. I ruined her birthday." He sighed.
"I see." Said James. "That is bad. Pathetic, really."
George glanced at him. "Uh, thanks."
"Now your best day."
"Right," George said. "I think the best day of my life was the day I met William Murdoch. I finally felt like someone understood me, someone wanted me to be there. He listened to my ideas and answered my questions. He talked to me like I was an actual person. So yeah, best day."
James nodded. "He sounds great." His tone didn't reflect his words.
"Now you." Said George. "Worst day, best day."
"Well," James ruffled his hair. "The worst day of my life was my eleventh birthday, the day I got my Hogwarts letter."
George frowned. "Why?"
James stared at him. "If you'll let me finish, you'll find out."
"Sorry," George's gaze met the floor.
He went on. "I got the letter in the morning; an owl came in down the chimney and dropped it in my lap. I was really excited, and I went to show my mum and dad, but they weren't at home. I waited all day to show them." He paused, pensive. "When they finally got home that night, they didn't even say anything. I thought they'd be happy, proud of me or something." Hearing his voice was like licking a lemon. "But they didn't even care." His gaze was like wind, both everywhere and nowhere at the same time.
"James," said George softly, tracing his fingers along the wood grain of the table. "I'm really sorry that happened."
He blinked, then smiled. "Well, it's all okay, because my best day was the day I went to Hogwarts. The minute I stepped on that train, I knew that I could do anything I wanted. I could be someone new. I didn't have to impress my parents, and nobody had any expectations for me to live up to." He grinned. "I could invent a whole new James Gillies."
"That's…" George felt a shy smile light up his face. "That's really cool, actually."
James grinned. "Thanks."
"Gillies! Crabtree!" Snape's harsh tones made the boys jump. "Less talking, or do you want that cauldron to explode?"
The boys ducked their heads down low, avoiding Snape's eyes. George glanced at James, who looked like he was trying hard not to laugh.
They giggled silently.
"So," asked Julia once class was over. "How do we start tracking down the perpetrator?"
William glanced at her with a raised eyebrow. "Perpetrator?" he repeated.
She giggled. "Don't you use some kind of detective lingo?"
"No," said William. "I don't."
She smirked like she didn't believe him.
They walked together down the corridor, side by side.
"Well, to answer your question," he went on. "We'd probably have to start by figuring out where all the boggarts have been seen. That way we'll be able to see if there's any common denominators between the sightings. Maybe if they're all around the same area?"
"We can ask one of the professors," suggested Julia. "They might know where boggarts have been spotted."
"Which professor, though?" asked William. "Not all of them will be as willing to give information like that."
"Don't ask Snape," she said, her lips curling.
"Doesn't he listen to Slytherins?"
She laughed. "Are you a Slytherin?" she asked.
William frowned, pausing for a second. "...You're a Slytherin."
She blinked, a smile growing on her face. "You want me to do it?"
"Yeah, why not?"
She grinned slyly. "I just figured a smart detective like you would want to do his own dirty work." She elbowed him playfully in the arm. "It's okay," she said. "I'll ask Snape."
William nodded, his arm smarting a little from her jab. "I'll see if Professor Flitwick will tell me anything."
"So, we're splitting up?" asked Julia, raising an eyebrow.
"For now," he replied. "We can talk at dinner, see what we can find. I'll ask my friends to ask their heads of house too."
"Brackenreid," supplied Julia. "And the short boy from Hufflepuff."
He nodded.
Julia paused, pursing her lips. "You're a very odd trio," she commented.
He glanced at her, immediately getting defensive. "Is that a bad thing?" he asked. He knew she was right, they were an odd group, but they were the only friends he had.
She shook her head. "Not at all," she said. "I just, it's hard to understand how people like you three would ever become friends."
"Well, George likes everyone," he said, shrugging. "And Thomas just likes any situation where he gets to have fun."
"You're selling yourself short, aren't you?" Julia brushed a stray curl out of her eyes.
"What do you mean?"
She let out an amused laugh. "You're the whole reason they even met each other!" she said. "You don't think they'd still be hanging around you if they didn't in some way like being around you?"
He looked at the ground. "Nobody likes being around me," he mumbled.
It was Julia's turn to stare at her shoes. "I like being around you," she said.
William could feel his heart pounding. She was pretty, and he liked her. He'd had a crush on her ever since he first saw her. Was she admitting she liked him back? Or was he reading too deep into it? "You like me?" He asked.
"Yeah," She blinked into his eyes, flustered. "No, well…" her face went red. "Not like like you, just that I… I like you."
He stared at her silently.
She bit her lip.
He cleared his throat. "Thank you… I suppose." He said, awkwardly.
She breathed an embarrassed laugh. "You're welcome."
Thomas Brackenreid slid into a bench across from William Murdoch, stabbing his fork into his plate of shepherd's pie.
William glanced up. "Have you seen George?" he asked.
Thomas swallowed a mouthful of potatoes. "Yeah," he said. "He's right over there, talking to a friend." He jerked his thumb over his shoulder.
William squinted across the room, spotting George's signature Hufflepuff scarf, and George's dog-like face poking out from above it. Standing in front of him, stood a familiar somebody in Slytherin green. "Is that…" he squinted. "...James Gillies?"
"I think so," smirked Thomas. "They make an odd pair, don't they?"
William frowned. "A very odd pair."
George soundlessly giggled off in the distance.
William mashed his shepherd's pie flat. George and James Gillies? He wondered. He couldn't comprehend how they would go together. George Crabtree, the sweet, funny, guileless Hufflepuff and James Gillies, the…the…
William sighed, realizing that he knew nothing about Gillies. All he was working off was one bad first impression, and he knew that first impressions were often wrong. Maybe James Gillies really isn't as bad as I think he is, he thought. If George likes him, he can't be too bad.
A moment later, George slid down next to William, smiling. "Hi," he said, breathlessly. "Sorry I'm late, I was just talking to a friend."
"James Gillies," said William. It wasn't a question.
"Yeah," said George.
"How'd that happen?" asked Thomas, smirking through a glass of water.
"We got put as potions partners," began George. "And, I don't know, we just started talking, I guess."
"Glad you have a friend your age, Bugalugs," Thomas grinned. "Wouldn't want you to be alone when we graduate."
"That's years from now!" cried George.
"McGonagall's always saying I should look ahead," shrugged Thomas. "I'm just taking her advice."
William stared at his shepherd's pie, still unable to shake the feeling that James Gillies and George together would spell trouble.
"So, Murdoch," Thomas said, clapping him on the back. "When's the next mystery coming? I keep telling Margaret that I'm friends with a detective, she doesn't believe me."
"Well," said William slowly. "I actually am working on a case."
"What, without us?" George cried, standing up from the table. "We're your crew!"
"When were you planning on filling us in?" Thomas folded his arms.
"I just started investigating before lunch," William held up his hands. "I was going to tell you."
Thomas still looked annoyed. George wore a look of relief.
"What is it?" George sat back down in his seat.
William took a breath. "It's the boggarts." he said. "And I think we're going to have some extra help with this one."
Thomas and George frowned, exchanging a confused glance. "Who?"
"Speak of the devil," said a voice as Julia Ogden slid into the seat beside George.
Thomas sighed with a faint eye roll. "Not bloody you," he mumbled.
Julia took a breath through her nose. "Good to see you too, Brackenreid. Glad to see you're still kicking, I thought that you'd have died of shame after your display in Thursday's match."
"Oh, I am still kicking," breathed Thomas. "Still kicking Slytherin's arse, or did you forget who won?"
George couldn't conceal his excited smile. "This'll be fun," he whispered, watching the banter between the two Quidditch keepers.
Julia sat up straighter. "Well, I definitely didn't forget you almost falling off your broom." She glanced at her fingernails. "Your new broom doesn't do all the work for you like your old one did, huh?"
Thomas' eyebrows shot up. "Well, you ought to get a new helmet. Your head's getting so big it doesn't quite fit anymore."
"Well, just hope your head doesn't grow too much, or you won't be able to fit it up your backside, I know how much thinking you do in there."
George covered his mouth with both hands, trying not to laugh.
"Anyway," she turned to William. "I asked Snape where the boggarts had been spotted, and he gave me a list." She slapped a scrap of parchment onto the table. "They seem to be all around the castle, but mostly around the dungeons."
"That is somewhat to be expected," said William, examining the list. "The dungeons have the ideal conditions for boggarts, plenty of small, dark places."
"That would imply," Thomas began slowly, choosing his words carefully, glancing at George and Julia. "That they were coming from somewhere in the dungeons."
"Which means…" George wet his lips apprehensively. "If it's a student, they're probably a Hufflepuff or a Slytherin."
They fell silent, turning their gaze onto each other in turn, no one wanting to talk first.
Julia rolled her eyes, sighing with a huff. "Oh, why don't we just say it? It was a Slytherin! Statistically speaking, anything going wrong in the dungeons is because of Slytherin."
George bit his lip. "I can ask around, see if any of the other Hufflepuffs know anything."
William smiled at him. "Thank you, George," he said.
"What are the rest of us going to do?" asked Thomas, still eyeing Julia with slight contempt.
"Well," William leaned forward, putting his hands on the table. "The only reason there would be so many boggarts appearing in such a short period of time is if someone is collecting and releasing them."
"Why would anyone do that?" wondered George, his shoulders and arms hunched together tightly, like he was trying to make himself smaller.
"I can think of several Slytherins who'd think it's funny," mumbled Thomas.
Julia shot him a glare but sighed in resignation. "He's right," she said. "As much as I hate to admit it, I can definitely see certain Slytherins releasing boggarts as a joke."
William nodded. "Slytherin is definitely our most likely source, but we shouldn't rule out the other houses just because of geography. It's plausible someone from another house is releasing them purposefully around the dungeons to frame Slytherin."
"What are we going to do?" asked George, swallowing a mouthful of potato.
"Simple," Thomas said. "You've got to follow the grades."
"What?" William stared at him.
"Follow the grades?" repeated Julia. "What's that supposed to mean?"
"Well," Thomas explained, making it sound like explaining it was a chore, but looking like nothing made him happier. "You've heard of following the money, right?" He waited for them to finish nodding. "Well, it's a similar principle, really. It's just at school, the most likely motivation isn't money, it's grades. Everyone wants O's on their OWLs, they'll do anything to get them, really."
"That's not bad," admitted William.
"But surely not everyone's motivation is grades," said Julia, rolling her eyes as she thought of all the people she'd done group projects with.
"Well, statistically speaking," Thomas raised his eyebrows at her smugly.
She rolled her eyes again. "You still haven't shared your brilliant plan."
"Well, think about motivation. Why would someone be releasing boggarts?"
They each answered at the same time.
"A joke," said Julia.
"Sabotage," said William.
"Practice," said George.
Thomas pointed at George. "What did you say?"
"Practice," George repeated, looking nervous. "You said follow the grades, and I thought if someone wasn't doing too well in Defense Against the Dark Arts, they might try to practice. So, they might collect boggarts and practice Riddikulus."
"There's someone taking my words to heart!" cried Thomas, slapping the table loudly. "Practice, that's good."
William brought out his case notes on the piece of parchment, scribbling this down. "So," he said. "Here's the plan: we'll all observe and talk to people in our respective houses. Gather information, see if we can figure out some suspects."
"There's one thing you're forgetting," said Julia.
"What?"
"We might not even need to ask around our houses. If someone is releasing these boggarts on purpose, we might be able to catch them in the act." She talked with her hands, waving them around like she was conducting a concert. "We know where they usually strike. We should set up a surveillance around the dungeons."
"Good plan," nodded Thomas.
William stared at the tabletop.
"You're agreeing with me?" Julia raised an eyebrow. "Why, Brackenreid, you're getting soft."
"Just this once, don't get used to it," muttered Thomas into his glass of water.
"Um," George raised his hand slightly. "Who's going to be the surveillance first?"
"It was my idea," said Julia. "I'll go first."
"Right," said William, taking a breath. "Let's get to work."