The Shape of Fear
"Alright, we're here," said Dominic as he stepped into an empty classroom. The only notable feature was an old wardrobe in the corner, which shuddered slightly the moment the students entered, as if it were excited to hear the sound of their voices.
The room looked as though it had been cleaned specifically for this lesson.
A few students, like the Patil twins, jumped and clung to each other, stifling a small scream. Neville was trembling slightly, while others—more curious than afraid—watched the mysterious piece of furniture vibrating faintly.
"Alright, you all heard the theory part earlier, so you already know what's inside," Dominic began in a calm, steady voice. "Yes, a boggart. No surprise there. Essentially, today you'll be facing your own fears."
The students exchanged uneasy glances, some swallowing hard.
"But don't worry," Dominic continued, his tone smooth and reassuring. "Remember two important things. First: what you'll see isn't your real fear, but a projection the boggart uses to feed on it. And second: don't let fear freeze you. If it does, you lose. And of course, it goes without saying that as long as I'm here, none of you are in any danger."
A collective sigh of relief spread through the group.
"Now then... who wants to go first?" he asked with a faint smile.
Immediately, everyone stepped back. No one seemed particularly eager to have their deepest fear exposed in front of their classmates.
Dominic couldn't help but smile softly at the reaction. He studied the group patiently for a few moments before finally pointing directly at Draco.
"Mr. Malfoy, you'll go first."
Draco met his gaze with a serious expression, clearly displeased at being chosen. Still, he walked to the front with his usual composed, almost arrogant poise.
"First, I'll demonstrate the wand movement along with the spell: Riddikulus," Dominic said calmly, showing the motion with precision. He explained the details carefully, watching as Draco repeated it. The boy managed to get it right on his second attempt, and Dominic nodded approvingly.
Then he took a few steps back so the boggart would only sense Draco's fear. "Ready?" he asked.
Draco nodded, his expression as impassive as ever.
"Remember to think of something that makes you laugh before you cast it," Dominic reminded him, giving his wand a small flick. The lock on the wardrobe clicked open, and for a brief second, the professor's eyes gleamed as though he were observing the scene with precise, analytical focus.
The wardrobe doors burst open—but instead of taking on a clear form, a shifting mass poured out, morphing rapidly between animals, people, and objects.
The students looked on in confusion.
"Well... it seems Mr. Malfoy is quite skilled in Occlumency and controlling his fears," Dominic remarked with a slightly strained smile. "Perhaps you could lower your defenses just a little?"
"And why would I do that, when I already have protection against things like this?" Draco replied evenly.
Dominic's smile nearly faltered. "Ahem... well, I suppose that's true," he said, scratching his cheek with mock nonchalance before turning back to the class.
"Longbottom, you're next," he said quickly, choosing the nearest student before anyone could protest.
Neville's eyes went wide. He turned, searching for support, and received a mixture of encouragements: Daphne gave him a calm smile; Hermione whispered for him to remember the theory; Harry seemed lost in thought; and Draco gave him a brief pat on the shoulder.
Taking a deep breath, Neville lowered his head and stepped forward. The boggart, which was still flickering through random shapes, began to spin until it condensed into something everyone instantly recognized: long, greasy hair, a hooked nose, cold black eyes, and a dark robe that made him look like a bat.
Professor Snape.
The false Snape glared down at Neville with such venomous intensity that one could almost believe he might poison him with potions on the spot.
"Remember the spell!" Hermione shouted, snapping Neville out of his frozen panic.
The boy, looking like a deer caught in headlights, raised his wand with trembling hands. "Riddikulus!" he cried out.
Instantly, the boggart-Snape changed. His black robes morphed into a frilly pink dress, complete with a feathered hat and matching handbag. Hermione and several others recognized the outfit at once—it was identical to Neville's grandmother's clothes.
Laughter erupted across the room as the fake Snape stared down at himself, utterly bewildered.
Dominic smiled, glancing away for a second to hide his own chuckle. Seeing one of his new colleagues like that was hard to ignore.
"Miss Patil, you're next," he said once he'd regained his composure.
The twins exchanged a brief look before Padma, without hesitation, shoved her sister forward, earning a betrayed glare from Parvati.
"Come now, Miss Parvati," Dominic said with a kind smile.
The girl, blushing both from her sister's treachery and from the professor's attention, stepped forward hesitantly. She was thrilled that Dominic actually remembered her name and could tell her apart from her twin—a small miracle in itself.
Draco glanced at her, then at the Gryffindor crest on her tie. To him, the difference was obvious, but he wasn't about to ruin the illusion or risk getting caught in a conversation about it.
Parvati, still slightly dreamy, stopped in front of the wardrobe. The boggart, which still resembled Snape in the pink dress, twisted again in a whirl of smoke and transformed into a mummy that began shuffling slowly toward her.
She gasped, taking a step back, until she caught sight of Dominic making a small motion with his wand—reminding her of the gesture.
"Riddikulus!" she shouted.
The mummy stumbled clumsily, tripping over its own bandages before wrapping itself up entirely and falling to the floor, wriggling helplessly. The classroom filled with laughter once more, and Parvati laughed too, her fear melting away as she watched the boggart roll around like a giant scroll of parchment.
Then it was Daphne's turn. Like Draco, the boggart couldn't seem to settle on a single form before her, which again drew Dominic's analytical gaze as he studied the group of four closely.
Ron Weasley, who stepped forward right after, provoked an immediate reaction—the boggart turned into a gigantic spider... which, quite absurdly, had roller skates on each of its legs. The creature lost its balance and tumbled backward, rolling straight into the wardrobe once more.
Laughter echoed once more through the room.
While the students laughed, Dominic kept his gaze fixed on Harry and his friends. His expression, now more serious, carried a hint of curiosity. Harry looked attentive, yet at the same time distant, as if his mind were far from the classroom.
Dominic watched the students in silence for a moment. He imagined it would go the same way as with Daphne or Draco, and probably with Hermione as well; yet, there was a glimmer of intrigue in his eyes—something difficult to conceal. Especially when it came to Harry. Something about the boy stirred a genuine interest in him, almost an impatience to see what that child feared most.
"Potter, your turn," he said suddenly, even though it was actually Dean Thomas's.
Dean blinked in confusion but shrugged and stepped back. He let out a quiet sigh of relief—though in doing so, he realized he was afraid of failing... and that very thought became another fear of its own. It was a vicious cycle, and he knew it. Still, he silently thanked fate for giving him a moment to collect himself after Potter.
Harry, lost in his thoughts, felt a light push from Hermione.
"Ah, right," he muttered, coming to.
Draco, calm as ever, crossed his arms and watched as Harry walked forward. The wardrobe remained closed; when Ron's spider had fallen back in, the door had shut with a soft click. Now, in the heavy silence, it seemed to wait.
Harry stepped closer, his face relaxed. He expected it to be like Draco's or Daphne's—something harmless, something manageable.
But then, his expression changed slightly. He frowned and pressed a hand to his stomach, as if something deep inside him stirred uncomfortably.
And then he saw it.
A faint red light flickered from within the wardrobe. It wasn't his own—it came from the boggart. A crimson pulse rippled through the air, so weak it was barely visible, yet strong enough to make the atmosphere itself vibrate.
The door stayed closed, but movement could be sensed within; a shifting shadow, and that red light growing brighter by the second. Harry's eyes widened as a chill ran down his spine.
A hand emerged from the darkness. Its fingers were long, clawed, and stained with blood. It gripped the edge of the door and pushed it open slowly. The sound of dry metal scraped through the air, a long, drawn-out groan from the hinges.
Then, everyone felt it.
A raw, primal fear—the kind that lived beneath all thought. Some students began to shake; others bent forward, as though crushed by an invisible weight. The wardrobe itself seemed to twist and ripple, its wooden frame warping as if it could barely contain what lay within.
And then the darkness opened fully.
Two red points gleamed from the black, bright and piercing like beacons in a sea of shadows. They were eyes—crimson pupils, a pale, distorted grin, mocking and cruel. A face slowly emerged… and everyone recognized it.
It was Harry.
But not the Harry they knew.
His skin was splattered with blood, and from his head sprouted twisted, black horns like those of a demon. Sharp claws extended from his hands, and the red liquid dripped to the floor, spreading outward in threads that seemed alive. Within the wardrobe, shapes floated—familiar shapes. Hair, faces... the bodies of his friends and family.
The boggart, now wearing Harry's face, stepped forward. His clothes were identical to the real Harry's, but torn and soaked in blood. Spikes jutted from his body, and his expression was that of someone who had lost all control.
Terror seized the room. Some students fell to their knees, eyes wide in silent screams; others clutched their heads, weeping without knowing why. Several fainted on the spot. Every one of their fears flashed before their eyes in that creature's presence—
as if there was no salvation left for anyone.
Draco, Hermione, and Daphne held out a little longer. Perhaps because they were used to Harry's chaotic energy, they could resist the onslaught, though their bodies trembled as if some invisible pressure were trying to crush them from within.
Harry, however, didn't move. He stood frozen, staring at his monstrous reflection.
And then, he understood.
That was his fear.
Losing control.
The boggart—his other self—slowly raised a hand. The air warped around it, as if space itself bent to that motion. Objects vibrated; the walls seemed to breathe, and the fear intensified. Everyone knew that if that hand turned toward them, they would die.
Dominic pressed a hand against his chest, sensing something shift inside him. One of his eyes darkened completely, turning pitch-black for an instant. His aura changed. Then, without hesitation, he stepped forward and placed himself between Harry and the creature.
The boggart stopped.
It looked straight at Dominic, and its form began to dissolve. A whirlwind of shadows swallowed it, and in the next moment, the suffocating pressure vanished—the fear evaporated like smoke in the wind.
The creature changed again, becoming an old, blackened painting. The canvas was torn and rotting, depicting the portrait of a wrinkled, somber old man. Draco glanced at it and, for a fleeting second, thought he saw a resemblance to Professor Dominic—perhaps an ancestor.
"Riddikulus!" shouted Dominic.
The painting burst into flames instantly, folded in on itself, and shot back into the wardrobe, which the professor slammed shut in one swift motion.
Silence fell over the classroom.
Dominic turned toward Harry, his eyes back to normal, studying him cautiously while taking a deep breath.
Harry remained still. His expression was cold, restrained. He stared at the wardrobe as if waging a silent battle within himself, his fingers pressing tightly over his stomach, where the tension seemed to burn.
"Everyone who can move, help the others and take them to the infirmary," ordered Dominic firmly. "I'll handle those who fainted."
He passed by Harry without another word, and the boy barely reacted. Hermione, Draco, and Daphne started forward, wanting to reach him, but as they took a step, Dominic had already moved past them.
And at that very moment, Harry was gone.
Only faint red particles remained in the air, fading slowly away like dust scattered by the wind.