The Light

Chapter 11- The Boggart

Chapter 11- The Boggart

Now, if one were to ask Sirius Black what he feared most, the answer would be utter codswallop.

He would most likely rattle off a list of things, each with its own equally terrifying backstory, which, sure gave him the heebie-jeebies, would most definitely not make the top spot. A few examples: spiders (James was constantly having to get rid of any spiders that had found their way into the same room as him- his friend kept bringing them home as well, hoping that he would be bitten magically, and transform into some mutated half-human, half-spider hybrid, ever since Remus had introduced him to Muggle comics. Stupid Remus.); monsters under his bed (James also checked for these too.); mullets (why anyone would do that to their hair was frightening enough). And also, but not limited to: small spaces, big crowds, being alone, letting someone down and asymmetrical things.

He would say that he had so many trivial fears, that they all battled each other and essentially cancelled each other out to claim that top spot.

But that wasn't true. In fact, Sirius knew exactly what his boggart would turn into. And that was why his hand were sweating, and he felt like he was going to vomit.

He was vaguely aware of the silence that had settled over the class; that hush of quiet that made everything, including the beat of his own heart, magnified. The balloon, lying pitifully on the floor, twisted and writhed, sprouting upwards with a speed that gave no chance for thinking twice. The blackness merged into colour, dark colour, and the plastic gave way for skin, and hair, and material.

And then it stopped.

In the place of the balloon, now stood Sirius Black. Not as Sirius was now, wearing elegance with a defiant sort of shabbiness to it, in his school uniform, but a Sirius as grand and regal as his potential granted him to be.

This Sirius had his hair combed back, all in line, and was wearing clothes one might find in a History Museum; a dark emerald tunic reached his mid-thigh, secured with a jewel encrusted belt. Under which, he wore smart dark trousers. Surrounding his shoulders was a long cape with a silver lining.

He was swinging a crown around his index finger, almost lazily and watching, with a predatory hunger to his gaze, the real Sirius.

The two stared at each other; one, a collected prince of a man, the other, a bundle of static nerves and electric charge, and the two were different monsters hiding under the same mask.

Eventually, the doppelganger drawled, "Look what's become of you."

Sirius didn't answer, ashen and stunned.

"You're a waste of a man, you know. Your parents didn't want you, hell- they would have shipped you off if you hadn't left. Good riddance, they said, finally free of a fucking. worthless. inconvenience." The boggart spat out the words with a more refined version of Sirius' accent. "Your brother, well, he was just glad you left him alone with ma and pa. They're lovely people, you know. You're brother found that out all by himself when you left."

The black undercurrent to that last sentence remained unsaid, but he knew what it meant anyway. Sirius' neck throbbed with veins, his eyes grew stony with tears. When it came to Sirius, seeing this much anguish on a boy who you have only ever seen laugh, made it a weakness. It was like they were all escaping into his subconscious; a place dark and twisted beyond rational belief.

"Sirius," James said quietly. Hermione looked at him. The set of his shoulders was tight, and his whole body was rigid with the anticipation of intervening. His hazel eyes were glassy, his knuckles clenched. "Sirius, come on. This isn't real!"