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“Riddikulus”
A chorus of children echoes the spell with shaky voices as the wardrobe in the middle of the room continues shaking relentlessly. Draco is standing in the back of the room, eyeing the professor with unease.
He didn’t get to face the boggart the last time he had this lesson, though with the amount of small (but probably not insignificant) things he has changed this time around there’s no telling how the lesson will go.
It makes him uncomfortable.
Knowing that even little things he does subconsciously change the timeline enough for him to not be able to predict every situation.
A traitorous thought whispers that he’s already messed up the timeline too much, and for a horrible second he sees a Harry Potter in Hagrid’s arms that isn’t just pretending to be dead, but the voice of the professor praising the class stops him from delving into those thoughts any deeper.
Watching Longbottom turn his godfather into a drag queen lightens his mood a little, though when he sees children already lining up he has to suppress a groan.
Well then. Here’s to hoping that the boggart will decide to turn into something sensible for a third year to be afraid of, and not something more traumatizing from his decidedly not thirteen year old mind. He reluctantly stands behind Nott and absently wonders what spirits he must have angered to end up here.
So he’s standing in a line, crowded by thirteen year olds from both sides, barely an inch of space between their bodies and buzzing with dread. At this point, he’s praying to God and Satan and all the other deities he has never believed in to please not let Potter face the Boggart and let this lesson end early. Of course, apparently the only deity listening is the one whose only purpose is to spite him and he watches in resignation and faint horror as The Boy Who Lived turns a dementor into a floating bedsheet with two holes for eyes.
Creative.
So he resigns himself to his inevitable fate and desperately tries to think of what exactly will the boggart turn into so he can plan a countermeasure, though it's pretty hard to pinpoint which of his memories scare him and which ones just horrify him. And there’s also the issue of how the hell are you supposed to make torture funny?
He doesn’t even realize he’s at the front of the line until he feels a sudden breeze on his face and sees Nott standing a few feet in front of him looking at the boggart like it might skin him alive. Which, to be fair, it might if that’s the kind of thing you’re afraid off.
He doesn’t get to think about that for too long though, because the boggart shifts after a moment, and suddenly he’s looking at a woman who, if the shocking resemblance to the brunette is anything to go by, is by all accounts Nott’s late mother. He doesn’t get to actually see why on earth is the boy afraid of his dead mother because the next moment Nott is pointing his wand at the woman and she shrinks and falls to the floor in the form of a porcelain doll.
You know.
Like that’s any less disconcerting.
He’s torn out of his thoughts by the person behind him pushing him and he stumbles a few feet forward. He has half a mind to turn around and glare at the person, but the room is suddenly full of whispers and giggles.
“What do you think it’s gonna be?”
“I bet it’ll be going bald, I reckon the git is shallow like that.”
“I’m telling you, it’s gotta be the hippogriff, he looked so terrified of that thing he didn’t even get close to it.”
Hey, now that’s just rude. There’s an alleged serial killer running around and they think that’s what he’s afraid of? They’re severely underestimating his self preservation instinct. Granted he might’ve ran up to Buckbeak like an idiot last time around, but it’s not like they knew that! And anyway, he kept far away from him this time.
The boggart suddenly shifts and his whole body tenses up. Distantly he notes that he shouldn’t get lost in thought so frequently, lest it get him killed. The bigger, louder part of his brain was screaming a mix of Jesus fuck I did not think this through, Sweet Merlin this will be a bitch and a half to explain and Good God just let me die here and desperately scrambling for any kind of plan or idea about what the fuck he was going to be up against.
And then the mist settles.
He sees himself, standing over a sink with running water. He turns around, there’s a familiar voice hissing “Sectumsempra” and suddenly there’s blood everywhere and cuts and a writhing mass of white and red and red.
Dumbledore is looking at him, standing calmly across from him. He looks untouchable but he knows he’s dying. They told him. “Good evening Draco.” He shifts on his feet. “What brings you here on this fine spring evening?”
“I was chosen” There’s a black snake writhing on his skin, angry and restless. It’s writhing and tense and ready to lash out, to call for it’s lord.
“I don’t want your help! Don’t you understand? I have to do this. I have to kill you, or he’s gonna kill me.”
“Severus. Please.” "Avada Kedavra”
Bellatrix is holding Potter's disfigured face, a breathy “Well?” escaping from her cracked lips, pulled taunt into a manic grin. He’s standing across from her, older, seventeen, looking into the black haired boys eyes. He doesn’t want him to die.
“I can’t be sure.”
He’s walking out of the gates . Its deathly quiet, the only sound the slow steps of hundreds of people crunching rubble underneath their shoes. Voldemort is leading the group, Hagrid’s hulking figure shuffling behind him. He’s holding a body. “Who is that, Hagrid’s carrying? Neville, who is it?”
“Harry Potter, is dead!”
“Draco, come.”
“Riddikulus”
Potter jumps out of Hagrid’s arms, as if the whole scene was fast forwarded. He throws a spell at Nagini and while it does nothing, it’s like the whole battlefield was brought to life. There is absolutely nothing funny about the scene, it’s the same thing that happened in real life, but there’s something reassuring about the way he seems so full of life.
He steps away from the boggart and finally looks at the scene around him. Everyone is silent, looking horrified, some of them a little green in the face. Lupin is standing up, face constricted in an expression of shocked disbelief. Potter looks frozen mid-step, like he was halfway to casting a spell. Everyone is looking at him like they’ve never seen him before. He knows this is gonna get to Dumbledore. He knows he’s gonna have to talk about it. But he just went through all that again and he feels like he’s empty and has to throw up at the same time, nausea is making his head spin and his knees feel like they will buckle at any moment. So he does the only sane thing that comes to mind.
He runs.