"This entrance is regulated by a rather obscure application of Gamp's Law of Elemental Transfiguration," Albert explained with a slight, knowing smile, as he led Katrina McDougal down a rarely traveled, portrait-lined corridor on the sixth floor.
Katrina arched a challenging eyebrow, looking skeptically at the gloomy, dusty canvases that covered the walls. "An exam, then? Is this part of the initiation for the Transfiguration Club?"
Albert laughed softly, a low rumble that did nothing to soothe her rising frustration. "If you choose to view it as such, I won't dissuade you. It's certainly a test of lateral thinking."
"So, you've discovered the method already?" Katrina pressed, her worry growing palpable. She knew Albert had an uncanny knack for finding secrets, but she had hoped her own Ravenclaw mind would crack the puzzle first.
"I have the solution, but only because Izabel provided the final clue to the location of classroom twenty-one," Albert conceded.
"Why on earth would Izabel know? She's a Charms prodigy, not a Transfiguration enthusiast!"
"The method of entry is… unconventional," Albert said, stopping at a specific section of the wall dominated by a portrait of a plump, grumpy-looking witch. "Do you want to take a few more minutes to try and figure out the access condition, or shall I save you the wasted effort?"
Katrina's lip jutted out in annoyance. She took a swift, irritated glance up and down the hallway, the faint scent of old stone and mildew doing nothing to inspire her. Twelve agonizing minutes had already ticked by, and she was already late for her own dinner. She slammed her hand against the nearest portrait frame in defeat.
"Fine! You win this round, you infuriating man. Where is the wretched entrance?" she snapped, instantly regretting letting his game frustrate her so completely.
"Right here," Albert said calmly, pointing to the very portrait of the plump witch beside him.
Katrina stared at him, her eyes narrowing. "You were toying with me from the beginning, weren't you? This was all a deliberate trap to make me look foolish!"
"Not at all," Albert denied, shaking his head. "The laws of Transfiguration are sacrosanct. For instance, you cannot conjure delectable food from nothing."
"I know that!" Katrina retorted, completely missing the subtle, coded language.
Albert ignored her mounting pique and addressed the figure in the frame. "Excuse me, Madam. We require entry to classroom number twenty-one."
The witch, who had been pointedly ignoring their presence until that moment, gave a curt, almost imperceptible nod. With a soft grinding sound, the entire portrait slid smoothly aside, revealing a dark, tight crawl-space in the wall, only about half a person's height.
"You simply needed to ask the portrait to open the door, using the classroom's number," Albert reminded her gently.
Katrina gave him a look of pure, unadulterated venom. "You, Albert Anderson, are a truly malicious individual! This was completely unnecessary!" She bent down stiffly and crawled through the narrow gap.
"My apologies, but time is of the essence," Albert said, checking the sleek watch he pulled from his pocket. The time was 6:55 PM. "I must depart. I have a rather pressing date with the Headmaster, followed by my Defence Against the Dark Arts class. Remember to mention my conflict to Professor McGonagall at the club tonight."
"I shall endeavor to relay the message, if I remember," Katrina grumbled from the darkness of the passage, her tone suggesting he was already at the bottom of her priority list.
Albert simply nodded and strode away, already mentally shifting gears from the politics of academic clubs to the chaos of Boggarts.
Albert arrived at the Defence Against the Dark Arts classroom just as the final bell chimed, signifying the start of the second lesson of the year. He slipped into a seat next to his roommates.
The atmosphere was notably different this year. While the students were usually buzzing about the identity of the new professor, Professor Rowena commanded an immediate, quiet respect. She wasn't loud or flashy, but she possessed an air of competent seriousness that the previous two Defence Against the Dark Arts teachers had lacked entirely.
Professor Rowena, after taking attendance, addressed the class with a clear, calm voice. "I have reviewed your scores from Professor Brod's tenure. Your knowledge foundation is acceptable. For the next several weeks, we will be focusing on understanding, recognizing, and successfully dealing with common dark magical entities: Boggarts, Red Caps, Hinkypunks, and Grindylows."
She paused, allowing the unfamiliar names to sink in.
"Today, you will bring only your wands. We are putting theory into immediate practice. Come with me. I worked tirelessly to secure a specimen for this lesson, and you are all quite lucky to have the opportunity."
Professor Rowena led the class out of the standard classroom and down to an unused, perpetually chilly classroom on the third floor. Inside, among the dusty, moth-eaten desks, sat a single, plain wooden chest. As the professor approached it, the box emitted a noticeable, nerve-wracking rattle.
"That Boggart is exceptionally keen to meet you all," Professor Rowena observed dryly, sitting down casually on the chest, seemingly oblivious to the creature trembling beneath her. She raised one finger. "Now, Mr. Anderson, since you seem to have pre-read the term's curriculum, perhaps you can enlighten us. What, precisely, is a Boggart?"
Albert stood up, feeling the weight of the class's collective expectation. "A Boggart is a non-corporeal, shapeshifting entity that manifests only when it is confronted. It instantly transforms into the thing that the observer fears most."
"Excellent start."
"They prefer dark, confined spaces—wardrobes, under beds, in boxes, or cramped cupboards—and will often betray their presence by making disconcerting rattling or scratching noises. Crucially," Albert added, remembering his earlier thought, "no one can truly know what a Boggart looks like in its solitary form. The moment it's observed, it transforms." He paused, considering his audacious, systematic idea. "Hypothetically, Professor, to see its unmanifested form, one would need a specially enchanted, instant-capture device, perhaps one that could freeze the space it occupies and bypass the need for an observer."
Professor Rowena's eyes flashed with genuine interest. "A fascinating, highly theoretical concept, Mr. Anderson. Ten points to Gryffindor for that lateral thinking. Now, the practical reality: What is the single best method to deal with a Boggart when confronted?"
Lee Jordan immediately shouted, "Strength in numbers!"
"Precisely! The primary advantage in facing a Boggart as a group is confusion," Professor Rowena agreed. "The Boggart, facing multiple fears, becomes unstable, sometimes morphing into a bizarre, half-formed amalgam of those fears. The charm to repel it is deceptively simple. You must focus your will and transform the Boggart into a shape you find supremely ridiculous."
She stood up from the chest, placing her hands on her hips. "However, the spell itself is only half the battle. What truly defeats a Boggart—what sends it fleeing back into the shadows—is laughter. Without genuine, scornful laughter, all you have done is change its appearance, not dispel it. It will merely resume its frightful form."
She instructed the class to repeat the incantation without their wands. "Riddikulus! Riddikulus!" The room echoed with the slightly silly chant.
"Wonderful. Now, let's test our courage. Who will step forward first?" Professor Rowena looked around. When no one immediately volunteered, Albert simply raised his hand and stepped into the open floor space.
"Very good, Albert," Professor Rowena said, trying to contain the excitement in her voice. "Albert, what is it that you fear most?"
"Honestly, Professor, I've been wondering that myself," Albert replied with a nonchalant shrug. He genuinely wasn't sure what single thing would qualify as his ultimate, paralyzing fear. Loss of control? Loss of information?
"Well, you'll find out in a moment. Visualize the ridiculous change you wish to impose, then raise your wand. Everyone else, move back against the wall, please. We need to clear the field so Albert gets a pure, unadulterated response from the Boggart."
Albert positioned himself, his wand raised. He focused on the rattling chest. The loss of certainty, he thought. The failure of the system.
"Ready, Albert?"
"Ready."
"One, two, three—open!" Professor Rowena incanted, and the lid of the chest flew open.
The Boggart, a swirling pillar of dark smoke, erupted from the box. It twisted and stabilized rapidly, taking its shape. But instead of a monster, a zombie, or a monstrous spider, it solidified into a massive, heavy, leather-bound volume.
A Book.
The entire class fell silent. They had expected something epic, something terrifying, given Albert's reputation. A book?
"What in the blazes?" George whispered, utterly baffled.
"Is he afraid he won't pass his exams?" Fred muttered.
Lee Jordan, mouth agape, managed to articulate a complaint. "I knew it! The most terrifying thing for Albert is running out of reading material! Is he afraid the pages are too thin, and he'll finish it in one sitting?"
"Professor Rowena, what is happening?" George asked, utterly stunned.
"Perhaps," Professor Rowena murmured, visibly struggling to process the scene, "this means that Albert Anderson has, truly, nothing to fear. Or that the Boggart, faced with such internal complexity, defaulted to a symbol of… I don't know, untapped knowledge."
Before she could continue her analysis, Albert moved.
He walked straight up to the massive, bound volume that was his greatest fear, his face a mask of intense frustration. He reached out and tried to pull the cover open.
It wouldn't budge. The book, as Boggart-manifested objects always are, was functionally useless.
"You won't open?" Albert muttered, his voice cold. "You're useless if you won't open!"
He lowered his wand. The sight that followed shocked the class far more than any monster could have. Albert, instead of casting Riddikulus, simply dropped the book-Boggart onto the dusty floor and proceeded to stomp on it. Once. Twice. Thrice. He ground his heel into the thick, faux-leather spine.
This is what happens when the plot is wrong, Albert thought with grim satisfaction. The book, in his mind, represented the complete, unaltered narrative of the future—and the horror that that narrative could be deliberately changed or fundamentally flawed, robbing him of his systematic advantage. By rendering the book unreadable and destroying its structural integrity, he was symbolically rejecting the single greatest threat to his safety: the unpredictability of the plot.
The class stared, wide-eyed and silent. They felt a strange, shared surge of pity for the entity they had moments ago been afraid of. The Boggart had come to scare a brilliant student, and instead, it had found itself brutally, casually victimized.
"Wait! Albert! Please, stop assaulting the Boggart!" Professor Rowena cried out, her composure finally breaking. She rushed forward to intervene, pulling Albert back by the arm. "We need to save it for the others! It's not meant to be a literal doormat!"
Albert frowned, stepped back, and offered a casual shrug. "It wouldn't open. What good is a book that refuses to be read?"
Professor Rowena's lips were pressed into a thin, white line. She was both aghast and impressed by the sheer, cold audacity of the boy. The Boggart, freed from Albert's foot, trembled violently, momentarily returning to its smoke form before stabilizing into a new terror as Professor Rowena's fear asserted itself.
With a muffled pop, the massive book dissolved, and in its place appeared an austere, dark mahogany Coffin.
Professor Rowena's eyes instantly glazed over with sudden, raw grief. She swallowed hard, her hand trembling slightly as she raised her wand. The entire room went quiet, sensing the profound personal pain the object represented.
"Riddikulus! Riddikulus!" she whispered, the spell lacking the conviction of laughter.
With a final, desperate crack, the coffin morphed again, briefly becoming the book, and then a mundane, solid brick, before Professor Rowena managed to herd it away from her, towards the line of waiting students.
She turned back to the class, her expression pale and drawn. "Thank you for your assistance, Albert. Please rejoin the line." She quickly gathered herself. "My apologies, students. That was… a very dear friend who passed away in a disastrous Transfiguration experiment years ago. Now, line up! Let's practice the spell before the Boggart exhausts itself."
The class watched in sympathetic silence. No one found the courage to laugh at their professor's fear.
Fred and George were next. When the Boggart saw the twins, it exploded into two fears simultaneously: a pair of massive, hairy Acromantulas, their eight legs clicking menacingly. The twins, having been almost eaten by such creatures just months prior, flinched but were prepared.
"Riddikulus!" they shouted in unison.
The enormous spiders' legs immediately sprouted polished, silver ice skates. The spiders began to wobble violently, their immense weight making them slide uncontrollably across the dusty floor. They flailed, incapable of standing, spinning awkwardly in a grotesque, hairy ballet. The entire class roared with genuine, cathartic laughter.
Lee Jordan's turn. His fear, when the Boggart focused on him, was utterly ridiculous, proving his materialism over anything truly menacing. The Boggart transformed into a giant, overturned dish of Bertie Bott's Every Flavor Beans, splattered across the floor. However, the beans were all monstrously oversized, slimy green, and clearly labeled with foul flavors: Earwax, Booger, and Vomit.
"Riddikulus!" Lee Jordan yelled, trying to contain his disgust.
The slimy beans suddenly grew tiny, perfectly pink, feathered wings, and began fluttering uselessly around the room, making muffled, buzzing sounds. The absurdity of giant, winged booger-beans made the class howl, especially Fred and George, who would never let him live down his fear of bad candy.
The lesson continued, the Boggart shrinking and losing its vigor with every fresh burst of laughter. Albert, watching the chaos, filed away the lessons learned: Laughter was indeed the key, and his own bizarre confrontation proved that the greatest threat was not a monster, but the sudden, terrifying realization that his knowledge was fallible, and the plot of his own life could be changed without his permission.