She opened the latches on the box. As the boggart swam into view, it assumed the form of Lucius Malfoy, right down to the evil twist of his lips.
Right down to the large, thick needles he was clutching in both hands.
But no... Lucius was losing his malevolence, losing his long silver-blond hair. It was darkening along with his eyes, though his skin remained every bit as pale. Snape's features emerged, just as harsh as Malfoy's in their own way, though they weren't hate-filled.
No, Snape's expression was one of unbearable pain, his eyes clouded with it, his hands clenching with the effort it took not to scream his agony. An ominous thud echoed through the room and Snape fell straight down to the ground, his breathing laboured and uneven.
"Harry," he gasped. "There's nothing you can do. I wasn't quick enough--"
A bloodstain began spreading over Snape's robes. A horrible red gush of blood that suddenly covered his chest, flowing so fast and fierce it dripped down to stain the floor.
Snape gave a bitter laugh. "No great wonder he'd cast a curse like this at me. I do believe he hates me worse than even you, after Samhain." And then, in tones more urgent, "But you killed him, Harry, once and for all. Don't forget that. Don't ever forget that. This is a great victory for the wizarding world. Don't blame yourself that you couldn't do everything for everyone--"
"No!" shouted Harry, forgetting that none of this was real, that it was only a boggart. "Madame Pomfrey will come. I won't let you die, I won't--"
"Harry."
The boy didn't look up. He had eyes only for his father, who was going grey by then, who was lying in an ever-widening pool of blood. He felt shattered inside, like the world had come to an end. Because it had. Snape was dying, and it was his fault. He was the one who hadn't been fast enough, else he could have defeated Voldemort and managed to protect his father.
Instead, he'd got him killed.
It was Sirius all over again, Harry thought, beginning to tremble from head to toe. A deep wail began gathering in the pit of his stomach. He wanted to release it, to scream demands to the heavens--
"Harry!" said McGonagall, shaking his shoulder until he looked up at her. Her voice sounded unsteady, though her words were comfort itself. "This isn't real, Harry. You're taking a test, remember? You're facing a boggart."
Harry blinked, realising that she was right. Strange how that felt. He knew all at once that this wasn't real, but the emotions he'd just been swimming through were still there, still inside him, filling him with such pain that it was all he could do not to release the scream building inside him.
If Snape died in the final battle, Harry didn't think he'd be able to bear it.
For one instant he even wished he'd never been adopted, never let himself get close to someone again. Because he always lost people, didn't he...
"A boggart," McGonagall repeated. "Now, compose yourself Potter, and we'll try again."
A few skillful flicks of her wand and the boggart was tucked away once more in the box.
Harry shook his head, dragging his thoughts away from what really mattered and onto Aran's stupid test. "I don't know what I could do to make that amusing, Professor. Really, I don't."
"It was a dreadful spectacle," commiserated McGonagall. "That's the boggart's greatest power, the fact that it latches onto what we fear most. Think a moment. Let me know when you're ready."
"In a real situation he wouldn't have time to prepare," said Aran in a sneering voice.
"Considering your other students did not even have to confront an actual boggart," returned McGonagall coldly, "you are hardly one to lecture me on realistic testing conditions!"
"I'm ready anyway," announced Harry. There was no possible way to make Snape's death humorous, of course, but it had just occurred to him that Remus hadn't made the actual moon all that hilarious three years earlier. He'd changed it into something else completely, something that really had nothing to do with the moon.
McGonagall unlatched the wooden box again.
The boggart became Snape at once this time. Harry figured that must mean his fears had been somehow made clearer inside his own mind. It wasn't Lucius and his needles that were his worst fear, nor Dementors, nor Voldemort himself. It was what he had told Draco.
Harry fixed a picture firmly in his mind, imagining it just the way he'd seen it all those years ago, and pointed his wand. "Silly-stupid be gone!" he hissed in Parseltongue, getting the charm out before Snape could begin to die right there in front of his eyes.
A whirling of motion and colour, and suddenly the boggart was dressed just like Neville's grandmother, right down to the hat with the vulture perched on top.
Aran began to guffaw, his laughter so enthusiastic that he was almost snorting.
McGonagall gave Harry a rather weary look. "Well done warding off the boggart, but as for this..." She gestured towards the spectacle Harry had created, "The joke's a bit stale by now, don't you think?"
Harry shrugged. "All I could think of."
"Yes, well... I wouldn't recommend you mention as much to Severus."
McGonagall made short work of forcing the boggart back into the box.
"Well done, Potter. Though as it took two tries I suppose I should mark you off."
"Poor," pronounced Aran. "If not Dreadful."
"Well as you're not the one marking him, your opinion carries no weight," said McGonagall without looking at the other teacher. She kept her gaze focussed on Harry. "Acceptable. Next time don't let yourself become disoriented by the image the boggart draws from your mind. You must keep in mind what is real and what is not." She glanced at Aran, then. "Now, if you'll excuse us, Professor, I'd like to speak with Potter alone."
"He still has a detention to serve--"
"As you've placed upon him the burden of staying after class to take his tests separately, I consider that quite detention enough."
Aran had enough good sense not to argue the point, though he did frown when McGonagall thrust the boggart box his way and said that now his students could have one to practise on.
Ron and Hermione were waiting for Harry in the hallway. So was Nott. He and Ron both looked furious about something. Hermione just looked exasperated.
"You can meet Mr. Potter at my office in a few moments," announced McGonagall without breaking her stride. Harry hurried along next to her.
"Am I in trouble, ma'am?" he asked as they approached her office. "You already took points over what I said."
She ushered him into her office and closed the door before answering. "That's over and done with, though I would hope you'd improve your attitude with Professor Aran. I realise his class policies are very vexing, but you still do need to be respectful."
"Yes, Professor," Harry answered, though he didn't agree. Respect could go hang; Aran certainly didn't deserve any.
McGonagall saw right through him. "It's actually not terribly Slytherin to annoy him when it can't gain you anything."
"But there's nothing wrong with Parseltongue!"
"No, there's not." McGonagall sank into a chair. "And that's not why you're here. I wanted to discuss your boggart, actually. Do be seated, Harry."
Harry did, a little wary since he didn't know what needed discussing. So he was worried about Severus dying. So he was worried he'd be responsible if it ever came to that. So he loved his father. So what? It just made him normal, didn't it?
"You're evidently quite concerned that Severus might not survive the war."
Harry felt like saying Really? How can you tell? but thought that McGonagall really didn't deserve to be treated like that. "Yeah, I guess I am. I don't think about it very much but... yeah."