Epiphany

18 ~ Deepest, Darkest Fears

James and Peter ran through the twisting alleys, back to the highstreet. They were met with chaos. Students ran, screaming; professors raised their wands, shouting urgent commands; shop windows shattered and glass lay on the street. No one could figure out what was going on.

Then a dark mark was conjured.

"Death Eaters," James muttered, momentarily frozen in shock. He didn't have time to waste worrying that the worst-case-scenario had come true. He didn't have time to pause and let the bad news sink in. He just didn't have the time. But his brain fogged with panicked thoughts and, for the first time in his life, James was truly terrified. 

"They take the form of your deepest fears," Professor Blackwater had said. "Not simple things, like heights or the dark. No, boggarts can sense your innermost nightmares, the ones that truly terrify you. They are creatures skilled in legilimency, but little else, so you have no reason to fear them. That is why they reach into your thoughts, so they can scare off predators and defend themselves. Luckily for you, wizards and witches have our own magical defenses." An audible sigh of relief had spread throughout the classroom. Blackwater always had a way of frightening his students before teaching them self-defense. Perhaps he was a boggart himself. "The 'ridikulous' spell has been used for centuries to defend the wizarding population. Now, it is your turn to follow in your ancestors footsteps."

Lily had coughed loudly at the 'ancestors' part, but Blackwater was too absorbed in his monologue to notice. Later, it was discovered that the professor was a supporter of Voldemort's ideas. No one was particularly surprised.

Sirius was the first Marauder to face the boggart. He stalked up to the wardrobe, wearing a facade of confidence. James could see the nerves in his friend's curling fists. In a rush of cold air, the doors swung open and a woman's figure stepped out. Her dark hair was pulled into a tight bun; her eyes shone black with superiority; her features were harsh, sharp and pointed upwards, perpetually disapproving. Walburga Black stood in front of her now-trembling son, wand in her hand. Her words came out in menacing hisses, though Sirius seemed able to understand.

"Remember the spell," Blackwater stepped beside Sirius, resting a hand on his shoulder, "think of something absurd that would amuse rather than frighten."

Nodding, Sirius closed his eyes. "Ridikulous," he whispered.

Before anyone knew what had happened, Walburga's dark robes switched to muggle clothing - band t-shirts that James recognised as Sirius' favourites. The witch looked so confused and appalled that the class couldn't help but laugh and applaud.

Next was Remus, who was far more outwardly nervous. Again, the wardrobe opened, but no figure emerged. Instead, a pile of bodies fell out, collapsing on top of one another in a vile mess of blood and flesh. James' hands shot to his mouth as he recognised the corpses. They were Sirius, Peter, Lily and himself. Remus was frozen in shock. The bodies were covered, head to toe, in deep cuts from which blood seeped. Claw marks. They missed certain features, as if bitten into. James' heart sank as he watched Remus fall to his knees.

"Ridikulous," Came a quiet whisper.

The dead transformed into bowling pins, which James recognised from Peter's thirteenth birthday, rolling around on the floor. No laughter followed. 

The boggart leaped out again in front of Peter, taking the form of  towering silhouettes. They pointed at the cowered Peter, hissing and laughing. James wondered what his fear would be. He didn't much like the dark, though the 'lumos' spell had remedied his panic. Perhaps it would relate to his friends; he always feared for them.

"Ridikulous!" Peter shouted.

The figures shrunk to squeaking mice, scurrying about his feet before disappearing back into the wardrobe. Peter smiled to himself, nodded, then joined the group of partially-traumatised children.

Then it was James' turn.

He approached the wardrobe slowly, not nervous per se, but certainly curious. The doors rattled and James prepared to be petrified. He braced himself for the inevitable. He would be terrified, just like the others.

The doors burst open. The boggart emerged.

It shifted to a horrible creature, full of staring eyes and gaping mouths, the very thing James had feared lurked in the shadows. Then it changed. Suddenly, it was Remus, Sirius and Peter, all screaming for help. Then they cursed him for betraying their trust. They ignored him, yelled at him, cried, lay dead, were in pain. The shape shifted again. A mirror stood in front of him and his reflection stared back. Only, there was something dark in his eyes, something evil. The boggart switched and changed and grew more and more unrealistic as it grew impatient.

"That's enough!" Blackwater announced eventually, stepping between James and the boggart, which was now in the shape of a ridiculously over-the-top depiction of James' mother when angry. The creature changed into a vial of dark liquid, which must have been Blackwater's fear, and James didn't think he imagined the sigh of relief as it did so. "Congratulations kid," the professor said once the boggart had been trapped once more, "you have no True Fear. It seems you're immune to the beast's tricks."

James had spent the next few hours in the library, much to his teachers' dismay (arguably, this was more important than class). Apparently, it wasn't uncommon for witches and wizards to lack a True Fear, some considered them true Gryffindors, but it was rare for that to last longer than a year. It seemed that most were only considered fearless for a brief period, before developing one later on. James bragged about his bravery and fearlessness for the next two years, holding it high above his head. Of course, he didn't tell anyone that it was common or temporary, or that he had no impact on it whatsoever. That would ruin his fun.

He had been scared since, as he had been beforehand, but nothing truly terrified him. Sure, Evans could be intimidating and McGonagall wasn't exactly easy-going, but James wasn't really afraid.

It was in the chaos of the attack, in the screams of his classmates, the pounding of his heart as curses flew, that James found his True Fear. And he did not enjoy it one bit.

The river of students carried him away from Peter, away from the streets he recognised. His gasping breaths were distant and his head throbbed, his ears filled with a buzzing that drowned out the rest of the world. Now was not the time to pass out. Clinging to a fence as if it were a lone piece of driftwood, James managed to fight against the current and stop. He tried to ignore the instinct that told him to run, in favour of the one that instructed him to calm down first. Taking deep breaths and squeezing his eyes shut, his heart rate slowed and the world came back into focus.

He opened his eyes in time to meet the glare of an iron Death Eater mask.