The Boggart From Hell

The students would arrive on September 1st- which was next Friday. Hope didn't have much more time to have solidarity during the day to roam the halls, so she did so now after completing her tasks outside with the creatures. Newt was making a last-minute trip to Hogsmeade, and Albus was in London at the Ministry. He didn't say, but she was confident they were discussing her.

So, Hope decided to spend her day trying to memorize more staircases. They still kept shifting when she least expected, but she was starting to realize the pattern they sometimes followed. 

She walked down the hallway to talk to Sir Nicholas, who raved about applying for the Headless Hunt this year. Again, he tacked on with irritation, leading Hope to slowly slip away as he ranted to himself.

Biting her lip, she walked and walked, running her fingers over banisters and touching the hand of a Knight in armor, only for him to shoo her hand away.

"Sorry," she pulled her hands back, "Didn't know you could feel that."

Just as she was beginning to get hungry for real food, not just blood, she heard a strange pounding sound. Her eyes searched the area and frowned when none of the paintings seemed to be hitting the wall. Curiously, she followed what she could now describe as a hollow banging to the Defense Against the Dark Arts room.

In the far-off corner, the cabinet next to where Albus had first gotten her blood, stood a wardrobe. It banged back and forth as if something were fighting to get out. While she knew it would be wise to walk away, Hope also knew…she wasn't that smart.

The curiosity burning inside got the better of her, and she inched herself toward the wardrobe. Hope wouldn't open it; she didn't want to, but she could at least press her ear to it and listen for what might be in there. Was it one of Newt's creatures? His Niffler was always getting into things when their backs were turned. Maybe he'd somehow gotten into the classroom.

Hope walked forward, approaching the wardrobe, when it burst open. Falling back onto the floor, scraping her hands and elbows. 

She screamed.

It was a horrible, violent scream. One that echoed down the hallway. It ruptured the glass facing the lawns and shattered them, leaving open gaps where the windows had been.

The thing that emerged from the wardrobe instantly caused her so much fear that she fell into a void of darkness. 

It overwhelmed her so thoroughly and brought her into her mind so deeply it was like clawing her way out of Hell.

Hope woke up in the infirmary.

She blinked away the blurriness of her eyes just as Newt rushed over and knelt by her bedside. 

"Hope." He murmured, holding her hand in his.

Blinking again, she tried to focus on him—his voice. Her senses came back all at once, and the loudest thing was Newt's heartbeat.

"I think you need to rest, Newt. Your heart is racing," she said with a frown, finding her voice was weak.

"I need to rest?" He asked and then couldn't help but laugh, but it was a ragged laugh. One filled with worry.

Hope slowly started to sit up, and Madam Florence came over, offering her a cup of blood. "Here, dear. Drink this, and you'll feel better."

The sudden and intense need for blood made her take it and start gulping it in a frenzy. Whatever had happened had left her starving.

"Hope." The firm voice stopped her mid-gulp, and her eyes looked over to see Albus standing just off to the corner of her bed. Next to him was Professor McGonagall. "Control." He said a simple reminder.

Keeping her eyes on him, she carefully slowed her needy gulps to more controlled swallows.

"How are you feeling?" Newt asked. When she was finished, he took the cup and refilled it with blood so that she could continue sipping.

"Hm," she hummed, "like I just stepped out of the grave." It was hard to explain how cold and numb her body felt. How horribly her stomach and head hurt.

Drinking a bit more blood, she looked around, seeing that all eyes were on her. Every pair of eyes looked at her with either confusion, worry, or both.

"Before anyone asks, I don't remember anything," Hope said slowly, setting the empty cup on the nightstand.

Professor McGonagall nodded. "Yes, well, that might be for the best."

"Minerva. Florence," Albus started, "If you don't mind, I'd like to speak to Hope and Newt alone for a moment. I hear there's a wonderful spread of desserts downstairs. I'll be there shortly."

With a nod, Minerva and Florence exchanged looks before leaving the hospital wing and shutting the door behind them.

Fear crept through Hope's veins like ice. "Did- did I hurt someone?" She asked softly. Had she turned into a wolf and attacked? Lost all her control and drained someone of blood?

"No," Albus said, pulling up a chair on the other side of her bed, "but something happened that you do need to know." He glanced at Newt, whose eyes were intently focused on Hope, his leg shaking slightly in agitation. 

"Minerva found you in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom," Dumbledore continued, "she heard you scream and found you on the floor. What was in that wardrobe was what's called a Boggart."

"A what?" she asked with a frown, sitting up a little taller. The blood had really helped.

"It's a form of shapeshifter," Newt offered, "it shifts into what a person fears the most. It uses that fear against you."

"And when you approached the wardrobe, it attacked," added Albus, "I usually keep a Boggart for the start of school for the third years. Especially when I taught Defense Against the Dark Arts. The teacher who is coming in this year has requested one as well. Unfortunately, you happened to find it before the start of term." He offered a small smile, clearly trying to lift her spirits.

Hope blinked as she tried to recall the memory.

"It turned into what I fear the most?" She asked and looked between them. "Well, then, what did it turn into?"

They exchanged a hesitant look.

"If you don't tell me, I'll just look for it myself," Hope said with a bit of snark. Maybe she needed more blood for her attitude. She started to get out of bed, but Albus put a knee against her leg, keeping her there.

Newt spoke in a soft voice. "We don't know what you saw. Prof…Minerva didn't know what it was. She put it back into the wardrobe as quickly as possible when she saw how it affected you."

"There's something else." Albus stood to his feet and started to walk, gesturing with his hand for her to follow him.

Hope got out of bed, feeling perfectly fine now aside from still a bit cranky, and followed after him quickly with Newt by her side.

"Where are we going?" She asked when she caught up to him.

"Back to the classroom. There's something you need to see."

"You just said-"

"The Boggart is in a different location now. It won't bother you, but you must see the classroom."

Hope looked at Newt and frowned. He seemed a bit pale, but he was trying to smile in comfort for her. She wished it would help.

Her feet stopped right at the door of the classroom, where she began to vaguely remember entering. She recalled crossing the room toward the wardrobe, which now sat open and empty in the corner. 

Albus looked back at her, seeing she'd stopped. He nodded as if understanding and offered his hand. "It's not here. I promise."

With a shaky breath, she hesitantly took his hand and walked back into the room as willingly as possible. She almost immediately started to feel so cold that her teeth began to chatter. That was because it was snowing inside the room. 

Looking around, she watched as jagged ice formed over almost every available surface. Yet a warm breeze blew in. Hope looked to her left, where Owls sat perched in the empty spaces where she knew there had been windows before.

"Well, damn. Boggarts really are nasty." Hope gasped in astonishment, looking up at the ceiling as snow continued to flurry down. It was like looking into a massive storm of black ice.

"The Boggart didn't do this," Newt murmured softly near the shell of her ear. She turned to look at him with wide eyes.

"I did this?" She hissed, looking over at Albus, who nodded silently.

It wasn't the type of Magic she wanted to have as part of her. This wasn't pretty and delicate, like when Newt cast with his wand to make the tea pour. This was violent. It was cruel.

Albus spoke again. "We think whatever the Boggart turned into caused you enough fear to release some of your power."

"Whatever it was…" Newt swallowed hard. "You felt the need to thoroughly protect yourself."

Silence filled the room for a moment too long before Albus raised his wand and righted the classroom to how it had been before Hope's first entry.

"Where did you put it?" Hope asked, looking around the space. Perhaps he said he'd moved it so she wouldn't think to look here.

"No, Hope." Was Albus' quick response.

"But I-"

"No."

Hope stared at him with searching eyes, but he gave nothing away. As solid as the ice that had once been molded to the table.

"Believe it or not," Albus murmured, "I don't want you dying of a heart attack. Whatever it was, it can be dealt with later after you've had rest and time to recuperate. You'll leave it for now, and when you're ready, we can revisit."

Clenching her jaw, she sighed and finally nodded but refused to speak her agreement.

"Good. Come on then," Albus nodded to them both, "I think everyone could use something sweet to calm the nerves."

Hope followed them, casting a quick glance at the classroom once more. Trying to recall

what had stepped out of that wardrobe.

Perhaps she'd never know.

That night, Hope woke in a sticky mess of sweat. Her limbs were tangled in the blankets, and the more aware she became, the more frantic her movements were. A crash of thunder above made her freeze and look around. The moonlight room was still as serene-looking as ever, but something caught her eye in the darkness.

A freshly completed canvas sat on the easel not eight feet from her bed. A dark demonic face leered out at her from the darkness. Her heart began to race, and her palms sweat as she slowly crawled out of bed. Not taking her eyes off the face whose eyes were like orbs of red that seemed to gaze through her soul.

Hope inched forward, breathing quickening as her bare feet stepped on a squishy, wet carpet. Slowly looking down, she watched thick crimson blood ooze between her toes. With a scream caught in her throat, she caught sight of her arms that held burned slashes. Still dripping red.

Hope looked up at the canvas to see the face was skinned to nothing but bloody muscle and was now screaming at her with razor teeth and a snake-like tongue, trying to climb out of the canvas. Black claws reaching for her.

Books began to fall from their shelves, and the room seemed to shake. Hope didn't realize she was screaming until someone smashed through the door.

Newt's arms enveloped her, pressing her to his chest as he carried her from the room to the hallway, where he set her down, careful not to touch her flesh wounds. "Do not move," He said seriously, gazing into her eyes. "I swear it, Hope. Stay here." He quickly reentered her room with his wand raised.

Hope could only watch him leave as she shivered and hyperventilated in the hallways. Her ragged breaths soon turned into sorrowful sobs, causing house elves to poke their heads out of the kitchen. Watching with wide, fright-filled eyes.

New hands touched her now, and Hope didn't care that they weren't Newt. Hope could smell Albus's scent before she heard his words and wrapped her arms around his neck. She pulled herself against him so tight that she wondered if she was possibly part constrictor.

"It's alright. You're safe, Hope. I've got you; you're safe." Albus' voice was soothing honey in her ear. She started to relax, her chest still giving random convulsions from her sobs. He stroked her back with his hand and continued to repeat. "You're safe. I've got you."

Newt emerged a few minutes later, pausing when he saw Hope in Albus' arms, but didn't comment.

"You need to see what's on the canvas, Dumbledore," Newt said in a severe tone that surprised Hope. His complexion was pale as stone as Albus transferred her from his arms to Newt's and entered her room.

Hope pressed her face against Newt's neck, taking in his scent—different from Albus' but so comforting—like when it's just rained. 

Newt pressed soft kisses against her ear, whispering, "Whatever this is, we'll find it and fight it. I will not let you suffer, Hope. I won't."

"To my office," Albus murmured. His voice was out of place as he closed the door and spelled it shut. Nobody would be entering that room—or, for that matter, leaving it.

Hope was still visibly trembling as she sat on the floor next to the crackling fireplace in the office. A blanket draped over her shoulder, she was given a warm mug of hot chocolate. The sugar was to help with the lightheadedness.

Taking tiny sips, she could tell Albus had laced just a little blood into the mug. Newt sat across from her but kept a distance between them, which she was almost glad for as she didn't want to feel too enclosed. The throbbing behind her eyes diminished just a little as Albus turned the rest of the lights off, and only the fire's glow lit the room.

"Hope," Albus started softly, sitting to fit their triangle, "How are you feeling?"

With a hard swallow, she looked up, hands still shaking. "Can you ask me that question tomorrow?" she asked, her voice hoarse. It hurt her to talk, to swallow.

Removing her arms from the confines of the blankets, she showed them the lacerations. The middle of each cut was bright red, though the bleeding had at least stopped. Black, like soot, colored the outer edges of the marks.

"Do you remember at all what happened?" Newt asked softly.

She shook her head. "I remember…waking up feeling really hot. I was sweating through everything. I heard the thunder, and then I saw…" She took a shuddering breath and closed her eyes, shaking her head as she fought the urge to cower. She would not cower. No, whatever this thing was, Hope wouldn't just be above it.

She would destroy it.

Looking at them squarely now, a fire in her eyes matched the one in her soul. It was an angry fire ready to combust at the slightest spark.

"I saw a face on the canvas. It was dark at first, but then it started to change. It…" Her eyes hazed over as she recollected the terrifying event. Pushing past the nausea that started from the fear she'd felt. "I watched it scream… it tried to crawl out of the painting, and I…I was so scared…" She focused on them now. "Is it still on the canvas? The face?"

Newt swallowed hard and nodded slowly. "It didn't move when I looked at it, but yes…I saw it."

"What is it?" She asked in a harsh whisper.

"A demon." Was Albus' answer, his blue gaze fixed on hers.

Frowning, she tried to understand—to make sense of it. "An actual…demon?"

"Yes…and no," Albus murmured, "It was real to you in the life you lived before your memory was taken, and the Boggart sparked that memory back to life. The demon is not here, Hope. I can assure you of that. I'll even show you as proof tomorrow, but you need to know that what you saw was your mind manipulating you."

Hope rubbed her temples. "So you're telling me it's all in my head?" She almost snapped at him. "I didn't make it up, I know what I saw."

"I don't doubt you saw it," he nodded in agreement, "the fear you felt today unlocked something you've been hiding even before you lost your memories to a charm. I'm sure you faced this demon of Hell in your other life, but now the scars it's left on your mind have worked their way into the crevices as an infection. 

It will alter the way you think and the things you see. I've seen some Witches and Wizards suffer this. Your mind found a way to protect itself. When you first faced this demon, it must have been so horrific that your mind turned the memory away. Disowning it, almost. Now it's been unlocked, and it will be difficult to regain control over it."

Hope took a slow, shaking breath. "And you're sure nothing is here?"

Albus shook his head. "I'll have a sweep of Hogwarts conducted for peace of mind, but there was no malevolent energy in that room. The only thing existing in there was…your fear."

Newt nodded slowly in agreement. "I came to the same conclusion."

"Then why did you spell the door?" Hope frowned.

"Your fear seems to cause ice, and I didn't want it to spread to the halls," Albus answered readily, "and no one needs to know what's on the canvas unless you decide otherwise."

The notion that it could be kept a secret helped ease some of her leftover nerves. "I don't even remember painting it." She sighed, took a sip from her mug, and looked at her arms again. "and where did these come from?"

Newt nodded as he sipped his own. "There was a letter opener next to your paint set."

Hope looked down at her arms; they were slowly beginning to heal. It was taking much longer than any of her other injuries so far.

"The darkness around the lacerations could have been your own energy," Albus murmured, gesturing close to the cut but not touching it, "Magic, especially fearful Magic, can have strange effects. The Magic we know and study differs from the Magic you possess. There might not be an answer to it."

Hope let silence and their presence console her as she sipped her mug of hot chocolate, and her muscles slowly began to unclench with the heat of the fire. Albus cleaned around the room a little as Newt leaned in and took her hand. "Would you like to stay with me in my room for the night?" He asked gently, those green eyes returning some color to her cheeks.

With a nod, she took his hand and bid Albus goodnight, but she had a hunch he wouldn't sleep tonight. He looked ready to search Hogwarts from top to bottom.

The walk to Newt's room was alright, if not a little tiring. Upon entering, she could feel herself breathing easier. His room was of nature and herbs, creatures milling about and climbing through the hanging greenery. When he closed the door behind them and locked it, Hope could finally let her shoulders relax.

She leaned against him, like a shady tree, as she fought the urge to let her fear rise again. Hope hated being afraid. It filled her with an obnoxious queasy squeezing of her chest.

Newt's soft touch against her hip made her smile softly. He guided her toward the bathroom. "I have some extra bedclothes," he murmured, pulling them from a chest at the foot of the bed and offering them to her, which she took without hesitation. 

She dressed, seeing her arms were almost completely healed, and soon emerged. Finding Newt was making himself a bed on the floor of pillows and blankets.

Biting her lip, Hope smiled crookedly as she lowered herself to the bed, catching a look of bewilderment in his eyes. 

"Uhm. Hope, I-" 

Hope nodded. "I know. You don't want to make me feel like you only invited me to get into bed. Believe me when I say I don't feel sexy right now—like, at all. What I do need is you." She sighed softly. "I don't want to be alone, and you make me feel lighter inside. Like things will be okay if I'm closer to you…"

Newt searched her face, and a soft smile curved his lips. Nodding, he took her hands. "Very well." Then he returned the pillows and blankets to the chest he'd retrieved them from. They climbed into bed, and Hope nestled against his body, head on his chest and knee reaching over his legs.

She could feel his smile against her hair as he wrapped his arms around her. Holding her close.

"Goodnight, love."

She smiled against his white T-shirt, snuggling against him as she breathed in his fresh, earthy scent. She could get used to being called that. 

That night, she fell asleep to Newt's heartbeat, letting his natural light of goodness wash away the dark fear that tried to creep through her.

Hope was sure that if Newt wasn't a wizard, he'd still be magical to her.