Catch The Snitch

[Reserved for Dorian Innes]
It had been quite a while since Kyle went for a run at the Great Lake.

He had woken up later than usual this morning, and quite a number of people were already up and about by the time he commenced his run. Seeing how his usual route around the castle was now a little too crowded for his liking, he took a different turn and instead followed the path that led to the lake, leaving the castle behind him. Gradually, the chatter and sounds from the other runners faded away, until all he could hear were his steady footfalls and his breath.

Descending the slope, he maintained a steady pace and focused on keeping his strides the same length. When he had first resumed running after getting his prosthesis, he had been running the wrong way and ended up overexerting his good leg. It was a lot easier now that he had gotten the hang of it. His current prosthesis was also better than the first one he had, although it also came with a much heftier price tag. Had Osman not offered to chip in, he would never have been able to afford it.

Before long, he found himself at the shore of the Great Lake. The calm and still waters glistened like diamonds under the rays of the morning sun, betraying no hint of the dangers posed by its depth or its inhabitants. The view was made all the more magnificent by the clear blue sky overhead, and the imposing silhouette of Hogwarts Castle perched atop the cliff on the other side of the lake.

As he admired the view before him, something odd caught his eye: a dark blocky shape at the edge of the water that stuck out of the grass like a sore thumb. Intrigued, Kyle left the footpath to investigate the object. As he approached, he realised that it was a small cabinet, battered and worn out and lying on the ground forlornly. It had clearly seen better days. Curious about what was within the cabinet, he reached out and opened its door—

Something large and black burst forth, slamming Kyle backwards onto his back and knocking the wind from his lungs. He sat up, and found himself looking at a familiar Ravenclaw student. Immediately his blood ran cold as he recognised who it was.

No…

Involuntarily he backed away in terror, hands and feet scrabbling against the dirt to get away from Rohaan – no, the thing that looked like Rohaan. Something stung his left hand; he turned to find the shards of a broken white plate on the ground, its edge stained a brilliant crimson by his blood.

Without warning, a burning beam crashed to the ground beside him, missing him by mere inches. The thing that looked like Rohaan was lying unconscious on the ground now. Another burning beam fell between him and not-Rohaan, and suddenly he was trapped within a massive inferno with no way out. Heat and smoke filled the air: his lungs began to burn, and his eyes smarted and his vision blurred.

It’s just a boggart! A voice in his head screamed at him, snapping him out of his stupor. Still shaking with fear, he clumsily groped for his wand with his leaden hands, fumbling for what felt like an eternity before he finally found it. Mustering whatever was left of his scattered wits and courage, he pointed his wand at the middle of the conflagration…

… only to have his voice die in his throat. Fear tightened its strangling noose around his neck as he tried again, but still no words came out of his mouth. He gasped and wheezed. He couldn’t breath, and the edges of his vision was darkening. It’s not real, it’s not real, the voice in his head kept repeating. Get a hold of your fucking self! Forcing his body to comply, he raised his wand again. “R–riddikulus!” There was a sharp whiplike crack, but the raging inferno remained. “Riddikulus!” he uttered again, his voice straining and breaking. Through his blurry vision, he saw a different figure amongst the flames: his mother. “Riddikulus! Riddikulus!” Again and again he tried. Crack! Osman. Crack! Yasmine. Crack! His friends. By now his incantation was sounding increasingly like a desperate plea, and his powerless spells flailed uselessly against the growing might of the boggart as it gorged itself on his growing fear, while burning debris continued to rain down from the clear blue sky.

Saturday morning marked the end of another long and boring week of night shifts, and Dorian was exhausted. He was ready for bed, but rather than retiring to his office (where he currently lived), he was making slow and laborious strides across the castle grounds toward Hogsmeade Station. Dorian's mind was reeling with thoughts of his failing marriage and a looming divorce, and he knew that it wouldn't be easy to fall asleep without the help of a few drinks at the Curious Chimaera.

Dorian had made it as far as the Great Lake when it was becoming difficult to carry on for much further. There was still the return trip to consider; another stay at the Leaky Cauldron wasn't economically feasible, and he didn’t want to impose on Mal any more than he had to. Sighing in defeat, Dorian found a tree by the shore and lowered himself to the ground with a tired grunt; he would rest before making the trek back uphill.

When the calm and still water of the lake did nothing to distract him from his thoughts, Dorian began to search his pockets. When he found the spliff that he had been looking for, he held it between his fingers, deliberating. Dorian had rolled it days ago, but he had since quit smoking (again), and he really shouldn’t be getting high on school grounds.

On the other hand, it was just a small one, and he was quite alone and quite out of sight…

Dorian hadn't been smoking for very long when he saw something moving in the distance. He squinted across the lake at recognized the figure at once; he had met Kyle Winters a few weeks prior. Kyle was approaching rapidly, and Dorian cursed under his breath, annoyed by the incoming intrusion. He took one last, long hit, and coughing furiously, gently stubbed the spliff out. Dorian tucked it back into his pocket to save for later and leaned his head back against the tree trunk. Finally feeling relaxed, he closed his eyes…

Dorian had just started to doze off when a loud whistle pierced the air. His eyes snapped open in time to see a bright red flare shoot into the sky. Here we go, he thought miserably. For all the times he wished something would happen at Hogwarts, of course, something would happen now.

It was much worse than he expected. To his horror, there was a great bonfire blazing across the lake, right where Kyle had last been seen. Dorian leapt to his feet, blood rushing to his head and his exhaustion forgotten. He raced towards the fire and when he was close enough to be heard, he yelled, "Hang on, I'm on my way!" He felt light-headed, but he pushed forward, his boots pounding heavily against the ground as he ran.

When he reached the fire, Dorian quickly performed the Flame-Freezing Charm while gasping to catch his breath. Not waiting to see if the charm had worked, he looked around, assessing the situation. Kyle was on the ground, frozen with fear, but otherwise unharmed – and to Dorian's surprise, he wasn't alone. Where did she come from? Dorian thought as he conjured a stretcher with a wave of his wand for the woman lying unconscious on the ground near Kyle. "Hey kid," he panted, clutching a stitch in his side and feeling more lightheaded than ever. "It's going to be okay." With another wave of his wand, the limp body of the woman lifted into the air and landed gently upon the stretcher which was now hovering in midair.

The flames were getting hotter, and Dorian began to cough in the thick smoke. "Okay, let's go!" he yelled, shooting another jet of red sparks high into the sky. The fire was much too large for one person to extinguish, and it didn't seem like Kyle would be of any assistance in his current state; Dorian’s main priority would be getting these two to safety.

Dorian was lowering an arm down for Kyle to grab onto when he noticed a woman approaching from the other side of the bonfire. Partially obscured by the smoke, Dorian was unable to make out any of her features, but assuming that she had to be a teacher or another Auror, he called out to her. "I’ve got them!" he yelled, his voice hoarse. "Help with the fire, I’ll be back!"

With each passing moment Kyle was growing dizzier and weaker. Was it his fear, or the heat and the smoke? He didn’t know, nor could he afford to care. Willing himself to focus, he tried to steady his hands to recast the spell, but his hands were shaking and his voice didn’t work.

He collapsed on the ground, his wand rolling from his limp hand. His lungs burned. He was tired, so tired…

It’s not real. It’s not real. It’s not real.

The voice in his head was growing louder, repeating those three words over and over and over again. It was the last shred of sanity left in him, and he clung on to the mantra like a lifebuoy in the dark, violent sea of his emotions. Suddenly it struck him that he was breathing way too fast. Was he hyperventilating? Probably. He forced himself to slow down and breathe deeply, but his body refused to follow the rhythm his mind had set.

It’s not real. It's not real.

Suddenly there was a voice. Was he hallucinating? The voice yelled, and a brilliant flare of red light almost blinded him. And amidst the chaos, an outstretched hand.

A hand...?

Still caught in a daze, it took Kyle a few moments to realise what was going on before he reached out to grab it. The hand was real. Very solidly and reassuringly real. At the same time, his other hand blindly and frantically groped for his fallen wand. He found it, and firmly wrapped his fingers around it so that he would never lose it again. And with the last ounce of his strength, he pulled himself up to his feet. Almost immediately his right leg buckled and he fell again. Get a hold of your fucking self! he screamed mentally at himself before going back to the mantra in his head again. It’s not real. It’s not real. Using the words as a way to regulate his breathing, he took as deep a breath as he could, and exhaled as he mouthed the words. It’s not real. Inhale. It’s not real. Inhale. It’s not real. Inhale.

Maybe he’d need both arms to pull himself up. Awkwardly he tried to grab the outstretched arm with his wand hand, inadvertently pressing the hard wooden implement into the flesh and pinching it against the bone. Once more he attempted to pull himself up. The muscles of his still-trembling limbs strained as he tried to channel whatever strength he could muster. He was leaning heavily against his saviour now, and for a moment he was certain that he would drag the both of them down to the ground with his weight, but miraculously he managed to stagger unsteadily back onto his feet.

“It’s not real, it’s not real.” His voice had come back too, though it was barely more than a hoarse whisper. He looked up at his saviour, unable to figure out who it was, before recognising him as one of the Aurors stationed at the school. Hastily and gratefully he tried to thank the Auror and apologise for the trouble and tell him he was okay and that it was only a boggart and that he'd take care of it, but in his attempt to say everything at once he ended up croaking an utterly unintelligible string of random sounds.

When Kyle did not immediately grab his hand, Dorian tried to get his attention. "Kyle? Your name is Kyle, right?" he called and gritted his teeth when he received no response. He was glad that Kyle was physically unhurt, but it would have been easier if he was unconscious and on a stretcher as well. Resisting an impatient sigh, Dorian continued in an encouraging tone: "Kyle, you're gonna be fine, but you've gotta get up now, okay?"

Fuck it. I'll just stun him, he thought miserably when Kyle still stared blankly at his hand and made no effort to stand. Dorian didn't particularly want to assault a student, however, and loosed a breath of relief when Kyle finally grabbed his hand and struggled to stand. After Kyle fell the second time, Dorian tucked his wand back into his pocket and reached down with both arms to pull Kyle to his feet.

"Are you able to walk?" he asked, as Kyle swayed unsteadily and leaned up against him, mumbling unintelligibly. Dorian looped Kyle's arm over his shoulder and began to drag him away from the fire, the woman in the conjured stretcher floating eerily along behind them. It was slow-going, and Dorian sagged beneath Kyle's weight.

I should have just stunned him.

With his free hand, Dorian reached into his pocket to find his enchanted notebook. The fire was beginning to spread toward the forest, and it didn't look like anyone had responded to his flare. Unable to write while supporting Kyle, Dorian dictated his message to the Aurors inside the castle: "Fire, North East side of the lake." He glanced down at the notebook to see the words magically transcribing onto the paper, and then looked up again, nearly dropping Kyle in alarm to see the woman from earlier standing in front of him, no longer obscured in the smoke.

It was his wife.

"What are you doing here?" he asked sharply, concern flashing in his eyes; there had to be something wrong for her to show up unannounced like this.

"We need to talk," was all she said, in a hollow sort of voice.

"Yeah, okay," he said nervously. "Go up the castle, to the Viaduct Entrance. I'll meet you there."

She ignored his request to talk privately, and Dorian looked down as a bundle of papers materialized in her outstretched hand, his heart dropping to see that she was not wearing her wedding band. He read the title of the front page of the papers she held, and knowing what was about to happen, he said - almost pleadingly - "Not like this," at the same time that she said, "I want a divorce."

For a moment, it was as though Dorian had forgotten all about Kyle, the unconscious woman, and the fire blazing behind them. He swallowed hard, and stared down at his feet, fighting back a sudden wave of nausea. There was a loud ringing in his ears, and when Dorian lifted his head, he found that his vision had blurred. He blinked several times, and as his wife’s emotionless expression came into focus, Dorian felt his pain turn into to anger. "This is how you tell me? By showing up at my work with no warning whatsoever?" he asked bitterly, shouting over the sound of the blood pounding in his ears. "You couldn't even wait and tell me privately? You want me out of your life that fucking badly?"

"It's over. I want a divorce," was all she said in that empty, unfamiliar voice.

"Well, that's great," Dorian said flatly. "That's just fucking great." He closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and then looked back at his wife with a softened expression. "Just… just go up to the castle. Please. We’ll talk, and... if that's what you really want, well.... " The words died in his throat, and he looked away again. He could feel tears forming in his eyes, but he blinked them away and grunted an embarrassed, "Sorry about that," to Kyle, whom he finally seemed to remember was present.

"I want a divorce," he heard his wife say again.

"I KNOW!" he yelled, throwing his arms up in disbelieving anger. "FUCK! Can you not see that I'm busy right now?" He gestured wildly to Kyle and the stretcher… which was empty.

"Wh-what?" he choked. He looked at his wife in confusion, and when she showed no reaction to an unconscious woman vanishing in front of their eyes, he understood that something was not right. His hand was clammy, but steady, as he raised his wand and pointed it directly at his wife. "Who are you?" he demanded.

As his saviour began to drag him away from the fire, Kyle followed as best as he could in his half-dazed state, stumbling along on his wobbly legs. So addled was he that he didn’t even notice the stretcher floating behind them. All he cared about now was to escape from the source of his terror. Left. Right. Left. Right. The mantra in his head had changed now as he forced his leaden legs to move. A couple of times he didn’t raise his right leg high enough and almost tripped, but the Auror’s firm grip kept him from toppling over.

Abruptly they stopped – or more specifically, the Auror stopped and Kyle didn’t. Had it not been for the Auror’s quick reflexes, he would have fallen forwards, but mercifully that did not happen. Looking up at whatever was ahead of them that had caused the Auror to halt, Kyle found themselves confronted by a very familiar looking lady.

The Auror and the lady exchanged a few words; though Kyle wasn’t quite clear-headed enough to follow the conversation, he was still dimly aware that something was off about it, and he thought he had heard the lady say a particular word. Out of the blue the Auror began to yell, but the lady remained impassive as she gave a calm reply. This time round, Kyle caught the tail end of her sentence.

“… want a divorce,” the lady intoned flatly.

That last word jumped out at him: the situation his own family was in had sensitised him to that topic. But the sudden mention of that word confounded Kyle, and it took him a few seconds to realised that she must have been the Auror’s wife. Only after that did it dawn on him that he was witnessing something very private and personal that he wasn’t supposed to.

“S-sorry!” In his alarm the teenager somehow found his voice, and he averted his gaze as though that would undo the damage that had already been done. His eyes fell upon the empty stretcher that he hadn’t noticed at all until now, and while he was perplexed by its presence he didn’t say anything.

At the same time, the Auror apologised to Kyle for the scene before them, even though he was clearly not at fault here. But just before Kyle could say anything, the lady refused to be ignored further and repeated her demand yet again. If she had meant to provoke a huge reaction, she most certainly succeeded, for the Auror immediately flared up. But his anger swiftly vanished when he realised something was amiss, and he suspiciously raised his wand at his wife. “Who are you?”

The tension in the air and the chilling tone of the Auror’s voice finally reminded Kyle of everything that had transpired – the cupboard by the lake, the boggart that he had accidentally released, and the Auror coming to his rescue – and that snapped him out of his stupor completely. “It’s a boggart,” he said, raising his own wand defensively. His wand arm began to tremble yet again as the thought of having to face Rohaan again wormed its way into his mind. Squeezing his eyes shut, he fought to banish the intrusive thought. But he couldn’t run from the boggart forever, nor could he hide behind another person. No. He would have to face his fears properly, right here and now. Besides, unlike the moment when he had accidentally released the boggart from its confinement, he wasn’t alone now.

Opening his eyes, he fixated his gaze upon the lady and he approached her, stepping unsteadily away from the Auror whom he had been relying on for support, hoping to divert her attention to himself. He wasn’t confident of casting any spells in his current state – and especially if the boggart reassumed Rohaan’s form – but with luck he wouldn’t need to.

"A Boggart?" Dorian asked sharply, turning to look at Kyle and feeling his stomach lurch in a panic to see Kyle had also raised his wand. It was one thing for Dorian, a fully trained and qualified Auror, to point a wand at his wife, but he did not like seeing a kid – especially one with his fucking eyes closed – to be doing the same. "What makes you say that?" he asked doubtfully, resisting the urge to smack the wand out of Kyle's hand while he kept his own wand still pointed at his wife.

It was during a Defence Against the Dark Arts class in his third year that Dorian had faced his first and only Boggart. Having been warned ahead of time, Dorian had not been frightened when his Boggart turned into his father and expressed disappointment in him. He simply banished it and watched as it turned into a snake to face the next student in line. But that was years ago, Dorian reasoned. It made sense that his Boggart would have changed forms after all these years; now thirty years old, Dorian no longer cared about his father's approval as he had when he was a thirteen-year-old boy.

Even though he wasn't quite ready to digest that his worst adult fear was divorce, Dorian had accepted that Kyle was correct in his assessment that the figure in front of him was not truly his wife, but a Boggart. As Kyle stepped away from him with his wand raised, Dorian still found the sight to be uncomfortable but not quite as panic-inducing as it had been before; if he was wrong, the Banishing Spell would not hurt her. And his eyes were opened this time, at least.

But it was his wife - his Boggart - and Dorian should be the one to banish it. The question was, how did he make divorce comical enough for the spell to work? Dorian grimaced as he remembered how he had banished his last Boggart. He had imagined his father telling a joke, but his marriage had been strained for so long now it was difficult to picture happier times. Doing his best to summon a memory of him and his wife laughing together, and hoping it was enough, Dorian shouted "Riddikulus!"

With a loud crack, his wife laughed and then vanished, though not with the wisps of smoke that Dorian had remembered seeing when his professor had banished the Boggart all those years ago. Still, it was proof that Kyle had been right, and Dorian said "Nice one," though he did not yet lower his wand and his voice shook slightly.

It had been a very weak memory, and doubting the efficacy of his spell, Dorian looked around. The fire had not disappeared, but continued to blaze behind them… and Dorian found that he no longer cared.

"Let's go," he said to Kyle, his tone uneasy as he still searched for signs of the Boggart's return.

Unconvinced that they were facing a boggart, the Auror demanded an explanation, something that Kyle should have seen coming when he made that claim. Just because he could easily discern if someone or something before him was a boggart didn’t mean that others could. “The person trapped in the flames can’t be Rohaan, because he’s dead,” he answered shakily, despite his best efforts to keep his voice steady. As much as he was loathe to reopen the wound in his heart, it was the fastest and surest way to back up his claim. “He died in a fire years ago and I couldn’t save him.” The bitterness and regret in him seeped into his words as hot, angry tears came to his eyes. And the boggart hadn’t stopped there: it had taken on the appearance of others whom he loved and cared for, trying to scare him into believing that they were trapped in the same fire that killed Rohaan. “And his uncle and aunt and my mother can’t be here either because they’re Muggles.”

When he stepped forward towards the boggart, he had hoped that he could divert the boggart’s attention back to him again and cause the creature to adopt Rohaan’s form once more. That would prove once and for all the true nature of the thing before them, and allow the Auror to dispatch the boggart without having to cast a spell at something that resembled his wife. But the plan never had a chance to come into fruition, not that it needed to. Without warning, the Auror shouted an incantation, and a loud crack rang out as he cast the Boggart-Banishing Spell. Instantly the boggart vanished, leaving behind mere wisps of smoke that swiftly dissipated in the wind.

Still keeping his guard up, Kyle looked around him, wanting to be sure that the boggart was well and truly gone. But there was no sign of it at all, only the hungry flames that still raged uncontrollably behind them. With the source of his fear vanquished by the Auror, his adrenaline rush faded. Suddenly he became aware that his throat and lungs were burning with every breath he took. His legs were a bit wobbly too, but he could still stand and walk. When the Auror suggested that they should go, he nodded wordlessly – it hurt to talk – and followed the older man. But there were things that he felt he absolutely needed to say. “Thank you for saving me,” he began, ignoring the pain for now. “I didn’t think I’d freeze up when I saw my boggart.” His disappointment in himself was palpable: after all these years, the past still haunted him greatly, and that upset him almost as much as the encounter with the boggart did.

“And I’m sorry for everything: the boggart, the fire. And for… erm…” His voice trailed off and he paused mid-sentence, unsure of how to properly word what he wanted to say. “Erm… and for seeing what I wasn’t supposed to see,” he finished cack-handedly. “D–don't worry, I won’t breathe a word about it,” he hurriedly added, hoping it would sound reassuring to the Auror, although it only seemed to make his apology feel even more awkward than it already was.

With no sign of the Boggart's return, Dorian lowered his wand, and as the tension in his shoulders began to ease, his hands began to shake uncontrollably. Unable to steady them, Dorian shoved his hands into his pocket, flinching as his fingers brushed against the notebook growing hot with a message that he had no intention of reading. As they began their journey up to the castle, Dorian had a nagging sense that he was forgetting something and he strained his memory. Kyle had explained why he had been sure it was a Boggart, and though Dorian found it difficult to concentrate at the time, he remembered that it had been important.

Finally recalling what it had been that Kyle had said, Dorian was lost in thought and nearly missed what Kyle said next. "What?" he croaked, his mouth dry. Realizing that Kyle had been thanking him, he waved it off. "Don't worry about it, kid. That's my job." He swallowed and winced; his throat felt raw. "You came through when it really mattered and I wouldn't have known it was a Boggart if not for you. It's you I should be thanking." The last part was a bit of an overstatement, as Dorian would not have been involved in the first place had it not been for Kyle, but it was true enough that Dorian was grateful not to have to suffer a moment longer thinking his wife was asking for a divorce.

The notebook was being flooded with messages, but Dorian ignored them, his mind still reeling. He found it difficult to focus on Kyle, who was apologizing unnecessarily, and his anxiety increased with each new message. The notebook now felt permanently hot against his hands, and he couldn't think straight. It was when Kyle promised not to tell anyone what he had just witnessed, Dorian felt his stomach lurch; he could not think about this right now. "Stop talking," Dorian said abruptly, the words coming out much more harshly than he had intended. He spoke again, trying to soften his voice and expression. "I mean – you've inhaled a lot of smoke. You don't want to do any more damage, let's just wait until you get checked out by the Healer, all right?"

By the time they had reached the Hospital Wing, Dorian felt much more level-headed, though his hands still shook and he yearned to have a cigarette in them. "Wait here," he said to Kyle, indicating an empty bed near the entrance. Dorian waited until Kyle was safely situated on the bed, offering assistance if needed, and then spoke again. "What you said earlier, about not telling anyone…" he began heavily, his voice still hoarse. "I appreciate that. But there are going to be questions, and you've got enough on your plate without needing to lie on my behalf. But there is something you can do for me. I believe you're friends with my brother, Trent? My family doesn't know about my… personal life, and I'd prefer it stayed that way."

Dorian offered Kyle a grim smile and hesitated for a long time as he thought of what to do next. He felt he needed to address the trauma that Kyle had just re-lived, and offer comfort or advice… but he was at a loss for words and the notebook in his pocket was an unwelcome and effective distraction. "I've gotta get back to the fire," Dorian said finally, deciding to pass the information on to the Headteacher who would surely be more qualified to help the kid than a still-stoned Auror. As the school Healer hurried towards them, Dorian clapped Kyle lightly on the shoulder and said, "Good luck, Kyle." Rebuffing the Healer's attempts to assess his own injuries, Dorian ducked out of the Hospital Wing. Taking a deep breath, he pulled out his enchanted notebook from his pocket and flipped it open to read the onslaught of messages.

Time to get back to work.