"Forceful, forceful..." Frida muttered, echoing her professor's words in hopes that it would eventually click. She gripped the larch wand tight in her hand, but her gaze—and focus—was trapped on her deceased mother's figure, which seemed to take a step towards her every time Frida began to worry about its proximity to her.

"R-Riddikulus," she tried again. Nothing. She took a deep, shaky breath before letting her attention fall to her wand rather than the boggart. "Riddikulus."

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