By some cruel twist of fate, Minerva had finally found herself poised before the X; resigned, the Gryffindor took a step forward, her face belying how bloody terrified she was to do so. It was not even the thought of the boggart that had set her on edge—no, it was the crowd of her peers stood about her, an audience to her likely failure.

Taking a deep, if shaky, breath, the fifth year nodded at Professor Sleptov. The nod was a lie; it said that she was ready, ready to face what lay inside. The reality was that Minerva Nightly was not at all ready, nor was she likely to be at any point in the future.

Before she had much opportunity to dwell upon this, however, the boggart was upon her—in the form of…herself? Uncertain what to make of this, the fifth year froze, her perplexed, wide-eyed stair mirrored in the her before her.