Fractured Reflections.
The fire crackled in the staff lounge, its warmth doing little to ease the tension in the room. Professors sat in their usual spots, their expressions ranging from concerned to downright grim.
Lupin exhaled slowly, fingers laced together on the table. "Harry Potter's Boggart was... troubling."
Dumbledore's blue eyes sharpened, twinkling replaced by something unreadable. "Troubling how, Remus?"
The Defense professor hesitated, choosing his words carefully. "It took the shape of himself. But—wrong. A hollowed-out version. A corpse with a smile. And it spoke."
Snape, who had been half-listening with a sneer, sat up at that. “Spoke?”
Lupin nodded. His voice dropped, as if saying the words too loudly would make them more real.
“You don’t exist. You never did.”
A beat of silence.
Then—
“That’s not normal,” Flitwick said, uncharacteristically serious.
McGonagall’s lips thinned. “And how did he react?”
Lupin sighed. “He just stood there. Didn’t even raise his wand. I had to step in.”
Pomfrey, who had been listening quietly, folded her arms. “That’s—concerning. A Boggart preys on fears, but that isn’t a physical fear. That’s self-perception.”
Snape scoffed. “He’s a dramatic little brat—”
“No.” Pomfrey cut him off, eyes sharp. “That kind of fear suggests *depersonalization.* A complete disconnect from one’s own sense of self. He’s not being dramatic—he may not even see himself as *real.*”
The words settled over the room like a weight.
Even Snape didn’t have a retort for that.
Dumbledore steepled his fingers, face unreadable. “We have been concerned about Mr. Potter’s well-being for some time. This only reinforces the need for more observation.”
Lupin, quiet until now, leaned forward. “If that’s truly the case… he may not be *hiding* something, Headmaster.”
Dumbledore met his gaze.
Lupin’s voice was quiet but firm.
“He may not think he’s worth being found.”