Any attempt to rid of the boggart would be futile, she told herself as a wave of panic overcame her. Not only was she staring into the dead, cold stare of the woman whose death she had been responsible for, but now she had to picture her—it—as something funny?
It seemed impossible, but not trying didn’t seem like much of an option at the moment. She gave Rex’s hand one good squeeze before she released him and took one small, single step forward.
“Riddikulus!” she tried, envisioning the dead woman wearing a suit and with a mustache. Try as she did, it did not work; she could only focus on the dead stare even as she tried to envision her in the silliest outfits.
Then again. “Riddikulus!“ she cast, her tone firmer. She imagines the woman being restrained by strings and forced to dance like a puppet. It minimizes the perceived threat—and more importantly, the sudden appearance of puppet strings and a dancing Mrs. Whitledge made Flora giggle.
It seemed impossible, but not trying didn’t seem like much of an option at the moment. She gave Rex’s hand one good squeeze before she released him and took one small, single step forward.
“Riddikulus!” she tried, envisioning the dead woman wearing a suit and with a mustache. Try as she did, it did not work; she could only focus on the dead stare even as she tried to envision her in the silliest outfits.
Then again. “Riddikulus!“ she cast, her tone firmer. She imagines the woman being restrained by strings and forced to dance like a puppet. It minimizes the perceived threat—and more importantly, the sudden appearance of puppet strings and a dancing Mrs. Whitledge made Flora giggle.
