Wolfe's Boggart

The third year stepped up to face the boggart with a scoff. He wasn't afraid of anything, the proud German he was. He held his wand aloft, urging the professor- "Just open it already, arschloch!" the trunk was opened and everyone stepped back. Wolfe squinted as something stepped out. No, someone. It was a girl. She looked no more than eight years old and she stared at Wolfe with wide eyes. His previously annoyed visage changed. It looked sad and reminiscent at the same time. The girl figure spoke softly.
"Ich liebe dich nicht, Wolfe. Sie sind der Grund, warum ich nach links." ("I never loved you, Wolfe. You're the reason I left.") Wolfe couldn't breath. "Iris, no!" He shouted to her. The girl's sullen expression changed and grew into a too wide, terrifying grin. "Niemand wird jemals lieben." ("No one will ever love you.") The boy gripped his wand, trying not to cry. Not in front of these people. "Riddikilus!" He yelled at the girl.


Wolfe is afraid of being heartbroken, especially by his first young love, a little muggle German girl he lived next door to named Iris. He fears she left because of him, and he'll never be loved.