He has no intention of disrupting the wriggling wardrobe when he passes it by. But disrupt he does, purely by walking close enough to it for its inhabitant to unfurl from within. There's no time to consider what it might be in reality; it needs only to take one look at him before it reforms itself to form the shape of something he cannot, can't ever, escape.

The effect is dulled, but it's present nonetheless. He starts to cough, sinking to his knees, and the faceless thing that isn't real looms ever closer over him, drilling thoughts he can't hear into his skull, tipping its featureless head this way and that in macabre curiosity over the piercing agony hammering away in his head.

A boggart is defeated through laughter.

What a shame that Tim is arguably the one person least suited to the task.

[ Boggarts ]