Riddikulus! The floating head begins to turn red at the neck, rising upwards, then white and teal in stripes, until your father's head looks like a particularly jovial beach ball, floating, waiting for you to serve it. You see a net behind it, and on the other side are all the people you've ever cared for. They're waiting for you to pitch the ball so you can all get homemade ice cream on the boardwalk after the game.
I'm afraid of getting rejected from graduate school. The boggart jumps back out of the closet, forming a panel of dusty, professorial administrative types. They sit at ludicrously tall podiums and stare down at me through their bifocals, laughing at my achievements.