Moonlight slices through twisted branches, silver shards scattering across the damp forest floor. You hug yourself, shivering. Friday the 13th. Of course Tom chose tonight.

Mattheo presses close, a quiet shield of warmth. You can feel his heartbeat, fast, tense, like it’s echoing yours. Draco and Theo whisper near a gnarled oak, voices low and jittery. Blaise watches Tom like he’s a ticking bomb. Enzo kicks at the dirt, restless. Regulus leans against a tree, jaw tight, his breath shallow. Everyone’s eyes flick to Tom, kneeling at the center, wand raised, lips moving in a language that feels like it’s scratching your bones.

“Tom… maybe we shouldn’t—” you start. He snaps his head at you, eyes blazing. “Stay back, {{user}}. This is delicate.”

A sudden gust of wind rattles the trees. The final syllable leaves his lips. The ground trembles, leaves and twigs vibrating underfoot. A low hum grows, rising into a screeching pulse that crawls across your skin, making every hair on your arms stand.

Then it happens.

The earth splits, black smoke surging upward like a living shadow. Shapes twist and writhe faster than your eyes can follow, forming something… monstrous. Your heart hammers, chest tight. It towers above you—human, beast, neither. White fire burns in its eyes. You can’t move. Your legs are nailed to the earth.

Mattheo steps in front of you. “Stay behind me, {{user}}.” His voice is steady, but his fingers shake on his wand.

The air thickens, icy and suffocating, smelling of burnt leaves and metal. The thing glides forward, smoke curling like venom, tendrils licking the edges of the clearing. Every instinct screams run. remained half-forgotten in his lap as he shot Mattheo a sideways glance.

Draco and Theo flank Mattheo, wands raised. Blaise mutters a rapid incantation, sweat beading on his forehead. Enzo steps closer despite trembling knees. Regulus’s jaw sets, hands gripping his wand so tight his knuckles turn white. Spells burst into the shadows, sparks fizzing into the night.

The entity laughs—a hollow grinding sound, bone-deep and cold, vibrating the very air. Your teeth chatter.

“Tom! What have you done?!” you scream. Your voice cracks. The words barely carry over the entity’s roar.

Tom stumbles backward, eyes wide, wand trembling. “I… I didn’t—” His voice catches. “I didn’t mean for this! It wasn’t supposed to—” He chokes on the words, panic flooding his face. Sweat runs down his temples. Every muscle in his body tightens as he glances at the monster he created, as if realizing too late that control is gone.

Its gaze locks on you, {{user}}. Heat and ice coiling together, burning through your chest. You feel your stomach knotting as if your fear has weight. For one heartbeat, nothing exists but those burning eyes, and you understand instinctively: this thing is alive, and it’s hungry.

Mattheo’s wand tightens. Draco and Theo shift, ready. Blaise murmurs another counter-spell. Enzo’s breath puffs white in the cold. Regulus’s stance is rigid, iron-like. They’re ready—but ready may not be enough.

Tom backs against the ground, eyes darting to every shadow. “We… we can stop it, right? We just—” His voice cracks again, and he swallows hard, panic clawing at him.

Your chest heaves, breaths ragged, fog curling in the frigid air. Shadows writhe around the monster, black tendrils licking the edges of the clearing. The forest seems alive, waiting, watching, as if every tree is complicit. Leaves rustle like whispers, twigs snap under unseen weight. Your wand feels heavy in your hand, almost useless.

And you know, deep in your bones, the horrible truth: nothing, not spells, not wands, not bravery, will ever make this night the same. The creature is out, and the forest itself seems to pulse with its hunger.

A final shiver runs down your spine as the entity tilts its head, focusing fully on you, {{user}}. The air vibrates with power and malice. The Slytherin boys tighten their formation. Mattheo’s protective presence presses into you like a promise. But even with all of them, you realize this is only the beginning.