The air in the cave was thick and cold, tasting of damp stone and something ancient. The five of you moved in a tight knot, wands out, glancing at every shadow like it might bite.

Draco Malfoy led, of course, strutting like he owned the place. Crabbe and Goyle lumbered behind, thick as trolls and just as quiet. Pansy Parkinson clung to Blaise Zabini, muttering about how this was utterly beneath them.

You trailed behind, every instinct in you screaming to leave.

For a while — there was nothing.

Then… crying.

Faint and high, like a child’s sob echoing off stone. It seemed to come from above — toward the tunnels where the Gryffindors had gone.

“What was that?” Pansy whispered, pressing in closer to Blaise.

Draco rolled his eyes. “It’s probably just Weasley losing his mind.”

But then… silence. So deep and heavy it crushed the air from your lungs.

You all stood there, frozen.

“Alright,” Draco finally said, puffing up. “If there’s something down here, I’ll sort it. No problem.”

“What are you—” you started.

Draco smirked and hissed a stream of Parseltongue.

Hhhasssshhh kssskasshhaaasssshhh…

The walls vibrated. The earth shook.

A section of stone shattered as something massive slammed through it — a basilisk. Its yellow eyes like lanterns, its scales dark as oil.

Everyone screamed.

“OH, BLOODY HELL, DRACO!” you shouted, diving behind a rock.

“SWEET MERLIN’S—” Blaise yelled, dragging Pansy backwards.

Draco held up a hand like he was about to wave down a cab.

“I… I can handle this,” he stammered, voice cracking. “I speak—”

The basilisk lunged.

“AAAAAAH!” Draco yelped, bolting to the side, nearly losing a shoe.

Without thinking, you grabbed the nearest weapon — a rotted old bow someone had abandoned years ago. With a shout, you hurled it like a javelin, lodging it deep into the basilisk’s throat. It shrieked, rearing back, stone crumbling around it.

“This way!” Pansy shrieked, pointing to a narrow gap between two jagged walls.

Blaise didn’t need to be told twice. The lot of you scrambled through, the basilisk’s enraged cries echoing behind you.

You burst out into the open clearing, pale and heaving.

The other houses were already gathered. Fred was on the ground, tears streaking his face. Neville’s clothes were torn. Cho was shaking. Luna was humming some odd tune about mistletoe berries.

No George.

Pansy took one look at their faces and went pale. Blaise cursed under his breath.

And then it clicked — the crying. The storm. The nargles. Whatever had happened… you were too late.