The air inside the tunnel was thick — like breathing through wet wool. Each footstep echoed off the stone walls, the flickering light of Neville’s wand throwing twisted, jerking shadows. Fred was ahead, George close behind, you and Neville trailing with wide eyes and pounding hearts.

“I don’t like this,” Neville muttered, clutching Trevor tighter to his chest. “I really don’t like this.”

“You think we do?” George shot over his shoulder, flashing a grin that didn’t reach his eyes.

The tunnel seemed to stretch endlessly, every corner looking exactly like the last. The hairs on the back of your neck prickled. Something was wrong. It was too quiet, too cold, too—

SHRIEEEK.

A shadow lunged out of the darkness — fast as a striking snake — and right in front of you, it warped and twisted, taking on a different shape for each person who looked at it.

You saw yours first. (Insert your fear here — you can fill that part in.)

Fred’s face went pale as it turned into you, bloodied, eyes empty. Neville gasped as it became Professor McGonagall, her face cold and disappointed. George… George saw it twist into Fred — lifeless, sprawled on the ground.

But then it didn’t stop.

Boggarts aren’t supposed to touch you.

This one moved.

Before anyone could react, the creature lunged for George. Time slowed, hearts stopped.

“GEORGE!” Fred screamed, reaching out, but it was too late.

The thing grabbed George’s shoulders and with a sickening, wet crack — ripped his head clean off. His body convulsed as the creature dragged him into the darkness, chewing through bone and cloth like it was nothing more than paper.

Neville dropped Trevor with a shriek.

“Trevor— no, no, no!” Neville dove for him, but the creature’s grotesque mouth snapped up the toad like a sick joke.

Fred collapsed to the ground, tears streaming down his face, clutching his head.

“GEORGE—NO—GEORGE—"

You didn’t have time. You grabbed Fred’s wrist, yanking him to his feet.

“FRED, MOVE!” you shouted.

Neville found a small opening in the wall — an exit.

“This way!” Neville cried, voice cracking.

The three of you bolted through the hole, stumbling into the open, grassy clearing. The cool night air hit you like a slap, and the sound of distant voices met your ears — the rest of the houses were gathered there, pale and waiting.

Fred collapsed to his knees, staring at the tunnel entrance.

You just knew. George was gone.