A/N: Part two! I originally split these two up because it was getting long, but then I went and made the second half twice as long as the first half, so ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Please review, I love hearing from readers!

An icy air hung throughout the dungeons, the pale light from the tip of George's wand sliding along the stone walls as he slowly made his way through the corridors. His mouth tasted stale and dry, and no amount of swallowing seemed to help. He held his wand tightly in his right hand, his left anxiously playing with the fringe on his scarf. His feet moved slowly, shuffling along like the walking dead. His gaze flickered, darting back and forth like a hummingbird flitting from flower to flower.

He wasn't afraid. He knew he wasn't, because he kept telling himself that he wasn't. "I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid," he mumbled to himself. It was a constant mantra, rhythmic and pulsing along with his heartbeat. If he stopped repeating it, he would stop believing it.

The light from his wand fell on a brick wall ahead. George rolled his eyes. Either the Hogwarts dungeon was full of unnecessary dead ends, or he kept walking into the same ones over and over.

He dug into the pockets of his robes, pulling out a crumpled piece of parchment. Thomas had scrawled a crude map on it, handing it to Crabtree at breakfast that morning with a wink. Just in case, he had said.

Holding up his wand, George squinted at the map. "For a prefect," he muttered. "He's got absolutely horrible handwriting." The map looked more like a maze of squiggles than a floorplan of any kind, with hallways George was pretty sure didn't exist and stairways seemed to lead nowhere.

"Uuuugh," he groaned, backing up against the wall. "This is useless." He slid his body down the wall. He was well and truly lost. "Brilliant," he muttered. "Lost in the dungeons. It could take days for someone to find me."

George closed his eyes, exhaling deeply. He'd made a nice mess of his first boggart patrol by himself. When Julia had suggested keeping watch for boggarts in the dungeons, the group had been hesitant to let George take a shift. It was only after three days of finding nothing that they decided to let George accompany them, and it was another three days after that when they finally let him try it alone.

Getting lost hadn't crossed his mind. He had been worrying about boggarts. On every single patrol with the others, he'd been keeping a watch out for terrifying things, not keeping an eye on his surroundings.

"Great job, George," he grumbled. "You've somehow screwed up when all you had to do was walk around and not get lost."

Something soft brushed past his leg, perhaps a rat, a niffler or something else entirely. He yelped, pulling himself into a tight ball.

A sudden noise shocked George out of his musings. What was that? He sat entirely still, holding his breath. Maybe I imagined it.

The scuffling of shoes against stone echoed through the dungeon. At the end of the hall, a white light danced on the walls, getting steadily brighter.

Person! Scrambling for his wand, George shoved it into his robes to hide the light, not wanting to say 'nox' and attract attention. He watched the end of the corridor with wide eyes.

A silhouette appeared, the light catching the coiled edges of a head of curly hair. The figure stopped walking, turning to gaze down the hall, looking straight at George.

George was a statue, not daring to move or breathe. Maybe if I don't move, they'll go away, he thought as the sound of footsteps grew louder and louder until they suddenly stopped.

For several agonizing moments, there was complete silence.

I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid, George thought. His mind was a skipping record. He took a deep breath. I'm NOT afraid. I'll channel my inner Gryffindor. There's one in there somewhere. He pulled out his glowing wand, holding it out to see who had found him, ready to yell 'Flipendo!' if the need arose.

The pale, round face of James Gillies recoiled, blinking in the sudden light.

George's face flushed with heat. "Don't do that!" he cried, running a hand through his hair and taking a deep breath.

"Do what?" asked Gillies, his hands nonchalantly in his pockets.

"Sneaking around in the dark."

Gillies raised an eyebrow. "Isn't that what you're doing?"

"Well, I mean—"

"What are you doing, anyway?" asked Gillies.

George shuffled his feet. "I don't know if I'm allowed to say," he admitted.

Gillies rolled his eyes. "Something from your secret Murdoch mystery society?"

"I wouldn't have called it that, but yeah."

"Did they tell you not to tell anyone else?"

"Well, no, but—"

"And did you say you weren't going to tell anyone?"

"No."

"Good," said James with a smile. "Then you can tell me."

A moment of consideration passed. George breathed a laugh. "Okay," he agreed. He straightened his spine, the extra few inches of height making him feel important. "I'm looking for boggarts," he said.

James glanced around, a frown on his face. "You're just waiting for them?"

George blushed. "Well." He scratched the back of his head. "I'm trying to walk around, patrol, you know, but I keep getting lost."

Gillies snorted a laugh. "You're in Hufflepuff and you don't know your way around the dungeons?"

"It's not like I spend too much time down here," protested George, his hands on his hips.

"Oh, George," smirked Gillies, pointing his wand at George, an extension of his arm. "Don't tell me you're afraid of the dark?"

"I'm not afraid!"

Gillies glanced at him pointedly, but said nothing.

The boys stood in silence for a few moments.

"So," said James, brandishing his wand. "Are you going to just sit here for the rest of your life?"

Glancing at him, George's eyebrows knit together.

"Or," with a grin, James placed his wand flat in his palm. "Point me!" he commanded. His wand spun, locking in a position pointing diagonally, slightly to the left. He smiled, taking a few steps in the direction it pointed in. He glanced back at George. "Are you coming?" he asked.

Blinking, George cocked his head to the side like an inquisitive puppy. "Coming?" he repeated.

"My wand is pointing north," explained James, pointing in that direction. "If we follow it, we'll end up near the Potions room, and we can figure out the way from there."

George smiled. James Gillies always had a plan, just like William. George liked being around them, it was like every worry or reservation he had about an idea disappeared because they just knew what to do. "Okay," he said. "I'm coming."

William Murdoch took a bite of his chicken sandwich, studying his case notes carefully. His notes were thorough, recording the exact time and location of each and every boggart sighting, information about each victim and the form each boggart took. There had been more and more sightings lately, all around the castle, with a huge majority around the dungeons. At least we know we're on the right track, he sighed.

It frustrated him that, even though he and his friends must have been spending more time in the dungeons than anyone else, their efforts had yet to yield a single boggart sighting. George hasn't even seen his own boggart before, he thought miserably.

He shouldn't be worried about George. George was resourceful, brave and surprisingly quick on his feet. And yet, despite himself, William worried.

What would George's boggart be? He knew George was claustrophobic, the way he shrunk back on the crowded staircase the other day confirmed it, but was that his worst fear?

William sighed. He couldn't judge, considering his own boggart. It was embarrassing, to be afraid of butterflies, of all things. Well, not exactly butterflies…

He had been seven years old when he found his mother's body sprawled out, face down in the creek, surrounded by hundreds of fluttering butterflies. His eyes kept wanting to look away, but they were locked in place. The butterflies floated and flitted all around him, landing on his mother's stiff, pale face and on his shaking hands.

William clenched his fist, molding his sandwich into a spiky star from where his fingers dug into the soft bread.

"Oi, Murdoch!" Thomas Brackenreid slid into the seat across from him, carrying a tray of food. "Any news?"

Dropping his sandwich on his plate, William ran a hand down his face, jumping with surprise. "Gaah— News?" he sputtered. He closed his eyes tight, shaking his head to clear his mind of old, unwanted memories.

His eyebrows furrowing, Thomas' mouth curled into an amused smile. "Yeah, news," he said. "You know, like new information that I might not know.

William blinked. "No, I—" he sighed. "I know what news is."

Brackenreid laughed, shaking his head. "You're a million miles away, aren't you?" he asked.

"You could say that."

Sobering, Brackenreid's eyes looked warm and deep. "Worried about Crabtree?" he asked.

Murdoch blinked. Right. That had been why he was thinking about his mother. "Yeah," he breathed.

Thomas quirked a smile. "Me too, if I'm being honest." He paused. "I'm sure he'll be fine."

Murdoch brushed a finger against his plate, feeling the bread crumbs under his finger tips. "What do you think his boggart will be?" he asked.

Brackenreid shifted in his seat. "I don't think that's any of our business," he said.

"It's not, but…"

"I know," Thomas said. He shook his head with a smile. "You worry about him too much, you know?"

William frowned. "I do not."

"Oh, stop it, you worry about everything he does."

"Name one thing about George I worry about other than the boggarts."

"James Gillies."

William's tongue tripped, and instead of saying some retort, he just sat there in silence.

"Lay off him, a little, won't you?" Thomas asked, opening the top of his sandwich and pulling off the pickles, laying them in a pile on his plate. "I think it's grand that Crabtree's got friends his age."

"But James Gillies—" William broke off.

Brackenreid took a sip of pumpkin juice, raising his eyebrows. "Mmhmm?"

"He's… a bully. You remember the things he used to say to George."

"Key word, there, used to," Brackenreid pointed out. "I don't see him saying stuff like that these days."

"No one changes that much!"

"He's a kid!" Thomas waved a dismissive hand in the air, shooing away Murdoch's protests like irritating flies. "Gillies isn't a mature person yet, and he's gonna do a lot of stupid things. You have to expect that. The lad doesn't know how to make friends, and that's something he's gonna have to learn, but he hasn't yet. Cut him some slack."

"This isn't about Gillies," William sliced through the air with his hands. "This is about George. I don't want him to get hurt. I'm the only person who understands him."

Brackenreid breathed a chuckle, shaking his head as he took a bite from his sandwich.

"What?" asked William.

Thomas swallowed. "Look, I don't want to upset you, it's nothing."

"What?" William repeated, with more force.

Letting out a short, sharp puff of air from his nose, Thomas smiled. "It's just, are you sure you aren't a tiny bit, you know…?" He motioned his hand in the air.

"A tiny bit what?"

"You know," Thomas smirked. "Jealous."

"Jealous?" repeated William, laughing at how ridiculous that idea was. "Jealous of James Gillies? You've got to be joking."

"No," said Brackenreid. "Jealous that Crabtree has someone else to hang out with."

Murdoch fell back in his chair, deflating a little. His mouth opened and closed like a gasping goldfish, trying to say something in his defense.

"Look, Murdoch," Thomas went on. "Just because Crabtree's got another friend doesn't mean that Gillies is automatically some crazy, manipulative maniac."

"I know that," grumbled Murdoch.

"And, hey," Thomas smiled. "Just because Crabtree's got another friend doesn't mean he likes you less. He'll always like you and respect you. Heck, he thinks you're the coolest thing since Quidditch. James Gillies isn't going to change that."

William sighed, his lips pursed. "So…"

"So show him that you respect him too." Thomas drained the last few drops of juice from his glass. "Give him space to make his own friends and his own decisions." He smiled, reaching across the table to pat Murdoch on the shoulder. "That's all any good friend can do anyways."

"I suppose." William grinned tightly, letting out a breath. "I just hope he's okay."

"So," James said, the two boys shuffling along the dark corridors. "You're sure you don't want to reconsider how you spend your free time? This is incredibly dull."

George cracked a smirk, but remained silent.

Rolling his eyes, James sighed loudly. "So, you're just walking around, waiting to maybe see a boggart?"

"Pretty much." George fiddled with his glowing wand, making the shadows on the wall perform a fluttery dance.

James sucked in his cheeks, staring pointedly at an imaginary audience like he was on a tv show. "Considering you don't even know if there are any boggarts down here to begin with, this seems just a little pointless to me."

George's twitchy fingers flicked his wand, sending it clattering on the stone floors, the sound ringing for several moments afterwards. "Well," he said, awkwardly stooping to snatch up his wand. "If we do see a boggart, we might get a clue as to where they're coming from."

James pursed his lips, mildly annoyed. "Why don't you just keep an eye on where the boggart sightings happen? I mean, regardless of whether or not you find them yourselves, the boggarts will get found, and you'll get some idea of where they're coming from."

"We thought—" started George, before he instantly cut himself off. His cheeks flushed pink.

"What?" asked James.

"Nothing."

"You thought what?" Gillies folded his arms across his chest. The deep green of his tie seemed to swallow every ounce of light, the silver stripes seeming to pop right out of the fabric.

George swallowed. He didn't want to tell James that they had thought someone in Slytherin was releasing boggarts on purpose. He wanted James to like him, and he figured that giving the impression that he saw Slytherins as untrustworthy might put a damper on their relationship.

Though, he realized. If I don't tell him, he'll still think I don't trust him. He sighed. Lose-lose, George Crabtree.

"We thought someone might be releasing boggarts on purpose," said George.

James nodded. "And you thought it might be a Slytherin," he finished.

"Maybe!" cried George quickly, waving his hands frantically like a lost orchestra conductor. "And that's only because most of the boggarts have been seen in the dungeons, not because…" he trailed off, looking helpless at Gillies. Please don't think I have anything against Slytherin, he prayed. I don't, I promise!

James raised an eyebrow, a faint, unreadable expression on his face. "Not because you think Slytherins are untrustworthy?" The question was asked flatly, without a hint of bitterness, judgement, or really any emotion at all.

George smiled, his nervous fingers instinctively curling around his wooly scarf. "Of course not," he said. "You're a Slytherin yourself, and you're probably the most honest person I know." To the point of brutal bluntness, thought George silently.

Gillies blinked. The flicker of a flattered, pleased smile passed over his features. He wet his lips. "Still," he said after a moment of brief silence. "Waiting around for boggarts that might not even be around seems stupid."

Reaching a fork in the hall, the boys glanced at Gillies' wand, choosing the much darker, left path.

"Well," said George, holding his lit wand aloft to light the way. "The others thought it was a good idea."

"You mean William Murdoch thought it was a good idea." James glanced sideways at Crabtree, smirking. "Why do you always do everything he tells you to?"

"I don't do everything he—"

"Yes, you do," interrupted Gillies. "You obey his every word like it's your religious duty. Why?"

George shrugged, ripping a tiny ball of fuzz from his scarf. "He's always right," he explained. "I usually don't have a clue what he's talking about, but he's never been wrong before, so I just listen to him."

The boys went silent, the only sound being their echoey footsteps and the occasional groan or creak from students, ghosts or perhaps the castle itself.

Breaking the silence, James sniffed thoughtfully. "Do you ever think that maybe he does that on purpose?" he asked.

"What?"

"I mean," James went on. "Maybe he's being confusing on purpose? You know, to make you confused."

"Why would he do that?"

"It makes him look smarter," said Gillies. "I've noticed several of the Ravenclaws doing the same thing. They surround themselves with people they think aren't as smart as themselves to look like geniuses."

"He doesn't do that," frowned George, clutching tightly to his sense of Hufflepuff loyalty. "Besides, the others are just as smart too, so—"

Gillies held back a snicker. "Julia and Brackenreid?" he flashed George an almost condescending grin. "You give them too much credit. Julia's hair is almost as big as her head, which is sad because she might be smarter if she stopped trying to make herself sound smart." He laughed at his own quip. "And Brackenreid puts his foot in his mouth so much that there's never any room for any intelligent conversation."

George stopped walking, his eyebrows knit together. "James," he said, his voice hollow. "Those are my friends you're talking about."

Gillies laughed. "Come on, George," he said. "It's a joke!"

"It's not funny," said George firmly. "I don't make fun of your friends, so how come—"

"You would if I had other friends," Gillies mumbled under his breath.

George stopped, staring at him. "No, I wouldn't." He took a step towards James, his feet brushing against the floor. "And you do have other friends. You've got Robert."

The look on Gillies' face told George that he didn't think Robert Perry should even be considered to count as one of his friends, but he said nothing. After a moment, he let out a short breath. "I'm sorry, George," he said. "It was a bad joke, I'm sorry. I didn't mean it."

George smiled. "It's okay." He sucked in his cheeks, grinning. "Between you and me," he whispered. "You weren't wrong."

The two boys giggled.

The sound of footsteps echoed along the corridor, and the boys instinctively drew together, George's back to Gillies' chest, their shadow on the wall behind them looking like a grotesque two-headed monster.

A shadowy figure appeared at the end of the hallway.

Gillies softly but pointedly kicked George in the leg.

George took both the hint and a breath. "Who's there?" he called. His voice quivered despite his best effort.

"George Crabtree?" A small, unassuming voice bounced off the walls.

Gillies sprang up in surprise. "Robert?" he asked.

The shadowy figure rushed forward, and the skinny, pale face of Robert Perry came into the light.

"What are you doing here?" demanded Gillies.

Robert Perry shrunk down. "Looking for you," he said. "You weren't at lunch."

"You're right," Gillies snapped. "I wasn't. I don't have to be at every single lunch, just like you don't have to be here—"

"Hey, no!" George interjected, moving between them, the light from his wand brightening their faces.

Gillies turned to stare at him. Perry quickly followed suit.

"I haven't really gotten to spend time with Robert yet," explained Geore mildly. "I want to get to know him a little better."

Robert Perry blinked. "Really?" he breathed.

"Of course," smiled George.

Gillies rolled his eyes. "Fine," he said. "Robert can stay."

Julia cursed under her breath as she flew back up the staircase. She'd forgotten to write down the password, which would cause a problem when she tried to come back to the common room later. The common room was nearly empty; almost everyone was at lunch, it seemed.

Walking towards the notice board, her quill prepped to scrawl it on any spare scrap of parchment or even her own arm, a loud bang caught her attention.

She paused, listening to the ensuing silence. Probably nothing, she told herself. She took another step.

THUMP! BANG! BOOM!

Julia blinked. "Probably something," she mumbled, hurrying up the stairs, following the series of crashes and thuds echoing through the common room. She stopped outside the boys dorms, hesitant to go in. Girls were allowed in the boys dorm, she knew that, but she somehow still felt uncomfortable doing it. Glancing inside, she didn't see anyone, so she tentatively tiptoed in.

BANGBANGBANGBANGBANG! Something was making a frantic noise and whatever it was was doing it very loudly.

It's coming from under that bed, Julia noted, moving quickly towards the bed on the far wall, pressed against the corner. Dropping to her hands and knees, she pressed her face against the cold stone floor to peek under the bed.

Her eyes widened, her hand reaching into the darkness. Julia pulled a cold box from underneath the bed. She held it up and studied it in the light.

It was made of black metal and was about the size of a loaf of grocery store bread. A large metal lock hung around the latch. The lid bounced and jolted up and down as something knocked violently against it from inside.

Her fingers brushed against a label stuck to the bottom of the box. As Julia carefully turned the box over, her heart was beating about a hundred beats per second, on time with the thrashing knocks that whatever it was inside the box was making. The label wasn't anything fancy, just a small slip of parchment stuck on the box. The tight, neat handwriting on the parchment read: Private Property of James Gillies.

The dungeons were a good deal less spooky once Robert Perry managed to light up the end of his wand and the halls were illuminated by both his and George's wands.

"So, Robert," George said, one hand in his pocket. "How'd you meet James?"

Robert stole a look at Gillies in front of them, like he was awaiting instructions. "Um," he breathed. "Defense Against the Dark Arts. We sat together the first day."

George nodded. "So, uh," he bit his lip. "What do you like to do?"

Blinking, Robert's fingers twiddled anxiously. "Um." He glanced at Gillies, hunching his shoulders. "Promise not to laugh?" he whispered.

George drew an 'x' over his chest. "Cross my heart."

Robert cupped a hand around his mouth. "I like… marbles."

"Marbles?"

He nodded. "Yeah. I collect them. I like to build tracks for them and watch them race and stuff."

Gillies made a noise that almost sounded like a snort.

Robert drew into himself.

George smiled. "That's cool!" he said. "I'd like to see it sometime."

Robert looked surprised. "Really?"

"Yeah," said George. "It sounds exciting."

"Sure," Gillies said snarkily. "If your idea of exciting is watching balls roll down a tube."

George and Robert fell silent.

The boys stopped as they reached t-junction where the hallway they were following ended and two paths on either side emerged.

Gillies glanced down at his wand, which still pointed straight forward. "Well," he said. "Can't follow this anymore."

"Not unless this wall is like Platform 9 ¾," agreed George. "Which way are we going?"

"Both," said Gillies.

The boys frowned at him.

"We'll split up," he explained, pocketing his wand. "You two go that way, I'll go this way. We'll both walk fifty steps down the hallway and meet back here."

"Wouldn't it be better if we just all went together?" asked George. "I mean, there could be anything out here."

"It's faster if we do it my way," Gillies said. He turned around on his heels and started walking left. "See you in 100 steps." With that, he disappeared down the corridor.

George and Robert exchanged a look, shrugged and walked off towards the right, counting their steps under their breath.

"One, two, three, four…"

William and Thomas jumped as Julia Ogden pounced onto their lunch table, shoving a struggling box into their faces. "I know who it is!"

"Bloody Hell!" exclaimed Thomas, a hand over his heart as he regained composure. "Don't do that!"

William choked on his pumpkin juice. He slammed his glass on the table, coughing until his face went red and his eyes watered.

Julia's cheeks flushed. "Sorry," she breathed, brushing her curls out of her face with her fingers. "I know who it is."

Brackenreid frowned, poking the shaking box with the end of his fork. "What's this?" he asked.

"It's a boggart."

The boys both stared up at her in silence.

"And—" she lifted the box with two hands, rotating it so that they could see the label on the bottom.

Clearing his throat, William read the label aloud. "'Private Property of James Gillies,'" he looked at Julia. "Where did you get this?"

Julia's blue eyes were wide with excitement and fear. "I found it in the boy's dorms. There's a dozen of them under his bed."

"There!" cried William, sitting back in his seat with his arms folded. He wore a triumphant look on his face. "I told you James Gillies couldn't be trusted."

Brackenreid sighed, reaching out and taking the box in his hands. "Are we sure it—"

The box struggled and thrashed, making loud banging and crashing noises.

Thomas glared at it, pulling out his wand. "Silencio!" he cried.

The noises stopped.

Thomas continued. "Are we sure it's him?"

"It's his box," said William.

"It was under his bed," said Julia.

"Right," said Thomas, waving his hand. He placed the box back on the table. "But someone could have set him up. Maybe they're just using his boxes."

Scowling, William stabbed a finger into the table. "Brackenreid, it's him!" he hissed. "You've seen how he acts, it's got to be him. There isn't anyone else in this whole school who would do this kind of prank."

"He's a first year, Murdoch." Thomas scratched the back of his head. "Look, I'm a prefect. I know what sort of pranks kids pull, and I know that first years don't do stuff this elaborate. First years aren't worried about pranking their friends, they're worried about fitting in and finding their place. We haven't even been two months at school." He waved his hands as he spoke. "If the most confident kids haven't figured out where they belong yet, James Gillies definitely hasn't."

Julia held up her hand, thinking hard. "You're right, Brackenreid," she said.

William glared at her. "Oh, come on!"

"Shut up, Murdoch!" Julia spat. Her face instantly turned beet red. "Sorry!" She sucked in a breath. "Just let me finish." Her excited fingers tugged at her curls. "What if it's not a prank?" she asked. "Remember what George said before? Practice. Maybe he's right?"

"You think Gillies is collecting boggarts so he can practice Riddikulus?" Brackenreid looked unconvinced. "George says he's the smartest in his year, I doubt he'd need to practice."

Murdoch's eyes met the table. "Even smart kids get scared."

"Right," said Brackenreid. "But it still doesn't make sense. He wouldn't need that many boggarts if he was just practicing Riddikulus. Him having this many in the first place implies that he succeeds in banishing them. If he was failing every time, wouldn't he just use the same one boggart?"

Julia and William nodded slowly. Julia's excitement visibly deflated.

Thomas shook his head. "If it's him, there's some other reason he's doing this." He straightened his back. "We'll keep an eye out, but we can't bust him yet."

The three of them were silent for a while, poking at their lunch.

"Who'll tell George?" asked Julia softly.

Brackenreid bit his lip. "Don't tell him," he said.

Murdoch's head jerked to stare at him in disbelief. "What?" he demanded. "Why not?"

"The kid'll be devastated," said Brackenreid. "Gillies is Crabtree's only friend his age right now, and we can't let anything break them up unless we're absolutely sure that Gillies is the one to blame for this."

William frowned, folding his arms across his chest. "That's lying."

"It is not," Thomas retorted. "We're just not telling him something. By definition, we can't be telling him a lie."

"That's lying by omission," William pointed out.

Julia glared at him. "Oh, come off it, Murdoch." She sounded exasperated. "Do you want to break George's heart?"

Both of the boys internally cringed, picturing the little Hufflepuff sobbing for days.

"No," sighed William.

"Then—" Julia mimed zipping her mouth shut. "We don't tell him."

"Sixty-three… sixty-four… sixty-five…" George counted under his breath as he led the way down the hall.

"You know," said Robert Perry, his hands tucked in his pockets. "There's all different kinds of marbles. Aggies, Cats Eyes, Alleys, Red devils, Bumblebees, Clearies…"

George stopped walking. "What's the difference?"

"Colour, mostly," Robert said. "Here, hang on," he fished around in his pocket for a moment, eventually producing two glass marbles. He held out his hand to show them to George. "See that one?" He pointed to a small yellow marble with thin brown and black swirls. "That's a Bumblebee. That one's an Aggie," he held out a bright blue one with white stripes.

As George stepped closer, the blue one, the Aggie , as Robert called it, sparkled in the light. The Bumblebee rolled in the groove between his two middle fingers.

"Cool," said George.

Robert grinned. "And this—" he reached into the pocket of his robes. "This is the most precious marble I own." He held out a black glass marble, dropping it in George's hand.

"Whoa." George breathed.

George held a tiny piece of the night. It was the blackest black imaginable, blacker than coal dust and blacker than the eyes of a dog. It had five light blue stripes running across it, broken with a strip dark, sparkling gold, like a river of glittering stars, bordered with bright, blinding streaks of white.

"It's called a Banded Lutz," said Robert. "Cool, huh?"

"Definitely cool," agreed George, turning it around. It had tiny dents, scratches and scuff marks from age.

"It used to be my grandfather's," Robert said. "It's the first marble I ever had. It's very rare."

"Really?" The marble in George's hand grew much heavier. He passed it back to Robert.

Robert nodded. "It has five blue stripes," he said. "Most Banded Lutz marbles have four stripes." He smiled. "It's a mistake."

George grinned. "I know a thing or two about mistakes."

"Join the club," chuckled Robert, tucking his marbles back into his pocket.

A sudden shuffling sound made them freeze. The boys gripped their wands tighter.

"Did you hear that?" Robert hissed in a whisper.

George nodded slowly.

Slow, horrible footsteps echoed and bounced all around them. In the darkness, their robes were the only sources of colour; Hufflepuff yellow and Gryffindor red.

Perry shivered.

"Don't worry," whispered George. He held up his wand, the light washing over the dark walls and illuminating the figure coming towards them.

James Gillies smirked as he approached them. "Gentlemen," he said smugly.

George relaxed. "James, you scared the pants off of us."

Robert's face was unreadable.

Gillies stared at him. "Just one of you, I think."

Robert's shoulders hunched.

Gillies smiled, not taking his eyes off of Robert.

"Not the right way, then?" asked George.

Gillies blinked, momentarily glancing at George before turning back to Robert. "What?"

"Your way," rephrased George, pointing down the corridor. "It wasn't the right way?"

Gillies didn't respond.

George stared at him, frowning. "We split up, remember? To see which way was the right way?"

Robert Perry glanced at George.

Gillies' eyes didn't move.

George squinted, waving a hand in front of Gillies' face. "What is wrong with you?"

"What's wrong with who?"

The boys turned.

James Gillies strolled down the corridor towards them, hands in his pockets. He jerked his thumb over his shoulder. "There's a dead end down that way," he said. He glanced around, stopping to stand nose-to-nose with… himself.

George stared at the two James Gillieses in confusion.

James, the James that had just walked in, pointed lazily at his twin. "You all miss me that much?"

Robert Perry paled, mumbling a curse under his breath as he frantically fumbled with his wand. His cheeks were bright red. His knuckles were white as he gripped his wand, pointed it at the first James Gillies and sputtered, "R-riddikulus!"

His spell had no effect, but one of the Jameses stepped forward, covering his face with his hand to hide his smile. "That's a boggart?" he asked. "I'm your boggart, Robert?"

Robert looked like he wanted someone to point a wand at him and make him disappear.

Gillies laughed.

The other Gillies disappeared.

"I can't believe it!" giggled Gillies. "Robert Perry, the Gryffindor, is scared of me!" He smirked at George. "Isn't that the most delicious thing you've ever heard?" His gaze turned back to Perry, a glint in his eye. "Robert's such a pushover that he's scared of his own best friend."

Robert's bottom lip quivered, his face scrunching up like a crumpled ball of paper, like the rejected piece of writing at the bottom of a wastepaper basket. He took a small step backwards, then another, then, all in one motion, he whirled around and took off running.

"Robert!" George called, shuffling his feet to run after him. He almost tripped as James Gillies grabbed his arm.

"Leave him alone," commanded Gillies. "He's just going to go off in a corner somewhere and cry. He clearly wants to be alone."

George glared at him. "That's exactly why he shouldn't be alone," he said, tugging his arm free and taking off at a sprint down the hall after his friend.

He found Robert Perry not too long after, huddled in a ball on the floor, his face buried in his knees.

"Hey," George sat down next to him.

Robert didn't respond.

George took a breath. "Look, you know James wasn't laughing at you, right? He just doesn't know how to talk to people super well. He didn't mean to make you feel bad."

Robert sighed, lifting his head up. His face was red. "You don't know him." He said. "Not like I do. He means every word."

"Well—"

"Can I ask you something?" Robert stared at George.

"Of course."

"Do you think I'm a pushover?"

"You're not a pushover," said George.

Robert looked at him like he didn't believe him. "I do everything he tells me to do," said. "But that's because we're friends, right? That's what friends do?"

"Well, yeah, but," George shuffled closer to him. "You can't do everything he tells you to do. You have your own stuff to worry about, right?"

Robert didn't say anything.

"You know, it's like, me and my other friends don't do everything together," said George.

"Don't you?"

George blinked. "I'm not with them right now, am I?"

"Yeah, but you're only here because you're looking for boggarts for them," pointed out Robert.

Oh, goodness he's right. George realized. I do everything they tell me to do. Why do I do that? He gripped his scarf tightly in his hands.

Robert sighed. "I just," he swallowed. "I just want him to like me, you know?"

"He does like you." George scratched the back of his head. "He's just not great at showing it." A lot like a certain Ravenclaw I know, he thought to himself. He shook those thoughts out of his head. Not the time, George Crabtree. Make him feel better, that's your job right now. "And hey," he smiled. "I like you."

A shy, tentative smile spread out on Robert's face. "Really?" he asked.

George grinned tightly. "Really."

George moved through the rest of the day in a haze, and, for the first time since he arrived at Hogwarts, he wondered if he really belonged here.

He had always been an odd kid. He "marched to the beat of his own drum," according to his Aunt Petunia. At muggle school, he'd never fit in. He couldn't sit still, his mind was never on maths or science, and his classmates and teachers were always trying to get him to keep his quirks to himself. He remembered the almost weekly meetings he'd had with the Headmaster. He wasn't a troublemaker, or he didn't mean to be one. He just got carried away a lot. Like his history report where he did a demonstration on mummification on a banana, or the time he brought his live spider collection in for show and tell.

His whole life, he'd gotten conflicting messages from people. "Don't act up," "be yourself," "try harder," "you have so much potential," and more things on those lines. Life was like a never-ending guessing game where everyone else seemed to know the answers and he didn't. Was he special or just weird? Was he a bad kid or was this just the wrong place for him?

His Aunt Ivy told him once that he was a fish in a world of monkeys. "You can't expect to be able to climb like all of them," she said. "You have to find your ocean."

When he'd gotten his Hogwarts letter, it was like every mirror unfogged all at once and he could finally see himself clearly. Here was a place where he didn't have to be a screw-up. This was somewhere where everyone was a fish. Here was somewhere he belonged.

And it was better at Hogwarts. He didn't feel like his legs were tied up in a race where everyone else was free. He could focus in class, his professors thought his creative thinking was refreshing instead of a nuisance, and he actually had friends.

But still, even here, even at Hogwarts where everyone is weird and nobody is normal, George Crabtree didn't fit in.

Ever since he met William Murdoch, he'd had a sneaking suspicion cross his mind every so often that the smartest boy in the entire school couldn't actually like someone like George. Maybe he felt bad for him, a dumb little kid in Hufflepuff with no friends and no idea what he's doing. Maybe Murdoch didn't even think of him as a friend, just a means to an end. Someone to do the dirty work for him so he didn't have to.

Every time that thought would rear its ugly head, George would try to push it down, suppress it, tell it to shut up because William Murdoch clearly liked him, right?

But the conversations he'd had with James and Robert kept echoing back to him. What if he just keeps me around so he'll feel smarter? What if he only hangs out with me because I do everything he says? He bit his lip, his fingers wrapped around his scarf as he sat down in the courtyard.

"George!"

Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no— "Hi," George's voice cracked as he waved hello to William Murdoch. — Oh no oh no oh no oh no oh no—

William sat down on the stone bench next to him. "How'd boggart hunting go?"

"Fine," he said. Go away.

"See any boggarts?"

No. "Yeah, one."

William's eyes bugged out in surprise. "You saw a boggart?"

"Yeah," said George.

"Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah," George waved his hand. "It wasn't mine, so…"

William frowned. "Were you with someone?"

No. "Yeah, James and Robert came with me. It was Robert's boggart."

"Oh," shifting uncomfortably, William's face went a little bit red.

George noticed. "What?"

His face grew redder. "Nothing."

George gave him a pointed look that read do not lie to me right now, I am not in the mood for trickery and deception.

William sucked in a deep breath. He ran his fingers through his neatly combed hair. "George, it's not important."

"It's something about James and Robert," guessed George. "You don't like them?"

"I've never met Robert, so—"

"So you don't like James?"

Murdoch glanced at him, looking flustered. He bit his lip and sighed. "I just think," he said. "That you deserve better friends than him."

Squinting, George studied his friend like a scientist looking at a specimen under a microscope. He was a surprisingly good mind reader. Not literally, of course; he wasn't a legilimens or anything, but he'd always had a knack for guessing what people were thinking about and feeling, and Murdoch was easier to read than a child's picture book. "Oh my goodness!" George's face broke out into an uncontrollable grin. "You're jealous of him?"

"I am not—"

"You are!" cried George, grinning. "You're jealous of James Gillies!" He almost laughed. William Murdoch, the smartest wizard in all of Hogwarts, jealous of James Gillies? Sure, James was top of the class in loads of subjects, but he was still a first year. Murdoch was two years older. Surely he had more self-confidence than to be jealous of a little kid?

William glared at him. "I am not jealous of James Gillies. I just think he's not a nice person."

"You think I should hang out with nicer people, huh?" George put his hands on his hips. "Which nice people?"

Murdoch blinked, looking confused. "You know, Brackenreid and I and—"

George grinned triumphantly. "See?" he said. "You are jealous."

"Would you stop saying that?" William folded his arms, his eyebrows furrowed. "I am not jealous."

"What do you have against him, anyways?" asked George.

"He's not a nice person."

"Why not?" George stared at him, his face starting to turn sour.

"He bullies you!"

"Not since we became friends."

Murdoch rolled his eyes. "What do you see in him anyway?" he demanded. "Why would you want him to be your friend?"

His eyes widening, George stood up from the bench. "He's actually nice to me," he snapped. "He treats me like I'm just the same as he is, not like I'm a baby like you do."

William leapt to his feet. "Hang on, when have I ever treated you like a baby?"

George scoffed. "Only all the time! You wouldn't let me go on boggart duty, you keep asking me if I need your help with potions homework, you won't let me go make my own friends…" He listed them off, counting them on his fingers as he spoke. "As crazy as it is for you to believe, I'm eleven years old, and I can handle things myself."

A flash of hurt flew across Murdoch's face. "I'm only trying to look out for you," he said. "That's what friends do."

"No!" George cried, his hands flailing in the air like a muppet. "That's what overbearing mothers do!" How would you know, George? The voice inside his head asked mockingly. You don't even have a mother.

William's face screwed up into a tight ball, trying very hard to hold his words back. "You don't understand how bad Gillies is, George," he said. "He's manipulating you, he's making you think he's a good person because he has other plans! He's done a lot of bad things, George, I don't want you involved in that. You don't understand—"

"No, I think you're the one who doesn't understand!" George's voice rose to a yell, attracting glances from the other students in the courtyard. "He's my friend, okay? You don't have to like him, but you do have to respect him, and I am not going to sit here and let you talk about him like that." Taking a breath, he whipped out his wand and pointed it at Murdoch.

The small crowd of students watching them gasped. Finally something interesting was happening.

William stared at the wand. "You wouldn't."

George glared at him, adjusting his grip on his wand. Murdoch was, unfortunately, right. He wouldn't. He slowly lowered his wand. "I don't insult your friends," he spat. "Don't insult mine."

"All I'm saying," said Murdoch, his voice low like he was trying to calm George down. "Is that you should be more careful about picking your friends."

George took a step backwards, his eyes prickling with tears. Angrily, he stuffed his wand back in his pocket, drawing himself up to his full height. "You're right," he said. "I should have been more careful when I decided to make you my friend." With that, he spun on his heels and walked away, leaving Murdoch to hang his head alone.

James Gillies glanced over his shoulder as he tiptoed into the boy's dorm room. He sat on his bed, propping up a textbook to make it look like he was reading while he watched and waited for everyone to leave. Once there was no one in sight, he dropped the book, lay flat on his stomach and tipped his head upside down to peer under his bed.

A dozen or so small metal boxes greeted him. Squinting in the dark, he mentally counted them slowly. One, two, three, four, five… everything seemed in order.

Wait. He frowned, counting them again. Eleven. He counted again. Eleven.

He sat up, frantically flipping through his textbook to page 207, the mostly blank page he had scribbled several tally marks in. He counted them up. Twelve.

James sat back, running a hand through his hair as he took a deep breath. One's missing. What do I do?

It wasn't just the boggart that was missing, the whole box was gone. Someone had been in here and someone had taken it.

It must have been when I was out with George. He cursed in his mind. You moron.

It was Julia. It had to have been Julia. Now that she was part of their little group, they had eyes in every single house at Hogwarts.

Gillies cursed again.

He sighed, straightening his spine. He only had one choice left. He reached for his book bag, slid off his bed and piled all the boxes into the bag. He stood up, making sure to carry the bag so that the boxes wouldn't clink against each other, and made his way to the dungeons.

Thomas Brackenreid sat in the Great Hall, aimlessly polishing his wand on the hem of his shirt when William Murdoch sprinted over to him, grabbed his arm and pulled him along, yelling, "We have a situation!"

"What in the bloody name of—" Thomas sputtered, yanking his arm out of his grasp. "Murdoch? What is going on?"

Murdoch took a deep breath. "George and I had a fight and then he ran off to the dungeons and I went looking for him but there are boggarts everywhere and George needs help—"

Thomas sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. "Murdoch…" he groaned.

"I know this is all my fault," said Murdoch. "If I hadn't yelled at George or if I hadn't been so jealous of James Gillies or if I hadn't decided to look for the boggart releaser in the first place, none of this would be happening right now!" He gulped in a lungful of air. "But that doesn't matter right now, George is in trouble and he needs our help. Julia's already down there, but there's so many boggarts and we need more people, please, Brackenreid, George needs us."

Brackenreid smiled, patting Murdoch on the shoulder. "That," he said. "Is how to be a good friend." He brandished his wand with a flourish. "Let's go bust some boggarts."

Julia sprinted down the dark dungeon corridors. Every sound seemed to bounce all around her. She wished she hadn't stupidly suggested splitting up to cover more ground. She wished William was here. She wanted to hold his hand…

She blushed. Focus, Julia. She told herself. George is probably terrified out of his mind, now is not the time to think about William.

She pinched her lips together. Not thinking about William was a form of thinking about him. She sighed. Why couldn't she stop thinking about him? He was just a boy. Granted, he was a fairly attractive boy and he made her heart flutter whenever she thought about him, but still. Julia could handle herself around boys, even the ones that made her feel light. Why was William Murdoch any different?

Something moved in the corridor ahead of her. A glinting light, like the glowing tip of a wand, danced like a firefly in the darkness.

She stood still. "Nox," she whispered. Her wand fell dark, and so did the light in front of her. She sighed, she knew what that meant. She stepped closer until she could see it right in front of her: A large, framed mirror with her own reflection showing back at her.

She raised her wand. "Riddikulus," she said. Her reflection shifted into Ruby, her little sister, wearing pyjamas, covered head to toe with whipped cream. Julia giggled. She remembered playing that prank. She'd woken up early to squirt four cans worth of whipped cream all over her bed. That had been a good morning.

The mirror disappeared with a poof!

She grinned wryly.

As far as boggarts went, Julia probably had it the best. Her boggart wasn't literal, she obviously wasn't afraid of mirrors. According to the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor, it represented a "deep seeded fear of her own power."

Julia wasn't sure about that. She didn't fear her power, quite the opposite, in fact. If anything, she reveled in her power. She loved being smart and good at magic. She wasn't afraid of her power, she was afraid it wasn't enough. She was afraid she wasn't enough.

Her whole life, she had had to prove herself to everyone: her parents, her teachers, her peers. She was a girl, she was a Slytherin, she was an Ogden, she constantly had expectations she had to come up against. She always had to be better than what they thought of her, and she was terrified of the idea that there would one day be an expectation she couldn't challenge.

It was stupid, she knew that. Julia knew she should be confident in herself and that it didn't matter what other people thought about her, but she couldn't help it.

Julia shuddered. She lit her wand again. She needed to stop thinking about herself. George is what matters right now.

Thomas was not afraid of boggarts. After sixteen years living in a dusty old wizarding house, he'd seen his worst fear so many times that he'd become almost desensitized to it. Or, well, he thought he had.

For as long as he could remember, his boggart had been the same. It had terrified him when he was a little kid, he used to wake up from tearful nightmares, crying until his parents would come in and tell him that it was just a dream. He had learned to deal with it, and these days, he barely even flinched when he encountered a boggart.

It wasn't that he wasn't afraid anymore. Every boggart came with that pressure in his chest like something was squeezing his heart dry like a sponge. He'd just gotten used to it, that's all.

But now, in the dungeon, he clutched his wand, his heart racing and his knees threatening to collapse. He was terrified.

Ever since he was a little kid, his boggart had always taken the forms of one or both of his parents, lying dead on the ground. But the body lying in front of him was much smaller than either of his parents.

Thomas' face was white as moonlight as he stared down at the motionless body of George Crabtree. The Hufflepuff's hair stuck out in every angle, the right side of his head caked with dried blood. His striped yellow scarf curled around his neck like a mangled noose.

It's a boggart, Thomas told himself, gritting his teeth as his fingers tightened around his wand. It's just a boggart, Crabtree's fine. He took a breath, extending his wand. "Riddikulus!" He cried, his voice wavering.

CRACK! With a loud snap, a second body joined George's, slightly bigger, with disheveled black hair and Ravenclaw blue robes, his dark wand snapped in half, each half dangling in the middle by its unicorn hair core.

His hands shook. Pull yourself together. They're fine, it's a boggart, they're fine, nothing's wrong, they're fine, they're FINE. "Riddikulus!" he screamed, holding his wand out like a sword.

CRACK! A third body appeared, with pounds of frizzy blonde curls. Julia Ogden?

CRACK! Straight, brown hair, a red prefect badge… Margaret…

CRACK! Bloody hell, was that Higgins?

Thomas breathed a strangled scream. He squeezed his eyes shut. Why wasn't this working? He was a fifth year. He was a prefect. What was wrong with him? Dealing with boggarts was easy. He sucked in a steadying breath. "RIDDIKULUS!"

The pile of bodies shifted. George Crabtree's tiny frame rose from the ground, like a horrible, macabre marionette. His sickly grey arms dangled, his eyes, dull and glassy, stared at Thomas with a blank gaze. "You said you'd protect us." His voice was hollow, like it wasn't coming from his throat but merely being projected out of his mouth.

Thomas swallowed, taking a shuddering breath. "You're a boggart," he whispered. "You're not real."

Murdoch's body slowly straightened like a wilted plant after getting a good watering. "Doesn't matter, does it?" He took a clumsy, ragdoll-like step. "You've failed us regardless. William believed in you."

George's cold fingers curled around his frayed scarf, just like the real George would. "George trusted you."

A chorus of dead whispers rose from the bodies all around him. "You promised we wouldn't get hurt."

"It doesn't matter if we exist." William said. "We're going to exist one day or another."

"You shouldn't have promised." George's waxy, dead eyes bored holes into Thomas' heart. "You can't protect us. Now it's your fault."

"Shut. UP." Thomas seethed. "And stay shut up." He clenched his fists. Taking a deep, tense breath, Brackenreid raised his wand. He closed his eyes. "Riddikulus!"

The corridor was so full of butterflies, it was like walking through a conservatory, and William was not handling it well. He had lost count of how many boggarts he'd encountered at this point. Six? Ten? Twelve? All he knew was that there had been enough boggarts to turn his usual two dozen or so butterflies to a full-blown swarm of thousands, maybe even millions.

He'd used his wand only on the first boggart. It had worked, of course, the butterflies were gone and were replaced with comical, hilarious parrots, but he couldn't get rid of them. He needed to laugh, which was near impossible since he couldn't even make himself smile.

He'd been a jerk. He had every right to dislike James Gillies. He could hate every cell inside of him and it wouldn't matter, because everyone is entitled to their opinion. Where he'd messed up was believing that his opinion was the truth.

He had absolutely no proof that Gillies was behind all of this. All he had was intuition and a couple dozen boxes with his name on them. They could have easily been planted by someone else.

William sighed, shoving his free hand in his pocket. A ghostly white butterfly landed on his forearm and he frantically shook and slapped at it until it flew off. He inhaled a shaky breath.

This was his fault. If he hadn't been so opinionated, so pompous, so… jealous, then none of this would be happening.

And yes, he was jealous. He'd never had friends. Not really. There would be the odd person every now and again who would come into his life and they would momentarily hit it off, but they'd always leave him. He didn't want George to become one of those past acquaintances.

But that's what's going to happen, he realized. George is going to hate you and he'll never want to talk to you again.

He froze, a blue butterfly flitting across his path. That was it, wasn't it? That was what the butterflies meant. He wasn't afraid of butterflies. He wasn't afraid of the memory of finding his mother. William Murdoch was terrified of people leaving him.

But that was stupid, wasn't it? The logical part of his mind screamed at him. He hadn't lost anyone, not yet, at least. He was guaranteed to lose George as a friend if he stood around being an arrogant pig. If he found him and apologized, he at least had a chance.

But he couldn't find him alone.

A new sense of resolve gripped him. His fingers tightened around his wand. He needed to find the others. "Appare Vestigium!" He cried, sweeping his wand in a wide circle around him.

A powdery, golden swirl spread out into the corridor, revealing glowing footprints and traces of magic.

William grinned. I'm coming, George. And I am sorry.

George silently stole along the corridors, his wand lit and his heart in his mouth . I wish I hadn't come down here, he thought. He sighed. I wish someone else was here with me. He wished a lot of things.

Most of all, he wished he hadn't gotten so mad at William. Maybe if you hadn't yelled at him, he'd come down here to find you.

His foot caught on a loose cobblestone and let out a high scream as he tumbled onto the cold floor, his wand skittering away down the hall. He sat still, collecting himself for a moment, taking in the cobwebbed and dust-lined walls. He grimaced, bringing a hand to his aching head. His temple felt damp. Was he bleeding? Or just insanely sweaty?

Painfully, he pushed himself into a sitting position. It was unnaturally dark, almost impossibly dark. Where was his wand? He stood up.

"Ow!" yelped George as his head smacked against the ceiling as he rose. He rubbed the sore spot. He was definitely going to have to have Madam Pomfrey check him out for concussions after this.

But wait. He froze. Since when were the ceilings so low that he could hit his head on them? Gingerly, he stretched out his hand above his head. About three feet above the floor, his fingers brushed against something cold and smooth. Gulping, he shuffled backwards. He gasped when his back hit a wall, far closer than it should have been. His heartbeat accelerated. He felt all around him. One wall, two, three, four, the ceiling…

Oh no, oh NO, NONONONONONONONONONONONONONO—

He had finally met his boggart.

"Julia! Julia!"

She whipped around, holding her wand out in front of her threateningly. Her curls framed her terrified but determined face. Her expression molded into one of surprise. "William?"

He grinned. "Come on," he said, grabbing her hand. "We have to find Brackenreid."

Julia rolled her eyes. She tried not to feel William's fingers wrapped around hers. "I'm sure the big, strong Gryffindor can handle himself." She paused. "As a matter of fact," she pulled her hand away from his. "I don't need your help either."

"I know you don't." William's eyes were deep pools of brown that were impossible not to get lost in. "You can handle it by yourself, but you don't need to." He held out his hand. "Come with me?"

She smiled, reaching out and taking his hand.

George curled into a ball, his knees drawn up to his chest, his arms hugging his legs. Lot of good being a wizard is doing you, George. He sucked in a thin breath. Magical creature and you can't deal with it because your wand is down the hallway.

What was he supposed to do now?

Thomas' words echoed back to him: "Fear is like a wild horse. If you can tame the wild horse, then you can ride it, and if you can ride it, then you have power that other people don't."

He squeezed his eyes shut. I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid… He could do this. He could tame the wild horse. He just had to stop being so scared.

"Riddikulus!" The yell echoed through the corridor. "Riddikulus! Riddikulus! Bugger it all, why aren't you working?"

Julia and William exchanged a look in the darkness. They readied their wands.

They weren't prepared for the sight that greeted them when they turned the corner: Thomas Brackenreid, screaming with frustration as his spell failed again and again, zombie versions of them blaming him for their fates.

"You said you'd be there for us," whispered zombie William. "We trusted you to protect us. What a mistake that was; you can't even banish a boggart."

"Riddikulus!" Brackenreid cursed when nothing happened. "Bloody HELL, JUST VANISH YOU STUPID, BLOODY BOGGART!"

Julia appeared beside him, grinning. "Brackenreid," she smirked. "Relax."

Thomas stared at her. "Bloody hell, Ogden." He glanced at William.

Murdoch smiled, giving him a two-fingered salute. He pointed his wand at the small army of zombies. "Riddikulus!"

Zombie George's left foot began to tap. Zombie William and Zombie Julia grabbed each other's hands.

"Are they…?" Julia blinked.

Thomas nodded. "They are."

The three of them watched as a dozen reanimated dead bodies sprang to their feet, dancing like they were trying to win the grand prize at a disco contest.

William smiled. "It's missing something." He said. He waved his wand.

Multicoloured beams of light shot out, spinning around and around like the best rave light show imaginable.

The way their limp limbs flailed about as they danced in complete silence, with a laser light show flashing all around them, it was too ridiculous to hold back laughter.

As the boggart vanished, Thomas chuckled, turning to the others with a smile. "Thanks," he said. He scratched the back of his head, smiling meekly. "I've, uh… My boggart is usually different."

"No need to explain." Murdoch twirled his wand. He glanced at his own hand, impressed that he'd managed to pull off a maneuver that looked so effortlessly cool. "Let's go find George."

"I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid, I'm not afraid…" George whispered the words over and over, hoping that the more he said them, the more he would start to believe them.

He had hoped this wouldn't be his boggart. He had other fears: the dark, heights, choking, the dentist… Why did it have to be small spaces?

George had been claustrophobic for pretty much his whole life. He couldn't stand elevators or phone booths and he avoided closets or dressing rooms at clothing stores like the plague. Aunt Marigold used to tell him that it was because his imagination was too big for the world around him and that was why he always felt so uncomfortable.

He sucked in a breath. The darkness was both a blessing and a curse. Usually when he was in a tight place, the walls would appear to move closer and closer, like a horrifying, awful trash compactor going to squash him. The walls of this boggart box were too dark to see, which was nice, because he couldn't picture them closing in on him, but it left room for his imagination to run absolutely wild. There could be anything in the box with him.

Stop it. Stop thinking like that. Just stop being afraid.

"It's a good thing it's so dark." Taking a step, Murdoch stared down at the glowing trail on the floor. "George has his wand lit. That makes it easier to track traces of magic."

The three of them moved quickly through the corridors.

Julia pursed her lips. She sighed. "You think he's okay?"

"He can handle himself." Thomas took a breath. "He's fine."

Glancing at him with big eyes, Julia bit her lip. "Are you telling me that because you believe it or because you want to make me feel better?"

"Both." Thomas smiled decisively. "I know he's fine."

Murdoch stopped. He pointed down the hall. "Look."

A glowing wand lay on the stone floor, several feet away.

"George?" called Julia.

There was a pause. "H-hullo?" asked a tiny voice.

"George!" Thomas scanned the hall. "Where are you?"

"There's… a box…" the moment the words were out, George was suddenly visible. He looked surprised to suddenly find that, instead of a box surrounding him, he had a dead doppelganger lying beside him. He yelped, shuffling away from it. "Uh…" he swallowed, shaking his head. "That's creepy."

"Sorry," mumbled Thomas, reaching down and helping him to his feet. "Good to see you." He said.

George smiled. "Thank you," he breathed. "Thank you for coming."

William stared at the floor. "George," he said. "I'm sorry. I need to let you make your own friends." His cheeks were red. "I let my opinions cloud my judgement, and I hurt you. I'm sorry." He shook his head. His eyes were teary. "You don't have to forgive me. You can hate me. But I want you to know that…" he sniffed. "I really like being around you, and I value you so much, so…" He wiped away a tear. "Please don't hate me."

George blinked. He reached out, grabbing William's sweater. "I value you too," he said, pulling him into a hug.

William looked surprised. "You're forgiving me?"

George giggled. "And people say you're supposed to be smart."

"Aw," Julia clutched her heart.

"I'm going to get diabetes from this, aren't I?" Thomas muttered.

Dead George jerked, standing up straight and melting into a mirror, reflecting all of their confused faces. After a second, it shattered all on its own, the glass shards growing wings, fluttering all around them.

"What's happening?" Julia swatted a butterfly out of her hair.

"The boggart's confused." William smiled. "All our fears are confusing it."

"Well, what are we waiting for?" asked Thomas, a determined look on his face. "Let's bust a boggart."

"Wait." George took a breath. He looked at the others. "I want to do it. Myself."

Julia frowned. "Are you sure?" she asked. "You don't have to, we can help."

He nodded. "I know."

Thomas patted him on the back. "You don't have to prove to us you can do it, Bugalugs," he said. "It doesn't matter."

"That's not it." George shook his head. He tossed the loose end of his scarf over his shoulder. "I want to prove it to myself."

Smiling proudly, Thomas ruffled the Hufflepuff's hair. "Spoken like a Gryffindor," he said.

William nodded. He walked down the hall. He stooped down, picking up George's wand. "Here," he grinned, flinging it towards him.

George reached up, catching it without even blinking. "Thanks," he breathed.

Thomas stared at him, looking impressed. He winked at George. "Beat its arse for us, Crabtree."

The three of them took a few steps back and held their breaths.

George gripped his wand, took a deep breath and closed his eyes.

The butterflies surrounded him, more and more of them, packing in closer and closer together, until the space between them disappeared entirely.

For a terrible moment, there was nothing but silence. Julia bit her lip, Thomas clenched his fists in anticipation, and William clutched his wand behind his back, fighting the urge to banish the boggart himself.

"Riddikulus!" George's voice was confident and strong. Julia had never heard him sound like that before.

Dissolving like a piece of cotton candy in a glass of water, the boggart dissipated into the air, leaving George standing, breathing heavily, a proud smile on his face. "I did it," he whispered. He turned to beam at the others. "I did it!"

A week later, all of the boggarts had disappeared from the halls of Hogwarts. The nervous energy had flown away.

George laughed, waving goodbye to James Gillies and Robert Perry, carrying his lunch tray to a table near the fireplace in the Great Hall. He slid in beside William Murdoch.

William smiled. "Hi," he said.

Julia waved.

"Crabtree!" Thomas grinned. "Just the person I wanted to see." He pointed at him with his fork. "Back in the dungeons, Murdoch threw your wand at you. You caught it like it was nothing."

George shrugged. "I used to help my Aunt Ivy with her tennis." He flattened his mashed potatoes on his plate. "I was her ball boy. I got good at catching things."

"How's your broom work?" asked Thomas, leaning forward.

"Nothing special. Why?"

Julia smiled. "Brackenreid and I were talking," she said. "We think you might be Seeker material."

Nodding, Thomas took a sip of water. "So, if you're interested, I have a proposition for you." He rested his elbows on the table. "I'll teach you how to fly, the fancy stuff, things Madam Hooch won't teach you, and next year you can try out for the Hufflepuff team."

Lighting up, George beamed. "This is going to be awesome!" He squealed. "Of course I'm interested!"

Murdoch stared across the Great Hall. He was only half listening to the conversation.

James Gillies stared back at him, sipping pumpkin juice from a glass.

After a week of nothing, they'd decided to drop the case. They didn't have enough evidence to confront Gillies, and they didn't have anything new to prove or disprove his fault. The others had moved on, but William…

His eyes narrowed, watching Gillies talk to Robert Perry. There was something about Gillies that didn't sit right with him. William would keep an eye on him. He turned back to his lunch. The others were laughing. He managed a smile.