Although Harold didn't join them, the ever-unrelenting Weasley twins still snuck off that night to mess with the Whomping Willow again.
They were found by Fang at dawn—one lying flat in the middle of the path with his feet on his head, the other sprawled five hundred meters away, face in the dirt, legs stuck in a bush.
From these wonderfully awkward positions, it was clear they hadn't simply decided to sleep outside.
Hagrid thought so too. When he heard Fang barking, he rushed over and personally carried them to the hospital wing—one in each hand.
Since it was still dark out at the time, few people knew about the incident.
Harold only heard about it from someone else the following evening.
After dinner, he went to visit the twins in the hospital wing. Neither seemed remotely embarrassed.
"I was flung through the air in one shot," Fred said animatedly, describing last night's adventure. "Didn't hurt as much as I thought, but it hit like a Bludger."
"Yeah, we were basically Bludgers," George added, sticking his bandaged head into view. "Didn't even get a chance to resist."
George was in worse shape. Not only had the Whomping Willow cracked several of his bones, but he'd also broken his leg in the landing. Madam Pomfrey had spent ten full minutes putting him back together and then wrapped him up like a mummy from head to toe.
"If Bill saw you now, he'd feel right at home," Fred joked.
Bill, their eldest brother, worked as a curse-breaker for Gringotts in Egypt. Dealing with mummies was literally his day job.
"Speaking of siblings, hasn't your little brother come to visit?" Harold asked.
"Little brother? Who?" Fred blinked, looking genuinely confused.
"We only have a sister," George replied. "Ginny. She starts Hogwarts this September."
"Don't know him," they said in unison.
Well then. Ever since getting caught red-handed by McGonagall last time, they'd decided to disown Ron entirely.
According to them, there's no way a real Weasley could be that dim. He had to be an impostor.
Sure, Percy was a tattle-tale, but at least he was smart. Fred and George had copied his notes more than once for homework.
Harold figured they were just shifting blame. After all, their own carelessness had played a big role in getting caught. But the twins remained convinced that Ron had given Malfoy their plan, and that's what led to their downfall.
"So Ron really hasn't visited?"
"Okay, fine," George admitted, "He came just before you did—with Harry and Hermione. But they didn't stay long."
"Were they scheming again?" Fred asked suddenly.
"I could tell." Fred narrowed his eyes like a master detective. "They were distracted the whole time. Whispering to each other. I didn't catch much, but I heard something about Snape… and Professor Quirrell."
"Oh! What if they're trying to rip off Quirrell's turban?" George's eyes lit up.
"Or maybe put it on Snape's head!" Fred gasped. "Harold, you know something, don't you? If we're right, you have to tell Ron. He's our dear little brother, after all."
"Make sure he waits for us!" George added. "We want to see what's under that turban too."
"...I'll think about it." Harold shrugged, noncommittal.
In a sense, they weren't wrong. Harry and the others were interested in what was beneath Quirrell's turban. But it wasn't something anyone would enjoy seeing—it was the stuff of nightmares.
"Why are you still here? They need rest!" Madam Pomfrey came bustling over, promptly shooing him away.
With no other choice, Harold got up and headed for the door.
"Oh right, if you're looking for Ron, try the fourth floor!" Fred called after him. "They kept whispering about that place." The latest_epɪ_sodes are on_the 𝔫𝔬𝔳𝔢𝔩·𝔣𝔦𝔯𝔢·𝔫𝔢𝔱
"Quiet, please!" Madam Pomfrey snapped, slamming the door shut behind him.
Outside, the sky had gone completely dark.
Harold turned back toward the common room. But just as he reached the fourth floor, he suddenly heard a furious roar—and someone cursing.
"Damn beast… why didn't it fall asleep!?"
It was like a door had been shut, cutting off the sound completely.
That voice—was that Quirrell?
At this time, in this place—it had to be him. But what did he mean by "didn't fall asleep"?
Driven by curiosity, Harold slipped down the familiar corridor.
Months ago, he'd been here—he'd blown out two of Fluffy the three-headed dog's teeth and even delivered it a king-sized "takeout" meal. To most wizards, a troll's stench was unbearable. But to a dog like Fluffy… maybe it was "aromatic."
Still, that didn't mean Fluffy had forgiven him. He'd avoided this place ever since.
A second voice rang out—sharp, cold, and utterly unlike Quirrell's.
Harold's wand began to tremble in his hand, reacting violently to something it sensed behind the door.
"I know you're excited, but hold it in," Harold muttered, gripping it tightly. "The main character isn't even here yet. If we go now, we're just cannon fodder."
Gradually, the wand calmed down.
He looked again at the door.
Blood was seeping through the crack at the bottom.
Wait a minute—hadn't Quirrell tricked Hagrid into telling him Fluffy's weakness? A simple lullaby was supposed to be enough to get past the dog. So why was there blood?
Harold's expression shifted.
Could it be… that his wand had actually cured Fluffy of its "fall-asleep-to-music" weakness?
Which meant… Quirrell had just—
Hopefully Quirrell was still alive. And hopefully he wasn't the one bleeding.
Apparently catching Harold's scent, Fluffy let out a ferocious howl, even more furious than before.
"I knew it…" Harold sighed deeply. Fluffy hadn't forgotten him.
Thankfully, it was still behind that door. He'd be safe as long as he stayed out here—
The heavy, echoing sound froze the blood in his veins.
In the pitch-black corridor, three sets of blood-red eyes locked onto him.
And worse—Harold could clearly see the snapped iron chain still hanging from Fluffy's neck.
Without a second thought, his body moved faster than his mind.
He turned on his heel—and ran.