Chapter 55: Walking Into a Trap

Thanks to the Weasley twins' relentless enthusiasm, a previously extinguished spark in Harold's heart began to flicker back to life. According to them, Professor Sprout was now buried in O.W.L. and N.E.W.T. preparations and no longer had the time to constantly guard the Whomping Willow. This was a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. So that very night, the three of them once again passed through the hidden passage, ready to pull off their biggest heist yet. "How's it looking now..." Harold asked as they neared the Willow. "No professors around, right?" Fred squinted down at a worn piece of parchment, frowning. "What? Is Sprout out there?" Harold asked, suddenly alert. "No, no," Fred quickly shook his head. "She's still in her office. It's totally safe right now. I just happened to see our little brother on here." "Your brother... Ron?" Harold asked. "What's he doing?" "Carrying on the noble Weasley legacy," George said with a wink. "Proudly sneaking out after dark in his first year." "I think Charlie did his first midnight jaunt in first year too." "And Bill..." "Oh, come to think of it," Fred grinned wide, "Percy really is the odd one out." "Maybe he's adopted." They were veering off course, but Harold didn't have time to join their discussion on Percy Weasley's bloodline. First-years wandering around after hours wasn't a big deal. As long as it wasn't Professor Sprout or Filch, that was good enough. Something about the situation still didn't sit quite right, but Harold shoved that feeling aside. The Willow took priority. He took a deep breath to steady himself, then turned and reminded them, "Just make sure you let me know the moment Sprout leaves her office." "You've said that like eight hundred times already, relax." George stuffed a pea-sized object into Harold's pocket. "Just in case." "What's this?" "You'll see." Fred was still staring at the parchment, muttering, "Merlin's pants, what is it with people sneaking around tonight? We'd better hurry." "Right." Harold didn't hesitate. He darted toward the Whomping Willow and began hopping left and right in front of it. This was his new plan. Sure, his previous method had been safer, but way too slow. This time, he was taking a calculated risk—provoking the Willow directly. It was Fred and George's idea, actually. They'd mentioned before that when the Willow lashed out, it often shook loose some of its thinner branches. Those branches were exactly what Harold was after. Hogwarts didn't allow Apparition. Even if Sprout did notice the commotion, she'd have to run out from the castle—which would take time. Time Harold could use to escape. Everything was going according to plan. The Willow went wild, slamming its trunk-sized limbs into the earth with thunderous crashes. A few minutes later, the "pea" in Harold's pocket exploded. "Time to move!" came a voice—Fred's or George's, he couldn't tell. Harold didn't wait. He hurled a stone at the scar on the tree's trunk, freezing the Willow instantly. In a flash, he scooped up every branch that had fallen and bolted, rejoining the twins near the Quidditch pitch and diving into the passage. It was a flawless operation. Like they'd rehearsed it a dozen times. "Brilliant!" "Massive success!" The three of them slapped high-fives, giddy with excitement. "Quick—how many did we get?" Fred asked, almost bouncing. "Nine," Harold said, unable to suppress a grin. He opened his hands. Nine branches. Varying lengths, but still—nine. "Yesss!" George punched the air. "So how do we split these?" Fred asked. "By weight?" "That works," George agreed. "No need," Harold said, waving a hand. "I'll take five. You two take four. Nice and even." Technically, he was taking a slight loss, but the haul had exceeded expectations. It didn't really matter. Fred and George certainly didn't argue. In fact, they picked the four slightly shorter ones on purpose. They were third-years after all—no point bullying a first-year out of the good stuff. Their spirits were high. Even the cramped, dark tunnel felt cheerful. The twins chatted excitedly about what they could do with the branches, not noticing that on the worn parchment, a new set of footprints had appeared—at the far end of the tunnel. And Harold didn't notice, either. Not until they stepped out of the passage... and ran straight into Professor McGonagall, who was currently scolding Malfoy and Neville. Twelve pairs of eyes met in a deadlock. The air itself seemed to freeze. No. No way. No way this was real. Harold honestly thought he might've been knocked out by the Willow and was dreaming this entire thing. There was no other explanation. Why else would they walk straight into their professor like this? They had the Marauder's Map! This wasn't supposed to happen! He spun, half-ready to bolt back into the tunnel. Too late. "I cannot believe this! Sneaking around at this hour—do you even understand what you're doing?!" Professor McGonagall's furious voice rang out loud and clear. Harold's heart dropped. He was definitely awake. "Professor, we know it was wrong," Harold said, trying to keep his voice calm. "We were just going to—" "Stop right there. What are you holding?" she snapped. They tried to hide it, but McGonagall had already seen. Her expression turned ice-cold. "Whomping Willow branches..." "Professor, I— I can explain," Harold stammered. "I suppose you think this makes you brave?" McGonagall cut him off sharply. "Taunting a dangerous plant, treating its branches like trophies? Is this what you think courage looks like?" "It's—stupid. Reckless. Do you have any idea how dangerous that tree is? Most adult wizards wouldn't go near it!" "Ah—" Harold blinked, then suddenly straightened. "You're right, Professor. We're very sorry. We won't do it again!" He jabbed his elbow into George's side. The twins caught on immediately. Compared to "we planned this heist for weeks and executed it with military precision," "we're dumb Gryffindors who wanted to show off" was way better. It didn't just reduce the crime level—it practically made it an expected character flaw. Right. They were Gryffindors. Reckless little lions doing something dumb to prove their mettle... that tracked perfectly. Forget sentence reduction—this was two levels off, at least.