"It was Ron Weasley, Harry's dormmate," Hermione said helplessly. "Harry and Neville were talking about it without paying attention, and Ron overheard."
Great. A textbook Gryffindor—shouting secrets for everyone to hear.
"And then?" Leonard asked.
"Then Ron mocked them, saying their nonsense almost sounded believable." Hermione sighed. "He didn't believe a word they said. He even thought they were just trying to get attention."
"Let me guess—Harry couldn't take the insult, so he decided to storm the third-floor corridor, grab the Philosopher's Stone, and shove it in Ron Weasley's face to prove he wasn't lying?" Leonard pressed a hand to his forehead.
Brilliant. Classic Chosen One logic.
"Something like that," Hermione admitted, exasperated. "They've already rushed off, and I couldn't stop them, so I came to you."
"And what am I supposed to do? At a time like this, you should be going to a professor," Leonard said flatly.
What did they think he was, some kind of Doraemon—there to solve every mess for them?
"But if I go to a professor, they'll be punished," Hermione protested.
"They should be punished," Leonard shot back. "Otherwise they'll never learn how stupid it is to risk their lives over a petty argument."
Hermione stopped in her tracks, realizing she might have acted rashly.
Whether or not Harry and Neville deserved punishment, dragging Leonard into the third-floor corridor without knowing what dangers were inside was unfair.
What if something truly dangerous appeared?
But it really was urgent.
Seeing Hermione frozen like a jammed machine, Leonard pulled his hand free. "You go get a professor. I'll check the third-floor corridor."
Rescuing Harry Potter was something Leonard figured he could afford to do. Consider it an early investment—and a chance to earn some goodwill with Dumbledore.
After all, with Hermione always running to him whenever trouble struck, Dumbledore was bound to notice eventually.
"Be careful," Hermione said, snapping out of her daze. Without hesitation, she ran off toward Professor McGonagall's office.
...
Meanwhile, in the corridor on the right side of the third floor at Hogwarts Castle.
Harry and Neville walked toward the shabby wooden door at the very end. Harry's expression was firm, but there was a stubborn edge to it, as if he refused to back down no matter what.
Neville, in contrast, looked terrified. He trailed behind Harry—who was smaller than him—his voice trembling.
"H-Harry, do we really have to go? Didn't Headmaster Dumbledore say it was dangerous? That if we didn't want to die a painful death, we mustn't come near?"
"Don't say things like that, Neville. We're brave Gryffindors, not like Ron Weasley, who only knows how to flap his mouth."
Harry's tone was determined, but his shaking hands gave him away.
He was already in too deep. Just the thought of that redheaded rat-keeper sneering at him made Harry seethe.
No matter what, tonight he was going through with it. He'd grab the Philosopher's Stone and smack that treasure right in Ron Weasley's face.
At the door, Harry tugged at the bolt.
But the door was firmly locked. No matter how hard he pulled, it wouldn't budge.
"It's locked, Harry. Let's just go," Neville said, relieved.
"No. We can't give up," Harry growled, though the fact remained—he couldn't get the door open.
Worse than failing before even starting was a hero storming the Dark Lord's tower only to be stopped cold by the Dark Lord's front door.
Unwilling to give up, Harry pressed his ear to the door, straining for any clue.
Even if he couldn't get inside, he had to at least find something out. Otherwise, he'd have to face Ron's mockery when they returned.
Seeing Harry like this, Neville hesitated, then leaned his ear against the door too.
"Do you hear anything?" Harry whispered.
"Maybe… something," Neville said. "Like a gurgling noise."
Harry's face flushed. "Sorry. That's my stomach. Guess I'm a little hungry."
Neville gave him a helpless look. "Then why don't we go have dinner instead?"
"No, we have to at least—" Harry's words were cut short by a thunderous roar that shook the door.
Their faces went pale, and both boys fell to the ground in fright.
"Wh-what was that?" Harry's teeth chattered.
"I… I don't know. It sounded like a dog, but muffled, deeper somehow," Neville said, shivering.
"Let's just go back," Neville added quickly. "At least we found out something."
Harry felt unwilling, but staring at the tightly locked door, he gave a reluctant nod.
Suddenly, two hands clapped down on Harry's shoulders, making him jump.
"Looks like you're having some trouble," came a cheerful voice.
"Need some help?" added another, deeper but still playful.
Harry and Neville whipped around in shock to see two identical redheaded boys.
"You're… Weasleys?" Neville stammered at the sight of their flaming hair. "I think you're—"
"You've got it," said the brighter-voiced one. "I'm Fred, he's George."
"That's right, we're Weasleys. Our hair gives it away," George added with a grin.
"Weasley? What's your connection to Ron Weasley?" Harry asked suspiciously.
"Good question," George said with a shrug.
"He's our dear little brother."
"And we care about him deeply."
"Even if he doesn't always enjoy it."
The twins spoke one after another, their words flowing together.
"What are you doing here?" Harry asked warily. The thought crossed his mind that Ron might have sent them to mock him.
"Didn't we already say?" Fred and George each grabbed an arm, hauling Harry and Neville to their feet.
"We're here to help."
"It's rare to meet anyone willing to explore this corridor."
"We've been waiting a long time," the twins said with matching grins.