As soon as Fred and George disappeared behind the door, summoned by Dumbledore, whispers flooded the crowd like a tide.
"I'd bet my wand it was Slytherin's Gemma Farley," Ernie Macmillan's voice rang out, sharp as a stone splashing into water.
"Just think about it—she left right before the Gryffindor girl got petrified. Isn't that obvious enough?"
"Why couldn't it be the Weasley twins?" Zacharias Smith drawled, shaking his head with mock seriousness. "Everyone knows they're the kings of pranks. Maybe this is just their latest stunt to scare us witless."
"Then how do you explain Creevey and Colin disappearing?" Susan Bones chimed in, unable to resist the gossip. "The Weasleys might be wild, but they wouldn't dare make a prefect like Penelope vanish for this long, would they?"
"That's why I'm saying it's Farley!" Ernie jumped back in, his tone growing more certain. "She's a Slytherin. Who knows what kind of dark magic her family's got tucked away…"
"But Wood spends way more time with her, and he's fine," Hannah Abbott pointed out, raising an eyebrow and poking a hole in Ernie's theory.
"I'm with Ernie," Justin Finch-Fletchley cut in. The Muggle-born wizard loved a good conspiracy theory.
"It's obvious Farley fancies Wood, and Johnson's always hanging around him during Quidditch practice." His eyes gleamed with intrigue. "You've got to admit, Johnson's got a certain charm. Farley's jealous—love turned to hate, and she's up to no good…"
(In the books, Justin Finch-Fletchley totally bought into the 'Harry's the Heir of Slytherin' theory.)
As Justin's story spiraled into soap-opera territory, Hermione let out an exaggerated laugh, her shoulders shaking so hard she had to grab Harry's arm to stay upright.
Justin caught the noise and glanced nervously at the silent Harry before mustering the courage to face Hermione. "Granger! What's so funny? Got a better theory?"
"No grand theories here, Finch-Fletchley," Hermione said, stifling her giggles and adopting a serious tone. "It's just that I'm Muggle-born too, and your little plot sounds a bit too much like a TV drama."
Justin's face turned beet red, like he'd been roasted over a fire.
"Forget if it sounds familiar! Does my logic hold up or not?" he shot back, stubborn.
"Nope," Harry said lazily, his voice tinged with a hint of mocking amusement. "Wood and Farley are already together. As for Angelina, she's got her eye on someone else. Keep making up stories about my teammates, and you'll end up like Malfoy did last time."
"Pfft—" Ginny, not far off, couldn't hold back a laugh, her eyes sneaking a glance at Harry.
Draco, who was picking out a sleeping bag, went pale at Harry's words, his fingers gripping the bag so tightly his knuckles turned white.
"Come on, we're all classmates here," Ernie said quickly, trying to smooth things over. He clapped Justin on the shoulder. "Let's get some sleep. It's late."
"Draco, you okay?" Pansy asked, worriedly eyeing her childhood friend before whirling to glare at Harry. "Potter! How dare you—"
"Enough, Pansy," Draco cut her off, grabbing her arm and keeping his voice low. "I'm tired. Let's let Potter off for tonight."
"Rumors spread faster than a Firebolt," Hermione muttered, bending down to rummage through a pile of sleeping bags. Her eyes lit up. "Harry, I want that red one with the cat on it!"
Harry flicked his wand, and the sleeping bag floated over with a quick Levitation Charm.
Hermione caught it, hugging it close and running her fingers over the cat-shaped embroidery.
To her surprise, the cat seemed annoyed by the touch—it hissed, baring its tiny teeth, and darted into the depths of the sleeping bag, making her chuckle.
Harry shook his head at her childlike excitement and grabbed a plain sleeping bag for himself—though it had a silver snake embroidered on it, clearly a Slytherin item.
They dragged their sleeping bags to a corner and started setting up. As soon as Harry spread his out, the snake on his bag poked its head out, locking eyes with the cat that emerged from Hermione's.
The snake hissed, the cat arched its back—they were like natural enemies.
"Look at that!" Hermione said, pointing at the little creatures in delight. The cat had already pinned the snake by its neck. "Even the patterns on our sleeping bags are interacting?"
"Dumbledore's the greatest wizard of the century," Harry said matter-of-factly. "This kind of magic's nothing for him."
Hermione rolled her eyes, ignoring his buzzkill attitude, and slipped into her sleeping bag, still in her school uniform.
As she settled in, she heard rustling nearby. Harry was casually peeling off his school jacket.
"You're changing here?" Hermione asked, her voice tinged with embarrassment.
"I've gone shirtless at Quidditch practice," Harry replied without looking up, sliding into his sleeping bag. "You don't sleep in your uniform, do you? It's uncomfortable."
Nearby, Ginny caught a glimpse of Harry's tanned skin and flushed red, burying her face in her sleeping bag, her ears practically glowing.
Percy, who'd set up his sleeping bag next to hers, tapped it gently. "Ginny?"
"What?" came her muffled, grumpy reply from inside the bag.
"It's me," Percy said, his voice carrying its usual sternness. "I want to talk about that deal you made with Malfoy…"
"I'm not a kid! I can handle it myself!" Ginny snapped, her voice rising with obvious irritation.
"No talking!" Professor McGonagall's voice cut through the hall. "Percy, you're a prefect—set an example!"
The chatter in the Great Hall died down, leaving only the crackling of the fireplace.
Outside the heavy oak doors, a cold wind howled. Dumbledore silently cast a Warming Charm on the Weasley twins.
Fred and George stood side by side in the corridor, their usual playful smirks gone.
Fred's face was heavy with grief—Angelina had been petrified while following him, and he was drowning in regret over his choices.
George was upset too, but not as deeply as Fred, so he could still manage to answer the professors' questions.
"Explain yourselves," McGonagall said, her voice tight with suppressed anger, her wand tapping her palm. "Why were you in that corridor? Don't tell me you were both off to the loo together."
"Professor McGonagall, we just went to Hagrid's hut to chat with him. On our way back, we found Angelina petrified," George explained earnestly.
"Enough!" McGonagall snapped, her eyes flashing behind her glasses. "I know you two too well. You were out there for a reason!"
George shrank back, debating whether to spill the truth, when a cold sneer came from behind.
Snape had appeared in the corridor's shadows, his black robes swaying faintly in the night breeze like a lurking bat.
"It seems the Weasley brothers are showcasing their pathetic little tricks again," Snape said, his voice like ice scraping stone. "Minerva, wasting words on them is pointless."
He stepped forward, holding a delicate crystal vial pointed at Fred's throat. "A drop of Veritaserum, and the truth will slither out like a slug. I happen to have a fresh batch."
"What?!" George's eyes widened, his calm shattering. "Snape, you wouldn't dare! We're innocent!"
"Innocent?" Snape sneered, his hand twitching upward. "Two pranksters caught near the scene of an attack? I can't think of a better word than 'suspect.'"
"Severus," McGonagall interjected, stepping between them with her wand raised. "I won't let my students be dosed with Veritaserum. I trust they're not the attackers!"
"Trust?" Snape's gaze slithered over the twins like a snake. "I'd say they're more like weasels hiding secrets. If they won't talk, the potion will."
George nudged Fred, whispering so only he could hear, "Stop beating yourself up over Angelina. Dumbledore said she's only petrified—she'll recover. We've got bigger problems right now—"
Fred's face shifted, paling as Snape edged closer, the Veritaserum glinting silver in the moonlight.
The corridor's air felt frozen—McGonagall's tense profile on one side, Snape's unrelenting glare on the other, and the twins caught in the middle, feeling lost for the first time.
"Severus, Minerva," Dumbledore's calm but commanding voice broke through, his shadow stretching long in the moonlight, his half-moon glasses hiding his searching gaze. "Let me speak with them alone."
"No need for such trouble. One drop of Veritaserum…" Snape persisted, his tone icy and certain.
"Bloody bat! Keep that stuff for yourself! Who knows if it's even Veritaserum!" Fred exploded, his shout startling everyone. Even George was stunned, speechless at his brother's audacity.
Snape's lips curled into a smile as cold as a dungeon's draft. "If you're so eager, you can taste it first."
"Severus, I'll handle this," Dumbledore said, his voice steady but firm. "Go back to the hall. The students need you there."
Snape whirled, his dark eyes boring into Dumbledore, as if trying to burn holes through him.
Dumbledore met his gaze, his blue-gray eyes unyielding. The air seemed to solidify in their standoff.
Finally, Snape pocketed the Veritaserum, his face dark. McGonagall exhaled, nodding slightly to Dumbledore, and the two professors returned to the Great Hall.
Only Dumbledore and the Weasley twins remained in the corridor.
Dumbledore strolled to the window, gazing at the Forbidden Forest's swaying trees, and chuckled softly, his voice warm. "You can trust an old man's promise—I'll keep your secret."
Fred and George exchanged a glance, the panic stirred by Snape easing.
George scratched the back of his head and said seriously, "Professor Dumbledore, we snuck out of the Duelling Club because of Ginny. We heard she got vodka from Malfoy, so we went to Hagrid to find out what was going on. We didn't know Angelina followed us."
"Vodka?" Dumbledore's voice held a hint of curiosity.
"It's a Muggle liquor," George explained, sounding a bit incredulous. "Hagrid said Malfoy brought it to feed the Norwegian Ridgeback in the Forbidden Forest."
Dumbledore turned, a flicker of surprise in his eyes melting into an understanding smile. "I didn't expect Draco to have such a childish side."
He paused, his tone softening. "Don't worry too much, boys. You did more than enough tonight. Thanks to you, I reached Miss Johnson in time. It's late—go get some rest."
Fred couldn't hold back, his voice tight with barely hidden anxiety. "Professor, when will Angelina be unpetrified?"
Dumbledore looked at the boy's worried eyes and said gently, "That depends on how quickly Severus brews the antidote. I promise it won't be too long."
George patted Fred's shoulder, and the twins bowed deeply to Dumbledore before hurrying back to the Great Hall.
As the door closed, Dumbledore caught Fred's voice through the gap, directed at Snape by the entrance: "Professor Snape, we're really counting on you this time."
Standing alone, Dumbledore sighed softly, his gaze fixed on the Forbidden Forest, his fingers brushing the outline of the Elder Wand in his pocket. He murmured, "Tom, where are you hiding?"
Inside the Great Hall, Snape stood by the door, his face grim.
Fred looked up at him, his tone carrying a rare sincerity.
"Professor Snape, I was out of line earlier. Those were just words. You're Hogwarts' greatest Potions professor. Please don't let my stupidity make Angelina the last to get the antidote…"
As more eyes turned their way, Snape finally snapped, "Get lost!"
In a shadowy corner of the hall, Blaise Zabini clenched his fists, veins pulsing at his temple, as if wrestling with some invisible torment.