Snow blanketed Hogwarts Castle in a pristine white shroud, turning the Forbidden Forest and Black Lake into frozen expanses. After weeks of fruitless searches, the Aurors and professors had all but given up on Sirius Black. Trips to Hogsmeade Village were back on, and a horde of pent-up students surged toward the village like hounds off the leash, laughing through the relentless flurries.
"Hurry up—this is the last call for Hogsmeade! Move it!"
Filch's raspy bellow cut through the chatter as the group dashed off. Harry lingered alone on the clock tower, watching his classmates and dormmates vanish into the storm. Frustration boiling over, he retreated to the Gryffindor dorm, snatched his Invisibility Cloak, and bolted outside.
The snow piled deep, swallowing his footprints as he trudged on. But before he got far, a voice rang out.
"Hey, look who it is!"
George and Fred Weasley, knee-deep in sculpting a lopsided snowman, spotted the telltale drag marks. With a grin, they tailed him silently, then struck—each grabbing an invisible arm and hoisting him up.
"Let me go!" Harry thrashed under the cloak.
No use keeping secrets from the twins; thanks to Ron, most of Harry's inner circle knew about the cloak by now, and the Weasleys were no exception.
"Smart move, Harry," George chuckled.
"But not quite smart enough," Fred added.
"We've got a better way to sneak you into Hogsmeade!"
They hauled him back toward the castle, ignoring his protests.
"I don't have time for pranks—I'm going to Hogsmeade!"
"We know," George said. "Relax."
"Yeah, secret passage," Fred chimed in. "But chill out first."
Harry wriggled futilely; outmatched by the older, stronger twins, he was at their mercy. They dragged him to a dim, empty corridor—one of the castle's hidden veins.
In the original tale, this was where the twins would hand over the Marauder's Map. But that map was long gone, already passed to Argus Filch. Instead, they ushered Harry into a cramped tunnel snaking beneath the castle, emerging through a loose floorboard in the stockroom of Honeydukes sweet shop.
"Blimey, this place is brilliant!" Harry gasped, eyes wide at the candy-scented haven.
He clapped the twins on their invisible shoulders, ready to bolt.
"Easy there," George said. "We're just the delivery service."
"Got our own errands today," Fred added. "We'll show you the full R&D setup next time—our joke lab's a riot."
"Fair enough," Harry said, barely listening. He was already plotting his pub crawl.
With a quick wave, he slipped the cloak back on and darted into the snowy streets. No wallet? No problem. He palmed a handful of Chocolate Frogs and Bertie Bott's beans, savoring the illicit treats as he wandered.
At a bustling corner, he froze. There was Ron, holding court with a gaggle of Gryffindors, puffing up his chest.
"What d'you mean, Britain's scariest haunted house? I've been inside!"
"Full of wailing ghosts, banshees, and all sorts of dark beasts," Ron blustered. "Only the gutsiest Gryffindors wouldn't flinch!"
"Pfft, ghosts and spirits? I heard from a prefect it's proper haunted," one boy shot back, smirking. "Wails and howls every night—kept me up for weeks!"
"How about we check it out?" another suggested, eyes gleaming.
The idea caught fire, nods rippling through the group. But doubts crept in.
"What if we run into those ghosts or beasts? The place is massive—we could get lost."
"Ron here's been before! He'll lead us—no worries."
Ron's bravado crumbled. With his nerve? He'd never set foot in the Shrieking Shack. This was pure bluff. Back out now, and he'd look like a coward. But charge in, and real danger could end them all. He just wanted to sound cool, not die for it.
The others picked up on his hesitation.
"Ron, you in or what? You said you've done it."
"Yeah, perfect—you'll navigate."
"I... er, went with my family once," Ron mumbled. "It's crawling with dark creatures. Small group like that? We barely made it out..."
"Danger? Aurors and professors already cleared it," a girl insisted. "Anything nasty's long gone."
"Shrieking Shack's been empty forever—who knows what's lurking?" another countered. "Bet Sirius Black's holed up in there. Escaped Azkaban, ain't scared of no beasts."
"Let's poke around! Hogwarts is right nearby—stall any trouble, and a prof'll come running."
"Plus, we can test that Patronus Charm we just learned!"
Excitement swelled, but Ron's stomach knotted. Dark wizards like Black? He'd slaughter them like flies. Patronus Charm? Forget chanting—the man would rip them apart mid-spell.
"Right, it's a go!" someone yelled. "Let's move!"
The pack veered toward the Shack, Ron trailing at the rear, sweat beading despite the cold. Harry, cloaked and silent, sidled up and draped the fabric over his friend too.
"You—Harry?!"
Ron's whisper was a mix of shock and relief.
"Bored stiff at the castle alone," Harry murmured. "So I—"
"Later," Ron hissed, yanking the cloak off both of them as the group pressed on. "Sod the Shack—Three Broomsticks for a butterbeer?"
He steered Harry toward the cozy pub, chattering to cover their detour. At the door, a stout woman wielded a hammer, tacking a sign to the wall.
"That's Madam Rosmerta," Ron whispered. "Runs the place—best butterbeer in Hogsmeade."
But before he could elaborate, two shadowy figures materialized inside, freezing them both. Even Harry, peering from behind, went rigid…
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