Chapter 52 : How to attack the professor

As Christmas approached, the weather in the Scottish Highlands grew colder by the day.

More and more students chose the warmth of the castle over the bitter chill outside. They clustered around fireplaces to soak in the heat, lingered at long tables over steaming meals, or found any excuse to avoid the biting cold altogether.

The recent clash with the Slytherins had not reached the professors' ears. The Gryffindor students were wise enough to steer clear of trouble, while the Slytherins were too prideful to admit their embarrassment. After all, upper-year students bullying younger ones and resorting to slurs like "Mudblood" would undoubtedly result in severe consequences—even Snape couldn’t turn a blind eye to that.

Before the Dueling Club could welcome new members, the Christmas holidays arrived right on schedule.

At Hogwarts, Christmas break was a generous affair, stretching from mid-December to mid-January.

A century ago, Harry had always spent Christmas at Hogwarts, save for the fifth-year trip to Nurmengard Castle. With nowhere else to go, the castle had become his sanctuary during the festive season.

Now back in 1991, Harry technically had the option of returning to his aunt and uncle’s house. But to him, that house had never been home. On the contrary, Hogwarts felt like his true refuge.

So, when Professor McGonagall came by to register students staying over the holidays, Harry didn’t hesitate to sign his name.

It wasn’t just that Hogwarts made him feel at ease; he also wanted more time to explore the castle's secrets.

As he sat casually eating breakfast at the Gryffindor table, he noticed that Ron and the others were still fast asleep in their dormitory. They’d stayed up far too late celebrating the start of the holiday.

The festive atmosphere gave Harry an idea: friends were supposed to exchange gifts at Christmas.

Perhaps he could gift Ron a wand, Harry thought.

But that posed a dilemma. Wands required the owner’s presence for proper selection since the compatibility between wizard and wand was critical. And with Ron leaving for home in just a few days, randomly picking one from Ollivanders wouldn’t do.

“It’s him, it’s him!”

While Harry mulled over his thoughts, the Weasley twins suddenly appeared, flanking him on either side.

“Our little hero—”

“No, our little lion king,” Fred corrected George. “He defeated Slytherin—in every sense of the word. Naturally, he’s our lion king.”

“He crushed that Farley Percy idolizes and spat him back out,” George added with a grin. Then, leaning in conspiratorially, he whispered, “So, little lion king, how about joining us in a brilliant plan?”

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“What plan?” Harry asked, taking a bite of toast.

“Quirrell—I mean, Professor Quirrell,” Fred said in a low voice. “That stench he carries around is unbearable. Who knows what’s really under that thick turban of his? I think it’s garlic, but George here thinks it’s hiding something more... sinister. Care to wager on it?”

“What kind of wager?” Harry asked, intrigued.

“About what’s under his turban, of course,” the twins said in unison.

Harry paused mid-scoop of baked beans, turning to study the twins more closely.

He’d always known they were fond of pranks, but he hadn’t expected them to set their sights on a professor.

Interesting... very interesting.

Harry wasn’t particularly fond of Professor Quirrell either. For someone tasked with teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts, Quirrell seemed remarkably adept at wasting everyone’s time.

What irked Harry even more was that if Quirrell’s classes were merely dull, they might have been tolerable. But no—his lectures were not only mind-numbing but also accompanied by the overpowering stench of garlic, making it impossible to nap through class.

Even Hermione, typically so respectful of authority, had taken to referring to him simply as “Quirrell,” pointedly dropping the “Professor.”

So, Harry found himself intrigued by the twins’ plan and reluctant to pass up the chance to make Quirrell’s life a bit more difficult.

“But wait,” Harry said suddenly. “Aren’t you two going home for the holidays?”

“Change of plans. Mum and Dad are off to Romania to visit Charlie,” Fred replied. “You’ve heard of Charlie, right? The Gryffindor Seeker and captain before you. He’s working with dragons in Romania now—Ron must’ve mentioned him.”

“That sounds amazing,” Harry said, relieved that his earlier dilemma about Ron was now resolved.

Since Ron wasn’t leaving, Harry could take him to Ollivanders in Diagon Alley instead.

“It is amazing,” Fred agreed. “Charlie actually wanted to go professional in Quidditch, but Mum insisted on a more ‘respectable’ career. To avoid disappointing her, he gave up his dream. Can you imagine? He used to talk about Quidditch non-stop, even during meals.”

“That’s really unfortunate,” Harry said. “So, what’s the plan? How are you going to get Quirrell to take off his turban?”

“Here’s how,” Fred and George said, leaning closer to outline their scheme in hushed tones.

“Quirrell leaves his classroom at exactly eight every morning to head to breakfast. With all the recent snowfall, we could aim snowballs at the back of his head. He’ll have to take off the turban to clean up. What do you think?”

“I’m in,” Harry said with a nod. The plan was simple and had a plausible excuse.

If caught, they could always claim it was an accidental misthrow during a friendly snowball fight. Surely, no professor would take that too seriously.

The twins exchanged gleeful looks and high-fived.

“I knew our lion king wouldn’t turn us down!”

“It’s seven forty now. We’d better prepare,” George said.

Harry considered it briefly and decided that snowballs alone might not suffice.

“Wait here. I’ll grab something from the dormitory,” he told them.

“What is it?” Fred asked curiously.

“If the snowballs don’t work, this will,” Harry said cryptically before heading off.

Back in the dormitory, his three roommates were still fast asleep.

Since there were no classes, Harry decided not to disturb them.

His attention turned to the window, where a potted plant sat.

The plump, wriggling biting cabbage looked quite content in its pot.

Neville had been diligently caring for it, watering and fertilizing it with precision.

Harry smiled, thinking that Neville’s enthusiasm for Herbology could definitely be nurtured further. Plants like Mandrakes, Venomous Tentacula, and biting cabbages were all formidable allies for wizards in battle.

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