Chapter 53: Ambush Quirrell

Harry slipped the biting Chinese cabbage into a small pouch—an item he'd purchased earlier in Diagon Alley from a rather mysterious wizard.

The pouch, enchanted with an Undetectable Extension Charm, was no longer legally sold to the general public. Such enchantments were now restricted, with exceptions made only for school trunks that first-years had to buy from certified vendors.

He also slid a pair of dragon-hide gloves into his pocket. Without proper protection, handling a Chinese biting cabbage could wreak havoc on one’s hands.

“I should grab some biting cabbage seeds next time I’m in Diagon Alley,” Harry mused to himself. Neville was adept at cultivating peculiar plants like these—delegating the task to him seemed like a no-brainer.

But seeds for biting cabbage weren’t sold to young wizards in Diagon Alley. For those, one would need to venture into the shadowy recesses of Knockturn Alley.

Tucking the enchanted pouch securely, Harry tiptoed out of the dormitory.

When he reached the Great Hall, the Weasley twins were already waiting—and visibly impatient.

“Oh, finally!” Fred exclaimed.

“Fred thought you’d chickened out and decided to bail,” George added with a smirk.

“Relax. Even if you two ran off, I wouldn’t,” Harry retorted, his tone firm. “Gryffindor doesn’t lack courage, right?”

“Courage like persuading Quirrell to take off that suspicious turban of his?” The twins exchanged glances and clapped their hands together in unison. “Yeah, sounds about right!”

Harry rolled his eyes. “Listen up.” He sat down, drumming his fingers on the table. “Here’s the plan: the three of us will follow Quirrell as scheduled. You two are in charge of throwing snowballs. If he takes off the turban, perfect. If not, I’ll handle the next part. Got it?”

“Got it, Lion King,” the twins chorused.

“Good.” Harry glanced at the clock on the wall. “It’s 7:50 now. We’ve got ten minutes to set up—”

Before he could finish, Hedwig swooped into the hall, wings laboring against the bitter cold. She seemed so drained that she practically crash-landed into Harry’s arms, like a bird shot from the sky.

“Your owl doesn’t look great,” Fred observed. “You should get her some tonic. The weather’s brutal.”

“You’re probably right,” Harry agreed, carefully taking a letter from Hedwig’s beak.

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“Ooh, ooh!” George’s eyes lit up as he spotted the handwriting on the envelope. “Looks like it’s from a girl…”

“Enough, George! Respect his privacy,” Fred chided, dragging his brother back before turning to Harry. “We’ll scout ahead for you.”

“Thanks. I’ll catch up soon,” Harry replied.

Once the twins left, Harry unfolded the letter. A faint scent of vanilla drifted up as he read:

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Dear Mr. Potter,

I must apologize for yesterday. Being a Slytherin Prefect carries not only honor but also responsibility.

Might you have time today? I’ll be waiting in the empty classroom on the second floor. Please send your reply with your owl. I’ll await your response.

Sincerely,

Gemma Farley

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“Gemma Farley?” Harry murmured, folding the letter and slipping it back into the envelope.

What could she want?

An invitation was an invitation, and Harry saw no reason to decline.

I’m a Gryffindor—why should I be afraid of a Slytherin?

Borrowing paper and a quill from a cheerful Hufflepuff boy nearby, Harry quickly penned a response and handed it to Hedwig.

“Thanks for the quill and parchment,” Harry said, returning the items. “Hi, I’m Harry Potter.”

“Of course I know who you are!” the boy said with a bright grin, extending a hand. “Cedric Diggory. Just call me Cedric.”

“Thanks, Cedric,” Harry nodded before pointing toward the door. “Sorry, the twins are waiting for me outside.”

“Don’t let me keep you, Harry,” Cedric chuckled. “Go on before they get impatient.”

Downing a quick glass of water, Harry bade Cedric farewell and hurried out.

The twins were crouched behind some bushes, shivering against the icy wind.

“Guys.”

Harry ducked behind the bushes and froze. His eyes fell on the massive stockpile of snowballs behind them—enough to supply Napoleon’s artillery corps.

“What the—?! The plan was to hit Quirrell! Not every professor on campus!”

“Relax,” Fred said nonchalantly, grabbing a snowball the size of two fists. “These are the ordinary ones.” He crushed it with a dramatic flourish.

“This,” George added, holding another, “is the enhanced version.” He brushed off the surface snow, revealing a gleaming ice core.

Harry’s eyelid twitched. Good grief, these two are terrifying.

All I wanted was to chuck a Chinese biting cabbage at Quirrell. But this? What are they even trying to do?!

“Isn’t this overkill?” Harry ventured cautiously.

“Well,” Fred shrugged, “it beats sitting through another class of garlic fumes. Honestly, I’d rather have Snape teaching Defense Against the Dark Arts. At least we’d learn something useful—even if Gryffindor lost a hundred points.”

“Shh!” George suddenly grabbed their sleeves. “Someone’s coming!”

The three of them peered over the bushes to see Quirrell strolling toward the Great Hall, a book clutched under one arm.

“Ready—” Fred whispered.

The twins lobbed their snowballs at Quirrell’s turban.

“Who’s there?!” Quirrell yelped, swatting at his head. But no matter how frantically he flailed, the turban remained firmly in place.

As the twins prepared their “enhanced” snowballs, Harry stopped them.

“Let me.”

Donning his dragon-hide gloves, Harry reached into his enchanted pouch. The twins watched as he pulled out the Chinese biting cabbage, now wriggling slightly in the frigid air.

Harry approached Quirrell, feigning a stumble as he neared.

The flowerpot shattered with a sharp crack, sending the cabbage bouncing across the ground like a rogue Bludger.

In seconds, it latched onto Quirrell’s neck.

“AAAAHHHHHHH!!!”

Quirrell’s piercing scream echoed through the grounds.

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