The anguished scream was so loud that even the students in the Great Hall heard it clearly.
Justin Finch-Fletchley, a Muggle-born Hufflepuff dozing at his table, jerked awake.
"Whose cat is that?"
----
Outside the hall, Professor Quirrell was frantically pounding at the biting cabbage latched onto the back of his head. His pained howls echoed through the castle.
"Professor Quirrell?"
Professor McGonagall hurried over, flanked by Professors Flitwick and Sprout.
Seeing the cabbage stubbornly clamped down, Professor Sprout rushed forward. She used some unknown method, and the cabbage finally let go, twisting its round body before leaping obediently into her arms.
"Professor Quirrell, are you all right?" Professor Sprout asked with concern. "Do you need to go to the hospital wing?"
Lying in the snow, Quirrell eyed the cabbage trembling in Sprout's arms with visible dread. He scrambled backward on his hands and knees.
The pain from the bite was secondary; what worried him was the wrath of that man...
The memory of the torment he had endured after cursing Potterâs broomstick during the last Quidditch match sent a shiver down his spine.
Just the thought made him break out in a cold sweat.
"I... I'm fine," Quirrell stammered, even as blood trickled from his wounded scalp.
The crimson seeped into his turban, darkening it. With every movement, cloves of garlic soaked in blood fell to the ground.
"Iâll just... go handle this... excuse me," Quirrell stuttered, clutching his turban tightly as he fled awkwardly.
Harry had been watching the scene and couldnât help but notice Quirrellâs odd behavior. Normally, a professor targeted by such a prank would at least scold the students involved. But instead of getting angry, Quirrellâs first reaction was to flee.
Could it be... that there really was a secret hidden under his turban?
"Weasley twins?" McGonagall's sharp tone interrupted his thoughts. She had caught sight of Fred and George sneaking back into the Great Hall.
"Why are you two here?" she demanded. "And donât tell me that biting cabbage was one of your pranks!"
"Sorry, Professor," Harry spoke up quickly before the twins could respond. "That biting cabbage was a gift from Professor Sprout. This morning, I noticed it wasnât behaving quite right, so I brought it here to show her."
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"Is that so?" McGonagallâs gaze scrutinized Harry.
Behind her, the twins let out a silent sigh of relief, giving Harry discreet thumbs-up signs.
Good lad. Loyal to a fault.
Harry nodded earnestly. "Yes, Professor."
"Thatâs correct, Minerva," Professor Sprout chimed in. "The cabbage was a gift from me to Mr. Potter."
"And what exactly is wrong with it?" McGonagall pressed.
"It seemed a bit listless," Harry replied.
As soon as the words left his mouth, the cabbage snapped its jaws with an audible clomp-clomp, as though it hadnât bitten enough.
"You call that listless?" McGonagallâs eyes narrowed suspiciously.
For a brief moment, she thought she saw James in Harry. But she quickly shook off the thought.
Merlinâs beard, no! Potter is just like his mother, not his father. He couldnât possibly be as mischievous as James.
It must have been her imagination.
"Apologies, Professor. It really was like that earlier today," Harry said, putting on a woeful expression and looking up at McGonagall with wide, pleading green eyes. "Itâs my fault. I wasnât careful and tripped, flinging the cabbage. I didnât think it would..."
McGonagallâs heart softened instantly.
Yes, Lilyâs child couldnât possibly have done such a thing on purpose.
It had to be an accident.
Her expression softened as she said, "Since it wasnât intentional, I wonât punish you further, Mr. Potter. However, Gryffindor will lose ten points."
"As for you two..." She turned her stern gaze on the Weasley twins.
"Professor, weâ" Fred and George began.
But McGonagall cut them off, her face hard. "The snowball cannons behind the shrubbery... that was your doing?"
"Yes, Professor," they admitted in unison.
"Both of you will serve detention in my office after the holidays," she declared, leaving no room for argument.
"Yes, Professor," they replied. As soon as she turned away, they exchanged a glance of relief.
Whew! Detention? Couldâve been worse.
Once McGonagall left, the twins flanked Harry, throwing their arms over his shoulders.
"Well done, mate," they chorused. "Didnât sell us out."
Harry shrugged. "Itâs nothing. But now Iâm even more curious about whatâs under Professor Quirrellâs turban. Think about itâhit by snowballs, bitten by that cabbage, and he still wouldnât take it off. Thereâs definitely something heâs hiding."
"Yeah, youâre right," Fred agreed. "Heâd rather let us off the hook than risk exposing whatâs under there. Thatâs strange."
"Could it be something on the back of his head?" George wondered. "Like a nasty growth? Or... what if itâs dragon pox?"
"If it were dragon pox, it wouldnât only affect his head," Harry pointed out. "His face and hands would show signs too. Itâs unlikely."
He paused, then added thoughtfully, "I donât think itâs an illness. Maybe heâs dabbling in some kind of dark magic and doesnât want anyone to know."
"Dark magic?!" the twins exclaimed in hushed voices. "But heâs the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. Why would he be studying dark magic?"
"Well, as the saying goes, âKnow your enemy to defeat your enemy,â" Harry replied with a shrug. "Anyone skilled in defending against dark magic would have to know it well. Otherwise, how could they counter it?"
"That makes sense," the twins said in unison. "But how do you know?"
"Itâs simple," Harry explained. "If it were just an illness, even dragon pox, there wouldnât be any reason to hide it. But heâs clearly desperate to keep the turbanâs secret, even at the cost of his dignity. If itâs not dark magic, what else could it be?"
The twinsâ eyes lit up.
"So, what should we do?" they asked together.
----
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