This round of spell upgrades brought Eda a tangible boost in power.
As her abilities grew, so did her confidence.
With her confidence swelling, Eda felt like she could take on ten people at once!
Sure, she could take on ten people—but whether she could win was another matter entirely. A more likely outcome was that Eda would get gang-beaten by the ten and end up in St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies again.
The trending topics chart at Hogwarts hadn't changed in ages—it was still stuck on the troll incident. Eda couldn't help but once again blame Quirrell's incompetence.
Christmas break was almost here, and the villain was still acting like nothing had happened. He hadn't done a single thing a proper villain should be doing.
Sometimes Eda felt she was being too harsh on Quirrell.
After all, just getting through one class properly was already a feat for him—one that would take burning incense and ancestral blessings to achieve.
The semester was nearly halfway through, and not even a quarter of the Defense Against the Dark Arts syllabus had been covered. What other professors could teach in one class, Quirrell needed three to four lessons to get through.
It wasn't just Eda mocking his stutter—his poor speech was only one reason for the delays in class. The main problems were his cowardice and incompetence. Students often disrupted his classes and scared him. A few times, they nearly sent him straight to meet Merlin.
Each time, Quirrell would be scared half to death by the students' crude pranks, and each time, he never got angry. Since they could mess with a professor without facing any punishment, bored students eagerly joined in.
The culture of bullying Quirrell just kept getting worse.
Fortunately, this weekend, Quirrell wouldn't have to see any students—he could leave the castle and breathe some fresh air. That was because all the students from third year and above had gone to Hogsmeade, and those students were the main force behind Quirrell's torment.
Hogsmeade was a wizarding village located right next to the school, but Hogwarts didn't allow first and second years to visit. Even third years and above needed permission from a parent or guardian to go on designated weekends.
Anything restricted tends to become more desirable, and going to Hogsmeade was no exception.
That morning, students gathered early, and more and more kept arriving. Nearly everyone who could go to Hogsmeade showed up—it was the last chance before the Christmas holidays, and no one wanted to miss it.
But even for such an important opportunity, there were some who had no desire to go—because Hogsmeade no longer held any appeal for them.
Those three people were Eda and the twins, who possessed the Marauder's Map. They had already visited Hogsmeade back in their first year. Knowing the seven secret passageways leading to the village, they could go anytime they wanted—no need for the school's permission, nor a guardian's signature.
It had just snowed a few days ago, and the snow outside was deep, crunching beneath their feet. A few younger students were happily engaged in a snowball fight.
Seeing people playing, Fred and George felt their hands itching too. As they walked, they started packing snowballs, planning to hurl them at anyone they recognized.
Eda didn't bother making snowballs—snow was cold, and she didn't want to freeze her hands. If she needed to throw one, she could just use the ones the twins had already made. Or better yet, she could just knock the opponent down directly and bury them in a snow pit.
After wandering around for quite a while, the twins didn't run into anyone they knew. Not only did they not throw out the snowballs they were holding, but they kept making more and more, rolling them larger and larger.
One thing led to another, and with their playful spirits fully ignited, the twins dragged Eda over to start building a snowman.
The twins were working away enthusiastically, while Eda stood off to the side with her arms crossed, showing no intention of joining in. Lazy to the core, Eda didn't want to move at all, nor did she want to freeze her fair hands until they looked like chicken claws.
"Eda, I'm giving you two choices right now," said one of the twins. "You can either reach out and help us build the snowman—"
"—Or the two of us will throw you into the snow pile. Please tell us your choice," said the other.
This lazy, freeloading behavior naturally didn't escape the twins' eyes. The brothers issued an ultimatum, forcing Eda to make a decision.
Left with no other choice, Eda reluctantly reached out to help and started rolling snowballs with the twins. As the snowball grew larger, Eda discovered that rolling snowballs was surprisingly stress-relieving—just a bit cold on the hands.
Once the large snowball was finished, Eda headed into the castle. She wanted to find arms for the snowman.
The corridor was swept with icy, bone-chilling drafts, and Eda didn't search very carefully—she casually grabbed two brooms, snapped them in half, and brought the pieces back out of the castle.
These two innocent brooms probably belonged to Filch. Hopefully, he wouldn't end up hugging Mrs. Norris and weeping over their disappearance.
By the time Eda returned with the two broken broomsticks, the twins had already rolled a smaller snowball. They were in the process of placing it on top of the large one.
After the twins finished placing the smaller snowball on top, Eda stepped forward and stuck in the broken broom halves as arms. The twins then pulled out two stones of roughly equal size to serve as the snowman's eyes, and Eda untied the red ribbon she used for her hair and used it as the snowman's mouth.
"Damn.."
The three of them stood back, admiring their finished creation with satisfaction. But after a moment, something started to feel off—the longer they looked, the more they realized something was missing.
Whose snowman doesn't have a nose?
Just as they were debating whether or not to add a nose to the snowman, Quirrell's figure suddenly appeared in their line of sight.
Their discussion came to an abrupt halt, as if a snowman without a nose had always been the proper way to go.
Quirrell's appearance gave Eda and the twins a new target. Who cared about the snowman's nose now?
The twins didn't even need to exchange a glance. They immediately bent down and began rapidly forming snowballs. Once ready, they hurled them straight at Quirrell—both snowballs hitting him squarely.
Whenever there were others around, Quirrell would dive right into character, disguising himself as a completely harmless man.
After getting hit by the snowballs, he didn't show any anger. Instead, he launched into a dramatic performance, letting out a high-pitched scream like a banshee had just given him a passionate hug from behind.
Watching Quirrell stay in character so diligently, Fred and George suddenly remembered they were wizards. They pulled out their wands and enchanted several snowballs to chase after him midair.
The magically-propelled snowballs flew straight at the ever-dramatic Quirrell, who stood there frozen like he'd been scared senseless. It wasn't until a student shouted at him to run that he finally stumbled away, letting out shrill screams as he fled.
In fact, all Quirrell had to do was wave his wand and those enchanted snowballs chasing him would've dropped to the ground—but he didn't. To any onlookers, those snowballs seemed just as terrifying to him as a troll, because all he did was cover his head and run.
Eda, amused to no end, silently critiqued Quirrell's acting in her head: too performative, lacking depth—he wouldn't even make it past the auditions. Actors, Please Take Your Places.
Maybe Quirrell had heard Eda's inner commentary, or maybe he realized just how poor his performance was, because he clutched his head and dashed toward the castle, eager to flee the stage.
Though Quirrell managed to exit the scene, he still couldn't escape the fate of getting pelted by snowballs.
The twins had added a speed boost to the flying snowballs, and before Quirrell could make it inside the castle, they caught up to him—smashing right into the turban wrapped around his head.
"This is no fun. We humiliated him this badly, and he still reacts like that. I don't know if he's really that pathetic or just way too deep in character," Fred said.
The twins didn't even high-five, which showed just how disappointed they were in Quirrell's performance.
"How about next time we just take that precious turban of his?" George suggested with a gleam in his eye. "Even when he's getting pelted with snowballs, he keeps guarding it. That thing's gotta be important."
That's the thing about the twins—they always had an unconventional way of thinking, seeing things from angles no one else did. If they hadn't mentioned it, Eda wouldn't even have noticed that Quirrell had been protecting his turban all along. She had assumed he was just shielding his head.
Still pondering why that turban seemed so important, Eda had no idea that Quirrell had actually gone and reported the incident to Professor McGonagall—and even included her, the passive observer, in his complaint.
The twins, meanwhile, had no clue either. They had no idea that pelting Quirrell's turban with snowballs would end up being one of the defining moments of their lives.
Their first confrontation with Voldemort came even earlier than Eda's.
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