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An hour after Hagrid left the room and Harry had a chance to look through the album Hagrid had given him, the leather-covered book with pictures of his parents, the Weasley twins walked into the Hospital Wing.
“Harrikins! You gave us all a fright there,” Fred said, George by his side.
“We brought gifts for the Boy Who Lived Twice!” George said, dumping twice the amount of candy that was already on his bedside table in front of him.
“If you start calling me that I’ll hex you-I’ve learned some pretty good ones from Hermione,” Harry said, narrowing his eyes playfully.
“Well, there’s no choice but to Harrikins,” George said, picking up a chocolate frog. “Now that Quirrell’s Secret Turban Society is gone.”
“Do I even want to know?” Harry asked, rubbing his forehead.
“Well,” George started, eyes gleaming.
“In the dungeons,” Fred continued, picking up the thread seamlessly.
“You interrupted the meeting of the Secret Turban Society—”
“Quirrell was there, the Grand High Fabric-Wrapper himself—”
“—and they didn’t take well to an outsider—”
“—finding out about their secret, silk-based society.”
“And they tried to induct you by force—”
“Because you refused to leave without the Stone—”
“—The Sorcerer’s Stone, which was actually just a very hard piece of Turkish Delight wrapped in a turban—”
“They attacked with high-thread-count fury—”
“And you fought them, valiant as a lion—”
“But one of them was Voldemort, trying to hide his bald head because he couldn't find a hat he liked.”
“You fought them off with a rogue scarf—”
“And won single-handedly!”
“But the smell of garlic from the initiation ritual was too much—”
“And you blacked out from the sheer olfactory offense—”
“And now you’re here.”
The twins stood side-by-side, grinning widely at Harry, who sat stunned by the sheer absurdity of their rendition.
“So, in your version, Quirrell is the leader of a secret society for turbans and Voldemort was there because he’s self-conscious about his hair?” Harry asked, managing to ignore their synchronized winces at the name. “That’s not even close to what happened.”
“Tell us the truth then, but be warned: it took us a good twenty minutes of brainstorming in the common room to come up with that, so don’t go spreading boring rumors,” Fred said, popping a jelly bean into his mouth and immediately making a face that suggested it was earwax.
“Don’t tell rumors about a rumor? Really, guys? Do I really want a story about me defeating a Secret Turban Society on the front page of the Daily Prophet?”
“Gred, listen to him. Everyone’s already heard about the Secret Society. We can’t stop the legend of the Boy Who Lived Twice from growing,” George sighed dramatically.
“George, stop,” Harry groaned.
“You did save Hogwarts from the Great Silk Menace!” George insisted, ignoring Harry’s dissatisfied glare. “Gred, we sadly can’t stop ickle Harrykins from telling the whole school. Dumbledore probably knows the truth already, and he’s a terrible gossip.”
“Forge, can we at least try to keep our version going until someone says something?” Fred asked his brother. “I’ve already told Lee Jordan that the turban was sentient.”
“I’d do nothing else, Gred. Let’s make the Slytherins question reality. It’s our civic duty,” George replied.
“Perfect,” Fred says, grinning at his twin.
“I’m thinking we should be able to fool those first years, Crabbe and Goyle I think? Definitely Marcus Flint. They’re as dumb as a bag of enchanted hammers.”
“Perfect. We should also-”
“Not complaining about you two pranking Slytherins, especially Crabbe and Goyle,” Harry interrupted, leaning forward, his expression turning more serious. “But how about I tell you what actually happened so you can make the lies even more believable?”
Fred looked over at George. They shared a long, silent look—a silent communication that Harry had come to recognize. This kid is definitely getting the map when we’re done exploring all of the uses of the secret tunnels, Fred’s eyes seemed to say. George nodded slowly, a small, genuine smile creeping onto his face. He turned back to Harry.
“Well, Harrykins, let’s hear it. Give us the gritty details.”
Harry took a deep breath. He started from the beginning, but not the beginning they knew. He told them about the midnight trip to the third-floor corridor and the terrifying sight of Fluffy, the three-headed dog. He described the terrifying drop into the Devil’s Snare and how Hermione’s quick thinking with Bluebell Flames had saved them from being strangled. He told them about the room of flying keys and the brutal, giant chess match where Ron had sacrificed himself to ensure their victory. He spoke of the logic puzzle and the wall of fire, and finally, the quiet, cold room where Professor Quirrell stood waiting.
He began describing the Mirror of Erised and how Quirrell had forced him to look into it. Then, his voice dropped an octave as he reached the climax.
“He took off the turban,” Harry said quietly. “And he told me there was someone with him. He had a face on the back of his head. It was Voldemort. He was like a parasite, sharing Quirrell’s body, hidden under the cloth.”
The twins, who had been lazily snacking on candy, froze.
“Did you say You-Know-Who was under Quirrell’s turban?” Fred asked, his voice unusually high.
“On the back of his head?” George added, his eyes wide.
“Yeah,” Harry said, confused by their sudden change in demeanor. “He was right there. I could see his eyes and his nose... it was horrible. Why?”
For a moment, there was a deafening silence in the hospital wing. Then, slowly, Fred’s shoulders began to shake. George let out a small, choked noise. Suddenly, they both burst into fits of hysterical, breathless laughter, doubling over and clutching their stomachs.
“What’s going on?” Harry asked, looking between them as if they’d been hit by a Cheering Charm. “It wasn't that funny! He was trying to kill me!”
“Last winter—” Fred gasped, trying to catch his breath.
“We got in trouble—” George wheezed.
“For bewitching snowballs—”
“To fly at the back of Quirrell’s head!”
Harry froze. The image flashed in his mind: the stuttering, nervous Professor Quirrell walking across the snow-covered grounds, being pelted relentlessly by enchanted snowballs while the Weasley twins laughed from the sidelines.
The realization hit him like a Bludger. He hadn't just been hitting a nervous teacher. They had been bouncing packed ice off the face of the Dark Lord himself.
Harry started to laugh. It began as a small giggle in his chest and erupted into a full-blown roar that made his ribs ache. The image of the most feared dark wizard in history being bullied by a pair of teenage pranksters with snowballs was too much to bear.
“I can’t believe you two!” Harry shouted through his laughter, tears pricking his eyes. “You hit Voldemort in the face with a snowball! Repeatedly!”
After laughing for a little while longer, Fred and George left the Hospital Wing whispering, most likely deciding how much of the Secret Turban Society story would work with Harry’s tale and how they could include their throwing snowballs at Voldemort’s face.