The next day, everything outside was blanketed in white.
Harry was awakened by a chorus of cheers.
Turning his head, he saw that Neville, Ron, and the other two were all standing by the window in their pajamas, gazing at the snow outside and cheering excitedly, as if they could not feel the cold at all.
Harry looked out into the distance. All he could see was white, and after staring for a while, his eyes began to blur.
The snow was so heavy...
Hogwarts woke from its slumber to find itself covered in several feet of snow, while the lake had frozen into solid ice.
Harry saw George and his twin dressed in thick clothes, happily playing in the snow. They had enchanted several snowballs to follow Quirrell and smash into the back of his head, right behind his turban.
Harry's mouth fell open. He could not imagine what Voldemort was feeling at that moment—stunned, shocked, furious, probably all of it.
Who was he? The legendary Dark Lord. His darkness had shrouded the wizarding world for ten years. He had ruled an era, started countless wars, and sent vast numbers of wizards into death and flames.
His name alone struck fear into everyone who heard it.
How many times had he come close to death? How many times had he been assassinated? Yet he had escaped death time and again, while all his enemies had died.
But even in the most dangerous of situations, nothing had likely enraged him more than this.
He had been hit in the face!
Two insignificant ants he would never have cared about had hit him in the face with snowballs!
What enraged him even more was that he had to endure it.
At that moment, his hatred for the George twins even surpassed