Disclaimer: I don't own anything. This is not meant to infringe upon copyrights.
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Because lunchtime was only halfway through, many students were still in the Great Hall, happily enjoying their delicious fried pork chops and roasted potatoes with their friends, as usual.
However, just then, an incredibly pungent odor suddenly wafted in from outside.
The young wizards sitting near the door were the first to suffer, nearly vomiting all over their tables in the process.
"Ugh... Damn it, who threw dung in the hallway!" roared a Gryffindor wearing a prefect's badge.
His shout did a good thing, at least alerting those inside.
The next second, they too smelled the odor.
The entire Great Hall erupted in chaos; students stopped eating and rushed out of the Great Hall.
But once they were outside, they found the smell even stronger. Going back was impossible now; they could only grit their teeth and run towards their respective common rooms.
Amidst the chaos, Percy keenly noticed that his two twin brothers didn't seem to be in the Great Hall.
"Fred, George, it really is you…"
Percy felt he had discovered the truth. He squeezed out of the Great Hall and stormed toward the Gryffindor common room. "I must write to Mum!"
"My dear brother, what do you want to tell Mum…"
Just then, two identical figures suddenly appeared at the corner ahead, blocking his way.
George chuckled, "Before you write to Mom, can you tell us what happened in the Great Hall? We were only gone for a little while, and it's become so…noisy."
"Don't pretend, you know what you've done?" Percy retorted angrily, "Throwing tons of dung balls at the castle, affecting almost all the students, you'll get Gryffindor docked a lot of points!"
"Wait, Percy…" Fred was equally angry, "Even if you're our beloved older brother, you can't slander us like this."
"That's right." George nodded seriously, "We were on the Quidditch pitch the whole time, how could we have had time to throw dung balls at the castle?"
"Stop making excuses, you…"
"Go ask around." Fred interrupted him angrily, "All the players can testify for us."
George gave him a disappointed look, "Percy, I never imagined you'd slander your own brother just to claim credit."
"I will definitely write to Mom about this."
The two turned and left.
Percy watched their retreating figures, remembering their earlier confident promises, and suddenly felt a pang of panic.
"Did I really misunderstand?"
He scratched his head, worried that they might actually write to his mother to complain about him. He wanted to chase after them, but couldn't bring himself to do it, so he just stood there, conflicted.
Meanwhile, Fred and George were already laughing hysterically after they were out of Percy's sight.
Fred took a deep breath and said, somewhat intoxicated, "Truly worthy of the twenty Galleons worth of this special dung bomb, the smell is incomparable to ordinary ones."
"To be precise, it should be nineteen Galleons and ten Sickles," George corrected. "Don't forget there's also a big bag of balloons."
"Sorry, I forgot about that," Fred said, somewhat puzzled. "But what does Kyle need balloons for? They pop with a single touch; they're practically the lowest-grade joke props."
"Who knows," George shrugged. "Maybe they'll have some other use."
The two walked and talked, quickly blending into the chaotic crowd.
On the way, they encountered Kyle again. The three exchanged glances, tacitly remaining silent.
When Kyle returned to the common room, it was already quite crowded.
"It's the Slytherin Quidditch team, Rosier and Marcus are there," an upperclassman sitting on the middle sofa said.
"They were playing with dung balls in an empty classroom on the second floor, and they even blew up the door. Peeves saw them, and then he yelled in the hallway, attracting a lot of attention. Now Rosier and the others have been taken to Professor Snape's office by Filch. But they claim they are the victims."
They believed the last part. After all, Rosier was a seventh year student; even if he were, he wouldn't lock himself in an abandoned classroom to play with dung balls. It was obvious he'd been tricked.
But that had nothing to do with them.
Harris, sitting nearby, took a big gulp of pumpkin juice and said gloatingly, "Ha, serves them right."
Someone in the crowd said worriedly, "Do you think Professor Snape will suspect us?"
"Let him suspect us then, it's not like we did it," Harris said nonchalantly. "Besides, our conflict with Rosier and the others happened a week ago. Gryffindor is more suspicious, aren't they?"
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"It must be Gryffindor!" Rosier said, trembling, in the Potions Office.
Marcus and the others had been taken away by Filch and put in solitary confinement, but Rosier was left behind. He stood in a corner, his face ashen, looking extremely listless.
Being hit in the face with dung was only one aspect; more importantly, he was freezing.
When Filch brought him here, Snape had rinsed him three times with water and wouldn't allow him to use any spells to dry his clothes.
Only then would the stench on him be less noticeable.
But the problem was that the Potions Office was right next to the underground classroom, where the temperature was already low, and now it was November, and the breeze... it was incredibly irritating.
Within minutes, a thin layer of ice had formed on Rosier's clothes.
"You don't need to tell me that,"
Snape said coldly, glancing at him. "What I don't understand is how you could be so stupid, using the Nimbus 2000... Where's your brain? Did you lend it to a troll?"
"Professor, I didn't mean to open it," Rosier stammered. "I just wanted to hide it, but then Peeves showed up..."
Rosier explained the situation, omitting some unimportant details, successfully portraying himself as a good captain concerned with Slytherin's honor.
Snape listened, then looked at him expressionlessly. "Is what you said true?"
"Yes, it's true," Rosier said firmly. "I guarantee it, Professor."
"Very good, not completely stupid."
Snape tossed him a potion. "Go find Filch."
Rosier, feeling like he'd been granted a pardon, took the potion and immediately poured it into his mouth.
The purple potion made his face turn even paler, and he coughed repeatedly, choking on it.
Honestly, this tastes almost no better than the previous dung balls.
[End of the chapter]