As it was only halfway through lunch, there were still quite a few students in the auditorium. They gathered around with their friends as usual, happily eating delicious fried pork chops and roasted potatoes.
But at that moment, a terribly overwhelming smell wafted in from outside.
The young wizards sitting closest to the door were the first victims, almost vomiting all over the table in surprise.
"Ugh... Damn it, who's throwing Dungbombs in the corridor!" roared a Gryffindor with a Prefect Badge.
His shout at least served as a warning for those sitting inside.
In the next second, they too smelled the odor.
The whole auditorium was in chaos, and students stopped eating, rushing outside in a frenzy.
But once they got outside, the stench was even stronger. By then, it was impossible to go back; they had no choice but to grit their teeth and run towards their respective common rooms.
Amid the chaos, Percy sharply noticed that his twin brothers seemed to be absent from the auditorium.
"Fred, George, it's definitely you guys..."
Percy felt like he'd uncovered the truth. He squeezed out of the auditorium, angrily heading towards the Gryffindor common room, "I must write to mom!"
"My dear brother, what are you going to tell mom..."
At this point, two identical figures suddenly appeared at the corner ahead, blocking his path.
George chuckled, "Before you write to mom, can you tell us what happened in the auditorium? We've only been out for a while, how did it get so... lively?"
"Don't play dumb! You don't know your own handiwork?" Percy snapped, "Throwing Dungbombs all over the castle, affecting almost every student, you'll get Gryffindor docked a lot of points!"
"Hold on, Percy..." Fred, equally frustrated, said, "Even though you're our favorite brother, you can't slander us like this."
"That's right." George nodded seriously, "We've been at the Quidditch Pitch this whole time. How could we have had time to throw Dungbombs in the castle?"
"No more excuses, you guys..."
"Go and ask." Fred interrupted angrily, "All the team players can vouch for us."
George looked at him with disappointment, "Percy, I never thought you'd resort to slandering your own brothers just for some credit."
"I'll definitely write to mom about this."
The two turned and walked away.
Percy watched their backs, recalling their previous confident words, and suddenly felt a bit panicked.
"Did I really get it wrong?"
He scratched his head, worried they might actually write to their mom, pondering whether to chase after them but couldn't bring himself to, stuck in a dilemma.
On the other side, Fred and George were cracking up as soon as they were out of Percy's sight.
Fred took a deep breath, slightly intoxicated, "Wow, no wonder those custom Dungbombs cost twenty Galleons, this smell is truly unmatched by ordinary stuff."
"Actually, it's nineteen Galleons and ten Sickles," George corrected him, "Don't forget the big bag of popping balloons."
"Sorry, I forgot about those," Fred admitted, puzzled, "But what's Kai going to do with the balloons? They pop so easily; they're the most basic prank items."
"Who knows," George shrugged, "Maybe he has another use for them."
They chatted while walking, quickly blending into the chaos of the crowd.
On their way, they bumped into Kai. The three exchanged glances but tacitly avoided speaking to each other.
When Kai returned to the common room, there were already quite a few people there.
"It's the Slytherin Quidditch team, Rosier, and Marcus are all there."
A senior student sat on the central sofa, "They were playing with Dungbombs in an empty classroom on the second floor and even blew up the door, which got caught by Peeves.
Peeves then started yelling in the corridor, attracting a lot of people. Now Rosier and the others have been taken to Professor Snape's office by Filch.
Though they're claiming they're the victims."
They believed the last part, at least.
After all, Rosier was in seventh grade, and no matter how foolish, he wouldn't lock himself in an abandoned classroom to play with Dungbombs. Clearly, he was set up.
But this had nothing to do with them.
Sitting next to him, Harris took a big gulp of pumpkin juice, gloating, "Ha, serves them right."
Someone in the crowd worriedly said, "Do you think Professor Snape will suspect us?"
"Let him suspect all he wants, it wasn't us," Harris said nonchalantly, "Besides, our feud with Rosier and the others was over a week ago, Gryffindor is the more likely suspect now."
...
"It must be Gryffindor!" said Rosier, trembling, in the Potion Office.
Marcus and the others had been taken away for detention by Filch; only Rosier was left behind. Standing in the corner, his face was ashen, looking very bedraggled.
Having been hit face-on by a Dungbomb was one thing, but being frozen was even worse.
When Filch brought him here, Snape had doused him with clean water three times and wouldn't allow him to use any charms to dry his clothes.
Because that was the only way to lessen the stench wafting from him.
But the Potion Office was right next to the dungeon classroom, and the temperature was already low. And since it was November, a little breeze was incredibly biting.
In just a few minutes, a thin layer of ice had formed on Rosier's clothes.
"You don't need to tell me that."
Snape glanced at him coldly, "What I don't understand is, how can you be so foolish, and a Nimbus 2000... have you lent your brain to the Trolls?"
"Professor, I didn't mean to open it," Rosier shivered, "I just, wanted to hide it. But I didn't expect Peeves to come..."
Rosier gave a rough explanation of the situation, omitting some unimportant details to successfully portray himself as a good captain, concerned for Slytherin's honor.
After hearing him out, Snape gazed at him expressionlessly, "Is everything you said true?"
"It's all true," Rosier insisted, "I swear, Professor."
"Very well, at least you're not completely hopeless."
Snape tossed him a bottle of Magic Potion, "Go find Filch."
Rosier, as if granted amnesty, took the potion and poured it directly into his mouth.
The purple potion spread through him, turning his face even paler, as he coughed violently from the taste.
Honestly, this taste wasn't much better than the previous Dungbombs.