With lunch only half finished, many students remained in the Great Hall, gathered with their friends and happily enjoying pork cutlets and roasted potatoes as usual.
Suddenly, an overwhelmingly pungent smell wafted in from outside.
The young wizards sitting closest to the door fell victim first, caught off guard and nearly retching over their tables.
"Ugh... damn it, who threw dungbombs in the corridor!" Roared a Gryffindor prefect.
His shout served as a warning to those sitting deeper in the hall.
Within seconds, they too caught the horrific smell. The Great Hall erupted into chaos as students abandoned their meals and rushed toward the exits.
Outside, they discovered the stench was even stronger. With no way to return, they had no choice but to steel themselves and flee to their respective common rooms.
Amid the chaos, Percy immediately noticed his twin brothers' absence from the Great Hall.
"Fred, George, it must have been you..." He pushed his way out, storming angrily toward the Gryffindor common room, "I'm definitely writing to Mum about this!"
"My dear brother, what exactly are you planning to tell Mum..."
Two identical figures suddenly appeared around the corner ahead, blocking his path.
George said with a grin, "Before you write to Mum, could you tell us what happened in the Great Hall? We've only been gone a moment, how did it get so... lively in here?"
"Stop pretending you don't know what you did!" Percy said angrily, "Throwing dungbombs all over the castle, affecting almost every student — you'll cost Gryffindor so many points!"
"Wait, Perce..." Fred matched his anger, "Even if you are our beloved brother, you can't slander us like this."
"Exactly." George nodded seriously, "We've been at the Quidditch pitch the whole time, how could we possibly have been throwing dungbombs in the castle?"
"Don't make excuses, you—"
"Go ask around." Fred cut him off angrily, "All the players can vouch for us."
George gave him a disappointed look and said, "Perce, I never thought you'd stoop to slandering your own brothers just to curry favor."
"We're definitely writing to Mum about this."
With that, the two turned and left.
Percy watched their retreating backs and recalled their earnest words, suddenly feeling uncertain.
"Could I have been wrong?" He ran his fingers through his hair, worried they might actually write to Mum to complain about him.
He wanted to chase after them but couldn't swallow his pride, so he just stood there conflicted.
Meanwhile, Fred and George were laughing hysterically once they were out of Percy's sight.
Fred took a deep breath, saying almost dreamily, "These twenty-Galleon special dungbombs really live up to their price — the smell is incomparable to the regular ones."
"Nineteen Galleons and ten Sickles, to be precise." George corrected, "Don't forget about the large bag of snap-balloons."
"Sorry, I forgot about those." Fred said with confusion, "But what does Kyle want balloons for? Those things pop at the slightest touch — they're the most basic of joke items."
"Who knows." George shrugged, "Probably has some other use in mind."
The two walked and talked, soon blending into the chaotic crowd.
On their way, they ran into Kyle. The three exchanged glances but, by unspoken agreement, none of them spoke to each other.
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When Kyle returned to the common room, there were already quite a few people there.
"It was the Slytherin Quidditch team members — Rozier, Marcus, and the others." Said an upperclassman sitting on the center couch, "They were playing with dungbombs in an empty classroom on the second floor and blew up the door. Peeves happened to see them. Then Peeves went shouting about it in the corridors, drawing a crowd. Now Rozier and the others have been taken to Professor Snape's office by Filch, though they claim they're actually the victims."
They believed this last part.
After all, Rozier was a seventh-year student — surely he wouldn't lock himself in an abandoned classroom to play with dungbombs. It was obvious someone had set them up.
But that wasn't their concern.
Harris took a big gulp of pumpkin juice and said gleefully, "Ha, serves them right."
Someone in the crowd asked worriedly, "Do you think Professor Snape will suspect us?"
"Let him suspect." Harris said carelessly, "It's not like we did it. Besides, our conflict with Rozier and the others was a week ago — the Gryffindors are much more suspicious."
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"It must have been Gryffindor!"
Rozier stood shivering in the Potions office, his teeth chattering as he spoke.
Marcus and the others had been taken away by Filch for detention, leaving him alone. He huddled in the corner, his face ashen and thoroughly miserable.
Getting blasted in the face with dungbombs had been awful, but the cold was even worse.
Upon bringing him here, Snape had doused him with water three times and forbidden him from using any drying spells — the only way to partially mask the stench.
The Potions office's location next to the dungeons made matters worse. The November chill and brutal draft had already formed a thin layer of ice on Rozier's soaked clothes.
"I don't need you to tell me that." Snape fixed him with a cold look, "What I can't understand is how you could be so stupid. And a Nimbus 2000... where's your brain, did you lend it to a troll?"
"Professor, I didn't mean to open it." Rozier stammered through chattering teeth, "I just wanted to hide it, but then Peeves showed up..."
He offered a rough explanation, carefully omitting certain details while portraying himself as a team captain concerned with Slytherin's honor.
After listening, Snape regarded him expressionlessly, "Is everything you've said true?"
"It's all true." Rozier said firmly, "I swear it, Professor."
"Very well, at least you're not completely hopeless." Snape tossed him a potion, "Now get out of here and find Filch."
Rozier, as if granted amnesty, caught the potion and downed it immediately.
As the purple liquid went down, his face grew even more ashen, and he broke into a fit of coughing.
The taste, he realized, rivaled the dungbombs for awfulness.
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