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Sundays were ideal for prank planning. Honestly, after two full years of mischief and mayhem, it was a wonder Filch hadn't noticed the pattern, or he'd almost certainly have given up on his little Sunday afternoon naps. (His ink dot always settled in the space labelled 'Filch's Quarters' around three o'clock, usually joined by Mrs. Norris's.) The twins were careful to spread out their crimes so as not to be too predictable, but they counted on Sundays for setup and reconnaissance.
"Just think," Fred chortled, rolling three or four Stink Pellets around on his palm, "we've got exactly 2,000 of these little beauties! Best five Galleons we ever spent!"
George patted his pockets, which like Fred's were stuffed with packs of the odorous projectiles. Considering the number of times they'd had to sneak this lot past their mother between Diagon Alley and Hogwarts, it was a wonder the twins had managed to get them into the school at all, but as soon as they'd seen the sign in Gambol and Japes's window, they'd known it was too good to pass up.
"You don't figure they could be defective, do you?" George wondered again. "With that discount, Gambol's must have been awfully keen to get rid of them."
"I told you, they probably just ordered too many," Fred replied without concern. "Anyway, we can always test out a couple before the big show, just to be safe. Speaking of, check the map, will you?"
George pulled it out as they reached the stairs leading down to the dungeons. Glancing around warily, he pointed his wand and muttered, "I solemnly swear that I am up to no good." The thin lines of ink spread out from his wand tip, and in a moment he could see that the dungeons were reasonably empty: some Slytherins in their dormitory, a Hufflepuff seventh-year in the boys' bathroom, the Bloody Baron wandering around dungeon four. Snape, obligingly, was still in the staffroom where he'd been the last time they checked.
"All clear," George confirmed, and they started off down the stairs. He kept the map open this time; the mischief was officially underway.
"So, as I see it, there's two ways we can go about this," Fred began, leading the way toward the Potions corridor. "Option A: we get a blanket or sheet of some sort to hold all of the Stink Pellets, cast a Disillusionment Charm on it, and then Levitate it up near the ceiling in the hallway just outside of class. Then just as everybody's arriving, we drop the sheet, chaos ensues, and walla! Potions is cancelled." He glanced at George. "Analysis?"
"Well, young Fred—" Stuffing a grin, George drew himself up straight as a rod and mimed pushing a pair of spectacles up the bridge of his nose—"for starters, allow me to inform you that the correct word is voila, not 'walla'—"
That was as far as he got before Fred shoved him. "Quit it, you'll jinx us," he said, rolling his eyes. "Here, give over, I forgot we've got to check for Prefect Pinhead now, too."
"Last spotted on the first floor near Muggle Studies," said George, holding the map away from him, "and that's why I'm the lookout. You stick to ideas. Which, by the way, brings me to a few questions about your Option A." This was their system, not exactly formalized, but built up by long habit. Fred was the creative, the ideas man; meanwhile George made sure it all worked and they didn't get caught. "When do we set this all up? Not right before class, that's certain, not with Snape around. We can't make a Hover Charm last through the night into tomorrow, and it'd be a shame to waste a whole five Galleons just for it to go off at the wrong time."
"Fair point," Fred acknowledged. He thought for a moment. "Sticking Charm?"
"Could be." They were in the Potions hallway now, and George looked up, searching for places to anchor a sheet. "We'd also have to release the charm without getting caught, although I suppose we might be able to hide that in the crowd heading to Potions. The bigger risk is that Snape might decide to just clear the hallway long enough for Filch to sweep up the Stink Pellets and then go right on with class."
"That," declared Fred with a grin, "is where I think you're going to like Option B." And so saying, he moved over to the wall, found a chink in the mortar around one of the stones, and widened it a bit with the tip of his wand. He took one of the Stink Pellets and shoved it into the hole. "And then for good measure," he added, and cast a Disillusionment Charm over the spot. Instantly the hole in the mortar seemed to vanish completely. Fred turned back and beamed at his twin. "Well, what do you think?"
"I think," said George with an answering grin, "that assuming you've got a way to set them all off at once, I'm definitely in favour of Option B."
"Listen and learn, brother mine."
They spread out, counting chinks in the mortar as Fred outlined the rest of his plan. It involved a couple of Bombarda spells and also Peeves, which was always costly considering you had to purchase both his help and his (less than reliable) silence, and his demands in return were always… interesting. However, the risk was sometimes worth the reward, and this was quickly shaping up to be their best prank idea to date. The mortar was old and full of weak spots; they lost count somewhere around 600. With any luck, they would put the entire corridor out of use for two or three days at least.
"Pinhead alert," George announced, checking the map. Percy's ink dot never seemed to stop moving; he'd been through all the first-floor classrooms and then all over the ground floor, and now he was making his way down the dungeons staircase. George could have sworn even his dot on the map looked pompous.
"Wonder if McGonagall knows what a monster she's created?" Fred grumbled, looking over George's shoulder. "We'll never be shut of him this year, will we?"
"Doubt it. What now?"
"Hide. We'll have to work fast if we want to get all the Stink Pellets in place before Snape or Filch finds us, and this plan is far too glorious to put off for a week. We'll hide in the bathroom until he gets tired of parading that badge around and goes back upstairs, and then we can get to work."
The two boys set off at a brisk trot, holding up their robes to prevent their bulging pockets thumping loudly against their legs. They narrowly missed being seen as they left the Potions corridor, but luckily Percy hadn't turned the corner yet. They covered the distance to the boys' bathroom in record time. Nodding at Tibbetts, the Hufflepuff seventh-year they'd seen on the map earlier, who was smoking down at the far end by the sinks, they ducked into two toilet stalls and settled down to wait.
George watched Percy's self-important ink blot make its way through the dungeons, periodically feeding Fred updates in an undertone through the space under the stalls. Percy was moving fairly quickly, likely because he hadn't found anybody to boss around. The only problem was if he checked the bathroom and smelled Tibbetts's smoke—
"Though even Percy wouldn't be thick enough to cross Tibbetts, would he?" Fred muttered. "The bloke's twice his size and could probably pitch him the length of this bathroom without breaking a sweat."
"Percy's awfully confident in that badge of his," George hissed back. "I wouldn't put it past him, especially where there's rule-breaking involved." He shushed Fred as the bathroom door creaked open.
Percy had arrived.
"Here now, Tibbetts, you ought to know better than that," came his haughty voice. "Smoking anywhere on school grounds is strictly prohibited. As a prefect, I'll have to ask you to hand over that cig."
Stifling a groan, George shuffled forward and put his eye to the crack in the stall door. His older brother had drawn himself up to his full height, which wasn't inconsiderable but seemed woefully puny next to Tibbetts's massive frame. The seventh-year was eyeing Percy with unconcealed disdain, his lip curled around his cigarette.
"Sure do like to hear yourself talk, don't you, Weasley?" he drawled. "Bugger off if you know what's good for you."
"I happen to be a school prefect," Percy returned, "and I have full authorization to reprimand and report any students found to be breaking the rules, by authority of Dumbledore himself."
"Do you then?"
Tibbetts stepped forward, and George exchanged a nervous look with his twin through the crack between the stall panels. Percy was being a prat, but he was in over his head, and neither of them cared to see their obnoxious older brother beaten to a pulp or hexed into next term.
Suddenly, Tibbetts grabbed Percy's tie by the flawless Windsor knot and yanked him forward so their faces were inches apart. "Now, what's this I see? Looks to me like red and gold. Not yellow and black. Red." Tibbetts grinned. "Gonna take some points off me, Weasley? No? Not so much authority after all, I guess."
Percy, starting to wheeze from the combined effect of the strangling tie and Tibbetts's breath, gabbled something about reporting to Professor Sprout and seeing that Tibbetts got what was coming to him, but George was watching Fred. His twin's eyes were blazing with fury, and his hands silently sketched out a plan. George drew his wand, readying one of the Stink Pellets between his fingers.
At that moment, Percy started coughing in earnest, and George looked up to see Tibbetts blowing a stream of smoke directly into his older brother's face.
"Waddiwasi!" Fred bellowed, bursting out of the stall with his wand raised. George followed him, shouting the incantation and aiming his Stink Pellet. One after the other, the tiny missiles rocketed towards Tibbetts and sailed up his nostrils, where they exploded with a muffled bang. Tibbetts went flying backwards into the sinks with a howl of shock and pain, dropping Percy to the ground. Noxious green smoke started billowing out of his nostrils, and flickers of green flame could be seen flashing around the end of his nose. The smell was like a sewer.
"Smoke that, Tibbetts!" Fred crowed triumphantly.
The twins placed themselves between him and their brother, though by the howls and moans coming from the seventh-year, Percy was probably in no further danger. Glaring balefully at them through streaming eyes, Tibbetts hauled himself up and bolted from the bathroom, taking the awful stench with him.
"That's right!" George yelled after him. "He may be a prat, but he's our prat, so you can leave him alone!"
The boys turned their attention to Percy, who by now was in the midst of a full-blown asthma attack. Fred pulled him up to a sitting position and supported him while George dug the Spirator and medication out of Percy's pocket. He dumped the powdered Breathing Potion into the bowl of the pipe-shaped device and held it up for his brother to breathe from.
"It's all right, Perce. We've got you," George assured him.
"Right on," Fred agreed. "Not that that wasn't an absolutely moronic thing to do, but we've got your back."
After several anxious moments, the coughing and wheezing finally subsided, and Percy was able to gasp out, "Where—did you get—those Stink Pellets?"
The twins stared at him incredulously.
"Oi, Perce," said Fred, "we just saved your neck. You couldn't at least lead off with a little thank-you?"
The neck in question turned suddenly bright red, and Percy looked down at the ground. "Yes, well," he stammered, "I suppose that wasn't entirely... That is to say, I've seen worse uses... Anyway, you ought to be more—"
"I don't believe this." Fred looked over at George. "He's really not gonna say it."
"Fine," Percy grumbled. "You want me to say that I'm happy that you broke several school rules and may have seriously damaged another student?"
"Yeah. No. You know what? Leave. Now," Fred tossed back. "Thought you might be glad we kept him from seriously damaging you. But forget about it. You've probably got to go report us to somebody, right?"
Percy flushed again and mumbled something that sounded like "suppose that won't be necessary." He got to his feet, and woundedly, the twins watched his back as he walked away. The mumbled "Thanks" that came just before the bathroom door closed behind him was so soft they might almost have missed it.
"Typical Percy." Fred rolled his eyes dismissively. Then he sat back on his heels and laughed. "But wasn't that something?"
"Guess now we know why the Stink Pellets were on sale," George agreed with a grin.
"And how! Never seen any explode like that! And the fire?"
"D'you figure the stones'll hold up? With how old that mortar is, we could blow the entire hallway to pieces!"
"One can only hope!" Fred returned, clasping his hands as if in prayer.
George chuckled and pulled out a full package of Stink Pellets. "Well, you ready to go plant 1,998 Stink Pellets in the Potions corridor?"
"Actually, make that 1,997," Fred corrected with a twinkle in his eye. "We're saving the last one to go under Percy's bed."