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Peeves picked up a stink bomb that was billowing green smoke, as if he had blown the trumpet of chaos itself.
"Catch this, you little brats!" he screeched with wicked glee, hurling the reeking sphere straight at the table where the Golden Trio sat!
"Protego!" Hermione was the quickest to react. Her wand snapped upward in a hurried flick, and in the very last instant an invisible barrier shimmered into being. The stink bomb, its surface dripping with thick green slime, rebounded and went spinning off course.
BOOOOM—!
It missed its intended victims, but landed with perfect accuracy upon a table piled high with Beauxbatons' delicate confections.
At once, a foul green cloud exploded outward, reeking of rotten onions mixed with the sour stench of old socks. The thick smoke spread like sticky slime and splattered across the faces of several Beauxbatons girls, who had only moments ago been daintily nibbling macarons.
"Mon Dieu!" shrieks erupted in every direction.
Their carefully applied makeup and silken gowns were instantly smeared with grotesque streaks of green. The stench was so overwhelming it nearly drove them to faint.
But this was only the beginning!
Peeves, beholding the results of his masterpiece, went into a frenzy of delight. He spun head over heels through the air, his jester's cap jingling wildly.
"Brilliant! Splendid! More, more, more! Lord Peeves demands more!"
Howling with laughter, he swooped down like a whirlwind, seizing handfuls of prankish contraptions from the tables and launching them indiscriminately into the hall.
POP! POP! POP! POP!
Several "Sticky Bubblegum Bombs" came sailing down upon the cluster of Durmstrang students.
The pink spheres burst the instant they struck floor or flesh, swelling into massive blobs of chewing gum that stuck like glue. A few broad-shouldered Durmstrang lads tried to counter with Cleaning Charms, but the gum clung to them mercilessly, pinning them to the ground so tightly they could only thrash and roar curses in heavily accented English.
Ssszzzt!
Next, a row of "Self-Spraying Ink Quills" came whizzing through the air like darts, hurled with reckless aim.
They lodged themselves in the back collars of Hogwarts robes and in the elaborately arranged hair of Beauxbatons girls, then began spewing black ink in every direction without the slightest mercy.
In the blink of an eye, it was as if a rainstorm of ink had burst loose inside the Great Hall. Screams of outrage and horrified shrieks rose one after another, mingling with furious bellows until the noise rattled the very rafters.
Bzzzz—!
A swarm of "Finger-Biting Fake Cockroaches" was unleashed. Their tiny wings hummed with a grating drone as they darted with uncanny precision toward every exposed wrist and ankle in sight.
Though their bites carried no real pain, the sudden furry brush of their bodies and the shock of their relentless assault sent waves of terror surging through the hall. Startled cries erupted everywhere, overlapping and echoing outward like ripples spreading across a storm-tossed lake.
Crackling and fizzing followed…
BANG—! BANG—!
Peeves had lit a handful of colorful fireworks, which shot about the room like madcap rockets.
They streaked through the air, leaving trails of glittering light as they collided with the chandeliers, skimmed dangerously close over students' heads, and even darted beneath the billowing sleeves of Beauxbatons girls before bursting into harmless but terrifying clouds of multicolored smoke.
By now, Hogwarts' Great Hall had been transformed completely into a maelstrom of bedlam, a vortex of chaos unlike anything in its long history, and all of it born from Peeves' wild delight.
In such a storm, what place was left for elegance or composure among the three schools?
All sense of dignity had vanished. Students clutched their heads and fled in every direction, scrambling to escape the onslaught of falling prank devices or clawing desperately at the gum, the ink, and the choking green stench that clung to their robes.
Food was trampled underfoot. Drinks spilled and soaked across the floor. Ornaments were scorched black or knocked from their places by ricocheting fireworks. The din grew deafening, a mad mixture of shrieks, furious shouts, uncontrollable laughter from those fortunate enough to be spared, and the piercing, manic cackles of Peeves soaring overhead.
"Catch him!"
"Scourgify! Scourgify! Blast it, why isn't it working?"
"My new robes, they're ruined!"
"Who stepped on my foot?!"
"George! Fred! Do something, quick!" Lee Jordan bellowed at the top of his lungs, flailing for cover as an ink-spraying quill swooped after him with the fury of a vengeful wasp.
George and Fred caught each other's eyes. In that split second, a spark of wild exhilaration leapt between them, fiercer and brighter than even the chaos Peeves could dream of stirring.
"Merlin's lacy stockings!" Fred grabbed George by the shoulder, his voice shaking with exhilaration. "This is… this is absolutely brilliant!"
"Unprecedented! Legendary chaos!" George's voice trembled too, though his was with uncontainable joy.
He swept his gaze over the hall, taking in the students stumbling, furious, and helpless under the relentless storm of pranks. Then inspiration struck him like lightning. His face lit with awe and admiration.
"Peeves! You absolute genius!"
"This ain't the time to praise him, brother!" Fred cut in sharply. He whipped out his wand, and though his voice was urgent, his expression carried a gleam of wild delight, half-crazed and wholly infectious.
Ignoring the ink spattered across the table, he leapt onto it with a single bound. With wand raised, he pressed the tip against his own throat and cast a Sonorus Charm without the slightest hesitation. His voice thundered through the Great Hall, cutting sharp and clear above the chaos.
"Fellow students! Are you willing to let Peeves trample all over you? Are you still raging because you've got no way to strike back? Then hear this, Weasley Twins proudly present… the hour of counterattack!"
"Free ammunition! Limited-time offer!"
George was already moving. He didn't care that his pocket still bulged and wriggled with a sunflower that had been humming out of tune for half the day. Instead, he yanked out several crystal vials and upended them, spilling their contents in a glittering heap.
Fred, wand still in hand, summoned box after box of their colorful inventions, tossing them out to the crowd with reckless enthusiasm.
"Catch! It's time to fight back!"
CRASH—!
Hands shot up instinctively, and students caught the flying boxes. With hurried fingers they flipped them open, only to find an arsenal of Weasley-crafted mischief tucked neatly inside:
"Portable Bubblegum Sticky Bombs" (Small in size but fiercely sticky, capable of trapping Peeves himself or anything he flung down upon them.)
"Rainbow Ink Counterattack Orbs"(harmless yet spectacular, each one bursting into a cloud of vivid, washable color the moment it struck)
"Farting Gnome Grenades" (pull the pin, throw it, and out would tumble a horde of rubber gnomes that buzzed madly through the air, their comical flatulent noises confusing eyes and ears alike.)
"Harmless Stink Smoke Bombs" (pungent to the point of eye-watering, yet nontoxic, each one spreading a cloud of luridly colored vapors, no less shocking than Peeves' own stink bombs.)
"Counterattack!" someone bellowed, and the single cry ignited the hall like a spark on dry tinder.
The anger that had been simmering suddenly exploded into full-blown frenzy, fusing perfectly with the innate love of mischief that lived in every Hogwarts heart. Their instincts carried them forward.
Hogwarts students led the charge. They knew this sort of "battle" all too well.
The Durmstrang boys treated it as though it were a new kind of duel, hefting Bubblegum Bombs with practiced precision and hurling them straight into Peeves' flight path.
Even the ever-graceful Beauxbatons girls, their silken robes now splattered with black ink, could no longer maintain their composure. One after another, they raised their wands, freezing incoming ink quills in midair with Glacius spells. Then, stooping without hesitation, they snatched up Rainbow Ink Orbs from the boxes and hurled them with startling ferocity at the arrogant figure darting about above their heads.
"Try this on for size, Peeves!" Ron roared with laughter. He drew his arm back and hurled a Farting Gnome Grenade with perfect aim, sending it sailing straight to burst at Peeves' feet.
POP! POP! POP—!
The grenade split open, and out swarmed a chattering cloud of squeaky gnomes. They whirled around Peeves in a frenzy, their endless chorus of fart noises echoing up to the rafters and breaking his line of sight.
"Waaah! Horrid little bugs! Filthy pests!" Peeves shrieked, flailing wildly at the gnome swarm. Yet even as he batted and swiped, his face betrayed something else, a feverish delight, as though he had never in all his life been so gloriously entertained.
The chaos surged higher. This was no longer one-sided bullying. It had become a full-blown battle, wild and evenly matched, as glorious as it was unrestrained.
"Haha! Well struck! More, more!" Peeves whooped with delight. He flipped and rolled through the air with dazzling agility, slipping past several incoming Rainbow Ink Orbs, then with a gleeful cackle snatched up one of the twins' own Harmless Stink Bombs and hurled it right back.
BOOOOM—!
The bomb detonated in a puff of vivid pink smoke right in the midst of several Beauxbatons girls. It didn't reek, but the thick, strawberry-colored haze made them look as if they had been dunked headfirst into a jar of jam.
"Use this against him!" a Durmstrang boy roared, his booming voice carrying above the din. He snatched up a Portable Bubblegum Glue Bomb and stuck it fast to the tail end of a whizzing firework. With a sharp crack, the firework shot crookedly through the air, dragging the sticky payload straight toward Peeves.
"Ooooh! New trick!" Peeves squealed, dodging with sheer delight. Then, never one to let a prank slip by untested, he snatched another Bubblegum Bomb midair and gleefully pasted it onto the back of a quill he had just hurled. The quill shot forward like a missile, zeroing in on a cluster of Gryffindor boys who yelped and dove for cover.
The Great Hall was no longer a dining space. It had transformed completely into a madhouse battlefield of mischief.
Colored smoke bombs burst one after another, clouds of vivid red, green, and purple billowing upward. Rainbow ink splattered in arcs across the high air, painting strange, shifting patterns before dripping down like grotesque fireworks. Bubblegum bombs sailed left and right, sticking to walls, hair, and cloaks alike. The farting gnomes swarmed without pause, buzzing and trumpeting their ridiculous chorus.
Food and drink had long since been forgotten. Tables and benches became barricades, shields, and vantage points. Students instinctively grouped into makeshift squads, covering one another, then surging forward as they rained down the "Weasley ammunition" on Peeves above.
Beauxbatons' elegance lay in tatters. Durmstrang's famed composure shattered into fragments. Hogwarts' students, on the other hand, fully leaned on their "battle-tested" dodging skills, weaving and ducking nimbly through the wreckage like seasoned veterans of chaos.
And just as the pandemonium reached its absolute peak, when the crossfire was at its fiercest and every inch of the hall was alive with whirling, shrieking projectiles…
CREAK…
The massive oak doors of the Great Hall swung open without warning.
At that precise moment, one last missile was loosed. A Farting Gnome Grenade, so thickly coated with bubblegum bombs it looked like a grotesque, sticky bundle, had just been hurled by Malfoy. He had thrown it too hard, and instead of arcing toward Peeves it veered wildly off course. With a sinister hiss, it spun straight toward the doorway, directly at the figures who had just stepped inside.
Four Heads of House. Two Headmasters.
Every student who caught sight of it sucked in a gasp so sharp it seemed to drain the air from the hall. Excitement vanished, terror striking in its place.
Even Peeves froze, mid-flap, mid-shriek. The bells on his jester's cap fell silent, his eyes widening round with shock.
The gnome grenade, swollen with gum and quivering with imminent explosion, traced a hopeless, tragic parabola through the air—
—and landed, steady as a stone, right in the open palm of Professor Snape.
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[Chapter End's]
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