Douglas watched as Professor Snape strode toward them, his lips twitching in a faint smirk. Show-off, he thought. As if he's the only one who knows how to invent a silencing spell.
But something else quickly caught his attention—only Professor Sprout and Snape had arrived. He frowned slightly. What could possibly have happened to keep both the Headmaster and Deputy Headmistress away from Hogwarts? With such a commotion, Dumbledore should have appeared ages ago.
Professor Sprout hurried over, instinctively pinching her nose.
"Douglas, what on earth happened here? What is all this mess?
Is this all Peeves's doing?
Fat Friar, why are all the ghosts gathered here?"
Before anyone could answer, she spotted Filch—soaked, shivering, but gazing at Peeves with a manic gleam in his eyes.
"Oh, Argus, what happened to you? I suggest you go take a bath, immediately! That water reeks of something… special.
And what on earth is that?"
At that moment, two figures finally realized someone had noticed them. Peeking out from beneath their makeshift bedsheet tent, the Weasley twins scrambled to their feet.
"Professor, it's us!"
"Professor, we didn't do any of this!"
"Yes, George never fought back—we're in detention!"
"Fred was just trying to stay out of trouble. We didn't want to lose any more points!"
Professor Sprout blinked in surprise, then managed a tired smile.
"Of course, I mean—well done! Your detention is over for today.
Mr. Weasley, both of you, please help Mr. Filch back to his quarters, and then return to Gryffindor Tower.
This place is utter chaos!"
With that, she waved her wand, vanishing the puddles with a flick.
But George and Fred protested immediately:
"Professor, we don't think we can leave yet!"
"Our detention isn't finished!"
"It was interrupted by Peeves!"
"We know the whole story!"
They had no intention of leaving now. This was the climax of the night's drama—missing it would be a tragedy for the ages.
Filch gave a ghoulish chuckle, shaking his wet hair.
"Of course I'm not leaving! I want to burn this image of Peeves into my mind.
It's been years since I saw him like this..."
A mocking smile curled on Snape's lips.
"Brawling with Peeves, turning the corridor outside a professor's office into a disaster zone…
Mr. Weasley, both of you, I regret to inform you—thirty points from each for Gryffindor!
Heh."
The red gems in Gryffindor's hourglass crashed down.
The Weasley twins howled in protest:
"No, Professor! Peeves attacked us—we never fought back!"
Douglas snorted.
"Remaining calm in the face of provocation, acting with restraint, avoiding greater disaster—
Mr. Weasley, both of you, sixty points to Gryffindor!"
The red gems soared back up the hourglass.
Snape's smile grew even more twisted.
"Oh, really?
Gryffindors who learned to run from their enemies—where's the famed Gryffindor courage?
Mr. Weasley, both of you have shamed your House—twenty points from each!"
Once again, the gems tumbled down.
Douglas didn't even blink.
"In the heat of battle, remembering your teachers' lessons and holding your ground—that, too, is Gryffindor courage.
Mr. Weasley, both of you, forty points to Gryffindor!"
The gems soared back up.
...
George and Fred were dying inside. Why hadn't they just left when they had the chance? All for the sake of a little gossip, and now they were caught in the crossfire of a professor's duel. Some drama, this—now they were the stars of the show.
The ghosts, meanwhile, had scattered to the corners, or poked their heads through the walls and ceiling, thoroughly enjoying the spectacle. If not for the scowls on the Bloody Baron and Sir Nicholas's faces, some of them might have started taking bets on whether Gryffindor would end up in the red or the black.
Even the House Cup hourglass by the entrance seemed to groan: What am I to you, a revolving door? Back and forth, more gems out than in—just make up your minds already! (And I mean the rubies.)
Just as Professor Sprout hesitated, wondering whether to step in and end the madness, Filch's shrill cry cut through the air:
"Ah! Peeves!"
Everyone whirled around to look at the poltergeist. The magical rope binding Peeves shimmered, turning transparent, then vanished with a faint pop.
Immediately, Peeves let out a whoop:
"Ah… that hurt—brilliant! I feel fantastic!"
And with that, he vanished, gone in a flash.
Snape and Douglas exchanged a look—part confusion, part mockery.
"Hmph! That's it? And here I thought you were the scourge of Peeves. How long did that last?"
"Heh, some 'nemesis' you are. If that's your best, what makes you fit to teach Defence Against the Dark Arts?"
Professor Sprout clearly sensed the sparks flying between them. She frowned, then quietly asked the Fat Friar to usher the ghosts away.
She turned to the Weasley twins and Filch:
"You'd all better go now!"
The twins couldn't have been more grateful. Watching this drama was one thing, but they were starting to wonder if the ticket price was worth it. If Professor McGonagall saw the House Cup hourglass tomorrow, she'd have their heads.
Filch watched the spot where Peeves had vanished, his face fallen, drenched hair hanging limp. He looked about as miserable as a man could be.
Just as the twins broke into a run, Snape's cold, drawling voice rang out:
"Seeing your professors and not offering a proper greeting—ten points from Gryffindor…"
The twins nearly burst into tears. What had they done to deserve this?
They froze, then forced themselves to turn, pasting on strained smiles.
"Good evening, Professor Snape. Sweet dreams!"
"Yes, Professor, may your dreams be… delightful!"
Professor Sprout couldn't take it anymore.
"Go back and get yourselves cleaned up!
Severus, they've had enough for one night—stop tormenting the children!"
Snape's face stiffened, but he turned on Douglas with a sneer:
"I really can't imagine what you were thinking, brewing something so foul in the kitchens.
A man who can turn potions into consommé, reduced to making this… filth.
I recall someone boasting that the art of cookery, at its highest level, is every bit as demanding as potion-making!
Seems you've proven yourself wrong."
Douglas pursed his lips. He was certain Snape had been lurking nearby all along—just waiting to see him embarrassed in front of the ghosts.
At that moment, the Weasley twins hesitated at the door, slowing their steps, unable to resist the lure of more juicy gossip.
~~~❃❃~~~~~~~~❃❃~~~
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