Dinner time arrived, and the Great Hall filled with the familiar clatter of plates and chatter of students. The enchanted ceiling reflected a dusky evening sky, faint stars flickering into view as the candles above the long tables burned steadily. At last, Alan Cecil decided to make an appearance. He was rarely seen at dinner, and his arrival immediately drew a few curious glances from students who had grown used to his habit of avoiding the crowds. Unfortunately, though he entered the hall, the distinguished Alan Cecil had no real interest in the food being served.
Alan's eyes swept the Gryffindor table until he found the two people he was looking for—George and Fred Weasley. The twins were predictably devouring their meal with a mix of gusto and distraction, whispering to each other between bites as though plotting something mischief-laden.
Alan walked over and sat himself beside them.
"Hey, Alan!" Fred greeted cheerfully, raising his spoon like a toast. "Didn't expect to see you in the hall tonight. Thought you'd be sneaking off to the kitchens again to whip up something fancy of your own."
George chuckled, swallowing a mouthful of porridge. "You've heard, haven't you? Big news—Harry's joining the Quidditch team!"
Alan nodded calmly. "I saw it myself. This afternoon's flying lesson made it clear to anyone watching—Harry showed us what true talent looks like. His performance in the air was nothing short of remarkable."
Fred grinned, clearly pleased.
Alan, however, had already turned his frown toward the bowls in front of the twins. "What on earth are you eating?"
"Milk oatmeal," George replied between bites. "It tastes a bit unusual, but honestly, it's not bad."
Fred pushed his bowl forward slightly as though offering. "Want some?"
Alan leaned closer, sniffed, then recoiled slightly. "Milk oatmeal… with spices? How very—Indian of them. But those poor souls don't realize that seasoning like this needs proper heat to unlock its flavor. Served half-heartedly, it tastes dreadful." He pushed the porridge away with disdain. "It seems the so-called universal seasoning isn't as universal as they think. I'll have to show them how to make a proper sweet seasoning later."
"Universal seasoning?" Fred perked up, immediately intrigued. "Wait—do you mean it works with anything? Like, add it to any dish and it tastes amazing?"
Alan shook his head, raising a hand in a firm stop gesture. "Sorry to disappoint, but no. Seasoning is not some magical powder that bends the rules of taste. It needs to be cooked properly, integrated fully. Without that, it's useless." His expression shifted, more serious now. "But I didn't come here to discuss spices with you."
George arched a brow, spoon still halfway to his mouth. "We figured as much. So then—what's the real reason?"
Alan leaned closer, lowering his voice just enough that the twins had to pause their eating. "I want you to give Percy a bit of… trouble."
Both twins froze. Then Fred, of all people, sat up straighter and actually put on a serious face. "Alan, I think you might be misunderstanding us. Sure, we tease Percy now and then—but he's still family. We're not in the business of deliberately causing him harm."
George's honesty was blunter, as usual. "It's not that we don't want to. It's just that Percy isn't fun to mess with. He complains, runs to Mum, and tattles about everything. Ronald—now, Ronald is entertaining. He doesn't rat us out unless he's actually been hurt."
Alan arched a brow, lips curling in the faintest smile. "Would you like to eat something better than this oatmeal once in a while?"
That got their attention. Fred's expression shifted instantly, his righteous speech forgotten in an instant. "Well, now that you mention it… Percy can be a bit much sometimes. I wouldn't mind teaching him a small lesson or two."
George shrugged, spooning another heap of oatmeal casually. "Even when we don't cause him trouble, he makes up stories and tells on us. Might as well make it worth the effort."
Fred leaned back, declaring with an exaggerated seriousness, "But he's still family—our dearest relative, our friend, our brother!"
George nodded solemnly. "Which means if we're going to bother him, it'll have to be worth the price."
Alan blinked. "Price? You mean… money?"
"Of course not," George said, rolling his eyes. "What we mean is: how often are we talking here? Once in a while? Occasionally? Be practical."
Alan tapped his fingers against the table thoughtfully. "That depends on my own harvests. I occasionally wander into the Forbidden Forest to gather ingredients. When I'm experimenting, I'll invite you to join in. Consider it… payment in kind."
The twins' eyes lit up.
"Deal!" Fred exclaimed.
"Agreed," George echoed, and they both raised their palms. Alan met them with a firm clap.
"But," George added, leaning forward, "what exactly do you want us to do to Percy?"
"Nothing too drastic," Alan replied smoothly. "Just enough to keep him distracted—annoyed, frustrated, too busy dealing with your antics to pay attention to anything else. A little harassment, as often as you find the time."
The twins exchanged matching mischievous grins.
"That's it?" George said.
"Easy enough," Fred added.
"Starting today—"
"—except when he's actually studying or sleeping—"
"—we'll give him our very best harassment," they finished in perfect unison.
Alan chuckled, satisfied. "Good. Then I'll leave it in your hands. You'll be able to find him easily, I assume? He likes to vanish when he doesn't want to be disturbed."
Fred's grin widened. "Don't worry. If Percy's anywhere in Hogwarts, we'll sniff him out. He can't hide from us."
Later that evening, dinner wound down. Students drifted out of the Great Hall, some heading back to their common rooms, others off to finish assignments in the library. Percy Weasley, however, stood nervously at the base of the staircase leading toward the Ravenclaw Tower. His eyes scanned every group of students returning from dinner. The longer he waited, the more anxious he became.
At last, he spotted the person he had been waiting for.
"Penelope!" Percy called, waving perhaps a bit too eagerly.
Penelope Clearwater, walking with a group of friends, paused and looked at him with faint confusion. "Mr. Weasley? What's the matter?"
Her friends immediately broke into laughter, elbowing her lightly before drifting away with teasing smiles. "We'll see you later, Penelope!" one of them called. They left whispering and giggling, clearly amused by Percy's awkwardness.
Percy flushed red but tried to muster his courage. "Penelope, about this morning—I'm terribly sorry."
Penelope's cheeks colored faintly. "I didn't make it because I had something urgent to do…"
"It's fine, really. No harm done," Percy said quickly, waving his hands in embarrassment. "Actually, I… I had something I wanted to tell you—"
But before he could gather his words, the sound of bizarre, high-pitched laughter echoed down the corridor. It was a sound every upper-year student knew too well, a sound that sent shivers down their spines.
Several students froze, eyes widening in alarm.
"Run!" an older Ravenclaw shouted, dashing back toward the common room. "It's Peeves again!"
Indeed, it was. Peeves the Poltergeist came floating into view, his plump form clad in a red-striped suit reminiscent of a circus clown. His face was twisted into a wicked grin, and his cackling laughter bounced off the stone walls.
"Peeves!" groaned several students as they scattered.
Unlike other ghosts, Peeves could interact with the physical world, which made him a menace of the highest order. He delighted in chaos, and once he set his sights on a target, there was little anyone could do.
"Smelly surprise!" Peeves shrieked gleefully, hurling a small ball toward the floor. It struck the stones and exploded with a loud pop. At once, the corridor filled with an overwhelming stench so foul it sent students gagging, coughing, and fleeing as if pursued by dementors.
Dungbombs.
The foul prank item released not only a stomach-churning odor but also a sticky liquid that clung stubbornly to clothes and skin, impossible to wash off quickly.
Penelope paled, covering her nose and mouth. "Sorry, Weasley, I have to go! You should run too!" Without waiting for his reply, she darted away, vanishing into the crowd of retreating Ravenclaws.
Percy stood frozen, his face turning a deeper shade of red—this time from humiliation rather than shyness. He clenched his fists, trying desperately to maintain his dignity.
Peeves spotted him immediately.
"Oooh, look who didn't run away!" the poltergeist jeered, swooping low with an evil grin. "Little Prefect Percy, playing brave, eh? Eat my karma!"
Another dungbomb arced through the air and landed at Percy's feet. With a loud pop, it erupted, and the stench slammed into Percy like a wall. His eyes watered instantly, and his stomach lurched violently.
"Ugh—" Percy gagged, doubling over. "Ugh—!" And then he vomited right there on the flagstones. The stink was beyond endurance.
Hidden at the far end of the corridor, George and Fred peeked out with Alan beside them.
"Think that's enough?" Fred whispered.
George snorted. "Looks effective."
Alan tilted his head curiously. "But why did Peeves listen to you two? Everyone says he's uncontrollable—like a more deranged version of you."
Fred grinned proudly. "Simple. We give him things. Props for his pranks. That dungbomb? Ours."
George added, "We told him something fun was going down here tonight, and he couldn't resist."
Alan's eyes narrowed thoughtfully as he watched Peeves cackle and swoop gleefully in the corridor. The poltergeist was chaos incarnate—but chaos could be… useful.
A bold idea began to form in Alan's mind.
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