Chapter 4: Prank Planning
The Hogwarts dungeons exhaled a damp, musty breath, the air heavy with the scent of wet stone and a faint, sour whiff of stale urine from some forgotten corner. Late afternoon light struggled through high, narrow windows, casting a feeble grey glow that barely reached the cracked stone floor. Alex Sterling leaned against a suit of armor, its cold, unyielding metal pressing into his shoulder through his emerald Slytherin robes. The armor's helmet tilted slightly, as if judging his audacity for lingering in this gloomy corridor, a Slytherin plotting mischief in Gryffindor territory. His fingers tapped a nervous rhythm on the armor's gauntlet, a habit born from years of waiting out tense moments at the orphanage. "This is reckless, but necessary. If I'm going to undermine Malfoy's little empire, I need the best teachers in chaos."
His heart thrummed with excited collaboration, a blend of Slytherin cunning and the thrill of aligning with the Weasley twins, Fred and George—Hogwarts' undisputed prank architects. The corridor was quiet, save for the distant drip of water and the faint clank of chains from a restless portrait. Alex's eyes flicked to the shadows, his Artificer's Enigma system humming quietly in his mind, ready to analyze any sudden magic.
[AE: 50/50]
[CS: 15%]
A piercing shriek shattered the silence, followed by a heavy thud that echoed like a dropped cauldron. Alex's head snapped toward the sound, his hand instinctively brushing his ash wand in his sleeve. Around the corner came Argus Filch, the caretaker, his face a blotchy purple mask of rage. His greasy hair clung to his forehead, and his tattered coat flapped as he flailed, arms windmilling. His foot caught on an invisible thread—unicorn hair, braided tight and shimmering faintly with residual magic. He crashed to the stone floor, his precious 'Offenders Book' skidding across the slick stones, pages fluttering like startled birds near Alex's feet.
From behind a moth-eaten tapestry, Fred and George Weasley emerged, their identical freckled faces alight with barely contained glee. Fred's lips twitched as he whispered a counter-charm, the air crackling faintly with dissipating magic. George gave a silent fist pump, his eyes dancing with triumph. The tripping jinx's energy lingered, a subtle buzz against Alex's skin, like static from a Muggle radio. "Brilliant execution, but sloppy cleanup. They didn't even hide the hair."
Alex activated his system, his gaze fixed on the fallen book to mask the mental effort.
[Artificer's Enigma: Analysis Engaged (Lvl 2)]
[AE: 48/50 Cost: 2 AE (Low-Level Jinx Scan)]
[Runic Structure: Basic Obstruction Charm (Temporary). Focus: Intent to Trip. Material: Fine Unicorn Hair as Conductor.]
The data was a goldmine, breaking the jinx into components he could replicate or improve. His system's ability to dissect magic into technical blueprints was his edge, a secret he guarded as fiercely as his past life's memories. He bent down, scooping up Filch's book, the leather cover slick with grime. The mundane act hid the faint AE drain, a slight chill in his chest, and the mental ping of the analysis. "This is how I'll outsmart them all—piece by piece, charm by charm."
Filch staggered to his feet, muttering curses about "wretched brats" and "chains in the old days." He hobbled off, oblivious to the twins' stifled snickers. Alex stepped forward, holding the book like a peace offering, his voice low and conspiratorial.
"That was a pathetic jinx, gentlemen. Temporary, barely concealed, and only good for someone already half-blind like Filch." He tossed the book lightly, catching it with a practiced flick.
Fred and George froze, their grins fading as they sized up this Slytherin intruder. Fred recovered first, his eyes narrowing with a predatory glint. "And what would you know, snake? Did your daddy buy you a fancy jinx tutor?" His tone was mocking, but curiosity flickered beneath it.
Alex adjusted his robe's cuff, a nervous tic he tried to mask with confidence. "No daddy, no tutor. Just a brain that sees waste—like using unicorn hair when a sticking charm and a timed-slip compound would've kept Filch down all day." He leaned closer, voice dropping. "I'm not here for Dark Arts nonsense. I want precision. Targeted, humiliating precision. And you two are the best at making pompous gits squirm."
George's eyebrows shot up, his grin returning. "A Slytherin after our hearts? Not brewing curses in the dungeon?"
"Curses are messy," Alex said, his voice steady despite the CS ache pulsing faintly in his temples. "I'm about engineering chaos. I need mentors to hit someone who'll combust with rage—someone like a certain blond prat."
The twins exchanged a glance, their silent twin-speak crackling with delight. Fred pulled a small, heavy black sphere from his pocket—a dungbomb, its surface dull but ominous. "Standard issue. Stinks like a troll's armpit. But you're talking about a masterpiece, aren't you?" He tossed it to George, who caught it one-handed. "We can delay the detonation, make the smell… personal. Something to hit a target's pride where it hurts."
Alex's pulse quickened, the thrill of collaboration sparking. "Exactly. A scent that screams 'Malfoy'—cloying, sweet, like his ego drowned in cheap perfume."
They retreated to an abandoned cleaning cupboard, the air thick with the stale scent of old soap and mothballs. The cramped space forced them shoulder-to-shoulder, the twins' warmth a stark contrast to the dungeon's chill. Alex spread a piece of parchment on a rickety shelf, his quill moving with the precision of his old life's spreadsheets. "Quartz shard as the core—sympathetic to temporal enchantments. Sets a 45-minute fuse." He sketched runic sequences, his hand steady despite the flickering torchlight. "Burdock root for an earthy base, mixed with fairy pheromone essence. It'll be sweet enough to choke him, humiliating enough to linger."
Fred whistled, peering over his shoulder. "You're a bloody architect, Sterling. That's not a prank—it's a weapon."
George nodded, his grin wicked. "A sickly-sweet stink bomb for a ponce with a silver spoon. Perfect."
[Blueprint Acquisition: Modified Dungbomb (Timed Pheromonal Variant)]
[AE: 48/50]
[CS: 15%]
The system's confirmation buzzed in Alex's mind, a quiet triumph. This blueprint was his first collaborative creation, merging his technical mind with the twins' chaos. He rolled up the parchment, his fingers brushing the rough edge, grounding him. "Step one: complete. Now for the execution."
Fred clapped his shoulder, the gesture warm and unexpected. "You're one of us now, Alex. A man with a plan and a nose for foulness."
Alex suppressed a smile, his mind already shifting to the target. "Good. Now, who's the perfect victim for a dose of humiliating sweetness? Someone whose pride needs a proper kicking." The answer was unspoken but clear: Draco Malfoy, the spoiled heir of Slytherin.
The next morning, the Great Hall buzzed with the clatter of cutlery and the rich aroma of bacon and syrup. Alex sat at the Slytherin table, a piece of toast warm in his hand, its buttery scent grounding him as he leaned toward Ron at the Gryffindor table. Their heads were close, voices low, the hum of the hall masking their plot. Ron's ears were pink with excitement, though his fingers fidgeted with a fork, betraying nerves.
"Malfoy's routine is clockwork," Alex whispered, his tone clipped and precise. "Up at 6:30, ten minutes preening his hair, five checking his reflection in that snake-handled brush. Out by 7:45 for his pointless early Transfiguration lesson." His meta-knowledge flowed like a memorized script, honed by subtle system nudges that sharpened his recall. "The Enigma's not just for magic—it's for strategy."
Ron's eyes widened, his fork pausing mid-twirl. "Blimey, Alex, you're in his dorm! Don't tell me you're up at dawn just to watch him primp."
Alex tapped his temple, a sly grin masking the system's role. "I notice things, Ron. The window's 7:45 to 7:55, when the dorm's empty. Target's his four-poster, under the headboard—maximum stink radius for his precious silver toys."
The plan was set. At 7:45, the Slytherin common room was a ghostly quiet, its green-tinted light shimmering from the lake outside. Alex slipped into the dorm, the cold stone wall brushing his shoulder as he moved with the stealth of a child who'd once crept through orphanage halls for extra bread. The air was heavy with the scent of polished wood and faint lavender from Draco's grooming products. He pulled the modified dungbomb from a hidden pocket, its cinnamon-like pre-activation scent deceptively pleasant.
Dropping to his knees, Alex navigated the thick, velvet bedding, its weight muffling his movements. The space under Draco's bed was dusty, the air close and stale. He pressed the quartz-cored bomb to the wooden frame, near the headboard, his fingers steady despite the adrenaline spiking his pulse. With a whisper, he activated the charm.
"Tempus activare."
[System Command: Engage Blueprint: Modified Dungbomb. Activation Delay: 45 minutes.]
A faint mental click confirmed the fuse. The bomb would detonate when Draco returned, alone, ensuring maximum humiliation. Alex stood, brushing dust from his knees, his heart pounding. "If I get caught, I'm done for. But this is worth it." He slipped out, the dorm's silence unbroken, and rejoined the Great Hall, feigning focus on a book as the clock ticked down.
Forty-five minutes later, a high-pitched, indignant scream pierced the castle's morning calm, followed by a chorus of disgusted shouts echoing through the dungeon pipes. Alex kept his eyes on his book, but his lips twitched, a surge of mischievous glee warming his chest. "Got you, Malfoy." Draco had returned to his dorm alone, only to be hit with a cloying, sickly-sweet stench that clung like a curse. The fairy pheromones ensured it lingered, a humiliating cloud no amount of cologne could mask.
Draco burst into the Charms classroom, his face scarlet, hair slightly singed, and robes clinging as if repelled by the smell. "Professor Flitwick! Someone's sabotaged the dorm! I demand a full investigation!" His voice cracked, his usual swagger drowned in embarrassment.
Flitwick's eyebrows shot up, his wand already waving to dispel the odor. "To the infirmary, Mr. Malfoy. Now." The class erupted in giggles, and Alex bit his lip to hide his triumph. "First blood. Let's see how you like round two, Draco."
That evening, Alex slipped into a nook near the Gryffindor common room, hidden behind a portrait of a snoring knight who reeked faintly of mead. The air was warm, filled with the muffled laughter of students inside. Ron, Fred, and George were waiting, their faces alight with barely contained mirth. Alex held a squashed Canary Cream, its vanilla scent a comforting anchor as he leaned against the wall.
Ron slapped his knee, tears streaming. "You should've seen him, Alex! Like a cat dunked in a vat of rotten treacle! That smell—it was thick enough to choke a hippogriff!"
Fred nodded, his tone mock-serious. "That sweet note you added? Pure evil. Malfoy was begging Snape for a cleansing charm. Snape looked like he'd rather hex him himself."
George's eyes gleamed with rare sincerity. "It wasn't just the stink, Alex. It was the precision. Forty-five minutes, right when he was alone. Minimal collateral. You're a bloody engineer of chaos."
The praise hit Alex like a warm wave, easing the CS ache that lingered like a bruise. He bit into the Canary Cream, the sweet cream grounding him in the moment. "This is what I wanted—friends, not just allies. But I can't lose sight of the bigger fight." His mind flickered to Voldemort, to Quirrell, to the war he was secretly waging. The prank was a victory, but it was also a distraction from his true goal: protecting Harry and dismantling the Death Eater pipeline.
"The point wasn't just the laugh," Alex said, his voice low but firm. "Malfoy's a symbol. Every hit to his pride weakens his pull, his future as… well, you know." He trailed off, avoiding the word "Death Eater," but the twins nodded, their usual levity tempered by understanding.
Ron, oblivious to the deeper stakes, grinned. "If it's about knocking him down, why stop there? Crabbe and Goyle are his muscle. Imagine their robes shrinking mid-Quidditch match!"
Fred and George launched into a loud debate about shrinking charms and mass displacement, their voices overlapping in chaotic harmony. Alex watched, a small smile playing on his lips. The plan was escalating, just as he'd hoped.
[EXP Gained: Prank Success: Social and Strategic Win]
[Progress toward LVL 2: 10%]
The system's reward was a quiet validation, but Alex's mind was already racing ahead. "That's for tomorrow, mates. I've got to hit the library—Hermione's probably waiting to lecture me into oblivion." He pushed off the wall, the stone cool against his palm, and slipped away, leaving the twins to their plotting. The library loomed, a battlefield of wits where his secret was at greater risk than any prank.
Mechanics Recap: EXP Gained: 10%; CS at 15%; AE at 50/50.
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