《HP: Too Late, System!》Chapter 28: The Beaters Struck by Dung Bombs

Whether by accident or design, the Weasley twins neglected to mention just how many points Douglas had docked from them.

By breakfast the next morning, the fallout was impossible to hide. As students poured into the Great Hall, they discovered Gryffindor's hourglass—usually overflowing with rubies—had been emptied overnight.

For most Gryffindors, this was hardly cause for alarm. After all, having their hourglass drained was practically a House tradition; it happened every year. They just hadn't expected it quite so soon. No one was too bothered—other Houses didn't have much left either, and there was always time to catch up.

At the Gryffindor table, Hermione fumed to Harry and Ron:

"Hmph! More than half those points were earned by me in class. And they don't feel the slightest bit guilty!"

Ron nearly spat out his pumpkin juice.

"Blimey, Hermione, you actually expect George and Fred to feel guilty?"

Harry chimed in quietly,

"Honestly, I think Professor Holmes's punishment was harsh enough—copying the entire textbook by hand. Even you'd struggle with that, Hermione!"

Hermione swallowed her sandwich and sniffed,

"Hmph! Professor Holmes gave them over two months. If it were me, I'd probably only need a week. It's just… writing that much would be exhausting."

Meanwhile, George and Fred wandered up and down the table, plates in hand, doing their best to dodge Percy's tirades.

Suddenly, a roar of laughter erupted from the Slytherin table.

Slytherin Quidditch captain Marcus Flint stood and bellowed,

"You lot won't believe it—Gryffindor's legendary twin Beaters got nailed by dung bombs! Hah! Looks like the Gryffindor team's been going downhill ever since the great savior Harry Potter joined. Don't believe me? I heard it straight from Mr. Filch. Last night…"

George and Fred shot to their feet, faces burning with humiliation. They glared daggers at the Slytherin table, then turned to spot Filch lurking by the staircase, stroking Mrs. Norris and watching the drama unfold.

The look on the twins' faces told the whole story—this was no Slytherin fabrication.

But what really stunned the hall was that it had always been the Weasley twins who pranked others with dung bombs.

Who on earth had managed to turn the tables on them?

It certainly couldn't have been Filch.

A hundred curious eyes zeroed in on the mortified twins.

The Gryffindors, if anything, looked even more shocked.

But it didn't take long for everyone to connect the dots—hadn't the twins mentioned running into Professor Holmes last night?

Could it have been him?

A quick scan of the hall revealed no sign of Professor Holmes.

A pity—no one could confirm the rumor.

As whispers spread, the Weasley twins moved as one, wands flashing into their hands.

Twin jets of red and white light shot across the hall towards Flint.

"Langlock!"

"Rictusempra!"

Flint staggered as his tongue glued itself to the roof of his mouth. Before he could recover, a wave of unbearable tickling swept over him. He tried to laugh it off, but no sound escaped.

The Slytherins reacted instantly, wands raised—but Ravenclaw students sat in the crossfire, forcing them to hold back. No sense making more enemies.

Gryffindors, not to be outdone, brandished their own wands.

The students from Hufflepuff and Ravenclaw, sensing imminent disaster, snatched up their breakfasts and scattered for cover.

The Great Hall teetered on the brink of all-out magical war.

Then, a thunderous roar echoed through the hall:

"What do you think you're doing? Wands down—immediately!"

All eyes turned to see Professor McGonagall standing atop the steps, looking every inch the furious lioness.

Beside her stood a breathless Filch.

Even the boldest Gryffindors knew better than to cross Professor McGonagall in this mood.

Wands vanished, food was grabbed, and students bolted for the exits.

The Weasley twins tried to blend in with the fleeing crowd, but McGonagall's voice rang out:

"Mr. Weasley—stop right there!"

The shout made Ron, who'd been leading the charge, stumble to a halt.

Finally, Professor McGonagall called out:

"George and Fred…"

Just then, Professor Snape swept in, robes billowing behind him.

He took in the scene—one Slytherin sprawled on the floor, the rest of the hall in chaos—and his face turned thunderous.

With a flick of his wand, he cast "Finite Incantatem" on Flint.

"What happened here?"

Flint, still trembling, stammered,

"Professor, the Gryffindors… they ambushed me… caught me off guard…"

Snape shot him a withering glare.

"Pathetic."

He strode over to Professor McGonagall, just in time to hear her laying into the twins:

"You two are truly fearless!

Out after curfew!

Attacking a professor!

Losing every last point your House had!

Merlin's beard, when I saw Professor Holmes's message this morning, I could hardly believe it!

And after all that, the very first thing you do is start a brawl at breakfast!

Fifty points from Gryffindor!

I'll be informing Professor Holmes to add another requirement to your detention.

In addition to the Defence Against the Dark Arts textbook, you'll be copying the entire Transfiguration textbook by hand as well!

And it must be finished this term!"

Professor Snape raised an eyebrow—he hadn't expected such a punishment. Copying textbooks by hand…

Judging by the twins' ashen faces, this was far worse than cleaning out a hundred jars of frog guts in his classroom.

So Snape added coolly from behind,

"And the Potions textbook, too. All of it, this term. I think this punishment is most fitting."

With that, he turned on his heel and swept away.

After all, Professor McGonagall had already handled the discipline—no need for him to interfere further.

Besides, he genuinely approved of this punishment. He'd have to try it out on that Slytherin who'd lost the fight.

Snape's dislike for Douglas was simple: the man was never proper in Potions class.

He used cauldrons like ordinary cooking pots, constantly "borrowing" ingredients—bullfrogs, pig hearts, dog lungs—under the pretense of preparing for lessons.

And he was always up to some inexplicable, intolerable mischief.

Once, Douglas had let his cauldron boil dry until only a crust of potion residue remained.

He'd claimed he wanted to see if he could make magical pills out of it!

Snape had no idea what "pills" were. He only knew that Douglas Holmes was utterly unfit for Potions.

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