Fred and George and the Toilers of Trouble (Year 1) ✔

Chapter 6:4

After learning from Professor Quirrell how a glamour differs from an enchantment, in that the target of a glamor remains largely the same, while an enchantment purposely alters the state of its recipient (or something like that — the twins weren't actually paying attention), the remainder of their first Enchantments lesson was spent in the vast, moving stairwell and adjoining passages, where they were assigned to split up and introduce themselves to some of the many living paintings. Fred and George enjoyed frightening the portraits and badgering them with unanswerable riddles, while their fellow students were attempting to uncover where the essence of their paintings originated, whether they were a reflection of their true identities, how long they had been at Hogwarts, and what they'd learned since being hung. Professor Quirrell wanted the first years to get as much information out of the paintings as possible before they would come back together to discuss the results, but the twins were unable to participate properly. Beyond the boredom of listening to a painting drone on about fourteenth century Muggle affairs, they imagined all the incredible magic being taught at that very moment to students their age in the Charms classroom. The only way Fred could handle the tedious task was to balance dangerously along the railing of a moving staircase and ride it back and forth over the open gulf of the stairwell.

"Join in the fun, George," Fred whispered, walking along the rounded stone.

"If you fall, you'll be in the hospital wing for weeks."

"That's the idea."

Fred hopped down and made a nasty face at George's painting. The well-dressed wizard shirked from the confrontation by exiting the frame entirely and joining a group of witches in the scene of a nearby portrait, where they commented civilly on a bowl of bouncing oranges. He peered over the edge of the staircase railing to see Quirrell assessing the progress of the other students.

"How much longer till we're through? This class is dragging on for hours. At least it feels like that."

"I think Q-quirrell put a s-spell on all the c-c-clocks," stammered George, to his own cruel amusement.

"If only I was in possession of something that could give us a bit of an adventure," Fred mused, with a devilish expression. Carefully, he opened his palm to reveal one of the Dungbombs they had gotten from Victor Sparrow after the start of term feast.

"Oh, yes — when?" George marveled, with a conniving smile.

"Now."

"Where?"

"Glad you asked. If I got the angle just so, it could land directly in Quirrell's turban,"

"But the smell, Fred. It'll be so strong..."

"...that it will put an end to his stuttering — full stop."

"How does it work?

Fred turned the magical mischief-maker over in his hand. Then he tugged on the string until it came loose from the Dungbomb entirely. He suddenly looked panicked.

"What should I do?"

"Well, you have to throw it, don't you?!"

With as much aim as he could muster, Fred lobbed the Dungbomb over the railing. As they watched it plummet down the stairwell toward the intended target, the boys expected certain things to happen. The first was that the Dungbomb would land softly onto Professor Quirrell's purple turban. The second was that a dreadfully foul smoke would fill the corridor, to the dismay of everyone present. And the third was that no one would have a clue who had done the deed.

Two out of three wasn't bad.

Mere feet away from Quirrell's head, the Dungbomb was diverted from its course by an unexpectedly swift, moving staircase that directed the slightly smoking ball toward the third floor corridor where, against all odds, it rolled directly to the feet of one Severus Snape. With his eyes trembling, the Potions Master bent down to inspect the traveling catastrophe, without knowing the instant grief it would bring him.