On an Actor's Self-Cultivation. "Are we really throwing it here?"
In a corner of the second-floor corridor, the Weasley Twins were whispering quietly. After yesterday's efforts, Fred had successfully mastered the Unlocking Charm. The next morning, the two of them could not wait to cause Filch some trouble, leading to the scene before them.
"Yes, throw it here." George looked toward the end of the corridor and nodded. "Yesterday, third year William threw a Dungbomb here. I heard Filch spent a long time cleaning it all up."
"All right, remember to cover for me later." Looking as though he were marching bravely to his death, Fred saw Filch approaching and quietly reached into the paper bag. He pulled out a Dungbomb, but just as he was about to say a few more words to George, he suddenly discovered that his twin brother had already vanished.
"Bastard, he sure ran fast." Fred took a deep breath. As Filch passed by, the Dungbomb in his hand conveniently dropped to the floor.
Pfft.
A rotten stench spread from the floor, immediately filling most of the corridor. Filch lowered his head, his expression nearly twisting out of shape. He abruptly looked up and, as if driven mad with rage, glanced wildly around before his gaze landed on Fred, who was holding the paper bag.
"You little brat, do you know how long it took me to clean up that Dungbomb yesterday?" Filch's face was bright red, the muscles in his cheeks twitching as though he might explode from anger. He grabbed Fred's hand and raised it.
Having just taken a Dungbomb out of the paper bag, Fred's hand was filthy.
"The evidence is conclusive. Come with me. This time, I'll put you in detention no matter what." Filch grabbed Fred and prepared to drag