A razor-thin tube was hooked up directly to the vacuum cleaner's nozzle.
George reached into his desk and pulled out a fist-sized eggshell and a clump of mud. He shoved the tube into the shell and packed the mud tightly around the opening to seal the leak.
"Hit it!"
Fred drew his wand and aimed it dead center at the metal box.
Just as Richie[cite: 2] leaned in, practically buzzing with anticipation, a pathetic "pfft" echoed from the box. George instantly yanked the tube out and pinched the mud shut.
"That's it?" Richie asked tentatively, watching their frantic movements.
"That's it." George shook the newly minted Dungbomb[cite: 3] in his hand.
Richie's mouth twitched. The whole production process literally just sounded like someone letting out a fart. But then again... that actually made perfect sense.
What genuinely surprised Richie, however, was Fred's control over the machine. How exactly was he managing his magical output to ensure the exact right amount of stench was released?
Richie just went ahead and asked.
"Haha, it's definitely not because Fred has precision magical control," George replied, completely selling his brother out and denying Fred any chance to act cool. "It's because this thing only has enough juice for one burst at a time."
"Arthur's modifications were basically a massive failure," George continued. "The machine only blows one puff of air at a time—it completely misses the mark on what he was actually trying to build. Molly thought it was way too loud and made him chuck it in the corner of the garage. We found it and figured we'd just bring it along to Hogwarts."
"Hey, George!" Fred threw his hands up, clearly annoyed that his brother had ruined his moment.
George just shook his head and stuck his tongue out at him.
"Ah." Richie nodded in realization.
"Here, this one's yours. Just make sure you use it when no one else is around, and run like hell the second you deploy it," George said, shoving the Dungbomb into Richie's hand. "And let us know how it goes."
Richie took it gingerly. It was essentially a capsule of highly concentrated farts; having it explode on his robes would be an absolute nightmare.
---
#### The Business Pitch
Fred dragged three chairs over from the corner, and the boys sat down.
"So, about the funding..." Richie started, looking at the twins.
The Weasley twins exchanged a look and immediately launched into their dual-stereo pitch:
"Harvesting magical creature dung takes way too long. We need to completely swap out the source of the stench and brew a custom potion to generate the smell."
"We were originally planning to steal... I mean, borrow some herbs from Snape."
"But buying them is definitely the better option!"
"We also need to find the right material for the casing. The original eggshell is way too fragile; it's a massive safety hazard."
"We've already designed a three-layer protection system: the base eggshell, an inner lining of Devil's Snare sap, and an outer magical containment net."
"We're also planning to bake in a few secondary magical effects so the residue is easier to clean up, while making the actual stench 'stick' to Peeves[cite: 3]."
"All of which costs money!"
Naturally, they conveniently left out their biggest expense: funding their next line of prank items.
Richie just nodded along. Basically, they needed cash for raw materials. The twins had been relying on whatever they could scavenge, which was not only a massive time sink but also incredibly risky. The only problem was, this sounded like an expensive operation. If he didn't have enough, he'd have to hit up his aunt for a loan.
"How much do you need?" Richie asked.
The twins huddled up, furiously whispering to each other for a second before turning back to Richie.
"Eight Galleons[cite: 3]?" George asked tentatively.
Richie raised an eyebrow.
Fred instantly course-corrected. "Seven?"
Richie stayed completely silent.
"Six... six works too..."
"Ten Galleons." Richie looked at the completely stunned twins and spread his hands. "I'll give you ten Galleons. My only condition is that you get this done as fast as humanly possible. Can you handle that?"
The twins immediately lunged forward, each grabbing one of Richie's hands and violently shaking it.
"Richie, you are a visionary!"
"Oh, we can absolutely handle it!"
"Well then, let's hammer out the profit-sharing agreement."
The three of them spent the next few minutes hashing out the equity split. The final breakdown: 20% for Richie, 80% for the twins. On top of that, Richie secured the right of first refusal for investing in any of their future products.
Ten Galleons might have seemed like a drop in the bucket, but the timing was absolutely perfect. It gave the twins exactly what they needed without bruising their egos, and it was enough capital to actually get things moving.
---
#### Halloween Night
In the blink of an eye, October 31st arrived.
Hogwarts didn't give the students any days off around Halloween, so classes ran on their normal schedules. But tonight—Halloween Eve—the Great Hall was hosting a massive feast.
The students noticed the castle's transformation first thing in the morning. Giant, carved pumpkins were scattered everywhere, and even the castle ghosts—who usually kept to themselves—were out in full force, freely roaming the corridors and greeting the kids. The atmosphere had everyone hyped for the banquet.
Richie, Terry, and the rest of the guys ground through their classes as usual. The day practically flew by, and before long, the sun dipped below the horizon, plunging the grounds into darkness.
Richie slipped out of the twins' makeshift workshop, Dungbomb 3.0 safely tucked into his robes, and immediately started hunting the corridors for Peeves.
According to the twins' final sales pitch:
"Version 3.0 is the final retail model."
"We aggressively optimized the manufacturing costs—it only runs five Bronze Knuts a pop!"
"It's incredibly stable. You have to tap it twice to break the magical inertia before throwing it, otherwise it won't detonate."
"The best part? The stench has a highly aggressive binding effect on spiritual entities. We actually field-tested it on Peeves!"
"And if a student accidentally gets caught in the blast radius, a simple Scouring Charm wipes the smell right off."
The twins had also declared that the Halloween feast was the absolute perfect launch window for the product. Richie couldn't have been happier.
Just you wait, Peeves. Your absolute nightmare is here.
Unfortunately, after wandering around for half the evening without spotting the poltergeist, Richie finally gave up and headed down to the Great Hall for the feast. He hopped onto the rotating staircase, making his way down from the sixth floor.
Just as he passed the fourth-floor landing, he heard the distinct, muffled sound of someone chanting a spell, followed immediately by a guttural, beastly roar.
What the hell?
Remembering Headmaster Dumbledore's very specific start-of-term warning, Richie didn't stick around to investigate. He picked up his pace and hurried down the steps.
"Merlin, that was creepy," he muttered, patting his chest to calm his racing heart. "No wonder they told us to stay away."
"But who was casting that spell? That voice sounded a lot like..."
Richie hit the third-floor landing and noticed the corridor doors were completely wide open. He instinctively glanced inside.
Lumbering down the hallway was a massive, impossibly ugly monster dragging a gigantic wooden club.
Richie's eyes went wide, his stomach dropping like a stone. Just from the sheer size and absolute ugliness of the thing, he knew exactly what he was looking at. The Dark Forces: A Guide to Self-Protection had an entire chapter dedicated to them.
Yes. It was exactly what Professor Snape always compared his students to when they were being particularly incompetent: a fully-grown Mountain Troll!