Fred and George Weasley were just about to sprint to class when Theodore jogged up and blurted out that he wanted to borrow some Dungbombs.
They froze.
Then their eyes lit up.
Pranks were their life's calling.
Prank products were the future of their business empire.
It was just… up to now, everyone treated their stuff like it was contagious. Especially their first "masterpiece", the humble Dungbomb—of which they were very proud, but nobody else seemed to appreciate true art. It was heartbreaking.
And now Theodore Ashbourne was here, at dawn, specifically asking for Dungbombs?
They knew he was close with Ron and Harry, and they'd seen him make Slytherin eat dirt more than once. But he was always disappearing somewhere mysterious, and they'd never caught a proper chance to bond.
Just from this move alone—rushing in early to beg for Dungbombs—the twins looked at him with the pure, burning gaze of recognition.
A kindred spirit.
Without another word, they each reached into their robes and pulled out three Dungbombs between them.
"We snuck into the public loo for the ingredients," Fred said proudly. "This is all we've got on us—Theo, they're all yours."
"But," George added quickly, "you've got to tell us what you're planning to do with them."
Theodore very carefully accepted the three Dungbombs, expression turning faintly… sinister.
"I really want to see what's under Professor Quirrell's big scarf," he said reasonably. "But he wraps it so tight, all the time, never loosens it."
"So I was thinking… if a Dungbomb gets plastered onto that scarf, he'll have to take it off, right?"
"He can't seriously walk around Hogwarts with dung stuck to the back of his head and still refuse to unwrap it… unless he's hiding something really shameful under there."
The twins traded a look.
The way they now looked at Theodore wasn't just admiration anymore.
It was reverence.
Throwing a Dungbomb at a professor?
Theodore Ashbourne, role model of our generation.
They didn't even hesitate.
"We're coming with you," Fred said immediately. "We've wanted to do this for ages."
Just then, lines of text flickered across Theodore's System pane.
[You have, by chance, sensed the aura of Duobao Daoist's incarnation within the Jade Void Palace.]
[This incarnation is parasitically attached to a Golden Immortal's body—something even the Southern Extreme Immortal has failed to discern.]
[Only you, as someone who once met Duobao in person, could recognise him.]
[Duobao Daoist's infiltration into the Jade Void Palace must conceal some unspeakable plot.]
[As there is no hard proof, you cannot accuse a Chan Sect Golden Immortal teacher lightly. You decide to investigate the truth on your own.]
[Fortunately, Jin Zha and Mu Zha, currently cultivating in the palace, each carry a life-saving treasure: the Thunderclap Heaven-Bombs.]
[These contain true heavenly thunder. Even a Golden Immortal would scowl and retreat if struck.]
[Having heard what you sensed, the two brothers—bold and righteous—immediately hand over three Thunderclap Heaven-Bombs and volunteer to risk themselves at your side.]
[Your relationship with Jin Zha and Mu Zha has reached: Close Friend.]
Theodore's mouth twitched as he glanced down at the Dungbombs in his hand.
So these were "Thunderclap Heaven-Bombs" now?
You never disappoint, do you, System…
Still, another detail in the notification made him pause.
The Weasley twins, mapped as Jin Zha and Mu Zha?
On the one hand, it made a weird sort of sense.
On the other hand… something about it just felt off.
Nezha was their little brother in the myths, but in the System's mapping Harry had already taken the Nezha slot, while Ron had ended up as Lei Zhenzi…
Whatever. No point overthinking it.
Harry was fated to marry into the Weasley family anyway. They'd end up one big happy mythic mess.
More importantly, Jin Zha and Mu Zha were among the seven who'd achieved flesh-sainthood during the Investiture of the Gods. They might not stand at Nezha's level, but they definitely weren't nobodies.
Reaching Close Friend with both of them in one go was no ordinary reward tier.
But right now, Theodore had three Dungbombs in hand and a Dark Lord to… help reduce.
First smear Voldemort's face. Then check the reward.
A short while later, Theodore and the Weasley twins, following the tug of fresh merit he'd felt earlier, positioned themselves at a certain bend in the corridor—Quirrell and Voldemort's unavoidable route.
George lowered his voice.
"Theo, how do you know Professor Quirrell's going to come this way?"
Theodore replied confidently,
"Obviously I scouted it out."
Sure enough, not long after he spoke, Quirrell's figure appeared at the far end of the hall, shuffling along with that nervous, hunched walk—and that signature huge scarf wrapped tight around his head.
The twins were even more impressed.
Just going by Theodore's recon work alone, the guy's prank fundamentals weren't shallow at all.
There was a real master hidden in Hogwarts.
"But, Theo," Fred whispered, "Professor Quirrell's facing us as he walks."
"Are you sure you can hit the back of his head with a Dungbomb like that?"
"We can't just pelt him right in the face. We've got to be far enough away that he can't prove it was us, or McGonagall'll skin Gryffindor's points alive."
"Want us to throw instead?"
[You and Jin Zha & Mu Zha lie in ambush along the path Duobao Daoist's incarnation must take.]
[In the distance, just as you foretold, the figure of Duobao drifts into view from the horizon.]
[Jin Zha and Mu Zha are now convinced you know what you're talking about.]
[However, Thunderclap Heaven-Bombs are single-use treasures. If you miss, the consequences may be dire.]
Theodore merely smiled, full of confidence.
"Trust me. There's no one in this world who understands how to throw a stone better than I do."
After all, his stone-throwing form came straight from Dan Jiayu.
Even without the Five-Coloured Stones in his hand, he could still achieve near-divine precision.
The twins exchanged another quick glance.
They honestly had no idea where Theodore's confidence came from, but judging by his track record so far, the guy never seemed to act without a plan.
And even if he did miss… well, they'd take the punishment together.
"Right, then," George said, grinning. "Showtime."
[Though Jin Zha and Mu Zha still harbour doubts, once they chose to stand by your side against Duobao, they put life and death aside.]
[All three Thunderclap Heaven-Bombs have been entrusted to you.]
[Success or failure rests entirely on this one throw.]
The System text kept scrolling, but Theodore was no longer paying attention.
In his mind, the technique for throwing the Five-Coloured Stones played itself out in exacting detail.
While Quirrell was still being chewed out by the voice in his head, hurrying along, completely unaware—
Three Dungbombs left Theodore's hand.
They spun through the air, tracing a bizarre curve as they slipped past Quirrell's shoulder and flew toward the space behind him.
"Professor!" Theodore shouted, voice sharp with alarm. "Look out—Thunderclap Heaven-Bombs!"
Quirrell flinched hard at the sight of three strange, lumpy objects whirling through the air and at Theodore's panicked warning.
Then he realised they'd already passed over his head. They were behind him, not aimed at his face, and he exhaled in relief.
Stupid Gryffindor brats.
Even now, Hogwarts students were still the same as when he'd been one—always messing around in corridors, throwing things at one another.
At least this time they'd missed him.
He even felt a faint flicker of gratitude; the interruption, however small, had forced Voldemort's tirade in his mind to pause for a brief, blessed moment.
But the next second—
The three Dungbombs collided mid-air with a wet thunk, bounced off one another, and snapped neatly into a new line—
Right in front of the back of Quirrell's head.
Voldemort opened his mouth, just about to snap at him.
"Quirrell, you slow-witted imbecile, move your—"
He didn't get to finish.
The three Dungbombs hit home in a perfect triangular cluster.
There was a soft, sickening splorch.
And Voldemort's roar turned, mid-syllable, into a shrill, utterly hysterical scream.
"WAIT—"
"WHAT THE HELL IS THIS?!!"
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