Fred ran a hand through his damp red hair, yawning widely as he surveyed the Great Hall. The cavernous room was a sea of purple sleeping bags, arranged in tight rows. It was the aftermath of the troll incident, and the castle felt far too quiet for Fred’s liking. He spotted his spot next to George, who was already half-asleep, and tossed his wand onto his bag before sitting down with a groan of relief.

He swung his legs over and started to slide into the cozy interior. He hadn’t even fully lowered himself when a noise erupted—sharp, loud, and unmistakably flatulent. It echoed around the stone pillars, a resounding ‘PFFFFT!’ that seemed to hang in the air.

Fred froze, horizontal, halfway inside his sleeping bag. He blinked, his brain momentarily stalling. He hadn't done that. The realization was immediate and jarring.

"Blimey, Fred" George mumbled from the adjacent bag, cracking an eye open. "The troll didn’t leave that kind of lingering smell, did it?"

Laughter rippled outward from their immediate vicinity, students around them sitting up, clutching their sides. Seamus Finnigan was already giggling uncontrollably. Fred, now recovering, raised an eyebrow, a slow, slow smirk spreading across his face. He reached down and ran his hand along the seam of the bag where he’d sat. His fingers brushed against something small and hard. He pulled it free, a flat, grey, remote-controlled gadget that he’d definitely not bought from Zonko's.

Fred held the offending device aloft, spinning it on his finger like a Snitch. He ignored George’s theatrical grimace of mock-disgust. His hazel eyes scanned the surrounding rows of sleeping bags, the smirk sharpening into genuine amusement. He knew exactly who was responsible. Nobody else would have the audacity, the creativity, or the access to his specific spot.

"Classic" he murmured to himself, the joke too perfect to be truly mad about. "Absolutely classic." He spotted a familiar dark head tucked into a sleeping bag nearby, her back suspiciously turned to the noise. She was the younger sister of the Hufflepuff Seeker, Cedric Diggory, but it seemed the Diggory reputation for polite behavior hadn't entirely translated.

He looked over at her, though he only saw the curve of her shoulder, and felt a rush of something distinct and annoying: admiration. He hadn't seen this coming. She’d out-pranked a Prank King.

"Well" Fred announced to the amusement of the nearby students, his voice loud enough to carry. "I assume the culprit knows I’ll be requiring a full confession. And probably a demonstration of how the remote works. It’s impressive craftsmanship." He gave a dramatic, sweeping bow, though he was still mostly inside his bag, and pointed the remote-controlled prank device directly at where he knew {User} was hiding.