With a clear, loud bang that felt as if it had exploded right next to their ears, causing the floor to jump violently, the young snakes and badgers were jolted awake, instinctively assuming someone was attacking Hogwarts.
Gabriel Truman, the Hufflepuff prefect, grabbed a robe and wrapped it around himself. Without even bothering to put on shoes, he stumbled out of the dormitory and ran toward the source of the sound—the common room.
Behind him followed quite a few young badgers, still in their nightgowns, clutching their wands tightly, their faces pale with lingering fear.
"Merlin's beard..."
The moment Truman burst into the common room, he froze.
The common room, usually warm, cozy, and filled with the fragrance of earth and plants, was now choking with dust. The thick stone wall connecting the Hufflepuff common room to the kitchens had been blasted open, leaving a massive hole.
Through that hole, he could even see a group of bewildered house-elves in the kitchen opposite.
The elves clearly had no idea what had happened either; some were still holding spatulas, scared out of their wits.
And amidst this wreckage, Nymphadora Tonks lay half-reclined among a pile of rubble, her face covered in soot, looking utterly miserable.
"Tonks!"
Truman shuddered and rushed forward to check on her.
Facing the anxious prefect squatting before her, Tonks struggled to extend a dust-covered hand, gripping Truman's sleeve tightly, a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth.
She gasped weakly, her gaze unfocused. "Gabriel... please... help me..."
Seeing Tonks in this state, Truman was horrified, thinking she was about to leave her last words. His eyes instantly reddened, and he grasped her hand firmly, his voice trembling. "Say it! Tonks! Whatever it is, I will definitely pass it on to your parents! Hang in there!"
Tonks took a deep breath and, using the last of her strength, squeezed out a sentence:
"...Don't tell Professor Sprout."
The grief on Truman's face froze instantly, and he was stunned once again.
However, things obviously couldn't go as she wished.
Barely five minutes later, a pale-faced Professor Sprout rushed into the common room in her nightgown, followed closely by Dumbledore, with other professors arriving one after another.
William, clad in a silk dressing gown, was the last to arrive after hearing the news; he had fallen asleep shortly after his head hit the pillow.
Before even stepping into the common room, he smelled a pungent vinegar scent in the corridor, then saw the barrels at the entrance blown into splinters.
However, when he stepped into the chaotic common room and saw the gaping hole blasted in the wall, his nose twitched again.
An unfriendly odor drilled into his nostrils, carrying a certain fermented scent that felt very familiar.
This smell immediately gave William an ominous feeling.
He looked at the dusty, trembling Tonks in front of Dumbledore, who looked like she wanted to shrink into a crack in the floor, and his premonition was instantly confirmed.
It was the alchemical puppet he had distributed.
To control costs, the puppets he gave the students weren't made of metal; the main material was actually clay mixed with treated dragon dung.
That's right, dragon dung was an excellent conductor for magic, cheap and effective.
When making them, William had disliked the smell, so he had specially coated the puppets with a thick layer of deodorizing herbal juice, followed by a layer of glittering silver powder so they wouldn't look like ugly lumps of dirt.
Now that this familiar smell of dragon dung permeated the air, it meant the puppet had been completely blown to pieces, exposing even the "filling" inside.
William silently took half a step back and covered his nose with his collar. He had a pretty good guess as to what earth-shattering event the witch before him had pulled off.
The next day.
Although Dumbledore had restored the common room and kitchen to their original state in mere seconds with his miraculous repairing charms the night before, the impact of this "explosion" was clearly not so easily erased.
In the Hufflepuff common room, a group of older students sat in a circle, the atmosphere heavy and strange.
In the center, Truman held a thick copy of Hogwarts: A History, pushed up his glasses, and read aloud with a serious face:
"According to the clear records in school history, there have only been three students who lost fifty points or more in a single incident."
"In 1890, Garreth Weasley of Gryffindor was deducted fifty points for 'concocting explosive mixtures in Potions class'."
"Tonks' offense is similar to his; why did he only lose fifty points?" a young badger raised a hand to ask.
"Not sure," Truman shook his head. "Maybe blowing up a common room is considered worse than blowing up a dungeon classroom."
"In 1910, Leta Lestrange of Slytherin was deducted one hundred points for 'using dangerous Dark magic on a classmate'... Oh, wait, she was deducted another one hundred points later for 'endangering a student'."
"Good heavens, that senior lost two hundred points in one go. That's really something."
"What does 'endangering a student' mean? I don't get it." Another badger raised a hand.
"I don't know either; that's just what the book says. You could go ask Professor McGonagall; I'm sure she knows the answer," Truman replied succinctly.
He continued reading.
"In 1986, just a few years ago, Ben Copper of Gryffindor was deducted fifty points for 'trespassing into the Forbidden Forest to collect Acromantula venom, nearly losing his life'."
Reading this, Truman closed the book and sighed. "It seems we witnessed history yesterday."
He pointed to the spot on the wall that had been repaired. "Nymphadora Tonks has the honor of being written into future school history for 'attempting to blow up the castle,' and she will be the first Hufflepuff to receive this distinction."
The surrounding badgers sighed collectively.
Everyone knew that although Professor Sprout had arrived last night, her hands were trembling with anger so badly she could barely hold her wand.
This usually protective Head of House had gritted her teeth and deducted a full eighty points from Hufflepuff in front of Dumbledore and the other professors.
Just then, the circular entrance to the common room slid open.
Tonks walked in dejectedly, her hair a dull, earthy gray, looking as if she had just escaped the Dementor's Kiss.
The badgers crowded around, chattering questions about the situation.
"How did it go? Tonks? How is the school punishing you?"
Tonks slumped onto the sofa, buried her face in her hands, and whispered, "Originally, it was detention for the whole year. But considering I have N.E.W.T.s coming up in the second half of the year and have to attend Auror training... Dumbledore eventually changed it to half a year of detention."
"Half a year?" someone gasped.
"Yeah. Three times a week, polishing trophies with Filch or processing potion ingredients for Professor Snape." Tonks' voice sounded muffled. "I begged Professor Sprout, hoping she'd deduct fewer points..."
She paused, looked up, her face full of despair. "But the Head of House said not a single point less than eighty. She said it was to teach me a lesson."
A deathly silence fell over the common room. Eighty points! That almost certainly announced Hufflepuff's withdrawal from the House Cup competition for the year.
After a long while, a boy tried to offer some comfort:
"It's okay, Tonks. Look on the bright side."
The boy pointed to the house point hourglasses on the wall. "Even after the points deduction, our house ranking hasn't changed. It doesn't make much difference."
Tonks didn't respond, only burying her head deeper.
Clearly, this comfort did not cheer her up; instead, it made her feel that life was even bleaker.