Drabble Title: Explosive Failures
Rating: T
Warnings: -
Word Count: 406
Summary: A failed experiment isn't often this explosive.
Notes: This'll be my little dumping grounds for any drabbles I feel the need to write while I'm frequenting this pleasant site. As of now I've only the one, but one day I'm hoping to have at least a dozen of these up here.
There's a certain kind of pleasantness in finding out your latest experiment has just blown a hole through the dungeon's ceiling.
I mean, sure, it was only a small part, but an explosion is an explosion, no?
The people who were in the library upstairs are… probably less pleased than us, but at least we know it works.
The room – as it was before its sudden expansion – smells of burnt toast and flamed cranberries. What, exactly, a flamed cranberry is escaped both me and my glorious replica next to me, but we heard one of the onlookers above us squeak it out once the smell started to escape through a thick cloud, so we'll just take his word for it.
Speaking of onlookers, I think I hear… Yes, I do believe that's Snape's – Professor Snape's – robe dragging behind him. I look at the red-headed mirror to my left to confirm that I'm not just hearing things.
Nope.
Well then, I guess it's time to leave a surprise.
The dust is thinning, but not yet enough for anyone to see beyond. I quickly grab what materials we have, watching as my brother does the same before we both take off through a hidden latch, opened by tapping it thrice in quick succession and kicking it up when that fails you.
There is a reason we chose this room, after all.
Forge – Or is it Gred? I can never keep track – goes down first, a bundle of tools in his robe. As I'm descending the wooden hatch, I toss back a small, almost gum-like object. It sticks to the floor and begins to inflate.
The door opens up ominously behind us, but we're gone by then, our hands full of clinking metal and glass that weighs us down. No way in hell are we losing these to Flinch; it'd take an eternity to smuggle it all back!
The hatch behind us doesn't open again, as far as we know. Soon, we're sprinting up out the exit-painting, one which is conveniently placed on the fifth floor, near several unused classrooms and far from the chaos.
As we slide down the wall, sweating from places we didn't know we had, we turn to each other and begin to grin.
"So, that recipe for the Whiz-bangs is out. Any ideas what went wrong, brother-mine?"
"I think it was the lilacs. Too much of it and the Aquavitæ obviously causes adverse effects."