Disclaimer: All characters belong to J.K. Rowling except the Butt.

            Things had just got smellier since Fred and George discovered the "wonderful wonders" of the Marauder's Butt. No matter where you went, the Great Hall, the Slytherin Common Room, the Charms classroom or even the girls' bathroom, you'd smell the delights of farts and Dungbombs put together. Even Mrs. Norris, Filch's cat, fainted *bang* at one smell. Beware of the second-floor corridor though, for the floor was filled with brown muck.

The professors all knew Fred and George were (obviously) behind all this, but they never knew how they got the money to buy two thousand bags of Dungbombs. They double-checked at Zonko's and the last time they bought a bag of Dungbombs was last year.

Hogwarts had just started a free mask *Darth Vader breathing sound* sale to make sure the students would smell the stench. But, in some way, the Marauders' Butt was useful at the Quidditch pitch, making Gryffindor won the Quidditch match four times in a row.

            Somewhere in the Gryffindor crowd, a spy (surprisingly was Lee Jordan) would tap his wand on the Butt three times using his toes. So altogether, a shower of 50 Dungbombs would fall around the pitch accompanying a strong scent. Of course, Madam Hooch was too stupid to notice a Dungbomb shower. The Gryffindor team had been wearing invisible masks *Darth Vader breathing sound* so it's not surprising they won the Quidditch Cup. And yes, Hermione spectated the match so, she fainted *bang*.

            It happened when they were wandering about at the Hogwarts stench-free grounds. They happened to pass the Quidditch pitch.

The pitch now seemed like a smelly battlefield. The craters the Dungbombs left and the traces of green gas were still visible.

            While they were walking, they heard whispers.

"Should we fly that Dungbomb over here?

"That's Trelawney's place. You know how well she predicts."

"What about here?"

"Snape's? Alright,"

"No, the coordinates are too far from ground 6."

"Maybe to ground 15 so that you can pass it at ground 50 and release it to ground 75."

"Hmm…. not good. That ground will be used at the same time as you."

"Ground 7 might be the best place to raise the signal down this bridge to release it over here and here. Alright?"

They looked through the bush. There was Fred and George (Who else would discuss about Dungbombs?) talking to Hagrid and surprisingly, DUMBLEDORE.

"What on earth are you doing?" Harry asked.

"We were discussing about the Christmas feast. It'll soon be the STINKIEST party the students will never forget. Wanna join in?" Fred-or was it George-Fred-George-Fred-George-whoever explained.

"Oh yeah!"

25 December 1995, 8.00 pm

Ah! Christmas,

To see presents beneath the fire,

To hear students running around like madmen,

To taste turkey pudding as it vanished into the mouth,

To feel snow as it freezes your hands,

And to smell Dungbombs and farts put together.

Harry smirked as he sat down, ready for the signal. He looked around. Hermione looked EXTREMELY sick. Ron was also looking for that signal, so was the rest of the Gryffindor house.

"Where is that stupid signal?" Ron asked.

"Over there!"

They looked up. Sure enough, a red flag was waving around.

"Neville, the signal's up!"

Neville seemed not to forget his job anymore. He kicked the Dungbomb beneath his feet and slowly, it traveled silently across the floor without anyone noticing it (they're totally starving to notice.) to the spy at the door.

Dumbledore, Hagrid and McGonagall smiled. He got it. He quickly ran up the stairs.

There was silence…for a moment.

"NOW! RELEASE!!!!!!!!!!!!!" Dumbledore shouted.

The shower of Dungbombs started spoiling the delicious turkeys. Everybody had at least one Dungbomb on his or her heads. For those who were Charms experts could make an umbrella out of their wands and those who have known this happening could take out their masks *Darth Vader breathing sound*. Unfortunately, for those who weren't Charms experts or didn't know anything about that operation, well, too bad for them.

"Seamus! To ground 54!" ordered Dumbledore, "You! Pass it! GO! GO! GO!"

"What are you shouting abou…" said Professor Snape but a Dungbomb flew at his face and interrupted his conversation

 "AAARRRGGGHHH!"

" McGonagall! Release it at ground 75…OH NO! Dungbomb at 60 mph! 4 o' clock…TOO LATE!!"

McGonagall, who was smart to use the Invisibility Cloak that she borrowed from Harry to hide the Dungbombs, released the deadly stinking load.

"PEEVES! NOW!"

The cupboard door opened and the poltergeist barged out with his freshly charmed Dungbombs that fly to the nearest person at 150 mph (very painful indeed!) and always fly back at him or her. Of course, he's insane so he just did it.

"HAGRID!"

Hagrid, who could hide 60 Dungbombs in one pocket, which he had 10 pockets in his whole dirty suit, which meant he had 600 Dungbombs, used his powerful, muscular strength to fly the Dungbomb all around the hall (he could throw a Dungbomb 10 times the length of the Great Hall before landing).

"WEASLEY TEAM! To the center of 150! I repeat! 1-5-0! Peeves to forty five!"

Parvati, who's smart brain was given this job, calculated the distances between grounds and moved pieces that represented the people to their places and shouted any tactic possible. ("NEVILLE! To ground 70 and throw it to 9 o' clock and join party 5 in ground 65!") 

"ALL OF GRYFFINDOR! REPORT TO YOUR RESPECTIVE GROUNDS AND PARTIES except Hermione, which will be excused to your dormitory. NOW!"

Some rushed to their dormitories for their pillows to take cover. But McGonagall transfigured their "sandbags" into sand so NO COVER!

"DEAN, RELEASE!"

Dean, who had been practicing toe-coordination, tapped the Butt hidden in the table three times.

The same green smoke streamed out of the table. Now, things really got smellier. Professor Sprout and Flitwick, who began to enjoy the chaotic situation, competed against each other to see who could catch the most Dungbombs and throw them back. Of course, Sprout won (Flitwick's too short.). Some fainted *bang*.

Colin Creevey, the Muggle-born, began snapping photos and if anybody threw Dungbombs at his lens, he would take his own Dungbomb and kick it at the person who unwisely challenged his wrath (he knew how to play soccer).

The other Muggle-borns, who knew how to play golf, asked their friends to enlarge their wands and used them as golf clubs. Oliver Wood was one of a million to escape without a single Dungbomb on his hea-…alas, spoke too soon.

How fortunate for Professor Binns. He was a ghost.

The chaos had nearly ended when Filch barged in. He fainted *bang* and his cat, Mrs. Norris gave a squeal. McGonagall transfigured a Dungbomb into a clockwork mouse. Mrs. Norris was too unfortunate to swallow the mouse and burped out green gas a second before she fainted *bang* too. Then, they continued the war.

When the war ended, ("FINALLY!" Hermione said in relief) the students came out either smelly or jumping around with glee.

Dumbledore winked at them and said, "So…who's hungry?"