Back at the castle, Joel tracked Richie down.
"Richie, we opened that gift box you got this morning. Your gut was right. It was a prank," Joel said, looking dead serious. "It was packed with Sniggering Ferret Powder. Even a speck of that stuff makes you uncontrollably itchy and forces you into fits of hysterical laughter. Prefect Tristan got hit by it. He's in the hospital wing right now."
Joel crossed his arms. "Aside from the hate mail flying around Ravenclaw, you're the first one to get a physical, weaponized prank like this."
Richie gave a slow nod. "Any idea who sent it?"
Joel smiled bitterly. "None. We went up to the Owlery and checked the school owls' delivery logs. Not a single one made a delivery matching that box this morning. As for personal owls, the Owlery doesn't track them. They come and go as they please, making them impossible to trace."
Joel glanced up and down the empty corridor before lowering his voice. "So, I'm here to give you a heads-up, but I also need a favor. I need you to sneak up to the Owlery and scope out the personal owls. Try to identify the one that dropped the box. If we find the bird, we find the owner. Then we nail the bastard behind this."
Richie thought about it for a second, then nodded. "Alright. I'm on it."
Since he was the intended target, he definitely wanted to know who was bold enough to take a swing at him. Could it be Draco? Richie highly doubted it. If Draco was sending him weaponized prank boxes, the whole extortion stunt down by the Black Lake tonight would have been completely redundant.
After splitting up with Joel, Richie headed back to the Ravenclaw common room and stood in front of the Quidditch bulletin board, studying the strategy logs.
He was going to forge them, sure, but he couldn't make the fake data too ridiculous, or they'd spot the lie immediately.
But there was a glaring logistical issue. Draco had explicitly ordered him to steal the logs off the board. Logically, this demand only led to three possible outcomes.
1. The logs genuinely disappear, sparking massive panic within Ravenclaw.
2. Richie copies the logs and hands over the intel. Slytherin gets the strategy, but nothing is actually stolen.
3. Richie forges the logs. But this runs a huge risk of being discovered, whether he swaps the fake onto the board or just hands it directly to Draco.
Based on Draco's play, he absolutely wanted the first scenario. The physical theft was the whole point—it was the crime that would cement his blackmail leverage over Richie. Which meant simply handing over a copy wouldn't satisfy Draco.
But the third scenario was exactly what Richie wanted to execute.
To pull off the forgery without Draco catching on, Richie needed to make the real logs vanish from the board for a while. He had to artificially create the panic of a theft so Draco couldn't verify the fake intel against the real board.
But how was he going to pull that off?
"Richie?"
A voice suddenly pulled him out of his thoughts. Richie turned to see Penelope Clearwater walking toward him. His eyes lit up.
"Wow, Penelope. Looks like the perm was a total success," Richie smiled. "If you walk through the castle looking like that, you're going to snap a few necks."
Penelope strutted over gracefully, rocking a gorgeous head of shoulder-length, cascading waves.
A few days ago, the Ravenclaw girls had dug up an obsolete domestic spell in the library—the Ironing Charm. It was originally designed for pressing wool clothing but became completely useless once modern Scouring Charms and hygiene spells were invented.
Overhearing them talk about it, Richie had casually tossed out an idea: "If it works on wool, why wouldn't it work on hair? You guys could literally style your own hair however you want."
In the wizarding world, hair was a massive sore spot for witches. There were barely any magical hairdressers, and the few that existed were ancient family businesses passing down ridiculously outdated styling spells. You basically pointed at a picture, they waved a wand, and you were stuck with it. As a result, almost every witch had the exact same stiff, boring haircut.
But with changing times, modern witches actually cared about their aesthetics. The teenage girls at Hogwarts were especially fed up with looking like historical reenactors. A spell that let them fully customize their own hair was an absolute game-changer.
Richie had inadvertently handed them the holy grail of magical hair care, and the Ravenclaw girls had completely lost their minds. For the last few days, half the house had been walking around with bizarre, frizzy, botched hairstyles as they practiced the charm. But obviously, a few girls—like Penelope—had finally perfected it.
"Thanks," Penelope beamed, tossing her head confidently. She clearly loved the glamorous volume. But she quickly shifted gears back to business. "Did you hear about the gift box? Joel's been looking for you."
"I know, I just talked to him," Richie nodded.
Penelope exhaled heavily, looking visibly frustrated. "I seriously don't get it. Threats, ambushes, cursed packages—we haven't seen this kind of toxic garbage in years! I have no idea what they're going to try next!"
Maybe because Ravenclaw's Quidditch team was never a real threat before this year? Richie thought. But listening to her rant, a brilliant plan suddenly clicked into place.
"Penelope, I think we need to make a preemptive strike. Especially since the match is only two days away."
Penelope looked intrigued. "Preemptive strike? What kind of plan do you have?"
Richie laid out his entire strategy.
"..." Penelope frowned. "But wouldn't doing that cause a massive panic?"
"..."
"...Oh. Right. It would actually force everyone to unite."
"..."
"...Okay, that makes total sense. You really earn that 'Seven-Pointed Star' title, don't you?"
After a bit of convincing, Penelope completely bought in. It was admittedly a bit manipulative toward their own housemates, but to her, it was the perfect tactical move to counter the ongoing Slytherin sabotage.
"Hmph. The harder they try to keep Ravenclaw down, the harder we're going to crush them!" Penelope's eyes were fierce with determination. "I'll brief the other prefects right now and get this moving."
Richie gave a silent nod of approval.
Back in his dorm, Richie immediately wrote a quick letter to Hagrid and sent it off with his owl. Then, he dove straight into his expanded suitcase study and booted up his forgery operation.
But simply handing over a basic set of fake logs wasn't really Richie's style. So, while he was drafting the documents, he made sure to add a little... special surprise into the margins.