In the depths of the night at Hogwarts, specifically in the early hours following Halloween, the castle lay in restful slumber. Students slept soundly after a day full of parties, frights, and chaos.
In the Gryffindor Tower, silence reigned supreme, broken only by the occasional creak of the beams and the soft whisper of wind against the windows. Among those sleeping was Red, who snoozed like a log. Though in his case, it wasn't mere exhaustion—it was the result of a diabolical scheme involving his sisters and some illicit concoction.
However, Red wasn't the only one who'd been targeted that night. And no, I'm not referring to the petrified students starting to show up around the castle. Red, of course, knew nothing about those incidents, having spent the night surrounded by ghosts at the party, followed by a romantic stroll with his date.
No, this was something else entirely. Another attack. Another victim.
In the Gryffindor dormitory, a figure lurked. Its movements were slow, deliberate, almost imperceptible. It made sure not to be seen—by students, portraits, or even the spectral sentinels that floated through the corridors. The figure reached the dorms, seeking a specific target.
In the Gryffindor dormitory, a figure lurked. Its movements were slow, deliberate, almost imperceptible. It made sure not to be seen—by students, portraits, or even the spectral sentinels that floated through the corridors. The figure reached the dorms, seeking a specific target.
It slipped through the door of a room full of sleeping boys. No lock could stop it, no magical barrier seemed to acknowledge its presence. Its eyes scanned the beds, dimly lit by the faint moonlight filtering through the curtains.
First, a redhead snoring with his mouth wide open, his breath forming tiny bubbles of drool.
Then Neville, clutching his pillow like it was a life raft in a sea of restless dreams.
And finally, the boy with a lightning-shaped scar on his forehead.
The intruder's gaze stopped on him. A malicious smile crept across its lips, radiating triumph.
...
"AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHHH!!!"
The silence shattered into a million pieces by a soul-piercing scream that echoed through the entire castle.
The shriek was so intense, so ear-splitting, it seemed impossible it had come from human vocal cords. The echo bounced through Hogwarts' halls, climbed the tallest towers, rumbled through the dungeons, and probably even woke the giant squid in the Black Lake.
The entire castle trembled, literally. Ghosts jolted and phased through walls in a panic. Metal suits of armor clattered to the floor, rousing several portraits, who began murmuring among themselves with expressions of sheer horror.
...
*Knock, knock, knock!*
The pounding on my door was loud enough to rival a drumbeat, but even that wasn't enough to pull me out of my unconscious state. I lay there, completely immobile, oblivious to the world, sunken in a slumber so deep that not even a lightning strike outside my window could have stirred me.
The banging grew more insistent, almost violent, as if whoever was on the other side was trying to break the door down. Apparently, their patience wore thin because, with a magical roar and a blinding flash, the door exploded into splinters.
And still, I didn't wake.
"Get up, for fuck's sake!"
My body was shaken mercilessly, rattled as if someone was trying to yank my soul out. I even felt the sting of a few slaps, though they did little more than add a faint burning sensation to my unresponsive face. Finally, someone lost their patience and resorted to more extreme measures.
A jolt of electricity shot through me from head to toe. The pain jolted me awake as if I'd stuck a fork into a live socket, and my survival instincts retaliated with a burst of raw magic. An invisible wave blasted out from me, slamming my attacker against the wall with a satisfying thud.
I woke up gasping, my mind foggy. I staggered to my feet, my body heavy and my thoughts sluggish. My senses were still dulled, and everything felt like it was wrapped in a thick haze. I noticed an unpleasant tingling across my skin and, more disturbingly, a particular discomfort in my... penis.
Blinking a few times, my vision finally focused. And there he was. Snape. Staring at me with an expression rarely seen on his face—a mix of barely contained fury and something dangerously close to murderous intent.
"So, the Sleeping Beauty finally awakens," Snape sneered, his tone dripping with venomous sarcasm. There was a sharp edge to his words that I couldn't ignore. "I thought I might have to resort to something even stronger to drag you back to reality."
I tried to process what he was saying, but my brain felt like it was stuck in molasses, and everything sounded as if I were underwater.
"What's up, Bitch Snape?" I mumbled, barely managing to string the words together. My voice was hoarse, and my ears buzzed. I spoke more out of instinct than coherence. "Did you get your period or something? I don't handle that kind of blood…"
To my surprise, Snape didn't immediately incinerate me on the spot as he would've with any other student—or anyone, for that matter—who dared to speak to him like that. Instead, his eyebrow arched, and his face darkened even further, a feat I didn't think was possible.
"You're royally screwed, Weasley," he said, gripping his wand tightly, as if restraining himself from using it for something more drastic. "I hope you're ready for your expulsion… and Azkaban."
The word hit my senses like a bucket of ice water.
"What?" I croaked, still groggy.
"Follow me, Mr. Weasley. You have a lot to explain." Snape took a step forward, pointing his wand at me.
I had no idea what was happening, but the tone of his voice made it clear he wasn't joking. I tried to steady myself, but my legs were wobbly, and my mind was still a mess. Before I could protest, Snape conjured a rope that coiled around my wrists like a snake. Without giving me a chance to resist, he yanked me out of the room like a criminal.
As he dragged me through the hallways, I tried to piece together what the hell was going on. My body still felt off, like I'd been in a coma for weeks and was just now waking up. Was this all the accumulated exhaustion hitting me at once because I'd finally decided to sleep like a normal person?
'Snape wouldn't be this dramatic if it weren't for something really serious,' I thought, trying to ignore the curious glances from some portraits as we passed by.
I tried to channel my magic, pushing it through my body to clear my head and regain my strength. I needed to be ready for whatever awaited me.
By the time I finally got my body to cooperate, I was fully aware of where we were headed: the girls' bathroom on the second floor. It was an odd destination, especially considering how Snape had dragged me here like I was a war criminal.
When we arrived, Snape undid the magical ropes with a harsh flick of his wand and shoved me inside. I stumbled slightly but managed to keep my balance, only to find a group of professors waiting for me with solemn expressions. There stood Dumbledore, McGonagall, Flitwick, Sprout, and, of course, Snape. The air was heavy with a gravity that seemed to seep into my bones, as if they were about to decide my fate in some final judgment.
But the solemnity shattered.
Slowly, everyone's gaze began to drop toward my body. At first, I thought it was my clothes—maybe they were disheveled. However, I followed their eyes until I realized the reason for their confusion.
A prominent and unmistakable erection was standing at attention, boldly waving like a flag in the wind.
My first instinct was to cover myself with my hands, though my attempts only seemed to draw more attention to it. I desperately tried to use magic to will it away. But, for some reason, controlling my own biology was proving more difficult than expected.
"Was someone attacked?" I blurted out immediately, thinking of the Chamber of Secrets.
My guess wasn't well-received.
"How dare you, Mr. Weasley?!" McGonagall exploded, her face flushing with fury. "How could you even…?!"
She didn't finish the sentence, probably because she was so enraged the words got stuck in her throat.
"I didn't kill anyone!" I hurried to defend myself, raising my hands in a gesture of innocence. "I was so asleep I couldn't have even been sleepwalking, I swear."
"Ha!" Snape's sarcastic laugh cut through the tension behind me, dripping with venom and mockery. "Innocent, my balls."
"Severus!" Sprout scolded him immediately, horrified by his language.
Snape coughed, a gesture that clashed with the embarrassment he felt. "Forgive me…" he muttered, clearly surprised by his own words. It was absurd how, around this young redhead, his composure often slipped in such an embarrassingly childish way.
"Getting back to the topic..." Dumbledore interrupted gently, as if trying to prevent the conversation from completely derailing. "We are not here to accuse you of anything related to the Chamber of Secrets, Mr. Weasley. However, there is something no less important..."
"So, the Chamber of Secrets has been opened?" I asked, growing increasingly intrigued.
The tension in the room shot up several levels. Snape looked at me as if I had just confessed to a murder.
"Have you not seen what was written on the wall?" Snape interjected, stepping toward me with his trademark accusatory expression. "Though now that I think about it... you weren't at dinner. Nor when we found Potter and Weasley at the crime scene... or after."
"I was at Nearly Headless Nick's Deathday Party," I replied with a shrug. "Then I went for a walk with the Grey Lady. You can ask her if you don't believe me. I had no idea anything had happened."
"But you know about the Chamber of Secrets!" Snape continued accusingly, raising an eyebrow with theatrical flair.
"I overheard it mentioned when I returned to the dormitory, but I was so tired I didn't pay attention. I didn't know it was important until now," I replied, trying to sound convincing. "Who was attacked?"
"Filch and Mrs. Norris," answered Flitwick, who seemed more impressed by my supposed dance with the Grey Lady than by recent events.
"Are they alive or dead?" I asked, my curiosity outweighing the bizarre tension.
"Alive, though petrified," Sprout quickly clarified. "They can be treated once the mandrakes mature."
"We are straying from the topic," cut in McGonagall, who seemed on the verge of exploding once again. Her glare bore into me like she wanted to erase my existence with sheer force of will.
"Fine, if it's not about the Chamber of Secrets," I said, exasperated. "What's so important that you dragged me to the girls' bathroom in the middle of the night instead of waiting until morning?"
Dumbledore sighed, carrying the weight of something he clearly didn't want to explain. "It's about Myrtle..." he began, with a certain reluctance. "She... did something that..."
"I didn't do anything wrong!" Myrtle suddenly screamed, appearing as she floated over the cubicles. But it wasn't her outburst that froze the scene—it was the image she presented. On her ghostly pelvis, she wore a strap-on with a pink plastic dildo dangling and swaying slightly as she floated. "You're all sexual prudes who despise me for doing what you can't admit to yourselves!"
The silence that followed was almost tangible.
Flitwick and Sprout averted their eyes, visibly uncomfortable. McGonagall seemed torn between fury and a nervous breakdown, while Snape stared at her with a mix of disdain and what appeared to be genuine horror. As for Dumbledore, he simply lowered his gaze, looking as though he had aged ten years in an instant.
As for me, my brain took a few seconds to process what I was seeing. And when it did, absolute horror took hold of me. I suddenly remembered those absurd, perverted gifts I had sent Myrtle during the holidays, and a dreadful idea struck me like lightning.
"Myrtle!" I roared, unleashing my magical aura involuntarily. The bathroom stalls flew open, slamming against the walls with a resounding crash. "I TOLD YOU VERY CLEARLY THAT YOU COULDN'T TOUCH ANY GIRLS IN THIS SCHOOL!"
Myrtle pouted childishly, floating as if my outburst were a minor annoyance.
"I didn't do anything to any girl!" she protested. "I never broke my promise. The girls are untouched... at least by me."
My fury subsided slightly, but I froze when I saw Dumbledore nodding in confirmation. Confused, I looked at Myrtle, then at the professors, searching for answers.
"Then what happened?" I asked, growing more bewildered by the second.
Snape wasted no time casting me an accusatory look. "Don't you think it's time to tell us what kind of shady deal you had with this ghost? What methods you used to provide her with such artifacts and to perpetrate her... crimes, possibly at your behest?"
"I didn't do any of that!" I replied, frustrated. "I only gave her some gifts that... interested her. But now, can someone tell me what's going on?"
McGonagall, with gritted teeth and a face redder than ever, responded in a tone loaded with indignation.
"The person assaulted was not a girl," she said sharply.
"That's correct," added Dumbledore with a deep sigh. "It was Harry Potter who was sexually assaulted while he slept."
"Excuse me, what?" I asked, bringing both hands to my ears as if to ensure I had heard correctly.
Snape, clearly savoring the moment, stepped closer. He seemed to have a conflict of emotions: between enjoying and despising the situation... much like what he felt about Harry all the time, perhaps explaining why those feelings were so conflicting.
"Your dear ghost entered the Gryffindor dormitories during the night... and attacked Mr. Potter with that... artifact she's wearing."
I turned slowly to Myrtle, who, to my horror, was puffing out her chest in a victorious pose.
"Myrtle... used the dildo on Potter's ass?" I asked, my voice as flat as my disbelief.
"In cruder terms... yes," Dumbledore confirmed with as much neutrality as he could muster, though it was clear he was awaiting some sort of reaction from me.
I fell silent. The air felt heavier, charged with tension, as my mind struggled to grasp the absurdity of the situation.
"Oh..." I murmured finally, as the information sank in.
The professors watched me expectantly. Snape seemed ready to extract a confession, while McGonagall stepped forward with a frown.
"Mr. Weasley..." she began, her tone full of warning.
I didn't respond. Instead, I started trembling.
"Mr. Weasley?" Flitwick intervened, clearly concerned.
The trembling in my body intensified.
"Mr. Weasley?" Sprout repeated, looking ready to intervene magically if I exploded again.
Then, the tension broke.
"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA...!" Laughter burst from my throat like an unstoppable torrent. I clutched my chest with one hand while the other braced against the wall to keep from collapsing, and the laughter echoed throughout the bathroom like an endless refrain.
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