"HAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHAHA!" I kept laughing, leaning against the wall to keep from falling to the floor.
"Mr. Weasley, this is not funny!" shouted Professor McGonagall, clearly furious.
"Hahaha… I'm sorry… hahaha… It's just… hahaha…" I tried to pull myself together, but every time I thought about the scene, I broke down laughing again.
I couldn't help it; it was simply too incredible. Myrtle, the saddest and most despised ghost, had accomplished what probably every Myrtle in any universe wished for… getting into Harry Potter's pants. Although, of course, not in the most conventional way.
"It seems Mr. Weasley does not understand the gravity of the situation," said Snape, with a mix of disgust and a hint of malicious amusement on his face.
"Hey, I have nothing to do with this!" I quickly defended myself, though there was still a trace of laughter in my voice. "This isn't my fault."
"You are directly responsible for all of this!" exclaimed McGonagall, her face red with indignation. "Myrtle has already confessed."
"Well, it must be a misunderstanding. This is a false accusation. I'm completely innocent." I raised my hands in a gesture of honesty. "I can defend myself against whatever you say."
"Miss Warren has told us that you were the one who provided her with those… recreational artifacts and, moreover, incited her to act in this way." Dumbledore looked directly into my eyes, with that expression that mixed patience and disappointment.
"Ah, there's the problem… Let me think for a second." I placed a hand on my chin, pretending to think deeply.
"To make up an excuse?" Snape sneered, raising an eyebrow.
"No, to remember if I really said or did anything that could have led to this. Myrtle…" I turned toward the ghost, who floated calmly with a proud pose. "This doesn't have something to do with what I told you at the party, does it?"
"Exactly!" Myrtle responded, puffing out her chest enthusiastically. "I did what you told me. You were right: I had to take charge. And look, everything turned out perfectly!"
"Perfect isn't exactly the word I'd use, Myrtle." I sighed, turning back to the professors. "Okay, I think I can explain all this. If you'll allow me, I'd like to present my defense." I gave a theatrical bow, trying to appear respectful.
The professors exchanged glances. Dumbledore, Sprout, and Flitwick finally nodded, curious to hear what I had to say. McGonagall, on the other hand, crossed her arms and looked at me with narrowed eyes, like a hawk staring at a trapped mouse.
"This is a waste of time. The evidence is clear. We should call the Aurors and send him straight to Azkaban. I'll even send your Christmas gift there if you'd like!" Snape, of course, sneered with disdain.
"Thanks for your support, Snape, always so encouraging as usual." I rolled my eyes and took a deep breath before starting. "Well, first of all, I want to explain how Myrtle got those items and, more importantly, how she's able to use them."
I gave a brief introduction to my ability, careful not to reveal too many details that might compromise me in the future. In reality, possessing a technique that allows ghosts to interact with physical objects is something revolutionary, something that would undoubtedly shake the foundations of the magical world. But I clarified seriously that I had no intention of becoming famous for it; I wasn't an inventor seeking recognition, just someone with a peculiar ability who preferred to keep a low profile.
"So, I gave her those objects because we're friends, and, well, I discovered her… hobby. You can't blame her, you know? Myrtle died as a teenager, at the age of being studded like a mare in heat..."
"Mr. Weasley, do not use that kind of expression again!" Professor McGonagall interrupted, clearly outraged.
"I'm sorry, Professor, that was a terrible choice of words. Let me continue. As I was saying, I gave her those items as a good friend, but I also established very clear rules in our agreement. Among them, she was never to reveal my ability, never admit that I had given her those things, and under no circumstances was she to use them to do anything to any girl in this castle. I thought I was being sufficiently cautious. I'm not an idiot who wants to create a monster to harm others." I said with the utmost sincerity.
"And yet, this happened," Snape scoffed with his characteristic disdain.
"Yes, well… maybe I wasn't as smart as I thought. I made sure to protect the girls because, in my mind, only they could be in danger. I never imagined the boys could be a target. What can I say? I guess I'm too pure to conceive of these kinds of scenarios." I exhaled theatrically, adopting the most innocent expression I could. "It's an honest mistake."
"And what do you have to say about Myrtle's claim that you were the one who told her to do it?" McGonagall asked, her eyes glinting with determination.
"Ah, there's the second issue. I would never tell Myrtle to do something like that to Potter, even if I hated him. The only thing I told her that night, seeing her so depressed because Potter had rejected her invitation to the ball, was that she shouldn't give up. That sometimes, if you really want something, you have to take the initiative to make things happen. I used those exact words: 'Take the initiative.' Never, in my worst nightmares, did I think Myrtle would interpret them in such an… extreme way."
"Is that true, Miss Warren?" Dumbledore interjected, addressing Myrtle calmly.
"I think so, those were exactly his words," Myrtle admitted without hesitation, as if she didn't fully understand the uproar she had caused.
"Then do you consider yourself completely innocent, even though your actions indirectly led to the defilement of Potter? I don't see it that way. You will have to take the blame," Snape insisted in his icy tone, making it clear he wanted to see me locked away in Azkaban.
"Let me give you an example." I paused for a moment, gathering my thoughts before looking at the professors with my best defense attorney face. "Professor Flitwick, if you teach the Depulso charm and then tell a student not to give up on love, is it your fault if that student uses Depulso to push their rival off a cliff? Professor McGonagall, if you teach students to transfigure owls into binoculars and then encourage them to pursue what they desire, are you responsible if a student uses those binoculars to spy on someone in the bathroom? Professor Sprout, if you teach about mandrakes and inspire a student to fight for their dreams, are you to blame if that student throws a mandrake to eliminate workplace competition? If..."
"I believe we understand your point, Mr. Weasley," Dumbledore interrupted, though there was a hint of concern in his expression. Perhaps he was recalling another talented student whose unusual skills had also led to unintended consequences.
"Well, that's my defense. I simply encouraged a friend with plain words. Yes, I told her not to give up, but I never suggested she go to such extremes. I'm not saying Myrtle is entirely at fault or should be severely punished either. At the end of the day, this also highlights our own oversight—the living—for failing to address her properly. Ghosts are an inseparable part of our lives; just look at Professor Binns, who remains our teacher." I concluded calmly, hoping to distance myself from the issue while not abandoning Myrtle. After all, she was still my friend.
My words seemed to have an effect. The professors, except for Snape, appeared pensive. Even McGonagall, who had shown the most indignation, seemed to relax her imposing and stern demeanor. I could see her considering my argument, likely searching for flaws but finding nothing substantial.
A discussion among the professors ensued. Meanwhile, I stayed silent in the corner, ready to intervene if necessary. They debated for quite a while, and although Snape insisted on my culpability, the final vote went in my favor. By majority decision, I was "cleared of charges."
"However, there remains an issue, Mr. Weasley," Professor Dumbledore said, stopping me just as I was preparing to leave the office. "We must address the current situation. Although you're not the direct cause, you were involved in the incident, and I believe it's reasonable for you to help resolve it. What do you suggest we do?"
All eyes turned to me. Clearly, they didn't expect me to fix everything, but they were looking to me for a starting point in addressing such a peculiar situation.
"Well, I don't think it's that difficult to solve," I began confidently. "First, gather everyone aware of what happened—Harry's dormmates, Gryffindor students who might have found out, and anyone else in the loop. Then, use a Memory Charm."
"Are you suggesting we alter the memories of our own students?" McGonagall exclaimed, horrified. Her protective instincts toward the students made her react strongly to the idea of manipulating their minds.
"Then what do you propose? That we let this spread? That it stays in everyone's memory forever, and 'The Boy Who Lived' becomes 'The Boy Who Got Ghostly Pegged'? Let the weight of my words sink in. "Do you realize the psychological damage Harry could suffer? Even if no one mentions it, he'll start to see it in their gazes—mockery, pity, or sympathy. Over time, it'll only get worse. This will eat away at him until he can't bear it anymore. The scenarios that could follow are disastrous: social isolation, suicide, complete withdrawal into hermit-like solitude, or worse—a consuming hatred that drives him to the dark side, seeking revenge on anyone he thinks is laughing at him, guilty or not. Do you really want to watch Harry destroy himself?"
My words seemed to hit home for McGonagall. She remained silent, her face somber as she reflected. The possibility of such outcomes seemed all too real—not certain, but undeniably possible.
"I believe erasing these specific memories won't cause harm," Dumbledore finally said, his tone solemn. He, too, seemed to have considered the worst-case scenario, and as someone who needed Harry ready to face Voldemort, he couldn't risk Harry being trapped in trauma like this. "We could also consider another option," he added after a pause. "We could have those who know sign a magical contract forbidding them from revealing it."
"Where is Harry?" I asked, trying to steer toward a solution.
"In the infirmary," Professor Sprout replied, noticeably flustered. "Madam Pomfrey is... treating his injuries."
"Good. We just need to administer diluted Swooping Evil venom..." I began to explain.
"To erase his bad memories," Flitwick finished instinctively, immediately grasping my idea.
"Hey! So what I did will just be a nice memory," Myrtle protested, crossing her arms indignantly.
"And Myrtle, I think you need lessons in ethics and morality," I pointed toward Professor McGonagall. "I'm sure she'll be delighted to help you. She has every right to." Myrtle looked at McGonagall with pleading eyes, but the professor returned a stern gaze. "Sorry, Myrtle," I added, trying to sound compassionate. "But you made a mistake. I think Minerva can teach you what's right, what's wrong, and how a healthy relationship works." I paused, letting a faint red aura glow on my fingers. Myrtle shuddered at the sight and, with a pout, nodded sadly.
"Well, it seems Mr. Weasley has everything under control," Snape remarked with his usual sarcasm. "However, I doubt he understands how difficult it is to obtain Swooping Evil venom."
"Of course I do, Professor. And I also know you must have some tucked away," I replied, rolling my eyes at his attempt to contradict me. "And if not, I just happen to have some on me, just in case."
"How is it possible for a mere student to possess such a strictly regulated substance?" Snape snapped, turning his accusatory glare toward me. "I don't believe any establishment would sell something like that to a minor. Is there anything else you wish to confess, Mr. Weasley?"
I sighed, already weary of his tone. "A friend of a friend of an acquaintance... does it matter? Ask Dumbledore; he knows who and where I got it from." I waved dismissively, redirecting all attention to the headmaster.
Dumbledore, unperturbed, simply stroked his beard and calmly said, "It's from an old student. She has a new business, which also serves as a restaurant. I'll invite you all there during the holidays." His swift subject change revealed he didn't want to delve into the details.
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1st Additional Chapter
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