Harry Potter Ladies Room

The Unforgiving Lavatory Incident

The air within the lavatory clung to their skin like a damp shroud, as if the very walls absorbed the fear and desperation that had unfolded there. Harry Potter and Ron Weasley lay sprawled on the cold, cracked tiles, their robes stained with basilisk venom—a venom that seared through their veins, leaving them weakened and disoriented. Their wands, once their lifelines, now lay discarded, useless against the horrors they had faced.

The battle had been fierce—the serpent's hissing, the desperate slashes of the sword, and the frantic struggle to save Ginny Weasley. Harry's scar throbbed, a constant reminder of the ancient evil they had confronted. Ron's knuckles were raw from gripping the sword, his face etched with determination. They had fought not just for themselves but for the girl lying unconscious nearby—the girl whose life hung in the balance.

Now, their strength waned, and their vision blurred as they tried to make sense of their surroundings. The flickering candlelight cast elongated shadows on the mildewed walls, and the scent of damp stone mingled with the lingering odor of the basilisk. Moaning Myrtle, the ghostly inhabitant of this bathroom, floated above them, her mournful wails echoing like a dirge.

Myrtle: "Oh, my dears, you've made quite the mess, haven't you? All that drama and valor. It's almost poetic, like a tragic ballad sung by the ghosts of Hogwarts."

Harry groaned, his forehead creased with pain. "Myrtle, we're not—"

Myrtle: "Dead? Not yet, but close enough. And now, the real drama begins—the aftermath of heroics, the consequences of bravery."

Ron attempted to sit up, wincing as his bruised ribs protested. "What do you mean, Myrtle?"

Myrtle: "Well, boys, you've trespassed in the ladies' lavatory—a serious offense, even by Hogwarts standards. And guess who caught you? Our beloved Potions Master, Severus Snape. Oh, he was positively delighted."

Before they could respond, the door creaked open, and Snape swept in like a tempest. His black robes billowed around him, and his obsidian eyes bore into Harry and Ron—the defeated heroes, the ghostly witness, and the unmistakable scent of basilisk venom that clung to their skin.

Snape: "Potter. Weasley. Explain yourselves."

Harry: "Professor Snape, it was—"

Snape: "Silence! You've disrupted the natural order of things. And for that, expulsion awaits."

Ron's face drained of color. "Expulsion? But—"

Snape: "No buts, Weasley. You've endangered lives, broken rules, and now you'll face the consequences. Hogwarts has no tolerance for heroics that defy its carefully maintained balance."

And so, Harry and Ron found themselves not in detention, but on the precipice of expulsion. Dumbledore's office awaited—the gargoyle guarding the entrance, the spiral staircase leading to judgment. The headmaster's twinkling eyes would weigh their actions, and the fate of their magical education hung in the balance.

As they were led away, Myrtle's ghostly laughter followed them. "Oh, the drama! The scandal! I'll be telling this tale for centuries. 'The Day Two Gryffindors Fainted in Myrtle's Lavatory.'