Malfoy's warning echoed in my mind long after he'd left the classroom.
So, they were planning something. Not unexpected. But this early in the year? That meant they were more pissed off than I initially thought.
I leaned back in my chair, arms crossed as I stared at the flickering candlelight in the Gryffindor common room. Should I get the rest of the year involved in this? Make it a group effort?
No.
This was an opportunity. A perfect chance to test myself, see how I measured up when it wasn't a controlled duel or a classroom exercise.
More importantly, it was a chance to send a message.
If the Slytherins wanted to play games, I'd show them the consequences of challenging me. I didn't need to just beat them—I needed to break them. Not physically, no. That was easy. But mentally? Psychologically?
I'd plant a seed of fear so deep in their minds that they'd hesitate before even thinking about coming after me again.
Let them try.
I'd make them pay with tears and blood.
Curfew had already set in when I left the library that evening. The halls were mostly empty, save for the occasional flicker of torchlight against the stone walls.
I pulled out my map—the one I'd spent an entire summer to finish creating using rune magic, long hours of study in the Room of Requirement, and more frustration than I'd like to admit. I still couldn't quite figure out how the Marauders had made theirs as none was that in rune magic , maybe " Lily potter ".
Three dots lingered behind the corner ahead.
Crabbe. Goyle. Theodore Nott.
Well, well. So that's who they sent.
A clever setup, really. If I hadn't had the map and Malfoy warning , I might have walked straight into their ambush. I always took this route from the library—it was predictable. This had to be Nott's plan not for crabbe and goyle .
Too bad for them—I had an advantage they didn't account for.
I smirked and stepped around the corner.
"Surprise, motherfuckers."
Their heads snapped up in shock, eyes wide, wands barely raised.
I didn't give them a chance to react. My wand flicked. "Petrificus Totalus."
Nott dropped like a sack of bricks before he could even process what was happening.
That left Crabbe and Goyle.
They hesitated, looking at their fallen comrade. Panic flickered in their eyes. Should they fight? Should they run?
They made the wrong choice.
I was on them before they could fully react. Crabbe tried to swing at me—honestly, the bloke had fists the size of dinner plates, but no skill to back them up. I ducked, sending a quick Expelliarmus to disarm him before hitting him with a leg-locking curse. He crashed onto the floor, flailing uselessly.
Goyle turned to run.
"Not so fast."
A well-placed Stupefy sent him sprawling.
Silence settled over the corridor. Three bodies on the ground, motionless.
I let out a slow breath.
That was easy.
I crouched down, looking at the three unconscious idiots. "Now," I murmured, tapping my wand against my palm. "What to do with you lot…?"
The next morning, Hogwarts woke to whispers.
Students huddled in groups, eyes flickering toward the entrance hall, where a small crowd had gathered. Curious murmurs filled the air as people craned their necks to get a better look at what had caused such a spectacle.
And then the laughter began.
Loud. Unrestrained. Echoing through the stone corridors.
Because there, in the middle of the hallway, sat Vincent Crabbe, Gregory Goyle, and Theodore Nott—draped in women's undergarments.
Pink frilly nightgowns, lace-trimmed corsets, and even a particularly scandalous-looking negligee that would've made Madam Rosmerta blush.
Their faces were a sight to behold—red with embarrassment, eyes darting around as if they'd rather be anywhere but here. Crabbe fidgeted with the hem of his silk nightdress, his brutish frame making the garment look particularly ridiculous. Goyle, still half-asleep, rubbed his eyes as if hoping this was some bizarre dream. And Nott… well, Nott was sitting stock-still, hands clenched into fists, seething.
The laughter only grew louder.
Even some Ravenclaws, who normally prided themselves on decorum, had tears in their eyes. A group of Gryffindor's had resorted to holding onto one another for support as they doubled over in laughter.
Then, suddenly—SNAP!
The air grew thick with tension as a sharp crack of boots against stone echoed through the hall.
Professor Snape had arrived.
The laughter died instantly.
His black robes billowed as he swept toward the trio, eyes dark as storm clouds. His gaze cut through the crowd like a dagger.
"Who." His voice was soft. Lethal. "Did this?"
Silence.
Not a single student spoke up.
Snape's eyes burned into the gathered students. His nostrils flared.
"I will not ask again."
Still, no one dared to move.
His gaze finally fell on Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott. They had already been freed from their transfigured garments—no doubt by an older student, or perhaps the magic had worn off naturally. But the damage had been done. The humiliation lingered like a brand on their skin.
Snape turned to them, his voice like ice.
"Explain."
The three exchanged uneasy glances.
Nott opened his mouth, then shut it.
Crabbe frowned deeply, as if trying to recall something just out of reach.
Goyle rubbed his temples, frustrated.
"We… we don't know," Nott finally admitted, scowling.
Snape's eyes narrowed.
"You do not know?"
Nott looked ready to explode, but he forced himself to stay calm. "We remember walking to library… and then—nothing."
Snape's expression flickered for the briefest moment. Then, ever so subtly, his hand twitched at his side.
Obliviate.
He knew the signs. This wasn't simple prank magic. Someone had erased their memories.
In a childish duel, that was dangerous.
Snape's fingers curled slightly, his sharp mind already working through the implications. Whoever had done this wasn't just trying to humiliate them.
His eyes flickered through the crowd, scanning the faces of students. He noticed Draco Malfoy, standing off to the side, looking distinctly confused. That was interesting. If Malfoy had ordered this ambush, why hadn't he been warned about this outcome?
Snape turned sharply to a nearby prefect.
"Take them to the hospital wing." His tone left no room for argument.
The prefect nodded quickly, motioning for Crabbe, Goyle, and Nott to follow. They hesitated only a moment before stumbling away, still disoriented.
Snape straightened, his gaze dark. He swept across the students one final time before speaking.
"This display is over. Disperse."
The students didn't need to be told twice.
They scattered, whispers already beginning again in hushed tones.
As Snape turned on his heel, his mind churned with thoughts.
Whoever had done this was not only skilled but ruthless. Using memory charms in a schoolyard fight… That was a line most wouldn't dare to cross.
And yet, no one had stepped forward.
Which meant one thing.
Whoever had done this… had made sure no one would talk.