What if Ginny is the only girl at Hogwarts?

CH.17 - Secret revealed.

The illusion of total control was a heady drug for Harry and his companions. There was a particular, vicious satisfaction in knowing that the one house they despised, the Slytherins, were the only ones excluded from their secret empire. It felt like the ultimate victory, a final humiliation for Malfoy and his ilk, to be left in the dark while the rest of the school enjoyed the spoils.

But secrets at Hogwarts, especially ones of this magnitude, have a way of seeping through the castle’s ancient stones.

It was in a shadowy corner of the library, hidden behind a stack of books on medicinal potions, that the carefully constructed wall of silence developed its first crack. Two Hufflepuff fourth-years, their heads close together, were whispering, their voices a mixture of guilt and exhilaration.

“...and then she just... drank it! Right from the tub!” one breathed, his face flushed.
“No! Merlin, I can’t believe Potter set that up,” the other replied, shaking his head in awe.
“She’s a right little freak for it, isn’t she? A complete slag, but...” he trailed off, the unsaid ‘but we love it’ hanging in the air.

They didn’t notice the three figures that had frozen behind the adjacent bookshelf. Draco Malfoy’s pale, pointed face slowly contorted from boredom into a look of pure, unadulterated glee. A slow, sinister smile spread across his features. Behind him, Crabbe and Goyle’s dull eyes widened as they processed the overheard words, ugly grins spreading on their broad faces.

Malfoy held a finger to his lips, and the three Slytherins listened, not moving a muscle, as the Hufflepuffs detailed the nightly show, the involvement of the other houses, and Ginny’s enthusiastic participation in the second-floor girls' bathroom.

When the Hufflepuffs finally left, Malfoy turned to his cronies, his grey eyes alight with malicious fire.
“Well, well, well,” he drawled, his voice dripping with contemptuous joy. “It seems the Weasel has finally found her true calling. The school's communal cum bucket.” He chuckled, a cold, unpleasant sound. “And Potter thinks he can keep the show a secret from only us? How… selfish.”

Their path was clear. They didn’t go to a common room or a dungeon alcove. They went straight to the one authority figure they knew would not only believe them but relish the information. They strode into the Potions master’s office without knocking, finding Professor Snape hunched over a cauldron, his sallow skin illuminated by the eerie glow of a simmering potion.

“What is the meaning of this intrusion, Malfoy?” Snape asked, his voice a low bat’s squeak of annoyance.

“Professor,” Malfoy said, barely containing his excitement. “We’ve discovered something. Something about Potter. And the Weasley girl.” He proceeded to lay out the entire sordid tale: the enchanted orbs hidden in the girls' bathroom, the projected image, the ordinary tub now perpetually filled, and Ginny’s graphic, willing debasement.

As he spoke, Snape’s expression did not change. But a dark, keen interest ignited in his black eyes. His lip, usually curled in permanent disdain, twitched. He saw it as the ultimate downfall of his enemies. This was the daughter of the blood traitor Weasleys, the object of Potter's pathetic affection, being paraded as a common whore. The poetic justice was exquisite.

“...and they’ve shown it to everyone, sir,” Malfoy finished, practically vibrating with glee. “Everyone but us.”

Snape was silent for a long moment, steepling his fingers. The only sound was the bubble of the potion.
“Indeed,” he finally hissed. “It appears Mr. Potter’s arrogance knows no bounds. To believe he could orchestrate such a pervasive… enterprise… without consequence.” He looked at the three Slytherins, a rare, truly sinister smile touching his lips. “You have done well. This information is… valuable.”

Praise from Snape was rare. The three boys swelled with pride.

Snape rose from his desk, his black robes swirling around him. “The entitlement of Gryffindor must be checked. Follow me.”

He led them down to the Slytherin common room in the dungeons. The room, lit by greenish lanterns and with windows looking into the depths of the Black Lake, fell silent as the Potions master entered. With a flick of his wand and a complex, silent spell, Snape enchanted the largest stone wall of the common room. The dark, damp stone shimmered and then cleared, resolving into a crystal-clear view of the second-floor girls' bathroom.

A wave of excited murmurs swept through the Slytherin house. They gathered, their faces a gallery of sneers and hungry anticipation.

__

Snape’s lip curled into a truly sinister smile as he surveyed the clean, empty bathtub through the enchanted wall. The second-floor girls' bathroom, declared off-limits for repairs and conveniently assigned solely to Ginny for the year, was the perfect, isolated stage.

“It seems our guest of honor’s bath is… lacking its essential ingredient,” Snape drawled, his voice echoing softly in the tense silence of the Slytherin common room. He turned to face the assembled boys, their faces a mixture of confusion and rising anticipation. “Mr. Malfoy. I will open a passage from our common room directly into the girl's bathroom just for today. I suggest you and your housemates… rectify the situation. Provide the Weasley girl with the welcome she deserves.”

Understanding dawned, and with it, a wave of cruel, excited laughter swept the room. They loathed Ginny, hated everything she represented—the poverty, the Gryffindor pride, the association with Potter. But that hatred was inextricably tangled with a fierce, unwilling arousal. She was undeniably, infuriatingly beautiful, and the thought of defiling her, of forcing their mark upon her, was an intoxicating revenge.

Led by Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle, a steady stream of Slytherin boys filed through the secret passage. They emerged into the chilly, tiled bathroom, their laughter echoing off the walls. They stood around the tub, a jeering circle, and one by one, they masturbated, adding their own hot, thick semen to the growing pool. It was an act of territorial spite, a way to assert their dominance over the girl they despised and the rest of the school who had tried to exclude them. They returned to the common room ten minutes later, their task complete, their faces flushed with a perverse sense of accomplishment.

Back in the Gryffindor common room, the atmosphere was one of cheerful anticipation. Boys were settling in, ready for the nightly ritual. The tapestry flickered to life, showing the familiar view of the girls' bathroom. But the sight that greeted them was confusing.

The bathtub was already full of the characteristic pearlescent fluid.

A murmur of confusion rippled through the room. “Did we… did someone get the timing wrong?” Ron muttered, frowning at Harry. “We weren’t supposed to do it today.”

Harry’s brow furrowed, a cold knot of dread tightening in his stomach. “No. That wasn’t us. I also told the Ravenclaws and the Hufflepuffs we are not doing the cum bath today.”

Their confusion turned to shock as Ginny entered the bathroom, humming softly. She saw the full tub and a small, private smile touched her lips. She assumed it was the usual offering from the Gryffindor boys, a nightly gift from her secret admirers. She began to undress, her movements relaxed and happy.

The Gryffindors watched, their arousal mixed with a growing, sickening suspicion. They saw Ginny’s innocent pleasure, completely unaware of the violation that had just occurred.

Then, a new, unwanted voice crackled through the enchanted tapestry’s audio charm, projected from the Slytherin common room into theirs. It was Draco Malfoy’s voice, sharp and gloating.

“Enjoying the show, Potter?” Malfoy’s sneer was audible. “I hope you like the new recipe. We Slytherins decided your little slag deserved a… richer blend. A proper pure-blood contribution to the swamp you’ve made of her.”

The Gryffindor common room erupted into shouts of fury and horror. They realized with dawning rage that the cum Ginny was about to bathe in wasn’t theirs. It was from the Slytherins. The boys they hated most had violated their private spectacle, had touched what they considered theirs.