The Watcher

Written by Mirrors.Not me.

Moaning Myrtle sat in the high window and watched the limping man with the walking stick slowly approach, his great stealth an impressive feat for being in a room that was notorious for creating loud echos.
She knew him. She knew everyone at Hogwarts. Myrtle usually had the pleasure of company here in the lavatory, but never him before. The others had described him to her, and this was definitely him. She stayed still, somewhat camouflaged within the sunlight streaming through the stained glass window’s pattern, and watched with wide eyes as the pale boy with the platinum hair stood alone, relieving himself and whistling, no idea that there was anyone else present.

Suddenly the sneaking form barked out, followed by a sharp cry which reverberated around the chamber. Myrtle put her hands to her face and covered her mouth that she, too, would not cry out as she watched with rapt attention as the larger man grabbed the boy and spun him around, then grabbed his collar and shoved him against the wall. He was rough, the girlish specter mused, a twinkle in her incorporeal eye.

Stutters and protests filled the air in broken, halted speech, as the platinum haired lad, Draco Malfoy, raised his hands defensively before him.

“Shut yer gob!” the larger man’s voice commanded as it floated up to Myrtle’s ears. His tone was rough, but it did not match the happily evil grin on his face. She watched this man, Alastor Moody, the famed Auror, rumoured to be a very hard individual with little patience and a crass demeanor, live up to his every title as his curses rent the stillness.

Myrtle gained respect for the man immediately, as she hated Draco and had always secretly hoped that somehow he’d get what was coming to him. Maybe this was the day.
Her eyes nearly popped from their bodiless sockets as she watched Moody grab Draco’s fine mop of frosted locks then and jerk his head back violently, and began kissing him full on the mouth. Had Moaning Myrtle had a heart within her ghostly breast, it would have been beating very fast just then, and she curled up just a little as she stared down from her perch.

She saw Alastor Moody rip at the lad’s shirt, tearing it clean down the middle. What strength, she pondered, watching the Auror’s red face go even redder.

She watched as Draco plead for mercy, which seemed odd but fitting, considering usually it was he himself who made others beg for mercy while he taunted /them/ mercilessly, right here in this lavatory. For how many times he’d done it to others, he certainly deserved a bit of his own roughing up, the disembodied girl decided with a small smile.
The word “ferret” drifted throughout the room then, bouncing around the ceiling as hard as a curse. Myrtle had heard the story many times, how Draco had been turned into a ferret by Barty Crouch Jr., posing as the Auror. Apparently it had been quite something to see, and she had been jealous that she hadn’t witnessed the spectacle for herself. But here, this was just as thrilling, she was sure, looking down on the imposing Moody, looming over the smaller Malfoy.

Alastor released the boy and Myrtle watched him back off a few steps and then reach down to tug at the front of his trousers. What was he doing?

Just than she suddenly witnessed Draco reach into his robe and withdraw his wand, aiming right at Alastor Moody! How fast he moved, like a striking snake! She gasped just a little, keeping herself in check as she scrutinized the action. Moody moved to the side quite swiftly as the word, “Imperio!” came up to the dead girl’s senses, and her non-existent breath caught in her so-called throat as the Auror landed hard on the lavatory floor with a resounding thud. She saw Draco panting, looking mighty disheveled, but a small smirk about his smug face. She watched him pad over to the fallen Auror and spit a few words at him, those taunts and jeers making Myrtle frown. How could she help Moody? She had to! It couldn’t be this easy to defeat the greatest Auror ever! Her heart and respect sank just a little and her mind raced as she listened to Draco recount the story of how he’d been turned into a ferret by the imitation Moody.

“Too bad for you didn’t get to enjoy it personally, Auror,” Draco sneered, his ensuing chuckles causing a deep frown to form on the prone man’s scarred face.

As the name-calling went on and Alastor lay very still, Myrtle decided it might be best to speak with Draco’s common sense, though she knew that feat alone was next to no good, as Draco wasn’t a man of values. But before she could finish the thought, Moody’s voice rang out. He called Draco a fool, told him that he had learned nothing, not from school, and neither from his scourge of a father. That had he paid attention to either, he would have known that had the Imperious curse actually connected with him, it wouldn’t have allowed him to do “this…”

Alastor Moody swung his walking stick parallel to the ground, striking Draco on his ankle and swiping him from his feet all in one go. The fair boy immediately lost his footing and cried out as Myrtle watched, her non-existent heart leaping.

In two snaps, the two had reversed places, Draco now laying flat on the ground and Moody standing over him. Myrtle watched as Moody took Draco’s wand away, tucked it into his sleeve, aimed his walking stick at the boy and then instructed him to get up. As she watched the Auror’s twisted face and considered how easily he had fooled Draco and turned the tables on him, her respect for him began to grow again, and she couldn’t help but eye him over.

“Get ‘em off,” the demanding voice growled up to her, chased by Draco’s whimpers. She saw the pale one remove his trousers, then the remains of his rended school shirt, and then slip off his underwear as Moody continued to snap angrily at him. Draco covered his nudeness with his hands protectively as Moody continued his slew of harsh words, his face red again. Draco’ skin was pale, his muscles small but well-defined, and the female phantasm felt no qualms at all about staring openly at his form. She had seen it all before. Draco had been up here many times, and his body was nothing new to her.
She focused her attention back on the Auror, as he rubbed his coarse, thick hand down Draco’s pale, slender shoulder, and then down his arm. She could see the goosebumps rise on him, and her eyes popped open again.

Myrtle’s mind considered some possibilities as she pieced together what was happening, but none could have prepared her for what she would see next.
Moody lurched and grabbed Draco’s hands and pulled them apart as Draco cried out and begged the Auror to stop.

“No, sir, please sir!!” the voice implored, and as they played about Myrtle’s ears, she felt a twinge of sadness for him. He was sorely outmatched, Moody being four times his size, easily, and surely fifty times smarter and a hundred times more skilled. And then Moody forced the haughty Malfoy’s arms down and back and he pressed his girth against the lad. His back was turned to Myrtle, but she didn’t dare move from her spot for a better view. She watched as Draco’s cries became muffled, as Alastor pressed his head slightly downward and towards the smaller form, and her ethereal breath caught in her throat as she watched the Auror release one on the hands and reach down between Draco’s legs.

The ensuing cry that filled the room was more horrible than any ghostly moan, shriek or wail that Moaning Myrtle had ever heard, and had she had hairs to rise on the back of her neck, they would have then.

“How’dye like that?” Moody asked aloud, his salacious tone echoing darkly about the lavatory. The whimpers which followed indicated that Draco didn’t like that, whatever that was, and Myrtle cringed. Another piercing cry rent the air followed by Moody’s raucous laughter.

Then, Moody stepped back and aimed his walking stick at the boy, and yelled something Myrtle did not catch. She shrunk back instinctively as the flash of light emitted by the spell burst forth, then peered back over the lip to see Moody holding a snake.

“Petrificus Totalis!” he hissed, and the thing went rigid, the Auror gripping it like a second staff as Draco pressed himself back into the sinks. Myrtle watched Moody grab him and drag him over to the edge of the empty bath, Draco stuttering and crying the whole way, followed by the Auror’s impatient voice telling him to “clam up.”

Alastor grabbed Draco’s arm and forced it behind his back, and then bent the boy over his lap.

“Ye’ve been naughty, lad…” the specter heard the Auror say, followed by some other unkind words, and she watched as Moody rubbed his scarred, hard hand against Draco’s smooth, white backside, her face feeling as if it were flushing. The echo of the slap Alastor placed there made three full circuits about the room, followed closely by the fair-haired boy’s scream, and Myrtle’s jaw dropped. She remembered Cedric Diggory coming up here a while back with a female student, and she had hit him hard in the same manner, but not like this!

From her high vantage point, Myrtle could see the red handprint clear against the milky flesh, and she shook her head in defiance. Wasn’t Draco a bit old to be punished in this way? But even as she thought it, she watched as Moody, still holding Draco’s arm firm against his back, produced the rigid snake. The Auror licked it up and down lasciviously and Myrtle raised a brow, her interest suddenly overriding her horror. Then, without any warning, Moody leaned forward and whispered something in Draco’s ear, and then shoved the snake up his posterior.

As Draco screamed out at the top of his lungs, Myrtle kept her gaze transfixed on Alastor Moody’s scarred, twisted features. His sneer was horrible, his upper lip curled to one side, his magic eye darting back and forth as his good eye looked from the snake to the back of Draco’s fidgeting head. She listened to his hard words, his savage voice, and watched as the Auror’s arm viciously jerked back and forth, driving the snake into Draco’s body over and over.

After a while, Draco stopped screaming and he let out a great cry, which to Myrtle sounded almost like it was filled with pleasure…

Alastor twisted Draco’s arm then so that he fell off of his lap and into the tub. The Auror flicked his walking stick and the taps turned on, and Draco disappeared in steam as the water rose, and then reappeared in the few moments it took the water to reach Moody’s desired level.

The ghostly Myrtle watched Alastor produce a bar of soap and throw it at Draco, who didn’t try to catch it, and let it hit him in the face and fall in to the water. Moody laughed and Myrtle leaned out from the window as far as she dared, trying to make sure she could see everything. The Auror instructed Draco to wash, and when the unmoving boy, holding his arms tight about himself, did not reply, the Auror jumped into the tub with a great splash and made a hard beeline for him, causing Draco to scramble backward. He grabbed up the soap immediately and started washing as Moody grinned wickedly and started doffing his own clothes. Myrtle grinned a little at the implication of what was about to happen, and she looked around, afraid someone may have seen her own interested expression. She regarded Alastor as he shrugged off his heavy coat, and then undid his undershirt, the cruel look on his face never leaving. Draco washed himself robotically as he watched the man with terror. They circled each other in the waist-deep water, and Myrtle leaned so far forward, she wasn’t even on the window ledge anymore, but she didn’t notice.

Moody undid his undershirts and peeled those off too, and when Draco’s sight landed on the Auror’s naked skin, he gasped and dropped the soap, and fell back against the far side of the bath. The Auror’s body was rife with scars of every size and shape, a testament to how dangerous his work and life had been. He approached Draco directly, a greedy look on his face, his magical eye darting all over the pale white flesh before him. The ghostly girl watched Moody make grabby hands after Draco as they circled each other around the tub, and she went closer and closer, eventually standing behind the sinks where the two had been earlier.

“Have ya never wanted a good hard shag in te bath, lad?” Alastor asked him in a hushed, suggestive voice and Draco went so white, Myrtle imagined he’d become as transparent as herself. He shook his head back and forth rapidly, his wet, platinum hair shaking droplets left and right, but Moody just grinned, and then lurched for him. Myrtle watched as Draco scrambled away and out of the tub, then out the door, and saw Alastor grin hard.

“Wonder when he’ll notice te snake’s still up his arse,” the Auror mused as he emerged from the bath, used a drying spell, and went on his way.
Myrtle watched him go, the events she had witnessed fresh in her mind. The Auror had certainly lived up to his hard reputation, yes indeed.
Myrtle was in love.

The End