The Rebirth of Harry Potter

"Oh... mm…"

Strange moans echoed softly in the common room—faint, continuous, and suggestive.

Anyone with even a vague understanding of human intimacy would immediately imagine something… not quite appropriate.

Everyone turned toward the source, only to see Harry sitting by the fire. His handsome face glowed in the firelight as if dusted in gold. A blissful smile curled on his lips. He was humming and softly moaning in contentment, completely immersed in warmth. The suggestive sounds came from his mouth and nose.

A nearby girl's face turned crimson—whether from the firelight or something else, it was unclear. She whispered, "Harry… could you… maybe keep it down a little?"

She quickly lowered her head, clearly embarrassed by her own words.

Harry didn't respond.

Well—he heard her. He just didn't care.

All he wanted was to enjoy the fire's warmth.

If sitting by the fire scored 80 points for comfort, then letting out heartfelt moans while doing it elevated the experience to a full 100.

Mind and body in harmony—that was the way to live.

Of course, it required shedding a tiny bit of shame.

Harry, at that moment, was all about doing whatever made him feel good.

What others thought? Not his problem.

Ordinarily, Harry wouldn't act so shameless.

But anyone who had just fallen into an icy lake during a snowstorm would've thrown dignity out the window too.

So, Harry ignored everyone. He didn't want to speak. He just wanted to roast quietly by the fire.

Seeing him ignore the girl, the other students exchanged awkward glances—but what could they say?

Then a strange feeling crept into their hearts: envy.

Because… the way Harry moaned—it looked amazing.

Maybe I should try it too… they all thought.

One by one, they opened their mouths, attempting to free themselves from emotional restraint.

But nothing came out.

Why?

Had they been hit with a Silencing Charm?

Harry looked at them—mouths twitching, unsure whether to speak—and scoffed inwardly:

Foolish Muggle-borns and half-bloods. You can't even abandon a bit of shame. Pathetic.

Left with no choice, they could only sit and listen to Harry's… ambiguous sounds.

The boys tolerated it well enough.

But the girls? A ripple of unspoken tension rose among them.

They sneaked glances at Harry, slouched in his armchair, cheeks pink, legs pressed together, their feet rubbing each other beneath the chairs—as if pain could suppress what they didn't want to acknowledge.

Gradually, Harry's moaning stopped.

He frowned. The warmth didn't feel as good anymore.

Had he adapted to it already?

As soon as he went silent, several girls let out long-held breaths.

What the hell was I just imagining…?

Harry's clothes, half-wet from before, now clung to his skin—wrinkled and uncomfortable after sitting so long.

He stood, grabbed the blanket, and headed upstairs.

A long, hot shower later, and dressed in fresh robes, Harry felt like a new man.

Munching on heart-shaped chocolates Hermione had made for him, he made his way to the Great Hall.

Along the way, the castle was alive with holiday cheer.

Even without their families, Christmas always brought joy to Hogwarts.

Even the ghosts were out, drifting through the halls.

…

…

Peeves the Poltergeist hovered near the ceiling, glaring down at the jubilant students heading toward the Christmas feast.

Their smiles clashed cruelly with the ugly resentment twisting his face.

Oh, how he longed to ruin their fun!

But he wasn't powerful enough. All he could do was spook them a little.

If he had real power, he wouldn't have to settle for childish tricks.

Why am I so weak?!

At Hogwarts, he was the lowest of the low. Even that walking joke, Nearly Headless Nick, was stronger than him.

Peeves's face twisted in frustration.

No… there was still one he could bully—Moaning Myrtle, the crybaby ghost.

…

His cruel black eyes scanned the students below.

Every time he spotted a first-year, he dove down to jump-scare them, pass through their bodies, or dump trash over their heads.

The fear in their eyes made him cackle—"Hee hee hee!"

Yet a strange sadness stirred in him.

Because he knew… in a few years, they'd all figure it out—that he wasn't scary at all.

He was just a joke.

The helplessness festered into rage.

Suddenly, his eyes locked onto a student passing by—a girl well-liked and popular at school.

Normally, he wouldn't dare mess with someone like her. Students like that would report him to the Bloody Baron—the one ghost Peeves truly feared.

The Baron, cloaked in blood and reeking of death, haunted Peeves like a walking nightmare.

But today… Peeves wasn't thinking straight.

He noticed a tin trash bin near a stone pillar.

A vicious grin spread across his face.

He floated up behind the girl, raised the bin…

…and prepared to tip it right over her head.

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⚡ The Rebirth of Harry Potter

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