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Harry Potter, now in his sixth year at Hogwarts, woke up in a cold sweat, having had a nasty dream of a disastrous and humiliating defeat in quidditch, which had made him very stressed in his sleep, causing his sphincter muscle to spasm and allow a large piece of slimy excrement to escape his anus while he had been asleep. The first Harry knew of this was when he felt some large strange sticky lump lower down in the bed. With bated breath, he lifted his covers up slowly, which revealed there a nasty brown mass that was spread across much of the lower part of his bed and legs. His eyes widened in horror as it smeared further around his bedsheets and his own body from him shifting.
He realised that as it was nearly morning, he wouldn’t be able to make it sneakily running to the toilet without someone else noticing, who would surely snitch, making him the laughing stock of the whole school. Harry let out a quiet sob and a whimper, as his body shook from stress, which smeared the faeces even further; all over his body.
This caused Harry to start crying in shame, as he realised that now he was in even greater trouble, the sheer mass of excrement was so great that it had been able to spread so far and wide across both the bed and his body that it was now impossible to hide. The tears Harry shed mixed with the faeces, which, already being slimy, now acquired a more slippery nature, and at last when Harry found it in him to try and sit up, he immediately slipped and fell face-first into the result of his defecating the bed, the excrement coating his face completely, leaving him with the foul feeling of it stuck to his skin, and the ghastly smell as it wafted into his nose, making Harry grimace.
This tipped Harry over the edge, and he howled out loudly in despair, waking up everyone else in the dormitory. He tried to wipe his face clean with the sheets, but by now they were also thoroughly soaked in poop, and this only made it worse, his eyes starting to itch as many molecules of faeces found their way in inadvertently. Harry even wet himself from the fear that this caused him, ruining his bed even more.
“Ayo shiii man,” Dean Thomas laughed from Ron’s bed as he saw Harry at last, his voice, as usual, revealing its origin, as he cracked a joke, “Now I ain’t da only shiii here with brown skin, innit. Ha, poop-head!”
Ron joined in the merriment, opening the curtain wider, revealing that Dean had an arm wrapped firmly around him, as he hooted in laughter as he saw Harry, “Mate, you are disgusting!” Ron snorted, “The chosen one doesn’t defecate the chosen faeces it seems.”
Dean muttered quickly about stretching and something being loose, and Ron blushed loudly, before muttering something about the fact that he used a sealing charm to prevent any accidents. Even Neville Longbottom, who defecated in his bed usually about once a month and was accordingly made fun of joined in, “Ha ha, Potter, even when I poop my bed, at least it never ends up covering my face.”
The horror on one side of the faeces itself, and on the other from the social humiliation of dealing with his dorm-mates sent Harry into a shaking frenzy, his whole body convulsing as if he was in the thrall of a particularly nasty epileptic seizure. Expectedly, this only smeared the faeces yet further around his bed; it now covered his duvet, pillow, covers, and even the curtains.
Even Seamus, who usually was less inclined to make fun of people for their misfortunes, accidentally let out a snicker, before holding it back, his eyes looking slightly apologetic, and offering, “Hey, Harry, maybe I can help clean it for you.”
But as Seamus raised his wand determinedly, prepared to release his best attempt as Scourgify, Ron stopped him, saying firmly, “It’s best that you don’t blow Harry up like you do with most things.”
Neville in the meantime was rolling around in his own unsoiled bed, laughing, while Dean had gotten very bored, his attention span being far shorter than that of all the others, and was now listening to hardcore hip-hop music by African-American rappers, playing through a speaker.
Sensing a chance to get out, Harry braced himself, and after standing up, sprinted towards the toilet, which was just a short while away in the corner of the dorm, lunging in and slamming the door shut behind him, his shaking hands fiddling with the lock before he managed to shut it.
Breathing a sigh of relief, Harry sat on the toilet and ejected the remainder of his faeces, before heading into the shower, turning on the warm water, as he reached for the soap. This didn’t work though as the excrement quickly clogged the drain of the shower, and he was left with his feet stood in brown water mixed with his own faeces. In his rush, he had forgotten his wand too, and as such had no way to unclog the drain.
Another powerful sob shook through Harry, as he grabbed a towel, and wrapped it around himself, walking back out into the dormitory, his faeces-covered feet leaving brown footsteps where he went. All of his dorm-mates (even Seamus, now seeing Harry’s true stupidity) laughed at him profusely, and Harry cried openly, realising that now nothing could salvage his social reputation, and he would be a clown, the social pariah of the whole school, a shocking fall from grace for the supposed chosen one.
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Eventually Harry managed to clean himself, mostly using magic, although he hadn’t mastered sufficient cleaning spells to remove the poop that had stained all over his bed. Hopefully someone would clean it later. Harry trudged down the spiral staircase to the common room, behind Ron, who pushed past him.
When he got down at last, he saw Ron had already found Hermione, and was whispering to her with barely concealed glee. She initially looked shocked, before bursting into laughter; a quick glance in Harry’s direction meant she saw his sheepish expression, looking down at the floor, and she laughed even harder. Ginny walked over to Hermione, fluttering her eyelashes, and Hermione winked to her cheekily, something was clearly brewing between the two.
Thinking of how his life could get any worse, Harry trooped down to breakfast with the rest of the Gryffindors, or rather, apart from them, as none of them wanted to be anywhere near him, and as he inadvertently happened to be close to the first years, they too shuffled away from him, shooting him dirty looks. Even Ron and Hermione walked away from him when he tried to come closer, hoping to try to reconcile. He knew that as soon as he arrived in the great hall, the news would spread to the other houses, and he would in no time be mocked by the entire school.
Word travelled faster than even Harry anticipated, and as he walked in he saw Mandy Brocklehurst, one of the prettiest girls in the year, sniggering while glancing at him, turning to whisper to her friends, who amongst their numbers included all the hottest girls in the year, all of whom now found him repulsive and ghastly. Now he would never stand a chance with any girl, even with the ugliest ones, like Millicent Bulstode (who coincidentally had the same initials as Mandy).
Looking at her, Harry shuddered, Millicent was truly grotesque to even be around; her body was misshapen, with one leg longer than the other (both were clubfooted), and she was definitively obese, to the point that the chairs in front of the desks in classrooms struggled to hold her weight. Her face looked more like vomit than anything resembling a human, her eyes drooped, the irises milky and yellowing, betraying late-stage cataracts, while her nose was large beyond even that of the average semite, and covered in tumours that formed repulsive lumps all over it. Warts covered her body, often with hairs too, and green pungent puss oozed from all over her, which not only made her stink but also meant that even being in close proximity to her was risky, as every so often one a lumpish wart filled to the brim with that vile substance would explode, showering whatever was in that direction with its acidic contents. It was enough to make Harry whimper in fear: whatever would he do if he found himself below even such a disgusting beast on the social hierarchy?
His fears were perhaps too extreme, after all, even with his incident, he had at least fully cleaned himself, unlike being around Millicent, his presence in a room didn’t create a biohazard. And, while he knew that for weeks surely he would be totally ostracised from talking to anyone, this would surely fade away, and he would be able to re-friend Ron and Hermione and get back to normal, the way things had been before all this…
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Or so he hoped. It did not turn out that way at all, and weeks later, Harry was still sat alone, all alone, on the end of the Gryffindor table. The weeks had not been kind on Harry, and he was now in a deep rut. None of his homework had even been started, and his handwriting in classes had degraded to a barely legible drawl.
As he tried to sit one day at the great hall for breakfast, his feet gave out, and he stumbled, barely catching himself, and in the moment of fear and panic this caused, he farted. Around him, everyone immediately assumed he had again defecated at an inopportune time, and everyone started waving their hands in front of their faces, while Neville snorted and laughed at him, “Pooped yourself again, Potter?”
Harry’s face grew red in shame as he held back the tears that again came to his eyes. Ever since that incident in the dormitory, which, despite him preferring not to think about it, he could never suppress, he had always been majorly hysterical, and easy to startle. Indeed, the strain on his body from holding in the powerful sobs that threatened to rip through his entire body caused him to indeed release a small amount of excrement into his trousers, which, even more unfortunately for him, was an exceptionally smelly piece, and the foul smell quickly spread, and everyone laughed louder, shifting away from him.
“Damn, Potter, I can’t believe I was ever friends with you,” Hermione gagged, her eyes looking cruelly upon him; she hadn’t looked at him the same way since he had first come down after that fateful night having fouled himself.
Beside her, Ron laughed coldly, something Harry had never heard Ron do until that fateful day he had pooped his bed, after which it was now the only reaction Ron ever gave him; “Yeah, Putrid Potter, enjoy your filth, since you clearly can’t get enough of it!”
This at last broke Harry, powerful sobs shook his whole body as he whimpered and cried, tears falling from his eyes, down his cheeks and onto his lap. He gasped for air as a particularly strong sob shook him, and he lent forward, laying against the table as he groaned and cried louder and louder, as all the memories of his humiliation flowed back, just as vivid as they had been the first time. The awareness he had of the faeces he had just released into his pants moments earlier only made him cry harder.
Hermione didn’t care in the slightest, as she went off to sit next to Ginny, who she had started dating a week or so after Harry’s initial incident fouling the bed. The two girls sat next to each other, arm in arm, as they stared lovingly into each other’s eyes, before leaning in and capturing each other’s mouths in a deep passionate kiss, their abnormally long tongues expertly snaking around each other, saliva flying everywhere as their hands tangled in each other’s hair, holding each other close together. As they made out with each other more and more passionately, Hermione whispered something about scissors, and Ginny’s hand sneakily strayed under the table, her eyes glinting. Hermione smirked at her, whispering, “Ohhh, naughty girl!”, now totally ignoring Harry and his suffering. Ron too was holding hands with Dean Thomas, who was saying something to Ron in his heavily accented voice.
Harry really was all alone now; around him, the eyes of nearly the entire school were turned right on him, judging him, laughing at him; and worst of all, remembering everything, while his former friends didn’t even care, sat there engaging in their peculiar relationships. This was unlike anything else, Harry could never live it down, he could never escape it; no longer was he the boy who lived, but he was now the boy who soiled himself. It was a great fall, not long ago he had been quite well respected, with friends, a social life, and much more, but now he was alone, depressed, and with excrement in his pants, threatening to start oozing down his trouser leg.
His breathing grew ragged as the loud cries that left his lips shook him again and again, he was reduced to even further depths of humiliation as at last he couldn’t hold it in. Excrement began shifting down his colon, bursting into his anus, and from there, it pushed against the failing dam that was his sphincter, harder and harder, and Harry, distracted by his all-consuming sobs and cries, failed to anticipate it and hold back.
The first piece of faeces, a rather standard sausage shaped one, shot out of his arse, bursting to be free, causing Harry to groan in horror, blowing his nose into the sleeve of his robe, the snot seeped into the fabric, leaving a nasty sticky splodge on it that smeared across Harry’s face as he blew his nose into another section of it. However, this was not the only piece of faeces that Harry had to expel from his body, for another one immediately was ready to leave right after the first; this one was somewhat misshapen, and had a sharp edge.
Harry gritted his teeth hard as he tried to hold back the faeces, stop it exiting his arse, however, his efforts were in vain, and he howled in agony as the sharp faeces cut through his anus and sphincter on the way out, and blood poured out of Harry’s rectum, along with more and more faeces. By this point the taunting crowd of students was looking more disgusted and disturbed at Harry, as if he was some demon whose sole purpose was to defecate everywhere. Even at the staff table, Dumbledore looked disturbed as he saw what was taking play to Harry, though he took no action to try and stop him, probably assuming it was just a normal poop, even as Harry was in more pain than he had ever been in his life, and was loosing more blood by the moment, feeling fainter.
By this point Harry’s trousers were positively filled with excrement and blood, with more and more poop exiting by the moment; it seemed that Harry was now an infinite source of faeces that was all trying to flow out. The pieces were often large, sharp, or any other number of shapes that meant Harry was in constant pain as they strived for freedom, further mauling Harry’s now wrecked body on their way out, blood spewing everywhere and pain shooting through Harry’s nerves that caused him to quiver and shudder in agony.
Eventually, the damage to Harry’s body was so great, the blood that he had lost was so great, that his consciousness started slipping, his ragged breathing growing less and less forceful. However, since he was still slumped on the table, to the outside observer, not much had changed. But when Harry’s sniffs stopped, and the blood that filled his trousers started pouring down and out onto the floor, at last Seamus yelled, “Hey, I think he might be dying!”
“What!?” Dumbledore bellowed, and leaped over the staff table, sprinting over to the Gryffindor table with a speed that one wouldn’t expect from someone his age. He grabbed Harry’s hand and checked the pulse, finding nothing. McGonagall and Slughorn also rushed over, shaking their heads as Dumbledore raised his head solemnly.
“Is he…?” Slughorn started, looking shocked, clutching his overweight stomach, his usually jolly face completely turned.
“Yes,” Dumbledore interrupted, sighing, “Harry Potter, the chosen one, is dead.”
“But… what does this mean for the fight against You-know… I mean Voldemort?” asked McGonagall, clearly taking the news no better than Slughorn.
Dumbledore sighed even harder, “I don’t know, truth be told, I always thought that Harry would be safe here, and the… plan would go on. But, I didn’t factor this happening into my schemes. All bets are off, I shall have to go back to the drawing board.”
“We must go fast,” McGonagall said, “No doubt the news will be out by the end of today, and Voldemort might be acting very soon.”
“Indeed,” Dumbledore said, nodding slowly, his mind still stuck processing what had just happened, and his failure to act earlier, “But… it’s hard to jump right into planning when everything you worked for has just been ruined.”
Slughorn sniffed, tears threatening to roll down his eyes, “The ultimate prize for the Slug Club, the one who could truly have been my protégé that cements my reputation, dead. Oh, the horror…”