Callum sat at the dinner table, relaxing after finishing the last bite of his pie. Though house-elves were good for little else, they were damn good cooks and he always enjoyed every meal he ate at Hogwarts. He sucked down a final goblet of juice, and then arched an eyebrow as he noticed one of his housemates hurrying from the table. He arched an eyebrow, and gave an evil grin when he noticed Amherst disappearing from the great hall. "I gotta take a leak and do some homework," he told the boys he was sitting with before leaving the Great Hall.

He trailed casually behind Amherst, hoping not to alarm him by following him. Naturally Ferguson ducked into the bathroom, most likely to be sure he had no food remnants on his face he had not noticed. Oh, he thought he was so handsome- well, Callum would show him. No one in Slytherin was as handsome as he was. It was time that Ferguson realized that.

Besides, who did he have to look good for anyway? Callum was pretty sure he was a bit light in his loafers, and the only other people around here who struck him as being of the same persuasion were people that even Amherst had to have more self respect than to buddy around with. He could be wrong, though. Callum was wrong on occasion, though he rarely admitted to it if he was. Maybe it was Schlagenweit. Oh, wouldn't that make for a fun year? He hated both of them, though admittedly he hated Ferguson slightly less- house loyalty and all that.

Callum entered the bathroom, fingering the handle of his wand as he planned out exactly what horrors would await Ferguson. "Amherst," he greeted, unsurprised that Ferguson was checking himself in the mirror instead of making use of the facilities.

The Slytherin didn't really have to go, but he knew he had to at least pretend otherwise it would be odd. Guys didn't go to the bathroom in groups like girls did, and there was no reason for him to be lurking if he didn't have to go. Stepping into a stall, he closed the door behind him and held his wand out in front. He quietly muttered an incantation, and then smiled as water spewed forth from the end of his wand and began to splash into the toilet. Sounded just like the real thing!

"You know," Callum spoke from inside the stall. "There's nothing you can fix about your face Amherst. Sorry to tell you, but it's permanently like that. Some people just can't help how unattractive they are. Guess you're one of them."


((I have permission to godmode Ferguson))

 It was Fergie's practice to duck into the loo after every meal and give his teeth a quick brushing. This ensured that not only did he have fresh, minty breath all day, but also that his smile was always brilliantly white. He had excellent teeth and was not about to waste them, thank you. Besides, the house elves had served pasta that evening. What if he ran into Sasha someone he wanted to talk to, and he had garlic breath? No, that definitely couldn't be allowed to happen.

 He had just completed the usual rinse and spit process and dried off his face when the door swung open, and in swaggered Callum Knight. Fergie froze momentarily, going with the old theory that if prey doesn't move, the hunter can't see it. He had been working very hard to avoid Callum ever since he had arrived back at school, and so far had congratulated himself on being successful in this attempt. It had been too good to be true, he supposed, and now his luck had run out.

 But all the other boy did was greet him, and walk past to enter a stall. Fergie blinked at his reflection in surprise. This was certainly an unexpected turn of events. Either the other boy really had to use the bathroom, or he was turning over a new leaf. Fergie was guessing it was not the latter, and decided to leave as quickly as possible. In his haste, however, he dropped a few things, and was forced to stop and pick them up.

 And then of course Callum spoke. Nope, no leaf there. Fergie's expression was one of disgust. Was Knight really conversing while relieving himself? Gross. Of course, Fergie being Fergie, he couldn't just do the smart thing and keep his mouth closed. Nope. He had to talk back. "Gee, Callum, it's nice to see you too," he responded to the other boy's insults with sarcastic cheer as he got to his feet. "You know, I've really missed these little chats of ours, but unfortunately I have to go now, so I'm afraid I'll have to take a rain check on listening to you drivel on like the Neanderthal you are."

Callum let the water taper off before using his wand and a quiet whisper to turn the water yellow. It looked and sounded rather convincing, if he did say so himself. It would have all the effect without any of the true disgust. For some reason that made it ten times better in Callum's mind. He had decided already what he was going to do, but he had intended to toy with Ferguson for at least a little bit.

But naturally Amherst was going to try to escape. Oh, this just would not do! There was no way that Callum intended to allow Ferguson to leave, especially with his final comment. "You know, I was going to let you go in peace," he lied. "I thought to myself, 'Hey, maybe I should cut Amherst a break. He can't be so bad, can he? Everyone else seems to like him.' I guess that shows how wrong I am, huh?" With that, Callum banged open the stall door and lunged at his classmate.

It was with ease (well, relative ease anyway, Ferguson had quick reflexes) that Callum managed to get the fellow Slytherin into a head lock. He laughed loudly, and shook his head. "You just never learn, do you? Maybe you should start going to the bathroom in a pack. I'm sure the ladies wouldn't mind you using their loo. We all know what you won't be looking at." He used his free hand to give Ferguson a noogie, messing up every hair on his head in the process.

"Gonna beg for mercy?" Callum asked. "C'mon, say Uncle! Squeal it like a little girl and maybe I'll let you go." Of course he wouldn't let him go, there would be no fun in that. Still, Callum had discovered that some kids he fought with always tried their luck when he offered them an out. "C'mon, let's hear your best, Amherst." He began to drag Ferguson back toward the stall he had just come out of as he blabbed on, grinning like a maniac the whole time. Yes, it was always best to make your victims weak. If Ferguson caved in and begged for mercy it would show how pathetic he was. If he didn't, and was stubborn, then Callum would just have to be sure to show him who was boss.

 Fergie wasn't particularly athletic, and he was most certainly not very strong. He was, however, small and fast. This had helped him escape the likes of Callum Knight a few times before, and he was hoping it would help him today. It did not. Callum got him in a headlock anyway.

 He knew that something bad was about to happen now, whatever he did to try and get out of it. But that didn't mean he was going to make it easy on the larger Slytherin. Fergie allowed himself to go limp, making himself dead weight, so that Callum would have a harder time dragging him around. This was not exactly comfortable for Fergie, but hopefully it would be worth it.

 Oh Godric. Did he really have to do that? Did he really have to mess with his hair? It took Fergie quite some time in the morning to get his hair parted at just the right angle, and laying down just the way he liked it. It also took copious amounts of mousse and hairspray, and several mirror checks throughout the day. All to have it ruined in one jarring headrub.

 He truly hated Callum in that moment.

 Was he going to beg for mercy? No. "Some of us have dignity," he replied loftily - well, as loftily as a noogied kid in a headlock could manage. Besides, it's not like begging would really help, despite what Callum said. This wasn't the first time they'd had a run in after all - Fergie knew how this would go down.

 Although, as Callum started dragging him toward the stall that he had just exited - without flushing - Fergie had to change his tune. Because whether you begged or not, there was no dignity left when someone stuck your head in a toilet bowl filled with questionable fluid. "Callum, come on, you - you don't have to do this," he said, panicking and trying to back away. "I mean, really - what do you want? Money? I've got money. Or I could...I could do your homework for you. Give you a make over - whatever. Whatever you want. Just please...don't do this."

“Dignity?” Callum scoffed. “Dignity my arse! I guess I’ll just have to take care of that dignity of yours, won’t I, Amherst? Teach you to respect your superiors. Think you’d have learned your lesson by now. Guess I was wrong, wasn’t I?”

He was pleased to hear Fergie sing a different tune as he began to lead him toward the toilet. It had been a long time since Callum had given Fergie a swirlie- years, actually- but apparently he had not forgotten. Good. Callum didn’t think it was nice to be forgotten, especially such an evil deed. He grinned wickedly.

“Oh, I wasn’t going to if you played by the rules, Amherst,” he said, mocking sympathy. “I was going to try to take it easy on you, but you just had to flap your gums. I have to show you that dignity doesn’t suit you.” Eventually Callum managed to get Fergie into the stall, all that was left was to maneuver him forward and get his head in the toilet. That was usually the very hard part.

He laughed as Ferguson began to offer him things in exchange for mercy. “What use do I have for your money, Ahmerst? I’ve got more than enough of my own. As far as a make over goes, I know that I dress well enough on my own. I have impeccable taste. If I didn’t, you would have insulted it by now. I’m good looking, I know I’m good looking, and there is nothing you can do to improve my appearance.”

Callum gave a heavy sigh as he finally pushed Ferguson forward. It came in handy to be so much stronger than his prey. “Do you have any last words, Amherst, before you meet your fate in the toilet bowl? Maybe if you’re lucky it will still be warm. It will be like a nice, refreshing face wash.”

 "My superiors? Well you hardly fall into that category, do you, Knight?" Okay, so maybe it wasn't a good idea to keep back talking while in a headlock. He should probably be conserving his energy and focusing on escaping said headlock. But somehow he could never resist the urge to insult Callum. Maybe it didn't help him get away from an encounter unscathed, but at least he could get in a few hits of his own - even if they were emotionally and mentally aimed, rather than physically.

 Even he clammed up, though, the closer he got to the stall. He hadn't been on the receiving end of one of Callum's dreaded swirly in a while, and he definitely didn't want to repeat the experience, particularly when...oh Godric...Callum hadn't flushed. He was going to throw up. Fergie was pretty sure he was going to throw up.

 And his bribes seemed to be as unsuccessful as mere pleading would have been. Callum, unfortunately, was right. There wasn't much that Fergie could legitimately offer him that he didn't already have. "Have you no decency?" The weaker boy was practically crying. He was trying not to, but come on - who wouldn't cry when their head was about to be shoved into a dirty toilet? "At least flush it first!"

 Any last words? Well, yes. Fergie had many words for Callum, none of which would be proper to speak out loud. Not that that would have stopped him, if he wasn't too busy racking his brains for some means of escape. A means he thought he may have found. His wand...he still had his wand. "Yeah, I've got a couple words for you," he said, trying to aim the wand over his shoulder and at Callum's face. This was more difficult than he'd hoped. "Petrificus totalus, you arse!"

Trying to aim a wand from such an awkward position was not very easy, Callum wagered. The spell barely missed him as it hit the bathroom stall. "Bad move, Amherst!" he stated with a wicked grin. "And I do intend to flush it- as soon as your head is in it." Callum finally had him right next to the toilet. Him being dead weight wasn't helping very much. "Don't make this harder than it has to be, Ferguson. If you would just cooperate then it would be over much sooner."

Naturally, Ferguson was not going to cooperate. Who would if they thought their head was about to be dunked in someone else's urine? Callum roughly kicked the boy's feet out from under him, wincing slightly at the sound of his knees hitting the floor. Even Callum knew that had to be painful. But at least now Ferguson's head was hanging over the open mouth of the toilet. Callum placed one hand roughly on the back of Ferguson's head, and used the other to haul his body up so that his head would go in.

Callum dragged it out as long as he possibly could, wanting Ferguson to be able to go through the gamut of emotions before his head was dunked. "One, two, three!" The counting was more of a courtesy than Ferguson realized. Finally, Callum shoved his head in the water, holding it down as he flushed the toilet. He dragged him back up once after the toilet finished flushing, and then pushed his head down again after he caught a few fresh breaths of air. Then, Callum flushed it again. "There, that second flush ought to wash that stuff out, don't you think?"

Ferguson spluttered and Callum clucked his tongue and shook his head. "You don't think so?" he asked. "Well, we'll give it one more time, just for good measure." And then he shoved Ferguson's head under for a third, and final time. But, just for good measure, he flushed it twice.

"How's that, sissy boy?" he asked. "Clean enough now?" Callum hauled Ferguson to his feet and pushed him out of the stall against a sink. "Any more smart ass remarks?" he asked. "I'd love for an excuse to knock one of those teeth out of your crooked little smile."


((This post was discussed with Penny before  posted it. She is a-okay wit it.))

 Cooperate? Yeah, like Fergie was really going to help Callum shove his head in a toilet. For some reason, he had neglected to put that little gem on his to-do list. Fighting back made him feel a little less helpless, even if he knew that, at the end of all this, Callum was going to win - particularly since his spell had misfired. Damn it. Callum was bigger, stronger, and meaner than Fergie. There was really no escape for the smaller Slytherin now, and he knew it.

 Here was the thing about falling knees first on a stone floor - it hurt. Particularly since this wasn't the 'oops I stumbled and lost my footing' kind of falling. This was the 'oh crap my legs have been kicked out from under me and I have no choice but to slam into the granite floor' kind. There was a big difference between the two. If you just stumbled? You usually had a chance to brace yourself and stop from falling quite so hard. When Callum kicked his legs out from underneath of him - and not gently either - Fergie had no opportunity to attempt to save himself from the fall. His knees hit the stone floor hard, a sickening crunching sound occurring as they made contact.

 Fergie let out a yelp and hissed, wincing, at the sharp pain that was now shooting up his leg. That...that was going to leave a mark. Especially since he had no way of shifting his weight off his knees now, and remaining in this kneeling position was not easing up the pain any. But he could deal with that. He could deal with that so much more than what he knew was coming.

 Even when you know for a fact you are about to be swirlied, you're never fully prepared for it, at least not in Fergie's experience. He felt an intense jolt of panic as Callum shoved his head forward, and tried to think of something - anything - that could help him out as his tormentor counted down. Nothing useful occurred to him, however, so when Callum got to three he took in a deep breath and braced himself.

 In case you are wondering what it feels like to be swirlied? It is not pleasant. It is pretty much the exact opposite of pleasant. It's like being drowned, but instead of just being held down under pretty much motionless water, the water is swirling around and trying to suck your head into a tiny pipe. And did he mention that your head is in a toilet? That is not a fun place for your head to be, especially when you take into account what happens in toilets, and what was in that water (or what he thought was in it) that was swirling around his head.

 Fergie was, needless to say, not happy with life at that moment.

 By the end of this little ordeal, he was even unhappier. Because Callum hadn't thought it enough to just give him one swirly. Nope. He found himself on the receiving end of three. What a great day this was turning out to be. When Callum finally yanked him into a standing position and shoved him up against a sink, Fergie didn't even protest or try to be dead weight. He was too busy trying to catch his breath and keep from bursting into tears. The former worked a lot better than the latter. He was hurt, he was humiliated, and he was wet and filthy. There was no way the Slytherin was not going to cry about it.

 Fergie had definitely learned his lesson, at least for the day. He was feeling utterly defeated, and there was no sense in earning more punishment for himself, so when Callum asked if he had any smart remarks left the answer was a definite no. He just shook his head, slumping against the sink and staring at the ground. There was no way he was going to give Callum an excuse to repeat the torture he'd just received, thank you very much. Fergie may be a smart arse, but he wasn't stupid.

Callum had noticed when he knocked Ferguson to the ground, that a certain clattering noise had happened. This noise was the other boy's wand falling from his grip and rolling into the next stall over. After yanking him from the toilet and slamming him against the sink, he watched as the boy fought the tears. Callum knew that as soon as Ferguson realized he was wandless later on in the day, it would be like a double whammy. Oh, how delicious!

"Are you crying?" he finally spat. "Let me give you something to cry about then!" He grabbed Ferguson roughly by one shoulder to steady him, and then pulled back with his other arm, landing one final blow to his gut. Without waiting to see how Ferguson reacted, he ducked into the next stall over and shoved the boy's wand in one of the inner pockets of his school robes.

"That ought to teach you, you miserable wretch," he called over his shoulder before disappearing from the bathroom. He intended to drop by the great hall and snag some dessert (if the food was still out) and then he would disappear up to the common room to brag about his conquest to his little brother if he could find him. Maybe he'd even use Ferguson's wand to fire off a few hexes and curses. It was harder to get in trouble if he caused trouble with a wand that did not belong to him. Yup, so far it had been a great afternoon, and it was only going to get better!

  "I'm not crying," he protested, since Callum seemed so offended by it. As was previously mentioned, he didn't want to give the other boy a reason to inflict any more torture on him. Unfortunately, his denial did not seem to be enough to appease him and on top of all his other injuries (both dealt to his physical self and to his pride) Callum added a good punch right in his stomach.

 Miserable wretch indeed. Those two words perfectly described Fergie Amherst at that moment, doubled over with pain as Callum made his grand exit. His stomach hurt, his head hurt, his knees hurt...basically he was sore all over. And let's not forget the fact that his head was covered in questionable fluids. Oh, Godric. This was turning out to be one hell of an evening - and not in a good way either.

 He slumped to the floor and leaned against the wall for a few minutes, his knees pulled up to his chin and hiding his face in his hands as he wallowed in misery. To be honest, he wouldn't mind if the stone floor decided to swallow him up into peaceful oblivion, but of course that wasn't going to happen. Plus, he was filthy. His skin was starting to crawl with the feeling. It was time to pick himself back up, clean himself off, and go on living. He'd done it before, after all, he could do it again...and hope that maybe next time he wouldn't be quite so helpless.

 The Slytherin slowly got to his feet, dusted himself off, and took a look in the mirror. He looked like a wreck, as was to be expected. He cleaned himself up as best as he could with the little bathroom sink, washing his face and scrubbing at his hair. It wasn't enough, but it was enough to last him until he got to the full bathroom in the Slytherin dorms. He'd take a nice long bath, and then he'd go find Jordyn and cuddle up to her and tell her his troubles. She always knew what to say to make him feel better.