Extreme Electric Execution

On Sunday morning, the Owlery reeked of ammonia. Owls perched on rows of perches on the roof, flapping their wings and occasionally letting out a low hoot. The ground was covered with uncleaned feathers and bird droppings, and the air was damp and chilly, with an indescribable oppressive atmosphere.

Several figures were bent over, working in a dimly lit corner, scrubbing the shed floor and corners with both hands and feet. Each of them had a heavy pair of black shackles on their wrists, engraved with runes that absorbed magic, preventing them from using any magic.

"Dumbledore," Ernie Macmillan said firmly as he cleaned the owl trough. "They couldn't get rid of him when we were in our second year, and they can't this time either. The Fat Friar told me—" He lowered his voice and leaned closer to Harry and the others, "Umbridge tried to get into Dumbledore's office but was stopped at the door by the Gargoyle —she couldn't get in at all."

At this moment Ernie, Hannah Abbott, Harry, Ron, Hermione were together, their heads covered in filthy owl droppings. As punishment for participating in the Dumbledore's Army, they had to clean up owl droppings in the Owlery every weekend and were forbidden from using magic.

"I think she's obsessed with becoming the headmistress," Hermione huffed, brushing a tuft of owl feathers from her face. "She wants to be above all the teachers, that stupid, arrogant, power-hungry old woman—"

"Hey, Granger, are you really going to say that?"

A flippant male voice interrupted her from the doorway. McLaggen sauntered out from behind the door with a sly smile, followed closely by several equally flippant men— Toller, Dingo, and Bertha Jorkins.

"I'm afraid I must give you some unforgettable punishment," he said, drawing out his words. Having said that,

He strolled in slowly, his gaze fixed on Hermione. He deliberately bypassed Harry and Ron, heading straight for Hermione, his smile growing increasingly sinister.

"What do you want to do?" Hermione took a step back, her brow furrowed, her right hand instinctively reaching for her wand—but only touching the cold chains of shackles, her heart sinking.

"Don't be so tense," McLaggen chuckled, reaching out a hand to lightly brush a strand of curly hair, still damp with bird feathers, behind her ear, his fingertips tracing a gentle line across her cheek. "You have a little dirt on your face... but that dirt just makes it more charming."

Hermione recoiled abruptly, her face ashen, her eyes burning with undisguised disgust. "Don't touch me, McLaggen!"

McLaggen, however, paid no heed and instead pressed closer. A dangerous glint of mockery gleamed in his eyes, the kind of pleasure one derives from watching prey struggle.

"You know, I've always felt you needed to be 'disciplined' a bit," he said, suddenly grabbing Hermione's wrist and pulling her towards him. "Girls who are too stubborn usually only behave after suffering a little."

Hermione tried to break free, but she was shackled and unable to cast spells, nor was she strong enough to defeat McLaggen. Hermione pressed herself against McLaggen's chest, and a nauseating, pungent perfume wafted into her nostrils.

She just wanted to S.P.E.W..

"Let me go— McLaggen!" she screamed, her eyes filled with anger and humiliation.

"Ouch," McLaggen said dramatically, taking a half-step back. "You have absolutely no sense of humor."

Before he finished speaking, a violent shadow flashed in his eyes. The next second, he suddenly reached out, grabbed Hermione's chin, and pulled her up forcefully— Hermione was pulled into mid-air, her toes barely touching the ground, struggling to push him away with her hands, but the heavy magical shackles on her wrists prevented her from using any magic, and she could only be forced to look up like a puppet to meet his cold and malicious gaze.

"Tsk--So disobedient." McLaggen clicked his tongue, revealing a smile that seemed to be enjoying watching his prey struggle. He slowly drew his wand from his robes, as if this was just a continuation of a game.

He pressed his wand against Hermione's chest and whispered, "Extreme Electric Execution."

Hermione's body jolted violently, as if struck by lightning. She was jolted stiff in mid-air, her muscles contracting and spasming violently. Even her voice was stuck in her throat, unable to utter a clear scream, only intermittent hoarse sobs and whimpers. Her eyes rolled back, her head thrashed violently, her hair flying wildly in the air, tears and sweat rolling down her chin, her collar already soaked with cold sweat.

This wasn't real lightning magic, but rather a form of torture magic that mimicked the principles of Muggle electrocution. Hermione didn't have any real electric current in her body, so although McLaggen maintained contact with Hermione, he wasn't affected by the magic.

"Hermione!" Harry and Ron rushed forward in alarm and anger, but Bertha Jorkins and the others immediately drew their canes to block their way.

McLaggen stood to the side, still gripping Hermione's chin tightly, a slow smirk playing on his lips. He looked down at her contorted face, a chilling pleasure and satisfaction in his eyes, as if admiring a work of art.

Hermione's jaw clenched so tightly that her cheeks turned pale with pain, and a hoarse moan escaped her throat. She tried to control herself from giving in to McLaggen, but her body convulsed and trembled uncontrollably, like a tattered puppet suspended in mid-air, exposed to the gaze and humiliation of others without any dignity.

"That's a good girl." His voice was deep and husky as he patted Hermione's cheek, as if enjoying an elegant feast of torture. "See, if you behave, it won't hurt."

In that instant, Hermione's tough exterior finally shattered, and an unprecedented despair suddenly welled up in her heart.

Tears suddenly welled up, like a burst dam, completely uncontrollable. Her vision blurred completely, and she finally let out a suppressed, almost broken sob. In that instant, all her persistence, pride, and self-respect collapsed.

"No... please... no... I can't take it anymore..." Hermione pleaded weakly with McLaggen.

But her response was a cruel smile that gradually appeared on McLaggen's lips.

He slowly leaned down and whispered in her ear, "You finally know it's time to cry, Granger... I love you just the way you are."

Just then--

A chilling, oppressive aura, like an invisible sword, suddenly pierced into the entire Owlery from its entrance.

The air fell silent for a moment, as if frozen in time.

"Let go, McLaggen."

Everyone was startled and turned around.

A figure stood in the doorway, clad in a dark gray robe, his cloak billowing in the wind, the deep green Slytherin Prefect Badge gleaming coldly on his chest. Skylar Malfoy's eyes were as deep as a still pool, his right hand holding a cane hanging at his side, his entire being resembling a drawn sword, so sharp that it exuded a palpable sense of oppression.

"If you don't let go," he said emotionlessly, "I'll chop that hand off for you."