Death by Flush PV

Aamon Athanatos was going to die in a toilet. Not on a toilet. That distinction was important. In one. There were presumably worse ways for a member of an old pureblood family to die, but Aamon was struggling to produce examples.

It had started with plumbing. Which was already beneath him. That was where plumbing belonged, not that he was a plumber but his family had 'people.'

Twenty minutes earlier, Aamon had entered one of the lesser-used Hogwarts lavatories with a book tucked beneath his arm and every intention of remaining there for approximately three minutes, wash his hands, adjust his already near perfect hair and then leave.

That is because Aamon Athanatos was normal, unlike his housemates, his peers or even his age-group. He was civilized. Instead of a quick in and out from the private lavatory, he discovered a toilet that was making a peculiar noise. 'Glub.'

Aamon stopped mid-squat. The toilet went silent. He narrowed his eyes. The toilet, perhaps sensing scrutiny, responded 'Glub-glub.' Now, there were two sorts of people in the world: the first heard strange noises emerging from ancient magical plumbing and immediately seek an adult. The second kneel beside the toilet and looked inside. While Aamon was academically among the brightest students of his year, Aamon also inexplicably belonged firmly to the second category.

First hiking up his trousers, the young third year snake crouched. Nothing. The teen leaned closer. Still nothing. "Well?" he asked the toilet, yes he spoke to the toilet but the toilet started the conversation.

There came another bubbling noise from somewhere deep within the pipes. Aamon frowned. This was now personal. He placed his book safely on the windowsill, rolled his sleeves to his elbows and drew his wand.

There. Precautions. Aamon leaned closer. There was something down there. He was not entirely sure what it was, but there was something pale caught beneath the water, glimmering faintly when he shifted his head. A coin? Jewelry? Some enchanted object? Perhaps a secret passage? Hogwarts had those everywhere. It was frankly irresponsible architecture.

He leaned further over the bowl. He wondered where it would lead. Maybe a portal directly to the Ministry, he had heard rumors. Aamon's green tie slipped forward. Aamon tried to catch it and he nearly did. The end touched the water. He stared at it. The toilet stared back and then blinked.

A jolt of fear ran through the boy, but the boy had the survival instincts of a canary actively seeking employment in a coal mine. He should have pulled his tie loose and immediately fled. But no, Aamon's concern was for the expensive silk tie now contaminated. The Athanatos' face underwent the slow spiritual collapse of a boy whose ancestors had survived wars, curses, assassinations and blood feuds only for their descendant to dunk an expensive silk tie into a public toilet.

"…Oh, for fuck's sake." Aamon complained. He reached down to retrieve it. That was mistake number three. Mistake number four was putting one knee against the porcelain for leverage. Mistake number five was forgetting that he'd recently washed his shoes and the soles were still rather smooth.

There was a squeak. Aamon's eyes widened. "No..." His foot slipped, his knee slid, his hip struck the cistern and his wand flew from his hand. Aamon grabbed instinctively for the nearest stable object. The toilet seat was not a stable object, neither was the toilet paper dispenser that he was furiously unraveling.



For one glorious moment, Aamon remained suspended in an impossible configuration of limbs, dignity and rapidly deteriorating infrastructure. Then gravity collected its debt.



Silence. Aamon did not move. One leg remained outside the toilet. The other had somehow become wedged between the bowl and wall. His backside was firmly lodged inside the enlarged enchanted basin, which because Hogwarts had apparently been designed by sadists, had reacted to the sudden impact by expanding rather than breaking.

His shirt had ridden halfway up his back. His wet tie was draped across his face. Aamon stared at the ceiling. No. Absolutely not. This was not happening. He was a Seer. Surely there had been signs. Portents. An omen. A raven should have struck a window this morning carrying a little scroll reading: DO NOT INVESTIGATE THE TOILET. He got nothing! Apparently prophecy had limits.

Aamon attempted to pull himself free. The toilet tightened. He froze before looking town at his white captor. "…Excuse me?" His tone a half octave above normal. The porcelain gave an ominous magical whump around his waist. His expression changed. "Oh, don't you fucking dare." He pulled harder.



He could feel the toilet's grip grow tighter. Aamon stopped. was the toilet enchanted against struggling? Of course it was. Because apparently Hogwarts toilets had developed hunting mechanisms. He reached for his wand. It lay approximately four feet away. Aamon extended one hand toward it. His arms were not four-feet in length and his fingertips came nowhere close. Flipping excellent. He tried his foot instead. Still nothing. He considered summoning it. Without a wand. Right. Brilliant.

Aamon lowered his head against the cistern. Think. He was intelligent. Exceptionally educated. Not just the Hogwarts fluff either. He was raised by tutors, house elves and people who considered mediocrity a congenital disease. There had to be a dignified solution.

Five minutes later, there was not. Ten minutes later, his left leg had gone numb. At fifteen minutes, someone tried the bathroom door. Aamon's head snapped upright. The handle rattled. He went completely still. 'No!' His thoughts screamed. The handle moved again. "Occupied!" Aamon shouted.