Chapter 12 – The Peeves Kidnapping Incident
Under the blanket of night, Hogwarts was filled with a mysterious charm.
Countless unknown secrets seemed like rewards waiting for the brave to uncover.
Horatio walked down the empty corridor—left hand holding a cat, right hand holding an owl.
If this were a horror movie, a few ghosts would definitely appear and give him a lifetime trauma flashback.
But then he remembered—this was Hogwarts.Ghosts were normal.
And to Horatio now, ghosts were basically perfect consumables.Their soul energy was so rich it was practically tangible.
If not for fear of Dumbledore showing up to scold him, Horatio would've already captured a few to use as screws in his alchemy workshop.
Just as Horatio was wondering why dark wizards didn't use ghosts as sacrificial offerings, a sudden POP sounded.
A small floating dwarf appeared—big mouth, sinister black eyes, legs crossed in midair.
"Another little wizard sneaking around at night! I'm going to tell Filch!" Peeves shouted.
Horatio's eyes lit up.He reached into his pouch and took out the black whip every "big bro" loved, holding it out to Peeves.
"Lord Peeves, please don't tell Filch. I'll trade you this."
"It's just a whip. What's so special about it?"
"It's not ordinary. This whip is woven from willow branches and soaked in acacia sap for forty-nine days.
In the distant East, people call it the Ghost-Beating Whip."
The moment he finished speaking, Horatio raised the whip and lashed Peeves hard.
Peeves screamed and tried to run, but a rope shot out of Horatio's pouch, wrapping Peeves tightly and gagging him.
"Little Ghost—no, Peeves, you still planning to tell Filch?" Horatio whipped in rhythmic swings.
For some reason, Peeves couldn't use a single ghostly ability.
His mouth was sealed, and he could only roll on the ground, shaking his head frantically, one tear of regret sliding down his face.
"Hehehe… too late."
Horatio grinned like he had just devoured a few Elders of the Soul Hall, took out his soul-collecting bottle, and stuffed Peeves inside.
Originally, Horatio wanted to go to the Forbidden Forest to look for materials and soul energy, but this unexpected bonus disrupted his plans.
After thinking a bit, he remembered Hogwarts had a place called the Room of Requirement.
But the exact location and method of entry? Completely forgotten—he only watched the movie ages ago.
At that moment, the long-silent system finally spoke:
[Located on the eighth floor of Hogwarts Castle, opposite the Tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy Being Beaten by Trolls.
Host must concentrate on a specific need and walk past the wall three times.]
Reliable old buddy.
Horatio silently gave the system a thumbs-up in his heart.
He arrived on the eighth floor, circling before the wall opposite the tapestry while thinking:
"I need a torture chamber."
Room of Requirement: What kind of child thinks about torture chambers every day?
After three full circuits, the door finally appeared.
Horatio entered, and his eyes sparkled at the sight of shelves filled with torture tools.
He took out the bottle containing Peeves.
"Well then… let's begin this delightful torment."
Horatio grinned like a demon.
With the black cat in his arms and the owl on his shoulder, Peeves—inside the bottle—felt a wave of cold wash down his spine.
---
The next morning.
"Horatio, what did you do last night? You didn't go wandering around, right?"
In the Great Hall, Hermione stared at Horatio, who sported dark eye bags and kept nodding off like a pecking chick.
"Nothing much… I just enjoyed the newbie benefit—the 100 free gacha pulls when logging into Hogwarts."
Horatio answered weakly.
"???"
"I'm warning you—if you break school rules and cause us to lose points, I won't forgive you." Hermione raised her tiny pink fist in threat.
"Yeah, yeah. By the way, what class do we have first?"
Hermione massaged her forehead helplessly.
"Did you not read the schedule? Our first class is History of Magic."
**
In class, Professor Binns droned endlessly from the podium in his monotone ghostly voice.
Hermione glanced to the side—Horatio was sprawled across the desk, snoring, drooling all over the table.
She wanted to punch him awake… but after looking around, she gave up.
Ron was nodding with his eyes closed.
Harry was doing the exact same thing—in perfect sync.
Truly a perfect match.
Neville stared blankly ahead, mumbling incoherent sounds.
Hermione sighed and continued taking notes.
After surviving the "relaxing" History of Magic class, Horatio headed toward the Great Hall for a bite of stargazy pie when a Slytherin girl approached him, asking to talk in private.
Horatio told Hermione to go ahead for lunch and followed the girl to a quiet corner.
"Well? What do you want? If it's nothing important, don't delay my meal."
Horatio yawned.
The girl bowed politely.
"Hello, my name is Daphne Greengrass, from the Greengrass family—one of the Twenty-Eight Sacred Houses."
Seeing Horatio's scornful expression, Daphne quickly added,
"I'm interested in what you said during the opening ceremony.Since childhood, I've been taught pure-blood supremacy.But my younger sister believes that blood status doesn't define a person.I'm conflicted… so I wanted to hear your opinion."
Horatio stared into her eyes.
"You pure-blood believers all take Malfoy as your leader, right?"
"Yes… everyone revolves around Malfoy."
"Then guess—if Malfoy dueled me, what are his odds of winning?"
Daphne hesitated, unable to answer.
Horatio raised nine fingers.
"Nine to one.In one minute, Malfoy dies nine times."
Daphne shivered.
Horatio continued,
"To me, pure-blood ideology is just a tool to secure power and status.By promoting pure-blood supremacy, families create a hierarchy where Muggle-borns and half-bloods are naturally inferior.
You know who supported this ideology and slaughtered countless Muggle-born wizards."
Daphne nodded stiffly.
"Now consider this—if a powerful Muggle-born wizard someday rises… and uses the exact same reasoning to slaughter pure-blood families in retaliation—what will you do?"
Daphne nearly collapsed, her legs trembling.
"In the end, this world is ruled by strength.
Pure-blood families have accumulated advantages, yes, but that doesn't mean they'll always stay ahead.
If you keep clinging to arrogance and outdated glory, one day a non–pure-blood wizard will rise—and your arrogance will become the fuse that blows your pure-blood families sky-high."
Horatio turned to leave.
"Oh, and another thing—I don't particularly care about pure-blood ideology…
but don't act arrogant in front of me. I keep a little notebook.Maybe one day I'll pay a visit to your family estate. What happens then…
won't be something you want to see."
He smiled kindly—horrifyingly kindly.
Daphne's legs finally gave out, and she collapsed onto the steps.
**
T/N:The Room That Really Should Have Refused Him
On the eighth floor, Horatio walked back and forth before the blank wall opposite the tapestry of trolls beating a wizard.He clasped his hands behind his back and focused his mind:
I need a torture chamber.
I need a torture chamber.
I need a very professional, high-spec torture chamber.
Deep inside, the castle shivered.
The Room of Requirement, which had seen many things in its long existence, silently questioned its life choices.
Out of all the dreams little wizards could have… this one asks for a torture room on the first night.
But Hogwarts was a service-oriented institution.On his third pass, a door faded into existence in the wall.
Horatio's lips curled.He pushed the door open and stepped inside.
The room that greeted him was… impressive.
Chains hung from the ceiling, metal frames gleamed, manacles lined the walls, and tables were laid out with instruments that, at first glance, looked genuinely terrifying.
At second glance, they looked… weird.
He walked closer.There were:
A chair with restraints and a giant speaker bolted in front of it
A table labeled: "Mandatory Viewing Device" with a stack of crystal orbs showing Wizarding educational speeches
A rack of cursed textbooks titled "Umbridge's Complete Theory of Discipline"
A projector with a neat label: "Endless Rickroll Charm"
A pedestal with a phial labeled: "Pure Malfoy Opera, 8 Hours"
Horatio stared for a long moment.Then he grinned.
"This room," he said with reverence, "understands my soul."
He pulled the Peeves bottle from his bag and held it up.
"Welcome to your new learning environment, Lord Peeves."
Inside the glass, Peeves instinctively felt a chill crawl up his ectoplasmic spine.
Horatio popped the bottle open.
Peeves shot out like a cork, only to be slammed mid-air by a net of chains that dragged him onto the central chair. Restraints snapped into place.
Peeves tried to scream, but the gag was still firmly there.
Horatio patted his cheeks affectionately.
"Relax. This is all for your growth."
He snapped his fingers.
The first device fired up.
Peeves found his head magically held forward, forced to stare at a floating screen.
[Now playing: "Hogwarts Safety Lecture — Extended Edition, 6 Hours, No Skipping."]
Professor McGonagall appeared on the illusory screen, giving a stern, detailed explanation of curfew, hallway rules, and spell misuse.
Then it looped.
And looped.
And looped.
After the fourth round of "Students are reminded not to practice magic in the corridors—", Peeves was thrashing so hard the chair creaked.
Horatio dutifully wrote in a notebook:
Experiment 1: Educational Repetition. Poltergeist showing clear signs of mental collapse. Effective.
He snapped his fingers again.
The safety lecture vanished.
[Now playing: "Malfoy Sings the Slytherin Anthem (Off-key Special)."]
Draco Malfoy, projected in high-resolution humiliation, appeared on the crystal screen, hair slicked, eyes smug, voice painfully off-key.
Peeves let out a muffled shriek.
"MMMPH!! MMMMPHHHH!!"
Horatio nodded thoughtfully.
"It's good, isn't it? Refines your soul."
Next, he tried:
Endless reading of Hogwarts' full rulebook in Filch's voice
A loop of Percy's student council speeches
A cursed playback of Snape explaining the beauty of potion viscosity in maximum monotone
A visual-only replay of the entire History of Magic curriculum, without sound, just Binns' face moving
By the end of the session, Peeves wasn't screaming anymore.
He had ascended past that stage.
His eyes were glazed, expression blank, spirit gently vibrating at a frequency that said:
"I regret existing."
Horatio nodded in satisfaction.
"I think you've learned your lesson."
He re-bottled Peeves, sealed the stopper tightly, and stuck a label on it:
"Peeves: Tamed (Probably)."
He slipped the bottle into his bag, patted Hathor's head, and left the Room of Requirement humming.
All in all, a very productive night.