(2/4)

Ron, wanting desperately to prove himself apart from Harry's shadow, squared his shoulders in a posture that exuded clumsy determination. He cleared his throat loudly, his wand held confidently, if a little awkwardly. "Alright everyone, listen up!" he announced, his voice reverberating with an eager boom through the Room of Requirement. "We're moving beyond simple deflections and stuns today. It's time to get into... more advanced... containment!"

He paused, collecting his thoughts with a visible effort and rubbing the back of his neck as if in deep contemplation. "So, you know Stupefy, right? Great for knocking people out. But what if you don't want them unconscious? What if you need them awake, but also not moving? Imagine you've caught a Dark wizard, but you can't just leave him stunned. Or imagine someone's running off with a stolen snitch, and you need to stop them without causing too much bother." He gestured expansively. "That's Incarcerous. It's a binding spell that conjures strong, flexible ropes. They wrap around the target and hold them firmly. The point is that they can't get away. It's for securing targets and making sure they stay put." He ended with a firm nod, satisfied with his explanation.

"So, yeah. Very important spell." His gaze, brimming with a self-assured eagerness, traversed the faces before him. "I need a volunteer! Someone to help me show off this, um, this incredibly useful spell!" He finished with a decisive nod, his eyes sweeping the room, confident in their imminent enthusiasm.

Immediately his eye snagged on a tantalizing stretch of warm tawny skin, visible between the top of a high sock and the hem of a short uniform skirt. The subtle swell of her calves beneath the fabric and the sleek curve of a bare leg held his attention with unexpected force.

His gaze ascended, drawn by the way the uniform skirt molded itself to shapely hips before continuing upwards. A v-neck jumper clung pleasantly to the chest, offering a vivid suggestion of the generous, youthful curves it barely contained. His eyes finally reached the face. Full pink lips were subtly parted and large dark eyes, made more captivating by long eyelashes, gleamed back at him with an amused challenge.

A bold smile spread across his face. "Yes! Parvati Patil! You're exactly what I'm looking for!" he declared, gesturing in her direction, his eyes locked on her and her alone. Close by, Parvati's twin Padma raised an eyebrow.

"Parvati," Padma's voice was a quiet sigh, carrying just enough to reach her sister, yet it seemed to cut through the room's murmur. "A word of caution. Remember my Yule Ball date with him? He's probably just looking for an excuse to get his clumsy hands on you, especially if this spell involves you being tied up. Unless you're interested in a repeat performance of 'wandering hands, no waltz,' you might reconsider." Ron's face, already flushed, turned an even deeper shade of red. His abysmal dating history, a constant source of awkwardness, was now on full, mortifying display.

"Wha--no! Of course not, Padma! That's... that's ridiculous!" Ron spluttered, waving his hands about wildly. He desperately tried to laugh it off, but a forced, strangled sound died in his throat. He spun away from Padma and Parvati, his gaze sweeping over the other students to avoid the twins' knowing looks. "Right! Everyone! Watch closely! This is a very useful spell, very... practical!" He swallowed hard and then squared his shoulders. His gaze snapped back to the twins with a quick, dismissive sweep as his wand aimed at the nearer of the two. "Here we go! Incarcerous!" A thin, dark cord shot from his wand, snaking out to bind her in a precise snare.

"Ron! You IDIOT!" Padma's furious hiss cut through the air, sharp and clear. The conjured binding snapped into place around her, instantly grabbing her slender form in an unyielding grip. Meanwhile Parvati remained exactly where she was, her arms still casually at her sides, rolling her eyes with exquisite theatricality.

Ron's self-satisfied smirk immediately vanished, replaced by a look of dawning panic. "Wha--? Oh! Right! Padma! Oops! Er, sorry! I'll fix it! Parvati, now you!" He stammered, his face flushing. His wand snapped back towards Parvati with frantic haste. "Right! Here we go! Incarcerous!"

The incantation, sharp and hurried, sliced through the air. A second cord, sleek as a serpent, shot from Ron's wand. It wrapped around Parvati's waist, cinching her jumper tighter and making her slender form suddenly, sharply defined. Another Incarcerous! followed, and then another. Ron's voice was now a high-pitched litany of panicked desperation. With each sharp crack of sound, more dark cords burst forth, weaving a living net around Parvati.

Padma watched, transfixed, as the cords pulled her sister's arms back, tightly pinning them behind her. Parvati's spine arched in a sudden, graceful bow that thrust her chest forward. Her ample breasts were forced against the thin fabric of her uniform shirt, which molded to their ripe curves. The snug, insistent cords sculpted the fabric around them, emphasizing their fullness and making them seem to swell with every breath. Her skirt, drawn up by the lower coils, rode high, revealing the smooth expanse of her legs, the delicate curve of her knees, and the tempting sweep of her thighs. She was a living sculpture of involuntary submission, posed and presented for the eager gazes of the boys in the room. A few low, vulgar whistles cut through the quiet, quickly followed by the sharp, judgmental giggles of some of the girls.

Then Padma gasped, a small choked sound that died in her throat. The frantic, unthinking cords were no longer just for Parvati. Another Incarcerous! from Ron, loud and clear, sent a new cord wrapping around Padma's own torso. It was warm and shockingly intimate. It began above her waist with a gentle squeeze, then another coil found her breasts, pressing them softly but firmly. This strange, unwanted caress sent a confusing warmth through her. It wasn't painful, but it was an invasive intimacy that pushed her breasts together, making them feel fuller and more sensitive than she ever wanted them to be in front of an audience. Her breath hitched. Another cord snaked lower, weaving around her hips. Then, with a shocking intrusion, one slid deliberately between her legs. It pressed against the thin fabric of her underwear, flattening it against the yielding softness of her labia. A mortifying wave of heat flooded through her and she bit down hard on the inside of her cheek to prevent any sound from escaping.

Ron, meanwhile, still frantic, cast a final, powerful Incarcerous! The last cord arced through the air, longer than the others, and didn't just bind. It wrapped around both girls, pulling them inexorably closer. Padma gasped again, a sound lost in the sudden intake of breath, as she was drawn flush against her sister. Chest-to-chest, breast-to-breast, hip-to-hip, they were compressed together as two halves of a whole. She could feel the soft give of Parvati's breasts against her own and the almost unbearable pressure of their nipples rubbing through the thin fabric. She felt the startling firmness of their thighs pressed together by the cords that now held them in an agonizingly close embrace. It was an exhibition of public humiliation, a forced, inescapable tableau. Padma felt her soul shrivel with pure, unadulterated mortification.

"Ron, you don't need that many!" Hermione snapped, her voice already carrying the familiar edge of their usual disputes over his spellcasting and general lack of finesse. "This isn't about brute force; it's about precision! The wand movement is key, or else you get results like that!" She gestured vaguely at the two girls, a familiar mess born of Ron's ineptitude, before snapping back to her argument.

Padma, pressed impossibly tight against Parvati, tried to subtly shift. The cords, however, allowed no quarter. She was crushed against her twin, their bodies forming an involuntary, intimately entangled form. The leering glances from some of the boys in the DA, quickly averted but not missed, compounded the mortification.

She wriggled, desperate to create some space and escape the crushing proximity. But each frantic movement only made things worse. The slick, unyielding cords molded themselves to her skin, creating deep friction where they pressed. It wasn't just uncomfortable; it was a perverse, mounting intimacy. A subtle, building pressure began to spread across her chest, her back, and her thighs wherever the thin coils pressed. Her wriggling, meant to free her, instead rubbed the cords tighter against her most intimate places. The cord between her legs bit gently, then insistently, rubbing against her clitoris with each desperate shift. A foreign, shameful warmth bloomed as her pussy suddenly became embarrassingly wet. Her nipples, already sensitized by the pressure, hardened with a rich awareness. A soft moan, thick with both shame and a burgeoning, unwanted sensation, threatened to escape her, and she bit down hard on her lip, a metallic taste blooming in her mouth.

She strained, a subtle, desperate pull away from the suffocating proximity, just enough to bring Parvati's gaze into focus. "Parvati? Are you... alright?" Her voice was a strained whisper, barely audible over Hermione's escalating lecture.

Parvati's eyes, wide and glassy, stared back at her. They were filled with an unreadable, escalating terror, a fear far deeper than mere mortification. Her lips moved, a desperate silent plea, but no sound emerged. She thrashed, a small, jerky movement that only tightened the cords further, making Padma gasp in shared pain and a new, chilling dread. A faint, rasping wheeze escaped Parvati, then a desperate gurgling sound. She was shaking her head wildly, not in negation, but as if trying to dislodge something, to clear her vision, to breathe.

It took several seconds, an eternity of confused dread, before Padma's eyes snagged on it. A thin cord, not unlike the others, was cinched mercilessly around Parvati's neck. It was pulled tight against her skin like a garrote and already digging a red line into the soft flesh. It was cutting off her sister's air!

"Ron! Hermione!" Padma cried out, a raw desperate sound, trying to twist, to gain their attention. "Stop! You have to stop! Let us go!" She bucked against the cords, a frantic, useless motion that only drew more leering attention to their tightly trussed forms.

But Ron and Hermione were locked in their familiar, infuriating bickering. "--completely incompetent, Ronald! It's a simple binding charm!" Hermione's voice, sharp and precise, cut through the air.

"I'm not incompetent, Hermione! I'm just... enthusiastic!" Ron retorted, his face still red with indignation.

Padma redoubled her attempts to get free, now feeling her own sister's desperate, weakening struggles against her. The cords, however, were unyielding, digging into her flesh with every futile movement. "Please! Someone! Let us go!" she screamed, her voice hoarse, tears starting to stream down her face.

Hermione spared them a brief, irritated glance. "Not now, Padma! We're having a discussion about proper spellwork!" she snapped, dismissing her with a wave of her hand before turning back to Ron.

Padma watched, helpless and horrified, as her sister's struggles grew weaker and more spasmodic. Parvati's face was turning a mottled purple. Her eyes started to bulge, her mouth agape in a desperate, soundless gasp. Her terror was palpable against Padma, a frantic, shuddering tremor. "Hang on, Parvati," Padma whispered, her voice choked with tears. "I'll get us out of this. Just hold on!" She pulled and twisted again, feeling the painful rasp of the cords and the uncomfortable friction of her sister's body, desperately pleading, "Let us go! Please! We need to be let go, now!"

But no one heard, or no one cared. Padma could only watch, close enough to see every agonizing detail, feeling the life drain bit by bit from her twin. Parvati's face deepened to a grotesque plum color; her wide, unseeing eyes bulged even further. Her body spasmed against Padma's in a final, shuddering tremor—a desperate, violent jerk that made the cords bite deeper into Padma's own flesh. Then, she was still. The silence that followed her last, gurgling breath was deafening, a vacuum where life had been. Padma, pressed against her now-lifeless sister, felt her chest ground against Parvati's, forced into an excruciating, mortifying intimacy with a corpse. She could feel the lingering warmth of her sister's breath before the chilling absence of it, the frantic beat of two trapped hearts that became only one.

The crushing horror of it swallowed Padma whole. Parvati was dead. Her sister. Gone. Tears streamed down Padma's face, not soft whimpers, but deep, gut-wrenching sobs that shook her entire body. She convulsed with suppressed grief and terror against her sister's cooling form as a primal wail built in her throat.

"Ron!" Hermione snapped, finally turning fully, her gaze falling on the two bound girls. Her eyes widened slightly, a flicker of something unreadable passing through them. Padma's raw, broken sobs cut through the room, drawing their attention to her anguish, to Parvati's ashen, asphyxiated face and unseeing, bulging eyes. "What on earth did you do?!" she began, her gaze scrutinizing Parvati's rigid form. "Ron, did you cut off her air?"

But before she could utter another word, or Ron could stammer a reply, the Room of Requirement began to act with its own indifferent sense of order. The floor beneath the Patil twins shimmered, then with a low metallic click, the section gave way. Padma shrieked, a sound of pure unadulterated terror, her eyes flashing open in panicked realization as she and her sister's corpse plummeted into the darkness. There were sounds of their bodies hitting unseen surfaces, scrapes of skin against stone, followed by a thump as they landed somewhere far below.

And then, the screaming started echoing up from the depths. It was Padma, alive, her voice thick with terror and agony: "No! Please! It burns! Help me! OH GODS, IT BURNS!" The crackle of flames became audible, a greedy, consuming sound mingling with her increasingly desperate, high-pitched shrieks. A damp sizzle rose, the gruesome pop as flesh met intense heat. Her high-pitched shrieks tore into raspy, gurgling whimpers as the inferno consumed her throat. "Mama! It hurts! Make it stop! Aaaah--!" Her cries reached a final, horrifying crescendo of unbearable agony before abruptly cutting off. The silence that followed was thick and heavy, punctuated only by the hungry roar of the furnace echoing up from below. A nauseating aroma of burning hair and rendering fat wafted upward, an undeniable testament to the horror that had just unfolded.

Harry, who had observed the entire descent with a placid expression, watched the floor reseal itself with a soft, almost imperceptible click. The faint, acrid scent of burning flesh still lingered, a grim counterpoint to the quiet sound. "Right then," he said, turning back to the still-stunned faces of the remaining DA members with a perfectly level voice. "Just a word of caution, everyone. These trapdoors here can be a bit... eager. Best keep a good distance from the edges when you're moving around. We wouldn't want any more accidents." he stated flatly, his eyes already flicking towards Hermione before the words had fully left his mouth. "Hermione, next lesson. What can you show them?"