Chapter Text
Gregory Goyle didn’t care for the other schools. The girls wearing blue from the Beabuxwhatever school seemed dumb enough to win the Triwizard Tournament. The men from Dungstrang, on the other hand, were just as stupid as they were stuck-up.
Then there was Potter, the boy who is the largest idiot of all. Goyle snorted, thinking of the boy and how his name ended up in the Goblet of Fire. The one part of the tournament he was looking forward to was the food, the sweet butterbeer and chocolate frogs, as he watched Potter publicly embarrass himself in front of three schools.
Now sitting alone in his dormitory, Goyle stuffed his face full of Black Cauldron cups, using his tongue to coat his mouth in chocolate. While he ate, he tapped his wand on his bed and smirked.
He pictured Potter running through a maze with his hands up, screaming at the top of his lungs like an infant. Behind him stood Goyle the Great, his wand in hand.
“Crucio.” The Slytherin burst out in laughter as half-eaten chocolate fell from his mouth to his bed.
Potter’s going down! He thought poor Potter was the laughingstock of Hogwarts.
Placing his wand on his nightstand, Goyle was about to turn in for the night before any of his roommates returned. He sighed, hearing a rustle, only to see a black owl land in front of him, its foot out, carrying a letter.
Goyle took the envelope, his face turning into a frown. All he wanted to do was eat junk food and sleep before his loud moron friend returned from hanging with Malfoy.
The letter freed itself from its confines, and the envelope shredded into millions of pieces.
“What are you doing there, Goyle?”
The letter asked with a disoriented voice and destroyed itself; Goyle frowned normally. Howlers were used to scold a child or for a teacher to demand a detention.
“I’m not doing anything.” He muttered.
He didn’t notice the black owl leave, nor did he notice the return of the bird as it presented another message.
“I’m just wondering; besides, you should never listen to someone with a disoriented voice. Haven’t you read any horror?
Goyle blinked. Was someone listening to him? Or was this a prank by his fellow Slytherin brothers? Or worse, did the redhead twins manage to break into the common room and eavesdrop on him to feed information back to Potter and his friends?
“I’m eating.” He said and picked up a fanfiction he’d been “reading” about some idiot wizard and his friends trying to catch a murderer. “And I’m reading.” He said.
The fanfic was stereotypical, as it was stupid. I mean, everyone who has read fanfiction knows that the number one rule is that the villain gets exposed at the end.
“Who’s the main character?” The letter asked as the bird returned.
“Some idiot.” Goyle shrugged.
“I could say you seem like an idiot; I mean, look at you. A young man sitting in his room, alone.”
Frowning Goyle picked up his wand. “Alright, just show yourself, you coward.” He stood from his bed and jumped as the owl returned, giving him a haunting glance.
“Be careful what you wish for; you might actually get it. Now tell me more about your readings.”
“There’s nothing really to tell.” Goyle said, “It’s just a crappy thing someone wrote trying and failing to be scary.”
“A scary fanfiction?”
“I guess.” Goyle shoved another chocolate bite in his mouth, feeling it ooze through his teeth and towards the back of his throat. “What do you want? I know you're a red-haired dimwit trying to scare me; it’s not working.”
“What do I want?” The letter laughed in a disoriented chuckle that scared Goyle slightly, but not enough for him to think that the prank would actually cause him harm.
“I want to play a game with you, Goyle.” The letter continued as the owl once again left to carry another message of the prank master.
“I’m busy.” Goyle said, which wasn’t exactly a lie; he was busy. Busy eating chocolate and making a mess of his clothes and bedspread.
“The game is simple.”
“I’m not playing any idiotic game you have.”
“Wrong answer.”
A whizzing noise flew past Goyle’s left ear, leaving the rim with a drop of blood from where a knife missed and hit the back wall.
“Alright, enough; you clearly are spies for Potter. I’ll go to Malfoy and report you!”
“You’d go to a student who would laugh in your face for being like an idiot in your fanfiction?”
“Well…”
“I’ll ask one more time: do you want to play a game?”
“Fine.” Goyle plopped on his bed with frustration. “I’ll play this stupid game with you.”
“The rules are simple: I’ll ask you a question, and if you answer correctly, you can go sleep in your nice bed without ever hearing from me again. If you answer incorrectly.” The letter laughed.
“Stupid prank.” Goyle rolled his eyes.
“The game begins now. First question: who was the killer in the original book that your fanfiction was based upon?”
“Ghostface, you idiot. It’s not like Scream isn’t popular.”
“Correct, next question.”
“There’s another question?” Goyle gripped his blanket underneath him in frustration.
“Yes, Goyle, there’s another question: where was the first victim?”
“Home with his wife and newborn son.” Goyle laughed. “And what kind of question is that, a dumb one?”
“Wrong, but I like you, Goyle, so I’ll give you one more chance before I gut you like a fish. Third question: who was the victim in the prologue?”
Goyle watched as the black owl flew off once more as he thought. In the original book the victim was some pawn used for the plot to actually start.
“James, was it?” He thought out loud and waited for the owl to return once more with the letter.
“Wrong answer.”
“What?” Goyle spat out a piece of chocolate before it gagged him on his words. He was certain, certain that in the original book James died by the hand of the killer in the prologue. “In the book—“ he began to explain to this prankster without a brain but stopped as the owl flew back in the room.
“I wasn’t asking about the original book; I was asking about your fanfiction, and James wasn’t in the story because he was already dead.”
Another knife was thrown; this time it whirled past his right ear. The owl stayed in the room instead of flying back to deliver another message.
“COWARD! A PRANK AND YOUR FACE ISN'T EVEN SHOWN!” Taking his wand out, he spun around trying to see where the dagger came from, but he only saw the black owl glaring with its wide eyes, turning its head slowly.
“The answer was simple.” A disoriented voice said from behind him inside a closet.
“The fanfiction clearly stated that a young boy named Greg was stabbed to death in his shared room at school. You know what that means, Gregory Goyle?”
“That Christmas has come early?”
“NO, YOU IDIOT! I’ll say it clearly enough for you to understand. It means you are going to die! I’ll gut your insides out and wrap them with the candy wrappers scattered across your dorm and leave you to rot!”
Goyle glanced at the knives on the wall; the picture was clear. This “ghost face” guy clearly found out Goyle’s guilty pleasure. “Fine, you got me; pranks are done.”
“PRANK? YOU THINK THAT THIS IS STILL A PRANK! Just like that fanfiction you so love.”
The closet burst open, and out came a figure in all black wearing wizarding robes that bore no house crest nor signature of any school.
Goyle laughed at his hideous uniform, which came complete with a white mask with black eyes and a screaming mouth.
“You practice Crucio; how would you like to feel what it’s like to have your bones on fire?” Ghostfaceseemed to grin behind his mask. “Crucio.” He pointed his wand.
Goyle screamed, his arms withering in pain, flailing back and forth as his bones felt like they would snap.
“N-no! M-make it stop!” Goyle begged and screamed again as he watched Ghostface take a deliberate slow step forward, wand in his right hand, a dagger in his left.
“I can make it stop alright.”
The dagger landed in his shoulder blade, cutting through a bone; blood splattered over his floor, and droplets landed on not only his bed but Malfoy’s as well. He won't be happy when he finds out he’ll have to change his sheets for the first time this year.
Speaking of the devil, Malfoy must have returned as the door jiggled. “Goyle? Open up the damned door!” The lock wouldn’t give as the door tried and failed to open; Malfoy banged on the door.
“Guess you shouldn’t have locked it. Any last words?”
“Leave me alone!” Goyle wailed, realizing the prank was up; Ghostface has a wand and a knife. He meant business.
He screamed bloody as Malfoy tried the door again.
By the time the body was found, all that was left was a single black owl feather and Goyle gutted with chocolate and blood smearing the floor. His mouth opened from his final word, but instead of a word, it was a scream.