Harry Potter had a terrible secret.

It wasn't something he ever thought much about before finding out that he was a wizard. His very first night at Hogwarts though proved he had something to worry about, lest he become hated here too.

It was the middle of the night when Harry awoke, the pressure in his bladder demanding release. Half asleep he shoved his hand into his pants, pulled out his cock, aimed vaguely at his feet, and peed.

Warm wetness pooled around his heels and sank into the sheets and mattress. It was a familiar sensation and he quickly fell back to sleep, unmindful of the cooling piss.

It wasn't until the morning, when he woke up and realized where he was, that the reality of his situation hit him. He wasn't locked in a cupboard, unable to access a toilet; he was in the boys dorm, mere yards from the bathroom. And he had pissed the end of his bed instead of using it. What would Ron think?

He rearranged his sheets to hide the wetness before opening the bed curtain and could only hope that no one noticed.

The next night he forgot again. When his bladder woke him he pulled himself up, pulled out his cock, scooted towards the end of the bed, and pissed into the edge of the mattress. It was a better night, as the urine soaked into the further end of the bed that didn't touch his feet. But he'd still pissed the bed.

That day Seamous mentioned a funny smell.

It was his third night in Griffindor tower that he managed to remember that he wasn't locked in a cupboard. He woke up and stumbled into the bathroom. The walk and the cold tile woke him entirely from his half sleeping state. The splashing of urine against the urinal porcelain sounded impossibly loud. He couldn't fall back asleep for hours.

The fourth night was much the same.

And the fifth.

And the sixth.

And the seventh.

And every night for nearly a month. He kept thinking he'd get used to it, but night after night the trek to the loo left him awake and unrested.

Then one night after an exhausting day and knowing he'd be having Potions first thing in the morning, Harry awoke, climbed out of bed, and stood there half conscience, debating his options. He could go to the toilet with its ice cold floors... or crawl back into the warm sheets and pee at the end of his bed.

The only problem was the smell. He didn't want it traced back to him. Lord knew his aunt and uncle had berated him for being such a filthy pig when he couldn't hold it, and he had no reason to believe the wizards would be any different. They, unlike his aunt and uncle, would have good reason to be disgusted, too, considering here he actually did have access to the toilet.

He stumbled a few steps across the carpet, thinking: the problem really was those cold tiles. He wished he could pee from the doorway, without leaving the carpet. And then a stroke of genious struck.

If he could pee around the entire dorm, the smell would be minimal. Or at least distributed. Unless he was caught, it wouldn't be traced back to him. The carpet would be just as absorbent as his mattress. Eleven year old Harry was very proud of this solution.

Without further ado he pulled his cock from his pajamas and shot a spritz of urine across the carpet. He promptly took a couple steps and shot out another spritz. Another step, another spritz. He continued this way, shuffling across the carpet in the boys dorm and sprinkling the carpet with his cock until his bladder was empty. He crawled back into bed and slept soundly.

For a couple weeks this became the new routine. Without stepping foot on the cold bathroom tile, he found returning to sleep easy. Then one night before he had even pulled out his cock, Dean Thomas crawled out of his bed and startled, seeing Harry there in the dark.

"What are you doing?" He'd asked.

"Going back to bed," Harry had replied quickly, "I'd just been up to use the loo."

He quickly retreated to his bed and listened as Dean himself went to the loo, returned, and crawled back into his own bed.

He'd had to pee at the end of his own bed again that night, and he slept uneasily.

He was nervous after that, about being caught.

The next night he tried just peeing quicker, scuttling around cock in hand with a solid stream of urine pattering out onto the carpet. And it was a patter - such a full stream from that high up was not silent. His heart was pounding as he raced back into his bed. Thankfully no one seemed to notice.

The next morning stripes of dampness were still discernible. Ron stepped in one spot, though he didn't know what it was and assumed someone had spilled their water. It was more than enough to scare Harry into not doing it that way again.

The night after that Harry had a new idea. He slipped out of bed and sank to his knees to investigate the underside of the bed. He thought it was probably low enough that a wet spot wouldn't be noticed. He reached into his pajamas, pulled out his cock, aimed for the center of the underside of the bed, and emptied his bladder.

It was a success. The splashing was minimal as the carpet eagerly soaked up the piss, and the dark wet patch stayed nicely hidden under the bed. That day there was no suspicion.

The next night when Harry went to repeat the process, he realized the wet patch from the night before was still rather prominent. Not to mention this would still center the smell on his bed. He shuffled over to Ron's bed instead. Cock out, aim, piss. A new puddle formed under his best mate's bed.

The next night, Seamus. The night after that, Neville. Then Dean. The sixth night was back to his own bed. That began the rota.

For weeks this new pattern worked brilliantly. Harry would stumble out of bed, sink to his knees, piss under his friends' beds, and stumble back to bed. It was much quicker and more comfortable than shuffling around a spurt at a time, exposed for anyone to notice.

So of course he was overdue for someone to almost catch him. Harry was on his knees beside Dean's bed, cock in hand, when Seamus stirred in the bed just beside that. Panicked, Harry fell to the ground fully and shimmied under the bed, Dean still sleeping just above him.

Seamus padded into the bathroom and Harry waited, cock out, belly to the floor, under the bed, with a growing sense of urgency but too much fear to risk fleeing. The longer he waited the more he realized he HAD to piss.

And then it occurred to him that this was where he'd planned to empty his bladder anyway. Quietly as possible he shimmied his shirt up and his pants down. He laid there with his bare skin pressed to lush carpet for a long time.

Somehow this felt different. This wasn't point and aim and don't think about what you're doing - this felt like something deliberate. This felt intimate. Like peeing in his own pants, on purpose. And his cock didn't seem to want to let him do it.

Harry pushed. The tiniest dribble escaped and sank into the carpet. He pushed again and more came out, warmth blossoming around his cock. It felt pleasant, actually. He pushed again, this time continuing to push for much longer. He peed directly into the carpet, faster than it could soak in. He felt the warmth pool and grow around his nether regions. When he finally stopped, it quickly soaked in, but the warmth remained, and was surprisingly pleasant, considering how uncomfortable the same sensation had always been near his feet.

Just then Seamus reappeared from the bathroom. Harry pushed again, wringing out the last of his urine as he watched Seamus return to bed. Seamus never suspected a thing. As the piss began to cool Harry decided Seamus was likely sleeping again and returned to his own bed.

He couldn't resist climbing all the way under Neville's bed to pee into the carpet the night after that.

This routine lasted the remainder of Harry's first year.