the lip-lock jinx 3/4
Title: The Lip-Lock Jinx 3/4
Author: Cassis Luna
Rating: PG-13
Warning/s: spoilers up to DH, EWE, profanity
Word Count: 20,555
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, it belongs to J.K. Rowling. No money is being made out of this.
Summary: The Lip-Lock Jinx, a jinx that renders the victim mute that can only be undone in two ways: if the caster reverses the spell on the victim, or if the victim serves the purpose of the jinx and kisses the person that they desire. It's just Harry's luck that he gets jinxed by Ginny Weasley and that he's in love with Draco Malfoy.
The Lip-Lock Jinx
part three
The next day, it was Draco who started the conversation.
“Still not speaking, Potter?”
Harry, who had just arrived and was in the middle of sitting down, flopped ungraciously on the chair in surprise at the question.
Draco’s amused smile did little to ease his embarrassment. He shook his head.
“How many days has it been?” Draco asked with a little exasperation and haughtiness in his voice.
Harry raised his fingers, but then remembered that he only had ten and he was pretty sure that ten days had already went by and passed him. He opted for mouthing it instead, but ended up closing his mouth shortly afterwards.
Draco’s eyebrow quirked up in amusement.
Harry shoved a hand in his pocket, took out the Self-Erasing Parchment and the Self-Inking Quill and wrote.
You know, I’m not really sure. Thirteen?
“You must be mental to keep that up for so long,” Draco muttered in reply, still staring at the Parchment thoughtfully.
I agree , Harry wrote with a snort.
Draco leaned back in his chair. “Still no plans on taking that Jinx off you then?” he asked coolly.
Harry flushed. He knew that Draco wasn’t asking whether he would go to Ginny and beg for mercy. (Not that it’d work, anyway.) He shook his head.
“How long are you going to keep doing this?” Draco asked with an expression of incredulity.
Harry paused. He didn’t really know the answer to that one. Actually, he did: Not long, hopefully, but he wasn’t really in charge of this one. Until Ginny realizes that she has a human conscience after all, he wrote instead.
Draco rolled his eyes exasperatedly. “And you can’t just go and snog this girl because?”
Because he’s not a girl , Harry thought wryly.
On the Parchment, he wrote, I like my bits intact.
Alright, so that threw away Draco’s exasperation. Draco found himself smiling a bit.
And Harry kind of wished that he chose something else to say, because it really was awkward talking about his bits with the person he’d been pathetically pining after for years.
And then Draco asked softly. “It’s not a girl, is it?”
And Harry just wished that he never got out of bed this morning at all.
Well, no, not really. Not getting out of bed meant that he didn’t get to see Draco, but - he supposed it would be fine, if it meant not having Awkward Conversations about his bits and sexuality with Draco Malfoy.
But still, Harry couldn’t bring himself to lie.
With his face burning, he slowly shook his head.
“I suppose it’s not Finch-Fletchley,” Draco mused thoughtfully, as if oblivious to Harry’s internal turmoil.
Harry cringed at the prospect.
“He’s been sending you smoldering looks for the past week and you haven’t given him a second glance,” Draco said wryly. “Or a first.”
Harry shook his head vehemently.
“It’s not…” At this, Draco’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “The Weasel, is it?”
Harry looked at him in horror.
Draco visibly relaxed. “Alright, then.” He continued listing through the male population of Hogwarts. “Who else would hex your bits off though? I mean, everyone -“ Draco meant this, as he glanced at Harry’s flustered form. “- would love a piece of Harry Potter.”
Harry ducked his head in embarrassment. He didn’t really care about everyone, nor did he believe what Draco just said. Still, he thought miserably, Not everyone.
“Even the Slytherins,” Draco added as an afterthought. Then, he blinked. “Is he a Slytherin? Only a Slytherin would want to hex your bits off. Not that they do anymore, but you know, stereotypically speaking.”
Harry quickly scrabbled for the Self-Erasing Parchment. ARE WE REALLY GOING TO TALK ABOUT MY POTENTIAL LOVE-INTERESTS, he wrote, not really meaning the capital letters but it was just that his hand deemed it appropriate.
Draco raised an eyebrow at the hasty capitalization. “Touchy,” he murmured with amusement. “I’m just trying to help here, Potter,” he said casually.
As easy as that, Harry felt guilt wash over him in waves as he wrote on the corner of the Parchment. I know. Sorry.
And as easy as that, Draco felt the same waves of guilt crash down on him. He cleared his throat loudly. “Quite alright, Potter,” he said. “I was only teasing.”
He was certainly not about to apologize for teasing Potter. It was just not done.
Nevertheless, Harry’s cheeky smile told him he was forgiven.
-
During Potions, Harry sat next to Draco. It may have been because he liked being close to Draco or because it was the only seat left.
Hermione and Ron knew better though.
Even Ron was grinning madly in a smug way.
(This was at least after he had finished his shudder of horrified disgust, which was more out of obligation than his actual dislike for Malfoy.)
-
Harry didn’t listen to Slughorn at all during that lesson. He didn’t mean to really, but he guessed it was okay, because that meant he can ask Draco about it later.
-
Draco also did not listen to Slughorn at all during that lesson. This was on purpose, because really, Harry Potter was sitting beside him, and Harry Potter had sat beside him before but this time was different because Draco was different and he’s feelings things that he already told himself he wasn’t supposed to feel.
But it’s okay if he wasn’t listening; Snape had been a great mentor to him after all.
-
Draco didn’t know what possessed him to write such a thing on Harry’s Self-Erasing Parchment that was laid carelessly on top of their table (just in case Harry needed to write something urgent).
Maybe it was because of the sudden memory of Snape, or maybe because Slughorn is a good professor but not Snape (he was great), or maybe it was because he was paired up with Harry again for the first time since he took the Dark Mark.
Or maybe it was because Harry was sitting too close and smelling too much of soap and Quidditch and grass and mornings, and it makes Draco think unclearly.
I wish Severus was still alive , he wrote.
-
Harry did not know what to do with such and sudden honesty.
He stared at the Parchment, at Draco’s curving handwriting, and wanted to give something of himself in return.
He thought about Snape, too. He thought about Snape being the most cold-hearted professor that Hogwarts has ever seen and about Snape not being so cold-hearted after all. He thought about all the times he had been angry at the man, and all the times that he had been saved by him. They weren’t the best of friends, that was for sure, but…
I wish I appreciated him more when he was alive , he wrote.
-
Draco smiled fondly.
-
When he and Harry parted ways, he to Arithmancy and Harry with his friends to Transfiguration, Draco realized three things:
He couldn’t lie to himself that he wasn’t in love with Harry Potter anymore.
Hogwarts was still not as safe as Dumbledore had once upon a time wished it to be.
And Stinging Hexes, on the other hand, were still as painful as Draco remembered them to be.
-
Harry thought that he might be dreaming. After all, he hadn’t been this happy since Sirius died. He had this little fear that something must be up if things were going so well for him because things never go well for him. It was like an unwritten rule in the way of life.
In retrospect, he really shouldn’t have felt so downtrodden when Draco didn’t turn up in the library during dinner.
-
A part of Harry thought that he should probably rejoice, because maybe this might mean that Draco was returning back to civilization and eating in the Great Hall again but a greater part of Harry knew that this was (in a small, minute way) wishful thinking.
So with his heart beating nervously in his chest, he rounded the corner and headed straight for the Hospital Wing.
-
When he arrived at the Hospital Wing, Draco was there, alright, even though Harry could only see his white-blond hair. Madame Pomfrey was standing beside Draco’s bed, her back turned to Harry who realized that the Mediwitch’s shoulders were actually… shaking.
“Such insolence, I ought to give them Stinging Hexes and see what they think about it -“ she was muttering, and this was already a very serious thing because Madame Pomfrey swore an oath to heal, not the other way around, but Harry wasn’t thinking about the irony of this because all he could think about was the blood rushing in his ears and Stinging Hexes and Draco -
Madame Pomfrey turned around, having sensed his presence, and she blinked in surprise. Though her back was still stiff, her shoulders relaxed at the sight of him. “Mister Potter,” she said kindly. “Yes?”
And Harry would apologize for what happened next, really he would, because Madame Pomfrey had finally stepped aside and Harry could finally look at Draco and see the angry, red welt marking a path on the pale skin of the side of his neck, from his jaw to hide under the collar of his cloak and if Harry closed his eyes, he could imagine what it looked like before Madame Pomfrey did her fancy wand-waving, bleeding and open and red -
A window broke.
Madame Pomfrey jumped in surprise, breathing out a high-pitched “Dear Merlin!”, and clutching Draco’s bed sheets in her fists.
Draco was looking paler than ever, and he looked at Harry with wide eyes, shocked and a little - scared…?
Harry took one step back, ashamed and face burning with both embarrassment and anger.
He closed his eyes, dug his nails into his palm and desperately tried to calm down, but it was difficult with the magic running beneath his skin and sending sparks all over and his blood still rushing in his ears.
He shot Madame Pomfrey a desperate, apologetic look, and the glass shards of the window fixed itself again on the window pane.
Without looking at Draco, Harry turned away and walked out of the Hospital Wing, shameful and at the same time burning with rage.
-
Harry had already traveled to the Astronomy Tower and then to the Great Lake before he was confident that his head was a whole lot clearer. When he returned to the castle, he was just tired and ready to sleep this all away.
The darkness and echoing quiet of the hallways of Hogwarts calmed him, despite his thoughts of the war and Voldemort and Draco and Stinging Hexes.
He just felt defeated somewhat, like all his fight had been for nothing. No - it wasn’t for nothing. After all, Voldemort was dead and his soul had been thrown away to burn for all eternity but - did it really make a difference?
There was no madman going around killing half-bloods with an army of blood purists, but Harry felt like that was the only thing that changed.
He didn’t expect the wizarding world to suddenly change their views on muggleborns like a switch at the death of Voldemort, but he also didn’t expect… this -
“-don’t have the Dark Mark to brandish around anymore, do you? Still haven’t learned your lesson yet, eh, Malfoy?”
Harry’s blood ran cold.
Laughter rang through the halls and made Harry’s ears itch. It came from just around the corner and he almost didn’t want to step forward in fear that what he might see will trigger his magic to run wild and uncontrollable again but Draco -
“You’re not doing a very good job, you see,” came Draco’s bored drawl but Harry wasn’t listening, not anymore, because his feet were taking him forward, and he rounded the corner just in time to see a burly seventh-year raise his wand in agitation and press the tip of it deep against the bruising welt on Draco’s neck and Harry saw Draco’s wince and heard Draco’s sharp hiss and thought -
Draco .
The chandelier broke.
I didn’t fight the fucking war for this.
It seemed very dramatic, the way that the glass shards rained down on them like sparkling snow, but it wasn’t like that at all, at least, not how Harry saw it because what he saw was the seventh-year’s head turn as if in slow motion and the look of horror and fear slowly spread across his face the moment he laid eyes on Harry Potter through the rain of glass.
What Harry would remember was the way that Draco’s head turned sharply towards him in shock, and how the seventh-year stepped back in fear before completely about-facing and running away with a yell that Harry would keep on hearing that night as he laid in bed.
When the last of the glass shards had fallen, and all that was left was the broken glass on the floor and the darkness of the hall, Harry felt like his throat had clogged up.
When he finally mustered the courage, he looked up at Draco and he had already stepped one step forward to make sure if the other was okay - but Draco was looking at him with wide eyes and a set jaw and he looked… torn?
Harry also didn’t expect this either.
He may be a Gryffindor, but he had never forgotten that the Sorting Hat wanted to put him in Slytherin once upon a time, and at that moment, his Slytherin sense of self-preservation was easily winning against his Gryffindor courage, and so it was with shaking legs that Harry turned tail and ran away.
-
Harry entered the Gryffindor common room, which was empty except for the three figures by the fire. Hermione and Ginny both sprung up from their respective chairs and on their feet, faces glowing and expectant and grins big and smug, and that only served to make him feel more miserable.
From his position sitting on the carpet, even Ron stopped writing his Potions’ essay and looked at him with expectation like a child waiting for his gifts on Christmas.
Harry took out his Self-Erasing Parchment and his Self-Inking Quill and sat down beside Ron.
Hermione , he wrote.
Hermione and Ginny shared a curious glance, before Hermione sat down on the carpet as well, lending comfort. Even Ron gave Harry a worried look.
It was with misery that Harry wrote out the next words.
Can you Reparo a chandelier for me ?
-
He doesn’t like me, Ginny, Harry wrote on the Parchment slowly an hour later, as if he really didn’t want to write it at all.
Actually, he really didn’t want to write it at all. He had spent the last hour being generally quiet (which was easy, really) and even attempting to retreat to the sanctity of the Boys’ Dorms, but his friends were having none of that.
It felt embarrassing to be writing something like this, and it felt like a child crying to his mom what the big bully did to him, but Ginny was standing by the fireplace, arms crossed and determined frown on place, and her hair shone brighter and redder as the fire burned stronger, reminding Harry that this was a Weasley he was talking to.
He kept his eyes glued on his handwriting stubbornly, ignoring Ginny’s huff from beside him.
“You don’t know that,” she insisted, crossing her arms.
“Come off it, Gin.” It was Hermione who spoke, her voice quiet and soft. “You don’t know either.”
Ginny’s lips pressed together more tightly.
Harry sunk lower on the couch, sulky.
Then, Ron spoke what they had all been thinking but didn’t want to bring up:
“Take the Jinx off him, Gin,” he said with a sigh, but his eyes stared unnervingly at his sister, just as stubbornly as she stared back.
“No.”
“There’s no reason for you to keep him like this anymore!” Ron exclaimed, exasperated.
Harry felt even more miserable, having his friends fight his battles for him just because he lacked the voice to.
Hermione glanced at Harry, and then bit her lip. “I’m going to write Molly,” she whispered.
All eyes snapped to her, and Ginny blinked, shocked and then betrayed. Her lips pursed, and her eyes went suspiciously bright.
“No , I’m not taking the Jinx off Harry,” she said firmly, before stalking away towards the Girls’ Dormitories, stomping as she went.
Ron looked a bit red, but maybe that was because of the fireplace. He looked at Harry apologetically, and Harry shrugged and wondered if he’ll ever get his voice again.
-
In retrospect, maybe Harry should have done this in the first place just to get things over with.
He’d probably have a bruised face and an even more bruised ego, and maybe even be rendered impotent forever, but that was inevitable from the beginning, wasn’t it? At least, from the moment that Ginny had decided it was a good idea to hit him with the Lip-Lock Jinx while he was in mid-air, thus sending him to the infirmary at the same time that Draco was in there.
Well, it wasn’t like the Lip-Lock Jinx experience had been that bad… After all, he did enjoy half a month with Draco, and maybe they were even friends now.
Harry just didn’t know if they would still remain friends after what he was about to do.
-
Probably not.
Page 4
Author: Cassis Luna
Rating: PG-13
Warning/s: spoilers up to DH, EWE, profanity
Word Count: 20,555
Disclaimer: Harry Potter does not belong to me, it belongs to J.K. Rowling. No money is being made out of this.
Summary: The Lip-Lock Jinx, a jinx that renders the victim mute that can only be undone in two ways: if the caster reverses the spell on the victim, or if the victim serves the purpose of the jinx and kisses the person that they desire. It's just Harry's luck that he gets jinxed by Ginny Weasley and that he's in love with Draco Malfoy.
The Lip-Lock Jinx
part three
The next day, it was Draco who started the conversation.
“Still not speaking, Potter?”
Harry, who had just arrived and was in the middle of sitting down, flopped ungraciously on the chair in surprise at the question.
Draco’s amused smile did little to ease his embarrassment. He shook his head.
“How many days has it been?” Draco asked with a little exasperation and haughtiness in his voice.
Harry raised his fingers, but then remembered that he only had ten and he was pretty sure that ten days had already went by and passed him. He opted for mouthing it instead, but ended up closing his mouth shortly afterwards.
Draco’s eyebrow quirked up in amusement.
Harry shoved a hand in his pocket, took out the Self-Erasing Parchment and the Self-Inking Quill and wrote.
You know, I’m not really sure. Thirteen?
“You must be mental to keep that up for so long,” Draco muttered in reply, still staring at the Parchment thoughtfully.
I agree , Harry wrote with a snort.
Draco leaned back in his chair. “Still no plans on taking that Jinx off you then?” he asked coolly.
Harry flushed. He knew that Draco wasn’t asking whether he would go to Ginny and beg for mercy. (Not that it’d work, anyway.) He shook his head.
“How long are you going to keep doing this?” Draco asked with an expression of incredulity.
Harry paused. He didn’t really know the answer to that one. Actually, he did: Not long, hopefully, but he wasn’t really in charge of this one. Until Ginny realizes that she has a human conscience after all, he wrote instead.
Draco rolled his eyes exasperatedly. “And you can’t just go and snog this girl because?”
Because he’s not a girl , Harry thought wryly.
On the Parchment, he wrote, I like my bits intact.
Alright, so that threw away Draco’s exasperation. Draco found himself smiling a bit.
And Harry kind of wished that he chose something else to say, because it really was awkward talking about his bits with the person he’d been pathetically pining after for years.
And then Draco asked softly. “It’s not a girl, is it?”
And Harry just wished that he never got out of bed this morning at all.
Well, no, not really. Not getting out of bed meant that he didn’t get to see Draco, but - he supposed it would be fine, if it meant not having Awkward Conversations about his bits and sexuality with Draco Malfoy.
But still, Harry couldn’t bring himself to lie.
With his face burning, he slowly shook his head.
“I suppose it’s not Finch-Fletchley,” Draco mused thoughtfully, as if oblivious to Harry’s internal turmoil.
Harry cringed at the prospect.
“He’s been sending you smoldering looks for the past week and you haven’t given him a second glance,” Draco said wryly. “Or a first.”
Harry shook his head vehemently.
“It’s not…” At this, Draco’s eyes narrowed suspiciously. “The Weasel, is it?”
Harry looked at him in horror.
Draco visibly relaxed. “Alright, then.” He continued listing through the male population of Hogwarts. “Who else would hex your bits off though? I mean, everyone -“ Draco meant this, as he glanced at Harry’s flustered form. “- would love a piece of Harry Potter.”
Harry ducked his head in embarrassment. He didn’t really care about everyone, nor did he believe what Draco just said. Still, he thought miserably, Not everyone.
“Even the Slytherins,” Draco added as an afterthought. Then, he blinked. “Is he a Slytherin? Only a Slytherin would want to hex your bits off. Not that they do anymore, but you know, stereotypically speaking.”
Harry quickly scrabbled for the Self-Erasing Parchment. ARE WE REALLY GOING TO TALK ABOUT MY POTENTIAL LOVE-INTERESTS, he wrote, not really meaning the capital letters but it was just that his hand deemed it appropriate.
Draco raised an eyebrow at the hasty capitalization. “Touchy,” he murmured with amusement. “I’m just trying to help here, Potter,” he said casually.
As easy as that, Harry felt guilt wash over him in waves as he wrote on the corner of the Parchment. I know. Sorry.
And as easy as that, Draco felt the same waves of guilt crash down on him. He cleared his throat loudly. “Quite alright, Potter,” he said. “I was only teasing.”
He was certainly not about to apologize for teasing Potter. It was just not done.
Nevertheless, Harry’s cheeky smile told him he was forgiven.
-
During Potions, Harry sat next to Draco. It may have been because he liked being close to Draco or because it was the only seat left.
Hermione and Ron knew better though.
Even Ron was grinning madly in a smug way.
(This was at least after he had finished his shudder of horrified disgust, which was more out of obligation than his actual dislike for Malfoy.)
-
Harry didn’t listen to Slughorn at all during that lesson. He didn’t mean to really, but he guessed it was okay, because that meant he can ask Draco about it later.
-
Draco also did not listen to Slughorn at all during that lesson. This was on purpose, because really, Harry Potter was sitting beside him, and Harry Potter had sat beside him before but this time was different because Draco was different and he’s feelings things that he already told himself he wasn’t supposed to feel.
But it’s okay if he wasn’t listening; Snape had been a great mentor to him after all.
-
Draco didn’t know what possessed him to write such a thing on Harry’s Self-Erasing Parchment that was laid carelessly on top of their table (just in case Harry needed to write something urgent).
Maybe it was because of the sudden memory of Snape, or maybe because Slughorn is a good professor but not Snape (he was great), or maybe it was because he was paired up with Harry again for the first time since he took the Dark Mark.
Or maybe it was because Harry was sitting too close and smelling too much of soap and Quidditch and grass and mornings, and it makes Draco think unclearly.
I wish Severus was still alive , he wrote.
-
Harry did not know what to do with such and sudden honesty.
He stared at the Parchment, at Draco’s curving handwriting, and wanted to give something of himself in return.
He thought about Snape, too. He thought about Snape being the most cold-hearted professor that Hogwarts has ever seen and about Snape not being so cold-hearted after all. He thought about all the times he had been angry at the man, and all the times that he had been saved by him. They weren’t the best of friends, that was for sure, but…
I wish I appreciated him more when he was alive , he wrote.
-
Draco smiled fondly.
-
When he and Harry parted ways, he to Arithmancy and Harry with his friends to Transfiguration, Draco realized three things:
He couldn’t lie to himself that he wasn’t in love with Harry Potter anymore.
Hogwarts was still not as safe as Dumbledore had once upon a time wished it to be.
And Stinging Hexes, on the other hand, were still as painful as Draco remembered them to be.
-
Harry thought that he might be dreaming. After all, he hadn’t been this happy since Sirius died. He had this little fear that something must be up if things were going so well for him because things never go well for him. It was like an unwritten rule in the way of life.
In retrospect, he really shouldn’t have felt so downtrodden when Draco didn’t turn up in the library during dinner.
-
A part of Harry thought that he should probably rejoice, because maybe this might mean that Draco was returning back to civilization and eating in the Great Hall again but a greater part of Harry knew that this was (in a small, minute way) wishful thinking.
So with his heart beating nervously in his chest, he rounded the corner and headed straight for the Hospital Wing.
-
When he arrived at the Hospital Wing, Draco was there, alright, even though Harry could only see his white-blond hair. Madame Pomfrey was standing beside Draco’s bed, her back turned to Harry who realized that the Mediwitch’s shoulders were actually… shaking.
“Such insolence, I ought to give them Stinging Hexes and see what they think about it -“ she was muttering, and this was already a very serious thing because Madame Pomfrey swore an oath to heal, not the other way around, but Harry wasn’t thinking about the irony of this because all he could think about was the blood rushing in his ears and Stinging Hexes and Draco -
Madame Pomfrey turned around, having sensed his presence, and she blinked in surprise. Though her back was still stiff, her shoulders relaxed at the sight of him. “Mister Potter,” she said kindly. “Yes?”
And Harry would apologize for what happened next, really he would, because Madame Pomfrey had finally stepped aside and Harry could finally look at Draco and see the angry, red welt marking a path on the pale skin of the side of his neck, from his jaw to hide under the collar of his cloak and if Harry closed his eyes, he could imagine what it looked like before Madame Pomfrey did her fancy wand-waving, bleeding and open and red -
A window broke.
Madame Pomfrey jumped in surprise, breathing out a high-pitched “Dear Merlin!”, and clutching Draco’s bed sheets in her fists.
Draco was looking paler than ever, and he looked at Harry with wide eyes, shocked and a little - scared…?
Harry took one step back, ashamed and face burning with both embarrassment and anger.
He closed his eyes, dug his nails into his palm and desperately tried to calm down, but it was difficult with the magic running beneath his skin and sending sparks all over and his blood still rushing in his ears.
He shot Madame Pomfrey a desperate, apologetic look, and the glass shards of the window fixed itself again on the window pane.
Without looking at Draco, Harry turned away and walked out of the Hospital Wing, shameful and at the same time burning with rage.
-
Harry had already traveled to the Astronomy Tower and then to the Great Lake before he was confident that his head was a whole lot clearer. When he returned to the castle, he was just tired and ready to sleep this all away.
The darkness and echoing quiet of the hallways of Hogwarts calmed him, despite his thoughts of the war and Voldemort and Draco and Stinging Hexes.
He just felt defeated somewhat, like all his fight had been for nothing. No - it wasn’t for nothing. After all, Voldemort was dead and his soul had been thrown away to burn for all eternity but - did it really make a difference?
There was no madman going around killing half-bloods with an army of blood purists, but Harry felt like that was the only thing that changed.
He didn’t expect the wizarding world to suddenly change their views on muggleborns like a switch at the death of Voldemort, but he also didn’t expect… this -
“-don’t have the Dark Mark to brandish around anymore, do you? Still haven’t learned your lesson yet, eh, Malfoy?”
Harry’s blood ran cold.
Laughter rang through the halls and made Harry’s ears itch. It came from just around the corner and he almost didn’t want to step forward in fear that what he might see will trigger his magic to run wild and uncontrollable again but Draco -
“You’re not doing a very good job, you see,” came Draco’s bored drawl but Harry wasn’t listening, not anymore, because his feet were taking him forward, and he rounded the corner just in time to see a burly seventh-year raise his wand in agitation and press the tip of it deep against the bruising welt on Draco’s neck and Harry saw Draco’s wince and heard Draco’s sharp hiss and thought -
Draco .
The chandelier broke.
I didn’t fight the fucking war for this.
It seemed very dramatic, the way that the glass shards rained down on them like sparkling snow, but it wasn’t like that at all, at least, not how Harry saw it because what he saw was the seventh-year’s head turn as if in slow motion and the look of horror and fear slowly spread across his face the moment he laid eyes on Harry Potter through the rain of glass.
What Harry would remember was the way that Draco’s head turned sharply towards him in shock, and how the seventh-year stepped back in fear before completely about-facing and running away with a yell that Harry would keep on hearing that night as he laid in bed.
When the last of the glass shards had fallen, and all that was left was the broken glass on the floor and the darkness of the hall, Harry felt like his throat had clogged up.
When he finally mustered the courage, he looked up at Draco and he had already stepped one step forward to make sure if the other was okay - but Draco was looking at him with wide eyes and a set jaw and he looked… torn?
Harry also didn’t expect this either.
He may be a Gryffindor, but he had never forgotten that the Sorting Hat wanted to put him in Slytherin once upon a time, and at that moment, his Slytherin sense of self-preservation was easily winning against his Gryffindor courage, and so it was with shaking legs that Harry turned tail and ran away.
-
Harry entered the Gryffindor common room, which was empty except for the three figures by the fire. Hermione and Ginny both sprung up from their respective chairs and on their feet, faces glowing and expectant and grins big and smug, and that only served to make him feel more miserable.
From his position sitting on the carpet, even Ron stopped writing his Potions’ essay and looked at him with expectation like a child waiting for his gifts on Christmas.
Harry took out his Self-Erasing Parchment and his Self-Inking Quill and sat down beside Ron.
Hermione , he wrote.
Hermione and Ginny shared a curious glance, before Hermione sat down on the carpet as well, lending comfort. Even Ron gave Harry a worried look.
It was with misery that Harry wrote out the next words.
Can you Reparo a chandelier for me ?
-
He doesn’t like me, Ginny, Harry wrote on the Parchment slowly an hour later, as if he really didn’t want to write it at all.
Actually, he really didn’t want to write it at all. He had spent the last hour being generally quiet (which was easy, really) and even attempting to retreat to the sanctity of the Boys’ Dorms, but his friends were having none of that.
It felt embarrassing to be writing something like this, and it felt like a child crying to his mom what the big bully did to him, but Ginny was standing by the fireplace, arms crossed and determined frown on place, and her hair shone brighter and redder as the fire burned stronger, reminding Harry that this was a Weasley he was talking to.
He kept his eyes glued on his handwriting stubbornly, ignoring Ginny’s huff from beside him.
“You don’t know that,” she insisted, crossing her arms.
“Come off it, Gin.” It was Hermione who spoke, her voice quiet and soft. “You don’t know either.”
Ginny’s lips pressed together more tightly.
Harry sunk lower on the couch, sulky.
Then, Ron spoke what they had all been thinking but didn’t want to bring up:
“Take the Jinx off him, Gin,” he said with a sigh, but his eyes stared unnervingly at his sister, just as stubbornly as she stared back.
“No.”
“There’s no reason for you to keep him like this anymore!” Ron exclaimed, exasperated.
Harry felt even more miserable, having his friends fight his battles for him just because he lacked the voice to.
Hermione glanced at Harry, and then bit her lip. “I’m going to write Molly,” she whispered.
All eyes snapped to her, and Ginny blinked, shocked and then betrayed. Her lips pursed, and her eyes went suspiciously bright.
“No , I’m not taking the Jinx off Harry,” she said firmly, before stalking away towards the Girls’ Dormitories, stomping as she went.
Ron looked a bit red, but maybe that was because of the fireplace. He looked at Harry apologetically, and Harry shrugged and wondered if he’ll ever get his voice again.
-
In retrospect, maybe Harry should have done this in the first place just to get things over with.
He’d probably have a bruised face and an even more bruised ego, and maybe even be rendered impotent forever, but that was inevitable from the beginning, wasn’t it? At least, from the moment that Ginny had decided it was a good idea to hit him with the Lip-Lock Jinx while he was in mid-air, thus sending him to the infirmary at the same time that Draco was in there.
Well, it wasn’t like the Lip-Lock Jinx experience had been that bad… After all, he did enjoy half a month with Draco, and maybe they were even friends now.
Harry just didn’t know if they would still remain friends after what he was about to do.
-
Probably not.
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