The next few weeks after Ginny's breakup with Theo passed with unexpected monotony. Between schoolwork, personal lessons with Remus and Dumbledore, and Quidditch practice, Harry found himself with barely a moment to breathe.
His lessons with Remus had grown more challenging—Harry was now expected to duel without hesitation, to react with precision rather than instinct. Dumbledore's sessions were different. Less about defense, more about history, memory, strategy. And even though they were valuable, Harry often left them with more questions than answers. Voldemort's past was darker and lonelier than he'd ever imagined.
Ginny, meanwhile, had taken to walking into their shared study sessions humming under her breath, tossing her bag down with flair and saying something like, "So, Potter, ready to be humiliated at Gobstones again?"
She usually won. Not that Harry minded. He loved how animated she got when she teased him—her nose scrunched just a little, her eyes alight with mischief.
Good news arrived a few days after Theo's birthday with the return of a fully healed Katie Bell. She looked a bit dazed but happy to be back, throwing herself into catching up on schoolwork and Quidditch training with almost manic energy.
Unfortunately, the months she'd spent recovering had taken a toll on her. Even after three weeks of intense practice, she wasn't quite back to her old form. She was still an excellent Chaser—but maybe not sharp enough to face the Ravenclaws, whose team was particularly strong this year, with Cho Chang as captain.
One evening, Harry sat cross-legged on the floor of the Room of Requirement with Ron and Ginny, poring over game plans and strategies. The three of them were trying to decide whether Katie or Dean should play in the upcoming match. Dean still lacked coordination with the other Chasers and occasionally fumbled a pass, while Katie was a bit slower in the air than she used to be.
"We still have time, Harry," Ron said after several minutes of indecisive debate. "Keep both of them practicing. We'll pick the starter right before the match."
"Yeah. Dean and Katie both understand that the stronger player has the spot," Ginny added with a smile. "And right now, it's not obvious which one of them that is."
"Besides," she continued, stretching out her legs, "the match is still two weeks away."
It was scheduled for a Sunday—two days after Valentine's Day. The Saturday before was reserved for another Hogsmeade visit, which did nothing to improve Harry's mood. How he longed to ask Ginny out without hiding. Now that Theo and her had stopped pretending, Harry wanted more than ever to be the one holding her hand in the corridors.
But that was still impossible. At least for now.
Harry stared down at the parchment in front of him, though he wasn't really seeing it anymore. Ginny's voice still echoed in his ears, her laughter making something ache in his chest. She was right—they had time. For the match. For practice. But he wasn't sure how much longer he could go on pretending she wasn't the best thing that had ever happened to him.
Ginny was lounging nearby, her hair catching the light from the enchanted lanterns above. Harry watched her longingly, and she must have felt his gaze, because she looked up at him and smiled. He quickly glanced away before his thoughts could give him away.
Unfortunately, he wasn't quick enough.
Ron groaned loudly, pushing himself to his feet and stretching with exaggerated effort. "Alright, alright, I'm off," he announced, shooting Harry a knowing look. "You two keep working on strategy. Or… whatever it is you're really doing in here."
Ginny raised an eyebrow. "We're just talking about Quidditch."
"Sure you are," Ron said with a smirk. "Just try not to start snogging on the playbook, alright? We still need it for practice."
Ginny rolled her eyes as Ron grabbed his bag and headed toward the door. "You're hilarious," she called after him, though she was grinning a little.
Once he was gone, the room fell quiet again. Harry glanced at her, and this time, she caught him.
"You alright?" she asked softly, setting her broom aside.
He hesitated. "Yeah," he said, but his voice didn't sound convincing, even to himself.
Ginny shifted closer, sitting next to him so their knees brushed. "You've been quiet since we got here."
Harry looked at her, really looked at her, and the words came out before he could stop them. "I hate pretending."
Ginny's expression softened immediately. "Me too."
She rested her head briefly on his shoulder, just for a moment—but it was enough to make Harry forget what he was supposed to be worrying about.
"I was thinking," she said quietly, "if things were normal… if we could actually be seen together…" She trailed off, then looked up at him with a half-smile. "Would you have asked me to Hogsmeade for Valentine's?"
Harry turned toward her slightly, his heart thudding stupidly fast. "Of course I would've. I mean—I wanted to."
Ginny's grin widened, warm and just a little wicked. "Would we have done the whole thing? Strolled around holding hands, stared longingly at each other over tea and pink cupcakes at Madam Puddifoot's?"
Harry made a face. "Merlin, no. I'd rather snog you in Zonko's than go back there."
Ginny burst into laughter. "Romantic."
He gave her a sheepish smile. "I mean—I'd want to spend the day with you. Just not surrounded by lace and floating cherubs."
"I don't need cherubs," Ginny said, her voice softer now. "Or cupcakes. Or Puddifoot's. As long as I get to spend Valentine's Day with you, I don't care where we are."
Harry looked at her, his chest tight with something warm and fierce. "I'll figure something out," he said, meaning every word. "I'll make it special. Even if it's just us hiding in a cupboard somewhere."
Ginny raised an eyebrow, that familiar mischievous spark lighting her face. "Is that your idea of romance, Potter? A dark cupboard and some heavy breathing?"
He gave her a lopsided grin. "Depends who I'm in the cupboard with."
She laughed again and leaned in close, her voice low and teasing. "Well then… you'd better start scouting cupboards."
Harry chuckled, but there was a softness in his eyes now as he looked at her. "I wish we didn't have to hide," he murmured. "I hate that we only get moments like this when no one's looking."
Ginny's smile faded into something gentler. She reached up and brushed his fringe off his forehead, her fingers lingering for just a second longer than necessary. "We'll have more than moments one day," she said. "It won't always be like this."
"I know," Harry said, though the ache in his chest didn't quite ease. "I just wish that day was already here."
Ginny shifted closer and leaned her head against his again, their shoulders pressed together. "Me too," she whispered.
They sat like that for a while, letting the silence stretch around them like a blanket. Outside, snow tapped softly against the windowpanes, muffling the world beyond. Inside, the lanterns flickered lazily, casting a golden glow over the open playbook and the two people pretending they were only talking about Quidditch.
….
Valentine's Day fell on a Friday, and Harry was still just as confused as he'd been two weeks before. He hadn't yet decided who would be playing in Sunday's match—Dean or Katie—and both of them were starting to get frustrated.
"Seriously, Harry, if you want Dean to play, just say so!" Katie cornered him in the Great Hall after lunch. "This is ridiculous—it's been dragging on too long. You can't just keep us hanging!"
Harry mumbled some excuse about still needing to decide and made a quick escape toward his afternoon Transfiguration class. To Professor McGonagall's delight, he had begun paying more attention in her lessons lately—ever since Dumbledore's private sessions had started.
But just as he reached the classroom threshold, Dean intercepted him.
"So, have you decided already?" Dean asked with barely concealed frustration.
Harry opened his mouth to answer, but before he could get a word out, Dean gave a bitter laugh.
"It's not rocket science, Harry. Just pick one of us already." Then he brushed past him and into the classroom.
"Rocket science?" Ron repeated behind him, brows furrowed in confusion.
"It's a Muggle expression," Harry muttered, slumping into his seat with a frown.
The truth was, he was distracted by far more pleasant thoughts than Quidditch lineups.
Ginny had told him she wouldn't be going to Hogsmeade on Saturday. Instead, she wanted them to spend the day together—just the two of them. Since then, Harry's mind had been a mess.
He thought he had it all planned: a flower that symbolized eternal love (Neville had helped him choose it), a box of enchanted chocolates delivered from Hogsmeade, and a romantic lunch arranged with the help of the house-elves, all waiting to be brought to the Room of Requirement.
But some of the things Ginny had said over the past couple of weeks made him wonder if she was expecting something… more.
One moment in particular kept replaying in his head. They had been sitting by the fire in the empty common room late one evening, talking about what made a date truly romantic. Ginny had leaned closer and whispered, with a teasing glint in her eyes, "Romance doesn't need candles or violin music. Sometimes all you need is privacy… and knowing you both want the same thing."
At the time, he'd just smiled. But now, the words carried new weight—especially after a conversation with Ron a few nights ago.
Ron had admitted, rather sheepishly, that he was hoping to spend the night with Lavender on Valentine's Day. He even asked Harry to leave the Room of Requirement free for that reason.
That was when doubt crept in.
Was Ginny thinking the same?
"But… are you sure?" Harry had asked Ron at the time, struggling not to sound judgmental.
Ron raised an eyebrow. "About what?"
"I mean… have you thought it over? You're sure you want to—do that—with Lavender? You don't exactly seem happy with her."
Ron groaned and rolled his eyes. "Merlin's pants, Harry. Not this again."
"No, seriously," Harry pressed. "If you're having doubts, maybe don't go through with it. Maybe just stop thinking with your prick for once and actually think about the consequences. You know this isn't something you just walk away from."
Ron flushed, annoyed. "I am thinking. And I do want to. I'm sixteen, it's expected I'm thinking with my prick. What I don't understand is how you don't."
That stung.
Harry turned toward him sharply. "Yeah, well, you'd be thrilled to hear about me shagging your sister, wouldn't you?"
Ron went rigid, the color draining from his face. Neville, who had just appeared in the dormitory with a stack of books in his arms, froze mid-step.
The words had burst out of him in anger—but the worst part was, they weren't even that far from the truth.
Because he had been thinking about it. Probably more often than he should.
Ron rolled his eyes at him. "Not everyone has your moral compass, Harry. You could stop being such a judgmental moralist for once and actually be happy for your friend," he said, standing from his bed and storming toward the door.
"I'm just worried you'll end up regretting it, Ron. I'm sorry. Of course I'll leave the room for you," Harry added in a weak attempt to make peace.
"Whatever," Ron muttered, and then the door closed loudly behind him, leaving Neville still standing in the threshold, stunned.
Neville blinked. Then he chuckled. "Sorry. That was a bit of an unfortunate time to arrive."
Harry slumped back onto his bed and rubbed his hands over his face. "Tell me about it."
"I agree with you, though," Neville said, stepping inside and dropping his books onto his trunk. "Ron definitely shouldn't be sleeping with Lavender. He doesn't even want to be with her—it's obvious. If he goes through with it only to dump her two weeks later, the girls in Gryffindor tower will murder him in his bed."
Harry let out a dry laugh. "Yeah, and I'd have to write the eulogy."
Neville grinned. "Something tasteful, I hope. Maybe a poem about how he died tragically as a victim of his own poor romantic choices?"
"I'll start working on the rhymes," Harry muttered.
Neville sat down on the edge of his bed, giving him a sidelong look. "So... shagging Ginny, huh?"
Harry groaned and buried his face in his hands again. "Don't start."
"I'm not judging," Neville said, holding up his hands.
Harry peeked out from between his fingers. "You're not going to warn me off or threaten to hex me if I hurt her?"
Neville snorted. "Harry, she's Ginny. She'd hex you before I ever needed to. And she probably wouldn't miss."
"Good point," Harry said, smiling faintly despite himself.
"So... Valentine's plans?" Neville asked casually.
Harry gave him a wary look. "Why do I feel like you're trying to interrogate me on Ginny's behalf?"
Neville laughed. "Nah. I'm just curious what the Chosen One thinks is romantic."
Harry snorted. "Apparently telling her brother I've been thinking about shagging her."
Neville grinned. "Yeah, maybe leave that part out of the date."
….
Harry was determined to review his written notes from Quidditch practices and finally assign the Chaser spot after classes on Friday. Most of the students were too busy going on dates or mooning over the Valentine's Day gifts they had received, so he expected to have some peace and quiet in the dormitory.
He and Ginny had agreed to save all their celebrating for Saturday—and preferably not be seen together at all today. Since her fake breakup with Theo, the rumors about them had flared up again, though not as intensely as before. Still, they needed to stay alert. Spending Valentine's Day side by side would be pushing their luck.
Harry climbed the stairs into the sixth-year dormitory and pulled out the parchment filled with strategy notes and observations he'd collected over the past few weeks. He figured a quick pros-and-cons list would finally help him make the decision.
He sat down at the table, sorting through his thoughts, when something on his bed caught his attention.
There, resting neatly on his pillow, was a heart-shaped box of fancy chocolates. A small piece of parchment sat atop it, with little hand-drawn hearts drifting lazily across its surface, charmed to float like bubbles. He smiled to himself, remembering Ginny's teasing promise to leave him a surprise.
Grinning, he picked up the box, peeled away the wrapping, and plucked the first bonbon from inside. He popped it into his mouth and let it melt on his tongue—rich, dark, and laced with something oddly warm.
Delicious, he thought hazily.
He leaned back in his chair, a pleasant warmth spreading down his spine. It was subtle at first, just a hum of contentment, but then his pulse began to race. His breathing grew shallow. The back of his neck prickled.
His body felt... too awake.
His skin was buzzing, his hands were tingling, and suddenly all he could think about was kissing someone—desperately, hungrily. Someone beautiful. Someone waiting for him downstairs, with soft lips and shiny brown hair.
He needed to find her. He needed to see her.
He stood, stumbling a little, heart pounding like he'd just sprinted from the Quidditch pitch. His brain felt cottony, thick with fog, and as he reached for the door handle, an odd thought struck him.
Wait.
Brown hair?
His fingers froze around the doorknob.
That wasn't right. His girlfriend didn't have brown hair.
His girlfriend.
His...
What was her name?
His stomach turned. A cold wave passed through him. Why couldn't he picture her face? Why couldn't he remember her name?
What the hell is happening to me?
His knees buckled, and he sank to the floor, pressing his palms to his temples. Something was wrong—very wrong. He tried to focus on the girl he'd suddenly become obsessed with. Romilda. Yes, he knew her name now. And he remembered the last thing he ever said to her, plain as day:
"I'd rather remain a virgin than ever let you touch me."
He gasped as another wave of heat washed over him, thick and cloying like steam.
No. No, no, no.
He gritted his teeth and repeated the words aloud, barely above a whisper. "I'd rather remain a virgin than ever let you touch me... I'd rather remain a virgin..."
The buzzing in his ears was deafening. His hands clamped over them. He swayed in place, rocking slightly, chanting the sentence like a mantra, trying to anchor himself in the memory, in the truth.
"I'd rather remain a virgin than—than—"
The door creaked open.
"Harry?" Ron's voice cut through the fog. "What the—are you okay?"
Harry didn't look up. He was sitting on the floor, hands over his ears, eyes wide and unfocused.
Ron rushed forward. "Mate, what happened? Are you—did someone hex you?!"
"I'd rather remain a virgin than ever let you touch me!" Harry yelled, his eyes wide with panic as he locked onto Ron.
In that moment, Seamus and Dean walked into the room. They took one look at the scene and burst out laughing.
"I knew your friendship was a little too intense sometimes, but this?" Seamus asked through his laughter.
"That's not funny!" Ron snapped, his voice filled with concern. "Something's happening to Harry, look."
The three of them formed a semi-circle around Harry, who was sitting on the floor, eyes shut, swaying gently back and forth, still muttering his mantra.
Dean and Seamus stopped laughing, their expressions turning serious as they observed Harry's strange behavior. Ron knelt beside him, his hand reaching out to rest on Harry's shoulder, giving it a firm squeeze.
"Harry, what happened?" Ron asked softly.
Harry opened his eyes to meet theirs. His pupils were so dilated that the green of his irises was barely visible. When he spoke, his words slurred, as if he were drunk.
"The scho—scho—chocolate!" he stammered, his face twisted in terror. "It makes me want to shag her!"
Ron's face fell in realization. Harry was struggling like someone fighting the Imperius Curse, but it seemed even worse than that. Harry tried to return to repeating his mantra, but in his panicked state, he had forgotten what it was.
For a brief moment, the thought of going downstairs to find Romilda didn't feel so terrible anymore. Why had he been fighting it?
"I'm going," Harry declared, jumping to his feet.
He stopped himself halfway to the door, confusion and desperation flashing across his face.
"I don't want to! I do. I don't! I do!" He took a step forward, then back into the room, pacing and battling himself.
The boys exchanged worried glances. Ron tried to stay calm as he asked, "Who are you talking about?"
"Romilda," Harry muttered, his expression pained. "But I don't want her. I want… what's her name?"
Ron's eyes widened in horror. "Fuck, this is a problem. Love potion, or Imperius or something. Dean, go get McGonagall, Lupin, or Dumbledore—whoever you find first. Seamus, go downstairs and see if Hermione or Ginny are there. Bring them up here. Don't let Romilda know!"
Ron held Harry firmly in place, trying his best to stay calm. "Mate, you have to think about Ginny. You've been with her for months now. She's the one you care about, not… not Romilda."
Harry's breath hitched, his eyes narrowing slightly as the fog in his mind began to lift. The name "Ginny" seemed to anchor him, and he stopped pacing for a moment. His pupils slowly began to focus, and his hand trembled as he wiped his face. "Ginny..." he repeated quietly, as if tasting the name.
"Yeah, mate. You know it's her you want," Ron said, keeping his voice steady, though he could feel his stomach twist with discomfort. He had to keep Harry here, grounded, for now.
The sound of footsteps interrupted their moment, and in rushed Seamus and Hermione. Seamus, always ready to make light of a situation, raised an eyebrow but didn't speak, sensing how serious the moment was. Hermione, on the other hand, looked alarmed, her eyes scanning Harry's disheveled state.
"Is he alright?" Hermione asked, her voice tinged with worry.
"I'm fine," Harry muttered, swaying slightly, but his voice now thick with something more than just confusion—an odd sense of drunkenness. He looked up at them and tried to sit up straighter.
"I... I have to go. I need to see Romilda," Harry muttered under his breath, his tone thick with the haze of the potion. His body moved toward the door, but before he could reach it, Ron was there, blocking his path.
"No, Harry," Ron said firmly, his voice full of concern. "You're not going anywhere. Think about Ginny. You know it's her you want."
Harry's steps faltered, his brow furrowing. Ginny's face flashed in his mind—her bright brown eyes, the way she laughed, the way her hair shimmered in the sunlight, like a cascade of fire. Her smile. Her touch. His chest tightened at the thought of her.
"Ginny…" he breathed, his voice softening. "I... I can't... I can't just forget her, can I?"
Ron sighed in relief, glad to see Harry grounding himself again. "No, mate. You can't. You've got her. She's your girl, remember?"
His face softened, his expression almost tender. "She's beautiful, you know? Her hair... her eyes... and the way she smiles when she's teasing me…"
Seamus smirked, his usual cheeky grin making a reappearance despite the awkwardness of the situation. "Oh, sounds like someone's a little in love."
Harry's gaze turned distant, as if Seamus brought a flood of memories. "She's everything. Her hair, that red... when she... when she touches me…"
Ron's face flushed with embarrassment. He held his breath, his grip on Harry's shoulder tightening.
But then, as if the potion was still clinging to him, he took another step toward the door, this time his face more determined. "I need to find her... Romilda. I need to... I don't know why, but I need to see her."
Seamus laughed nervously from his corner, but his expression softened when he saw how serious Harry's struggle was. "Mate, you've got to fight this. Romilda isn't the one you want. It's Ginny."
Harry nodded absentmindedly, his voice growing lower, as if he was lost in his own thoughts. "Yeah... Ginny. Beautiful Ginny. When she blew me for the first time..." He trailed off with a dreamy smile, unaware of how personal he had just gotten.
Ron's face turned the color of his hair, and he quickly shifted his stance, looking away in discomfort. "Harry, mate... let's, uh, not get into the details right now."
Hermione's cheeks were bright pink, and she looked anywhere but at Harry. "Ron's right, Harry. Please just try to focus." She shot a glare at Seamus, who was trying to stifle his grin. "This isn't the time for jokes."
Harry's eyes were glazed, as if the words were spilling out of him without thought. "She... she doesn't know how much I love her. I want to do everything for her... she's... she's everything I never thought I could have." He paused, then blinked, frowning. "But... I don't know what she sees in me. I'm not good enough for her."
Ron swallowed hard, trying to ignore the discomfort that was creeping up his spine. He didn't want to hear this, but he knew Harry needed to talk. "Harry," he said quietly, trying to break through the haze, "you're more than good enough for her. You've always been, even when you didn't see it."
Harry shook his head, his hands trembling. "She deserves someone... someone better than me. Someone who can protect her, not drag her into danger." His voice cracked, and he struggled to hold back tears. "She deserves a normal life, Ron... a life without all of this."
Ron's heart clenched at the sight of his friend so vulnerable. "Mate, she wants you. It's you she loves."
Harry nodded but seemed distant again, his mind still clouded by the potion's effects. His head swiveled, and he looked at the door. "I need to find her... I want to be with her. I need her." He took a step forward, but Ron grabbed his arm, holding him back gently.
"No, Harry," Ron said firmly. "We're waiting for a professor to help. You need to stay here."
The urge to go downstairs flickered again in Harry's eyes, but he stopped himself. With a deep breath, he sank back into the chair, his hand trembling in his lap. "Why is this happening?" he whispered, more to himself than anyone else.
Hermione stepped forward, now trying to maintain some calmness. "The chocolate... it was laced with a love potion, Harry. You're fighting it, but the potion makes you feel like this... like you need to be with the person who gave it to you."
Harry looked at her, confused. "But I don't want her... I want Ginny."
Ron nodded, his expression serious. "Yeah, mate. You've just got to hold on a bit longer. Professors will sort this out."
Seamus, still smirking despite the tense atmosphere, leaned against the wall. "Well, if nothing else, this is a bloody entertaining day."
Harry's expression shifted again, his eyes growing heavy. "Ginny... She's... my girl." His words were slurred, and he sounded so distant, so unlike the Harry they all knew.
Ron's jaw tightened. He could see how much Harry was struggling, and while he was uncomfortable with what Harry was saying, he knew this wasn't the time for jokes. "Just hold on, Harry. We're getting you help."
"I need to see Romilda," Harry repeated, his voice slurring again.
"No, Harry," Ron insisted, holding his ground. "Remember what you just said. Ginny's the one you love. She's your girl. Don't do this."
Harry's eyes flickered, and for a second, he seemed lost. But then, the vision of Ginny returned, her face lighting up in his mind with the same intensity he had felt when he first kissed her. He stopped again, the confusion in his eyes fading.
"Ginny..." he breathed out, like a prayer, his fingers curling into fists at his side. "I just want her. Why am I fighting this? I'm just... so stupid." He ran a hand through his hair in frustration.
"Because she's the one you want, Harry," Ron said softly, giving his friend a small shake. "It's not Romilda. It's Ginny. Always."
Harry's body swayed slightly, but this time, he didn't try to move. He looked up at Ron, his eyes filled with both confusion and clarity. "She... she makes me feel like I'm not alone. She's my home. Why would I even think about anyone else?"
Ron smiled, relief flooding through him. "That's it, Harry. You're doing great. Just remember Ginny. You've got this."
Seamus exchanged an amused glance with Hermione, who was trying not to look too uncomfortable. But at least the situation seemed to be improving, even if Harry was still struggling to fully break free from the potion's effects.
"Alright, mate," Seamus said, grinning a little, "I think you're gonna be alright. Just... don't tell us any more about what goes on between you and Ginny, alright? Some of us still want to sleep at night."
Hermione shot him a look, but her lips quirked into a small, embarrassed smile. "Seamus is right, though. Maybe it's best to leave some things to the imagination."
The room fell into an uneasy silence, with only the sound of Harry's unsteady breathing filling the space as he continued to fight the effects of the potion, desperately trying to focus on Ginny and block out the pull of Romilda's enchantment.
The doors opened, and in came Dean, followed by a concerned-looking Professor McGonagall. She scanned the room, her gaze quickly landing on Harry. He was now slumped in his chair, drunkenly leaning to one side, whispering to himself. No one could quite make out whether he was mumbling about Ginny or Romilda—thankfully.
"What's the meaning of this?" McGonagall asked, her voice stern as her eyes swept over the scene.
"It's the chocolate, Professor. We think Romilda gave Harry a love potion. A strong one," Hermione explained, her voice laced with concern. "He's been fighting it ever since, but it's making him… well, high."
Professor McGonagall pursed her lips into a thin line. "Let's get Potter to the infirmary. I'll deal with Miss Vane later." She said, stepping closer to Harry.
"Harry, let's get you to Madam Pomfrey. It will be over soon," she said, her tone gentler as she guided Harry to his feet.
Ron and Hermione quickly caught up with them. "We're coming with you. He's hard to hold on to," Ron said, his arm wrapping protectively around Harry's shoulders.
McGonagall only nodded, and soon they were moving through the common room. The students, who had been chatting eagerly about the weekend ahead, immediately fell silent at the sight of McGonagall. They stared, shocked, as she led Harry outside.
Harry swayed as he walked, his head down, whispering manically to himself. Ron and McGonagall flanked him, holding his arms, while Hermione stayed just a step behind.
They were almost through the portrait hole—just a few steps away from Gryffindor Tower—when Harry heard a nervous giggle from one of the couches. Romilda.
He froze, his body tense. His heart began to race, and a sudden, overpowering need to go to her washed over him. To hold her, to kiss her, to finally feel the thing he thought he'd wanted.
McGonagall's voice cut through the haze. "Harry, you need to come with me. Madam Pomfrey will have an antidote ready for you."
Harry blinked, swaying, trying to focus. The words didn't make sense, but leaving the room felt impossible. His gaze flicked to the portrait hole, but then it snapped back to Romilda by the fire.
"I need to go..." Harry mumbled, his eyes narrowing, his lips parting as if to shout her name. But then something tugged at him—sharp and sudden. A feeling he couldn't quite explain, like a string pulling in a different direction.
He started moving toward her, but McGonagall's hand was quick, gripping his arm and pulling him back. "No, Harry. You're not thinking straight. The antidote will help."
His eyes, however, were fixed on Romilda. His body itched to go to her, to close the distance, to feel that rush of connection. He stumbled forward, fighting against McGonagall's hold.
"I need to kiss her. I want to..." Harry's voice was thick, groggy with the potion's pull. But then something flickered in his mind. Ginny's face. Her smile. Her laughter. Her fiery hair.
"No. No, it's not her. It's Ginny," he muttered, voice unsteady. The words felt wrong, like he was trying to remember something, but couldn't quite find the right piece. "I want Ginny. I—"
Before he could finish, his voice grew louder, his eyes shifting back to Romilda, and something in him snapped. "No! I love Ginny," he blurted, his words echoing through the common room.
A stunned silence fell over the room. All eyes turned to Harry as he stood there, swaying on his feet. His breath was shallow, chest heaving, as if the words had spilled out before he even realized their weight.
"I—Ginny—She's everything. I... I love her." His voice trembled, and Harry blinked, trying to make sense of the confusion swirling in his mind. But the potion still had its hold on him, and the full impact of his words hadn't registered yet.
McGonagall quickly took hold of his arm again and led him out of the common room. Ron and Hermione exchanged worried glances, their faces filled with concern. Harry wouldn't take this well, they both knew that. Not once the antidote had been administered and the fog of the potion cleared.
The walk to the infirmary was slow and difficult.
Harry staggered with every step, only moving forward thanks to McGonagall and Ron holding him upright. He was muttering under his breath again—nonsense words, fragments of feelings, names half-spoken. His eyes were unfocused, flicking between the floor and the torchlit corridor walls, as if trying to anchor himself to something real.
Harry was walking determinedly, not realizing that Professor McGonagall still had a firm hold on his hand. His steps were unsteady and his brow furrowed in confusion.
"Why would she do this?" he asked suddenly, breaking the silence. His words were slurred, and he swayed slightly as he walked, but the growing distance between him and Romilda seemed to have cleared a bit of the fog from his brain. His mouth, however, was still completely without filter.
"I mean, it's rude, isn't it? She gave me something that makes me want to shag her, Professor," he added in a loud stage whisper.
Hermione's eyes went wide. Ron made a strangled sound somewhere between a groan and a laugh, the corners of his mouth twitching uncontrollably.
Professor McGonagall looked like she'd rather be anywhere else. Dealing with intoxicated students was clearly not something she had much patience—or experience—for.
"You're absolutely right. It's not something a student of mine should ever do. Miss Vane will face serious consequences," she said stiffly after a pause. "Tampering with someone's free will is not a matter I take lightly."
"But I don't want to shag her," Harry went on, oblivious. "I want to shag Ginny."
Ron groaned aloud, while Hermione gasped in horror.
McGonagall had had enough. She pulled out her wand and gave it a sharp flick in Harry's direction.
His mouth continued to move animatedly, but mercifully, no sound came out.
"Thank Merlin, Professor," Ron muttered. "I've already learned more today than I ever wanted to."
Professor McGonagall walked briskly, her grip firm on Harry's arm as he shuffled beside her, his mouth still moving in exaggerated expressions of emotion and frustration.
"If I could hear what he's saying, I suspect I'd be horrified," she muttered under her breath, her lips pressed into a thin line.
Hermione, walking just behind them, gave a nervous chuckle. "You really don't want to, Professor."
Ron snorted. "He's probably proposing to Ginny by now."
McGonagall didn't dignify that with a reply, though her nostrils flared ever so slightly. Her eyes stayed fixed ahead, but she gave Harry's arm a gentle, almost motherly squeeze.
"This is exactly why love potions are banned from school premises," she said, more to herself than to them. "As if teenagers didn't already have enough hormones and drama without artificial enhancements."
Harry suddenly tugged against her grip, trying to mime something grand and dramatic with his free arm. His face was flushed, his eyes glassy but intent, and it looked like he was mouthing something along the lines of my heart belongs to Ginny.
McGonagall sighed deeply.
"Miss Granger," she said, "the moment we arrive, please assist Madam Pomfrey in preparing the antidote. I have a feeling we're running out of time before Mr. Potter attempts to serenade someone—or strip."
"On it," Hermione said quickly, clearly relieved to be given a task.
"Mr. Weasley, hold him steady, and for heaven's sake, if he tries to escape, sit on him."
"With pleasure," Ron said, wrapping his arm around Harry's shoulder again as they neared the infirmary doors. "He's surprisingly wiggly for someone drugged."
McGonagall cast one last sideways glance at Harry, whose face was now contorted in an exaggerated pout as he silently mouthed but I love her...
She pinched the bridge of her nose.
"Severus warned me there would be a day like this," she murmured. "But did I listen? No, I had to defend Gryffindor House."
They finally reached the hospital wing, McGonagall pushing the doors open with a determined swish of her wand. The cool, sterile air inside was a sharp contrast to the noisy tension of the common room and the awkward shuffle through the corridors.
Madam Pomfrey looked up from her desk with a start.
"Oh, heavens—what's happened now?" she asked, already getting to her feet when she saw the state Harry was in.
"Love potion," McGonagall said crisply. "A strong one. Administered without consent."
Pomfrey's eyebrows flew up. "That's practically Dark magic!"
"Indeed," McGonagall muttered.
As Ron guided Harry toward one of the beds, Hermione dashed over to help Pomfrey retrieve a small, locked box from the cabinet.
Meanwhile, Harry—still silenced—was lying back dramatically against the pillows, flopping one arm over his eyes and mouthing something that looked suspiciously like my soul burns for Ginny. Occasionally, he peeked under his arm to see if anyone was watching.
Madam Pomfrey muttered a few sharp words and uncorked a small vial, holding it up to the light. "It'll take a few minutes to activate. He'll need to stay still."
"He won't," Ron said dryly, adjusting Harry like he was a wriggling toddler. "I'd tie him down if I could do it without getting hexed."
Just then, the doors burst open.
"Where is he?" came a low, angry voice. Remus Lupin strode in, his face paler than usual, brows knitted in a mixture of fury and fear. His coat was still dusted with snow, and his wand was already in hand.
Madam Pomfrey blinked. "Remus—?"
"Minerva sent me a Patronus," he said, eyes locking instantly on Harry. "She said someone drugged him."
His gaze swept over the room and landed on Harry's dazed, blissed-out expression. Harry, noticing Remus, raised both arms dramatically toward him like a puppy demanding cuddles, still mouthing passionate nonsense.
Remus's jaw clenched. "Who did this?"
"Romilda Vane," Hermione said, stepping forward. "She spiked his chocolate with love potion. We're not sure how strong it was, but—well... it's been a lot."
Remus turned to McGonagall, his voice tight. "Where is she?"
"Still in the common room," McGonagall said calmly, though her lips were set in a grim line. "She will be dealt with."
Remus ran a hand down his face, trying to keep his composure. Then he looked back at Harry, who had gone back to pantomiming what looked like a proposal.
"This is why Sirius always said chocolate was dangerous," he muttered, voice heavy with emotion now. He knelt by Harry's bed, brushing his hand gently over his godson's forehead.
"Hang in there, Harry. You'll be back to normal in no time."
Harry reached out and clasped Remus's hand with both of his, looking deep into his eyes with utmost sincerity.
Remus blinked, then looked up at the others. "How much longer on that antidote?"
"Almost ready," Madam Pomfrey said, shaking the vial. "Just a minute or two more."
Finally, the antidote was ready.
McGonagall ended the silencing charm with a flick of her wand, her eyes narrowing as she watched Harry closely.
"You're going to drink it all. Is that clear?" Madam Pomfrey said sternly, holding a goblet filled with a murky grey potion.
Harry only nodded, and she clearly didn't trust him enough to hand it over—without any preamble, she brought the goblet straight to his lips.
Harry drank it like someone who had been dying of thirst, swallowing eagerly until the last drop was gone. Almost immediately, his breathing slowed, the glazed look in his eyes faded, and the bright green of his irises returned to normal.
The room held its breath.
Harry blinked, looking around. His expression shifted from dazed confusion to slowly dawning horror.
Then he slapped both hands over his face and let out a guttural groan.
"Harry?" Remus asked after a few moments of tense silence. "Are you back with us?"
Harry didn't answer right away. He stayed curled into himself, palms covering his eyes as if he could hide from reality by sheer willpower.
Finally, he mumbled from behind his hands, "This must be the most embarrassing thing that's ever happened in this castle. And that includes the time Neville forgot trousers after a bubble bath potion mishap."
"You'll survive," Madam Pomfrey said briskly. "Now stop being dramatic and let me see your eyes, Potter. I need to check for any lingering effects."
With clear reluctance, Harry lowered his hands and let her inspect him.
As soon as their eyes met, however, he accidentally glanced to his right—straight into Ron's face.
All at once, the memories came crashing back. Every word he'd said near Ron. Every humiliating, unfiltered, potion-fueled confession.
Harry turned beet red.
"Merlin," he whispered. "Ron. I'm so sorry."
Ron didn't hesitate. "Shut up. Let's never talk about it again. Yeah?"
Harry nodded fervently. "Agreed. Forever."
Remus chuckled softly, though the worry hadn't fully left his expression. He reached out and squeezed Harry's shoulder.
"You scared me, kid," he said quietly. "But I'm glad you're alright."
Harry looked up at him, sheepish. "Sorry."
"Not your fault. But... maybe avoid any food gifts for a while, yeah?"
"Yeah. Definitely," Harry said,
He hesitated, then glanced between them all.
"Can I ask you a favor, though? Could you maybe… Obliviate me? I don't want to remember what I said."
"No one wants to remember what you said," Ron replied with an eye roll. "Especially the stuff about my little sister."
"Have I said I'm sorry?" Harry asked with a cringe, but then more memories returned and he winced. "Oh no. The whole common room. They all heard me say it, didn't they?"
"They heard every word," Hermione said gently. "But... I don't think you'll get teased. Most of them looked too shocked to blink."
"I don't care about the teasing, Hermione," Harry said. "Ginny's in danger now because of me. Terrific. Just terrific."
"Don't be ridiculous," McGonagall cut in briskly. "All of us have been in danger since the war began. You just happen to see the storm coming more clearly than others. That doesn't make this your fault—it makes you better prepared. We—allof the Hogwarts staff—will protect Miss Weasley. And you."
Harry let out a shaky breath, both comforted and still aching with guilt.
Madam Pomfrey crossed her arms. "That's quite enough for one evening. Mr. Potter, you're staying here overnight."
"What? But I feel fine now. I just need to—"
"You've just been flushed through with a powerful magical sedative, followed by an equally potent antidote," she interrupted. "We don't know how your system will respond after a few hours. I want to monitor you for any delayed effects. And you, young man, are not going anywhere tonight."
Harry opened his mouth to protest again, but McGonagall gave him a look that stopped him cold.
"Miss Weasley will still be here tomorrow," she said gently but firmly.
Harry sighed and nodded, sinking back into the pillows.
Hermione reached over and smoothed the blanket over his legs. "Sleep, Harry. You're safe now."
"Right. Safe," he murmured.
They all said their quiet goodbyes—Ron with a half-grin and a clap on the shoulder, Hermione with a brief, warm squeeze of his hand. Remus lingered the longest, his expression unreadable, before finally turning to follow McGonagall out.
The doors to the hospital wing closed with a soft click, and Harry was left alone in the gentle dimness.
He stared at the ceiling, the taste of the antidote still lingering on his tongue. His body ached—not painfully, but like it had been through something it needed to recover from.
And his mind… his mind wouldn't stop racing.
Everyone knew.
He had tried so hard to keep it hidden, but now it was out there, spoken aloud in front of half of Gryffindor Tower.
And yet… strangely, even through the shame and panic and exhaustion, there was something else.
Relief.
He didn't have to lie anymore.
Still, the fear clung to him like a second skin.
Please let her be okay, he thought, squeezing his eyes shut.
Harry let out a long breath, and as the steady hum of magic in the infirmary wrapped around him, he finally drifted into sleep.
His last thought before darkness claimed him was the image of Ginny's face—furious, fierce, beautiful—and the memory of how much he meant it.