𝐀𝐑𝐓 𝐎𝐅 𝐏𝐑𝐄𝐓𝐄𝐍𝐃𝐈𝐍𝐆 ── ʜ.ᴊ.ᴘ

28: 𝖺𝗋𝗀𝗎𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖾𝗌.

❥❥❥

𝗑𝗑𝗏𝗂𝗂𝗂. 𝖺𝗋𝗀𝗎𝗆𝖾𝗇𝗍𝗌 𝖺𝗇𝖽 𝖺𝗉𝗈𝗅𝗈𝗀𝗂𝖾𝗌.

"BECAUSE I FUCKING LOVE HER GODDAMNIT!"

━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━━

"Hey, isn't that Lovewright with Potter?"

Everyone has turned towards the stairs after hearing the boys' dorm room door creak open and slam close, eyes widened at the sight of the Gryffindor and Slytherin walking (more like limping for Y/n) down the stairs.

Harry and Y/n glanced at each other. Did the other Gryffindors not hear them last night?

Their questions were then answered when Ron walked over to them, he placed a hand on Harry's shoulder and leaned in to whisper his next words. "I casted a silencing charm on the door as well as a locking spell so no one could hear you guys or walk in and be traumatised. Be grateful that I still did that even when you made such a disgusting mess on my bed that you, Harry James Potter, didn't even bother to clean."

"You basically started it, dipshit. You and Lavender did it on my bed before, so why shouldn't Y/n and I do it on yours?"

Y/n suddenly tugged onto Harry's sleeve, bringing his attention away from his best friend. The annoyed expression on his face leaving once he turned towards her.

"Can we please go sit down on one of the couches?" She mumbled, not really wanting to use her voice as full volume since her throat was still sore from the screams and moans of last night. "I still can't stand on my legs for a long amount of time. I could feel them wobbling like I'm about to collapse."

Immediately, Harry wrapped his arm around her waist as he guided her to the nearest sofa, ignoring Ron from behind him.

"Woah, Harry!" He laughed. "You completely destroyed the poor girl!"

"Fuck off, Ron."

Once the two had sat down, Y/n instantly buried her face into Harry's chest as her hands pulled down her sleeves, making little sweater paws.

She had never really seen the Gryffindor common room before, but it was gorgeous.

The room was filled with stuffed armchairs. A roaring fire stood proudly in the fireplace in front of them. There were many windows that looked out onto the school grounds. Winding mahogany staircases, decorated with crimson and gold, were used to climb up the dormitories, and gold chandeliers casting a warm glow around the entire room.

It was the complete opposite of her common room but she loved it.

"How are you going to get to your classes on Monday if you can't walk?" Asked Harry, reaching over to grab the Daily Prophet which laid on the coffee table. "And what about Quidditch practice too?"

"I'll find a way," shrugged Y/n. "As long as Daphne won't kill me."

The boy chuckled softly as her response, flicking the newspaper open and skimming the page to see if there was any interesting news lately. "Are you sure you don't want me to take you to Madam Pomfrey?" He questioned. "I'm sure she'll have a solution on how to get you to walk normally again."

"Oh god, no." Said Y/n.

"Why not?"

"There is no way I'm telling Madam Pomfrey the reason why I can't walk at the moment. I mean — can you just imagine that? Explaining to an adult that you've been fucked so hard to the point you can barely stand on your own two feet? No thanks."