A Little Help from a Snake // Tomarry

9: Ripping and Tearing is Kinky

Title inspired by... well, you'll see what I mean if you don't already know.

Reposted: July 9, 2021

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Last edited: July 10, 2021

Between Lockhart, Ginny, and Colin, Lockhart had to be the worst. On the first DADA lesson of the term, Harry had the honor of seeing just how qualified Lockhart really was at teaching when the man handed out the most useless pop quiz ever— no, Harry did not give a damn what Lockhart's favorite color was, thank you very much— and released Cornish pixies, electric blue creatures that were about eight inches in height.

"Come on now— round them up, round them up, they're only pixies!" Lockhart shouted. He brandished his wand. "Peskipiksi Pesternomi!"

The spell had no effect; one pixie threw his wand out the window. When the bell rang, everyone made a mad dash to the door. Poor Crabbe and Goyle were left to round up the remaining pixies.

Over the next few days, Harry did his best to avoid Lockhart whenever he saw him. He was relieved when Colin didn't stalk, though he didn't mind his cheerful "All right, Harry?" when they passed in the hall too much.

Professor Snape seemed to be everywhere, too, though his presence was not quite as unwelcoming.

"Five points from Gryffindor, Miss Weasley, for loitering in the halls!" he snapped to Ginny when she was trying to follow Harry. Ginny blushed when Harry looked at her, not seeming to realize that he had known she was there even before Snape had said anything, and took off in the opposite direction.

It happened again not long after with Snape swooping out like a bat and taking more points from Ginny, who finally had the sense to stop her obsessive stalking. Harry wasn't a fool; he knew Snape was keeping an eye out on him, but for what reason remained a mystery.

He was distracted when Draco announced that he had made the Slytherin Quidditch team, becoming the new Seeker. His father had bought new Nimbus Two Thousand and One broomsticks for them, and Harry watched with amusement as the team rubbed it in Oliver Wood's face. The burly sixth-year Gryffindor was known for his obsession with the sport and after the previous year's defeat, he was determined more than ever to beat Slytherin.

"At least no one on the Gryffindor team had to buy their way in," said Hermione sharply. "They got in on pure talent."

Draco scowled at her. "No one asked your opinion, you filthy little Mud—"

Harry clapped his hand over Draco's mouth, glaring at him. "Don't finish that," he growled.

Ron pulled out his wand, having also figured out what Draco had been about to say. "You'll pay for that one, Malfoy!" he said.

Harry conjured up a shield as a jet of green light shot from his wand. It bounced off and struck Ron in the stomach. He tried to speak but burped out a slug.

Harry cringed but didn't move to help him as the Slytherin team laughed. "Draco," he said, making his friend freeze. "What did I tell you about using that term?"

"That it should never be used," Draco said guiltily.

"And yet, you almost said it. I would've let Weasley hit you, but I didn't want to risk it if it was dangerous." Harry's expression told the team that he most definitely would have done as he said, even at the risk of Slytherin losing a day of Quidditch practice.

"Sorry." Draco felt like a little boy again, being chastised by his mother. It was even worse with an audience.

"Just don't do it again. All right, I'm going. Better get practicing."