Harry's favorite class of the day was History of Magic. Not because it was entertaining in the slightest, or he learned new things (to be completely honest, everything his professor said went in one ear and out the other), no, the reason Harry Potter liked this class was not what was going on in front of him, but rather above him.
As ashamed as he was to admit it, the History of Magic ceiling looked nearly the same as the one in the infirmary. He often daydreamed that it was in fact the same ceiling, but as soon as the ceiling 'opened it's mouth' his fantasy was ruined.
Instead of the soothing Scottish lilt of his darling, this roof 'spoke' with the unnervingly out of place voice of an irritated New Yorker, and with the words of his arch nemesis- Draco Malfoy.
"Why do you keep staring at me Scar Face? Is wittle Potty in wove wif me?"
Harry Potter always had the same response: a glare and a not-so-whispered, "Not with you," which tended to earn him some strange looks from most of his classmates, and concerned ones from his friends.
One day, while on his way to the infirmary due to falling off his broom during quidditch practice (only 5 feet, but he insisted that his wrist hurt, so his teammates begrudgingly let him go), Harry had an idea.
Which was rather unusual for him.
Why are there no good synonyms for ceiling?? My story seems so repetitive. Also sorry this chapter is shorter than usual lol
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Pottling (Harry Potter And The Infirmary Ceiling)
RomanceA steamy Pottling story (the unpublished book in the HP series- aka, the parts that Rowling doesn't want you to see!) 🔥🔥 Tell me if I should make a series/you want to submit your own Pottling fan fic- we need to make this ship even better than Dra...
