Harry Potter and The Boy Who Had No Choice

The Hickey

Chapter Twenty-Eight

The next few weeks passed in a flurry of homework, Quidditch, and stolen kisses. Detentions were certainly more interesting now, and Harry stole Draco away every chance they got; at this point, he was sure that he knew all the secret corridors of Hogwarts better than the Marauders Map did. Every kiss, every touch, every conversation was just as exhilarating as the first, but the novelty of a secret relationship was beginning to wear off.

After one particularly exciting detention, Harry found himself cornered by Ron in the bathroom the next morning.

"Harry, what's that?" Ron asked, eyes wide and staring at Harry's neck.

"What's what?" Harry looked towards Ron, his vision still foggy from exhaustion. Slughorn dismissed detention later than usual (not that Harry minded anymore), meaning that Harry didn't get nearly as much sleep as he wanted.

"That, right there." Ron pointed to a spot just below Harry's jaw as Neville exited one of the stalls and began washing his hands at the sink. "Is that-"

"A hickey?" Neville chimed in, peering closer. Harry glanced down, and sure enough, there was a purplish red bruise on the spot part of his neck below his chin. Silently, he cursed Draco for his indiscretion.

"Er-" he started, not exactly sure how he could explain his way out of this one. His absences over the last two weeks could easily be covered up with excuses like needing to study, or extra detention, but justifying the large hickey on his neck was not easily done.

"It is, isn't it?" Neville laughed as Harry turned bright red. Ron joined in for a moment before his eyes narrowed and he regarded Harry cautiously.

"You're not back together with Ginny are you?" he asked, eyeing Harry warily. Harry was about to say no when Neville snorted.

"It's definitely not Ginny," he muttered under his breath, chuckling. Harry watched him curiously and then turned back to Ron, who apparently wasn't paying any attention to Neville.

"No," he said, shaking his head. He glanced back down at the hickey. "And it's not a-"

"Who's the lucky girl, then?" Neville cut in, leaning against the countertop and crossing his arms over his chest.

"No one," Harry answered. Technically, it wasn't a lie; there was no lucky girl.

"Come on, tell us!" Ron whined, following Harry as he made his way out of the bathroom and started to rummage through his trunk.

"Urgh." Harry ignored Ron's pleading and riffled through his clothes, eventually finding what he was looking for. It had been an unusually hot November, so it was still too warm for a scarf, but Harry would rather be hot than deal with any more questions about the mark on his neck.

He walked down to the Great Hall without saying a word, although Ron refused to stop jabbering by his side. Neville joined in at first, but once they had reached the Great Hall, he seemed to have either gotten bored or taken pity on Harry and departed them to sit with Ginny and Luna. Harry hoped that Ron would get tired of his begging by the time they sat down for breakfast; he was sorely mistaken.

"Harry. Harry..." Ron tried to get Harry's attention, and when he continued to ignore him, he leaned across the table and began to shout in his face. "Harry, Harry, Harry-"

"Will you shut up?" Harry finally looked up from his plate and glared at Ron. Ron opened his mouth to speak before Hermione interrupted.

"Yes Ronald. Please do stop pestering Harry." She reprimanded her boyfriend from behind that morning's edition of the Daily Prophet. Ron frowned, but sat back down in his seat.