Sex Magic DRARRY

Chapter 3

The look that McGonagall gave Harry when he answered her owl the next morning was not encouraging. He hadn't slept at all the previous night, his stomach burning acidly with a combination of hunger and apprehension. Now, facing down a scowling Headmistress, his hopes were dashed.

"I'm afraid I have bad news, Mr. Potter," she told him tonelessly. "Professor Dumbledore has reaffirmed my feelings regarding the matter, specifically pertaining to the Goblet of Fire. While there may have been foul play involved in your enrollment, your signature was your own. The Goblet made its assessment based on the qualities it found within your character. Had it found reluctance to participate in the class, we would not be here. There can be no mistake. I'm sorry."

"But Professor, I don't want to be in this class!" Harry pleaded desperately.

"As do many students after receiving their partners," she told him calmly. "The fact remains that even though you may not wish it now, when the Goblet made its assessment of you it found no objection to the class or the course material."

"What is that supposed to mean? I object! I am sitting here in front of you, telling you that I don't want this!"

McGonagall sighed.

"Do you remember in your Fourth Year when we asked underaged students not to give their names to older students to put into the Goblet for Hogwarts Champion?" she asked him. "It would have been pointless. The Goblet makes its decisions based on the magical signature that is specific to each witch or wizard. Having an older person put their name in wouldn't have made a difference, because it was still their name. Similarly, for purposes of this class the Goblet was specifically attuned to perceive an applicant's willingness to participate in the course. The Weasleys might have transferred your name onto a piece of paper that you did not sign, but the hand that wrote the signature was your own, Harry. Now I know that you resent being uninformed of your enrollment, and that you dislike your partner. But unfortunately, you do have to go through with this."

"Just like the Triwizard Tournament," Harry muttered.

"I'm afraid so."

Harry felt the ground begin to shift underneath his feet as he stood up. McGonagall took one look at him and sighed again.

"You'd better go get yourself some breakfast," she said kindly.

Harry swallowed and nodded, walking out of her office and on toward the Great Hall with a feeling of numb detachment.

He was going to have to shag Malfoy. Repeatedly.

Feeling queasy, Harry took his seat next to Ron and stared down at his empty plate until he felt a warm hand settle on his shoulder. He looked up to see Hermione leaning over the table with an arm outstretched towards him and a sad, understanding smile on her lips. He smiled back briefly and turned to Ron, only to find the entire Gryffindor table staring at him expectantly. Apparently news had gotten around. Looking away quickly, Harry picked at a piece of toast until he found his eyes drawn to the one person he most definitely did not want to have to face.

Draco Malfoy was staring right back at him, probably also waiting an answer. Harry shook his head. The Slytherin's eyes widened and his mouth fell open. He looked as if the world had just started spinning in the wrong direction.

Harry knew exactly how he felt.

***

The rest of the day was horrible. Numerous friends offered their condolences, but they failed to make a dent in Harry's foul mood and only seemed to irritate him further. The only person who Harry felt he could relate to was Neville, who spent most of his time in their room, refusing to go downstairs into the common room lest he run into Lavender. When Harry finally managed to convince him to pinch some Butterbeer from the kitchen and sit out by the lake after dinner, Neville stared miserably out over the water.