The Lovers' Circle - Part II

[nicevenn]

II. The Lovers' Curse


♥


It's the day before we break for the holidays, and I'm starting to fret. At around midnight it will have been two weeks since I got partnered with Malfoy in The Lovers' Circle. I don't really believe that we'll be cursed if we don't shag – that's just ridiculous.

Except, what if it isn't?

I'm willing to bet my own safety and well-being that these Tarot superstitions are rubbish, but am I willing to bet Malfoy's? It's true that I can't stand the prat – at least not when his mouth isn't on my cock – but I'd never forgive myself if something were to happen to him because I refused a shag.

Hermione isn't being helpful; she's determined to finish the scarf she's knitting for her mum before we leave tomorrow.

"I told you," she says, furrowing her brow at the loops of yarn on the needles, "stop worrying about it. There is no curse. And if history has shown otherwise, it's because a person cast it and then blamed it on the cards."

"Well, what if someone did cast it this time?"

She gives me a resigned look. "Why would anyone do that?"

"Oh, I don't know... for amusement?"

A smile tugs on the corners of her lips. "Then it probably won't be anything irreversible. But if you've got doubts, then just shag him, already."

"What?!"

Her smile widens. "Oh, come on, Harry. You've had stars in your eyes ever since that night."

"I do not have stars in my eyes."

Looking more closely at Hermione's latest project, I see that her knitting has improved a lot. The scarf is green, her mum's favourite colour. I can't help but think it would look great against Malfoy's pale skin.

"Whatever you say, Harry."

I hate it when she takes on that disbelieving tone. Contrary to what she may think, she doesn't always see right through me. Sure, I've wanked to memories of Malfoy licking me through my pyjamas – but 'stars in my eyes'? That's a slight exaggeration.

"Besides, I don't think he'd want to," I tell her. There's no way Malfoy would agree to a shag now, after I rejected him in front of everyone.

"You're probably right," says Hermione. "You screwed up."

I can still feel Malfoy's breath on my ear as he whispered his offer. He smelled only of fresh laundry, Firewhisky, and warm skin – a pleasant surprise, as I always assumed he'd be drenched in expensive cologne. A surge of desire goes through me at the memory; I could have had him that very night, could have held him and moved inside him. Who knows what other surprises I might have discovered?

But, as Hermione so subtly put it, I screwed up.


♥


Malfoy doesn't even glance in my direction as we wait to board the Hogwarts Express. He looks angry; he's just turned away from Parkinson and Zabini after a heated conversation. I watch him as discreetly as I can, but I'm having a hard time making out the lines of his face. I've cleaned my glasses twice already, hoping that might fix the issue, but still my vision's a blur. It must be my right eye – it's been itchy all morning.

"C'mon, Harry," says Ron, as the crowd begins to move.

"Let's go, Io." I lift my owl's cage and follow Ron and Hermione onto the carriage. My light trunk rolls easily behind me as we search for an available compartment. We find one near the back of the train. Ron slides the door shut while I load Io's cage onto the luggage rack. There's an emptiness in my chest, a hollow feeling that comes from knowing I'll be spending the holidays surrounded by friends, and yet, alone.

Hermione picks up on my mood; I can see it in the way her mouth tightens at the sight of me, as if it my loneliness were my own fault. What I don't understand is how she thinks shagging a boy I could never get along with, just for the sake of preventing a possible curse, would solve the problem.

Ron seats himself across from me and squints at my face. "What's wrong with your eye, mate?"

"I don't know." I take my glasses off and use my sleeve to wipe the wetness off my lashes. "It's been itching since this morning."

"It's probably an allergic reaction to something," Hermione says. "Take a nap. It'll most likely heal on its own."

Ron looks at her like she's gone mental. "It's a what?"

"Never mind, Ronald."

Hermione's advice is probably sound, but I don't want to follow it. I'm afraid of what I might say in my sleep. But the constant swaying of the train as it rolls across the countryside makes me drowsier and drowsier, until I can no longer keep my eyes open.


♥


“Harry wake up, mate. We’ll be at King’s Cross soon.”

I’m still asleep when Ron’s voice surfaces through my dreams, clearing fog-like images of Malfoy in a wintry garden of ice-sculptures and snow-covered evergreens. I force my eyes open with a groan, expecting to see Ron and Hermione sitting across from me, but instead I’m greeted with Parkinson and Zabini’s faces only inches from my own. And they’re staring at me as if I’m the most fascinating thing they’ve ever seen. Instinctively, I shrink back and whip out my wand.

“Harry, calm down!” The shrill voice is Hermione’s.

I blink, and just like that, Parkinson and Zabini are gone. In their places are Ron and Hermione, pale as ghosts.

“All right there, mate?” Ron asks.

I lower my wand and sag back into my seat. “Yeah, I’m fine. For a moment I thought – never mind.”

“How’s your eye feeling?” Ron’s expression is pained as he looks from Hermione to me. “What do you see?”

“It feels fine,” is all I say, afraid that if I were to tell them what I saw, they’d think I’ve finally gone off my trolley.

“Harry, don’t panic – " Hermione holds her hands out in front of her as if to restrain me. "But your left eye is grey."

"What?" My hand automatically flies up to remove my glasses.

They share a concerned look while I rub my eye.

"Are you joking? It doesn't itch anymore – "

Ron turns to Hermione again. "Don't you have a mirror?"

"No." She actually looks offended.

My mind is already racing. A vision of Parkinson and Zabini examining my face, a grey eye in place of my green one…

"Does – does it look like Malfoy's eyes?" I ask, and watch their jaws drop.

Before they can reply, I'm out of my seat and opening the compartment door. There's a mirror in the loo – one look in it and I'll know the answer. I'd recognise one of those cold grey eyes the moment I saw it.

The corridor is empty; everyone is getting their things together so that they can rush out of the train as soon as it comes to a stop. I make it about halfway to the toilet when someone grabs my arm and drags me into one of the compartments.

"Hey, what're you – ?" I whirl around, and then it feels as if the ground has disappeared from beneath my feet.

Grey and green. The sight is so shocking that it takes me a moment to notice the furious glint in Malfoy's mismatched eyes.

"What did you and your underlings do, Potter?"

Malfoy's fingers are still curled around the sleeve of my jumper. I pull it out of his grasp with a rough jerk of my arm.

"I could ask you the same thing, Malfoy. We didn't do anything."

He points angrily at his green eye. "Then how do you explain this?"

Parkinson and Zabini are in the compartment with us. They have the look of two chihuahuas ready to pounce on me if I so much as look at Malfoy the wrong way.

I shrug. "Apparently I was wrong. It seems we're cursed."

Malfoy's laugh is sardonic. "Cards don't have powers. They don't curse people."

"But –"

Suddenly I feel like I'm missing something. Just two weeks ago, Malfoy straddled me and proposed that we "get this over with tonight". If he didn't believe that failing to shag would bring a curse upon us, then why would he have proposed such a thing – unless it was just an excuse to do it?

Malfoy seems to recognise the exact moment I draw that conclusion, and the look he gives me is not a pleasant one. "Someone who was in the common room that night cursed us, Potter, and when I find out who it was, they're going to be sorry. But first, I want my eye back."

"And I want mine," I tell him. "Should we just pop them right out, then?"

One of the more amusing things about Malfoy is how little he appreciates sarcasm when it's directed at him. I raise an eyebrow to further aggravate him.

For a moment, I see myself through his eye. His gaze darts down to my lips and lingers there longer than necessary. The vision is gone in a flash, and once more I see Malfoy glaring at me with my own eye, which looks more threatening than I would have imagined.

"Why don't you two just visit St Mungo's when we arrive, and get yourselves sorted out?" Pansy suggests from her seat. Malfoy shoots her a glare, but she's busy examining her nails.

"I'm not going anywhere with him."

"Is that right?" I ask. "Because I can think of at least one place you were willing to go with me not too long ago."

A muscle on Malfoy's face twitches. Zabini sniggers.

"Well, if you don't want to try and get this fixed, then I guess I'll just be going." As I turn to leave, Malfoy grabs my wrist.

"All right," he says, "since we're already here, let's go and get this fixed."


♥


The rhythmic, angry flipping of magazine pages is driving me insane. I've already got a headache and dizziness from seeing different things out of each eye almost constantly now – the flashes of Malfoy's vision have been increasing in frequency and duration since we got off the Hogwarts Express – the last thing I need to deal with right now is a childish fit of jealousy.

"Would you rather have waited out there?" I ask Malfoy.

He's been making a long face since the Welcome Witch ushered us into the Healer's office. On account of my identity, we were allowed to proceed straight into the office, rather than have to wait in the crowded reception area like everyone else. I don't usually accept special treatment, but in this case it was better than being ogled and approached for autographs by the other patients for an hour.

Malfoy ignores me and continues flipping through an outdated issue of Witch Weekly, glancing at the pictures and headlines but never stopping to read a single sentence. I'm surprised he hasn't torn any of the pages yet.

At last the door opens and a short redheaded witch in a green robe enters the room.

"Good afternoon, gentlemen," she says cheerfully as we rise from our chairs. "I'm Healer Selsbury."

Malfoy and I each shake her hand and introduce ourselves.

"Pleased to meet you." She pulls back her chair and sits down, hands folded on top of her desk, and takes a careful look at each of us. "Have you been experiencing shared vision?"

"I can see what he does through the grey eye, if that's what you mean," I tell her.

She looks satisfied with my response. "There's only one curse I'm aware of that could cause your symptoms. Would you mind if I cast a quick and painless diagnostic spell, just to be certain?"

"Not at all," Malfoy and I reply at the same time.

Healer Selsbury stands from her chair and comes to stand in front of me. Tilting my face up by my chin, she points her wand at me. There's a quick flash of light, as if a camera’s flashbulb had gone off, and then she examines my eyes.

She repeats the spell on Malfoy, and I see that the light causes no change to his grey eye, but makes the green one briefly glow like a cat's in the dark.

"Right, this is definitely the Lovers' Curse." She walks back to her desk and takes a seat. "I'm afraid I can't help you. There is an easy way to break the curse, but you will have to do it on your own."

I cast a glance at Malfoy. His Adam's apple bobs as he swallows hard, all the colour draining from his face. "How exactly do we do that?" he asks.

Healer Selsbury's eyes twinkle. "Sexual intercourse leading to climax for both of you."

The instant she says the words, I wish the ground would open up and swallow me whole.


♥


"So you're certain there's no other way to fix your eye?" Ron asks for the third time since I arrived at the Burrow. We're in the kitchen, peeling potatoes for dinner.

"I told you, Ron, I'm not certain about anything. All I know is what the Healer told – " I trail off. Malfoy's in the shower – he has been for the last few minutes – but he just looked down for a second, and I caught a glimpse of his erection.

"You all right, mate?" Ron looks worried.

"Look, I'm fine. Can we just not talk about it for a while?"

I don't mean to lose my temper, but I've only been here for a couple hours, and between Ron and Ginny I've already answered the same question at least five times. We've managed to keep it from Mrs Weasley for the time being, but with her keen skills of motherly observation, it won't be long before she realises there's something we're not telling her and forces it out of us.

"OK," says Ron. "But we'll have to owl Hermione tonight. She's asked that we keep her informed so that she can do some research. Maybe she'll figure something out by the time she comes over for Christmas."

"I hope so."

I try my best not to sound distracted when Mrs Weasley returns to the kitchen and sets about making dinner. My Malfoy eye keeps showing me images of a green tiled ceiling. I can't say for certain because I can't feel what Malfoy's feeling or hear what he's hearing, but based on what I see my best guess is he's tilting his head back while rubbing one off in the shower. The heat rises in my cheeks when I remember the glimpse I got of his prick: long, pale, and jutting out from a base of golden curls. My own cock begins to perk up, and I end up having to excuse myself to the loo as soon as I'm finished peeling the potato in my hand.

I have a wank with my eyes closed so that Malfoy won't see what I'm doing. If I'm lucky, he'll mistake the lack of vision for one of those moments when the connection between us is weak. If not, well – I saw more of him than he saw of me.


♥


"What if you wore an eye patch?" Ron asks, stirring the embers in the fireplace with a poker. "It'd be annoying, but at least you wouldn't have to see what Malfoy does all the time. Mum could make you one."

"It doesn't work; I see what he sees, so it doesn't matter if my – Malfoy's – eye is closed." I take a sip of my butterbeer and wipe off the foam left on my upper lip with my sleeve. "He and I tried it before we left St Mungo's. The only thing that works is when we both cover up our own eyes – but then we don't see anything. "

Ron and I have just received Hermione's response to our letter. There's only so much research she can do without access to the Hogwarts Library, but so far her findings support what Healer Selsbury's said: A shag is the only cure the Lovers' Curse. Or the death of one of its victims.

"And it can't be reversed by the person who cast it?" Ron asks.

"That's what Hermione says." I nod at the letter lying open on the arm of my chair. "Besides, we don't now who did it."

Ron's looks thoughtfully into the flames. "It must have been someone who's got an issue with you or Malfoy."

I slip down from the armchair to sit closer to Ron. Mrs Weasley's in the kitchen, and I don't want anyone to overhear what I'm about to say.

"Ron, I'm going to go to Malfoy Manor tomorrow."

He blanches. "Harry you're not thinking of – "

"Shagging him? No. But maybe together he and I can find a solution. I'm sure the Malfoys have a well-stocked library. Maybe we can find an answer – a potion we can brew, or something."

I wonder if it sounds as crazy to Ron's ears as it does to mine: Malfoy and I working together for a common cause. It's enough to make me laugh.

"I suppose you could try." Ron hesitates for a moment, then adds, "But is it really bad enough you'd rather go there than wait until we get back to Hogwarts?"

That's something I've been thinking about since early in the afternoon, when I caught a glimpse of something I'd really rather not have.

Malfoy had a visitor for lunch. Marcus Flint. It was difficult to make out what was happening without being able to hear their conversation, but from what I saw, I can only conclude that they'd been intimate with each other before, and that Flint was eager for a repeat. He took Malfoy's hand and whispered something in his ear. Malfoy refused him, but not as decisively as I hoped.

I don't want to imagine how I would've felt if they'd shagged. Would Malfoy have agreed to it if not for our shared vision? And what other private moments might I be forced to witness before we returned to Hogwarts?

Ron raises his brows at me, waiting for an answer.

"There are things I'd rather not have to see," I say simply.

Just then Ginny walks in carrying two steaming mugs. She hands me one of them –hot apple cider – and curls up on the corner of the sofa with hers. "What would you rather not see?"

I guess owling Malfoy will have to wait until later.


III. The Lovers' Cure