Tiny Potter & The Shrinking Spell (GT) Book 1 (Incomplete)

Tiny Potter & The Shrinking Spell - Part 1

“Ha… y? … Harry…?”

“One more minute, Aunt Petunia…” Harry grumbled, turning over and adjusting his blanket.

As the mist of slumber enveloped him once more, a hand ruefully grabbed his shoulder, shaking him awake. Harry shot up, very nearly headbutting the person shaking him awake—it was Ron, as he immediately realized—in the head. “Wh-what’s happening?” he asked while hurriedly putting his glasses on.

Now that he was awake, it became painfully obvious something was up. Although it was still dark outside of the Gryffindor dorm’s windows, bright flashes of color illuminated Hogwarts’ grounds. Ron’s hair was sticking up and his skin looked burned in several places; however, his face was slit by a huge, unrestrained grin. Despite being barefoot and wearing his pajamas, the ginger boy had hurriedly thrown a cloak on his shoulders.

“It’s brilliant, Harry! Just brilliant! You need to see that!” Without waiting for a reply, Ron grabbed him by the wrist and hauled him out of bed and the room, not even letting Harry snatch his wand.

Outside of the dorm room, it was anarchy. Several groups of upperclassmen were keeping the younger students from wandering out of the common room, but everyone was too agitated to make sense of any of it. As Ron barreled through the room, screaming “Prefect! Let me through, I’m a prefect,” Harry spotted a dozen first years huddled in a corner, looking terrified. Neville, Seamus and a few other other fifth years were looking through a window, pointing and laughing.

Then he saw it. Through the gaping doorway of the common room, which the Fat Lady left open, a dragon could be seen. It wasn’t covered in scales, it looked like it was made of sentient fire, sparkling and constantly shifting colors and shapes. A fireworks dragon!

“It’s so cool, right?” Ron exclaimed. Harry almost jumped, having mostly forgotten that his friend was still guiding him through the crowd. “Fred and George found a way to find a thousand of their pranks in a pocket-sized bag, and they spent the night scattering them all over the castle. They said that Umbridge tried to charm a flying sun into submission and it attacked her—she lost all of her hair! Bald as an asscheek!”

“Wow, that’s so cool! Did they-hey, you! Wait!” As Harry was talking, a second year student ran right past him and towards the rampaging dragon in the corridor. Out of instinct, Harry ran after her; he grabbed her and pushed her out of the way, just as the fireworks dragon started swirling and losing shape. All Harry could hear was his name screamed by Ron before the dragon disintegrated in a colorful bang. Then everything went dark.

“Ha… y? … Harry…?”

Harry grumbled. The volume of Ron’s voice was almost painful, almost like hearing someone scream while hungover. The Boy-who-lived turned over and reached for his blanket, but it wasn’t there. Surprised, Harry opened his eyes a bit… before opening them wide in shock. He wasn’t in his bed at all! All around him was a vast expanse of beige, supple hills; the material was so soft under him that it felt like sleeping on his four-poster bed. Ten yards away—or what felt like it from his perspective—massive trunks of the same pink-ish material, wider than Harry was tall, were rising high in the air and curving inward far above Harry’s head.

But as the boy looked up to look at the trunks, his eyes met the scariest sight he ever saw. So far up in the distance that it looked blurry, the familiar face of his best friend was staring down at him. Ron’s freckled face was wearing an undecipherable expression for a few instants, which Harry spent in awed horror—thankfully he was sitting, else he would have fallen on his butt—before Ron offered a toothy grin.

“Hey, mate! You good?” Ron followed up with a chuckle, which sounded like thunder to Harry’s ears. Every sound coming out of Ron’s mouth was amplified, like screamed in a microphone, to the point of rattling Harry’s very bones. “I think whatever enchantment Fred and George put on this fireworks thing rebounded on you. You’re lucky I gotcha before anyone noticed you're the size of a grain of rice, mate!”

Harry’s world was just starting to make sense again. A rebounding spell? Shrinking? Okay, that made more sense than Ron just being gigantic for no reason. It didn’t make it any more pleasant, however. The tiny boy stood up the best he could, struggling to keep his balance on the pillowy ground—oh Merlin, he was standing on top of Ron’s palm. The idea sent shivers down his spine.

He screamed up at Ron’s still grinning face. “Can Fred and George reverse it?”

“What?”

“Bring. me. to. the. twins!” Harry’s vocal chords were strained from the effort he made to yell.

“I can’t hear anything you say,” said Ron in an oddly cheerful tone. “Wait a second.”

Ron reached out for something so unfathomably far away that Harry couldn’t imagine what it was. But it gave him the chance to notice his blurry surroundings: Ron was apparently sitting on top of his bed, back in the dormitory. As he shifted his position slightly to grab something, the giant’s imperceptible movement sent tremors to his hand and knocked Harry off his feet and face-first into the skin below.

“Here we go!” said Ron after a moment, brandishing his wand. “Sonorus!”

A slight breeze came over Harry’s body and he knew the spell worked. At the same time, Ron moved his head closer, presenting his ear to Harry—it was like the gaping entrance of a massive cave system, and Harry briefly felt terrified he would fall into his friend’s ear and get lost inside. But he brushed off the idea and repeated himself.

“Uh, Fred and George aren’t in the castle anymore,” said Ron. “I didn’t tell ya? They took off on brooms after their prank, it was great! They’re in Diagon Alley now. Don’t worry, I’ll bring you there during the next Hogsmeade trip, it’s just in two weeks or so.”

Harry immediately protested, “Wait, you can take the secret passage out of the castle and- Ron? Ron, do you hear me?”

But the giant had immediately withdrawn his ear and was putting his wand away, ignoring his small friend’s plea. He just gave Harry a quick look and snorted in amusement. “Pfft. Even with the sonorus charm, you sound like a squeaky toy.” Despite Harry’s protest, Ron carried him to his bedside table and tilted his hand, sending Harry roughly barreling onto the wooden surface below. 

“Time to go to bed, we’ll play more tomorrow~” Ron announced before wrapping himself in his blanket. From Harry’s point of view, Ron’s form looked more like a mountain range than a human being, with peaks and vales where his arms, hips, legs and feet were. Ron’s body seemingly extended as far as Harry’s flawed eyes could see, disappearing in a blurry mess in the distance. Harry grunted as he touched his face, realizing he didn’t have his glasses anymore, although he was certain he still had them when he came to himself atop Ron’s palm. He hated the idea of his trusty glasses being lost somewhere in a crinkle of Ron’s skin, shattered to atoms with so much as a twitch of his friend’s fingers.

With no glasses, no wand and no clothes besides his pajamas, Harry felt naked. But there was nothing he could do, and Ron had already started snoring, so Harry laid down on the uncomfortable wood and tried to fall asleep again, hoping he would be human-sized again when he woke up.

He wasn’t.

Harry’s uncomfortable, nightmare-filled night came to an abrupt end when his whole body suddenly shot up in the air! Harry screamed in terror, disoriented, as he flew what felt like hundreds of feet in the air, propelled by an unknown force and spinning on himself while doing so. It took him several seconds to notice Ron looking at him with a smile, his wand pointed at him and guiding Harry through the air.

As much as his tiny lungs allowed in the flurry of wind he was caught in, Harry yelled at his giant best friend. “Stop it, Ron! Stooop!” Ron didn’t acknowledge his words, chuckling as he magically forced Harry to do a complete loop. “Merlin! Let me down! Let me doooooooow-” Before he could finish his sentence, Harry plummeted towards the bed and crash-landed on the blanket. Or rather, in the blanket, as the fall was so violent he sank deep into it, forcing him to crawl the equivalent of 6 feet out of the hole his fall created.

“What the hell, Ron?!” Harry shouted as he reached the top of the blanket. But what greeted him up there wasn’t Ron’s face, happy to have pranked his tiny friend, but two larger-than-life feet. Ron was always tall and lanky, but his feet were even more so. One foot was upright, resting on the heel, while the other was on its side, toes spread apart; both showed their soles directly to Harry, just a few inches away from him. The soles were impossibly tall, skinny and imposing. The skin of the soles looked more worn and leathery than the skin of Ron’s palms, reflecting a lifetime of walking barefoot. Maybe it was just Harry’s warped perspective, but it looked like the upright foot was the size of a tall building, and twice as impressive. “...Ron?” Harry stuttered.

His query wasn’t answered with words, however, but with movement. Like on cue, the upright foot started lowering itself, slowly first but picking up speed. Harry tried to run away from the falling sole, but the blanket was too unstable to allow movement without sinking into it. And sink he did—thankfully. Not three seconds later, Ron’s sole landed on the bed, flush with the blanket and covering Harry entirely. Beneath it, Harry ended up encased in the blanket, its softness protecting the small boy’s body from the unfathomable strength of Ron’s foot.

“What are you doing? ...Ron? Ron?!” Harry pleaded to nobody, as he knew nobody could hear him. Even if the sonorus charm were still active, his voice would die out before even reaching Ron’s toes, much less his ears. The squishy sole pressed against Harry’s body was radiating warmth, making Harry sweaty and squirmy, and it kept being agitated with twitches that felt like earthquakes to Harry. In the distance, muffled by the foot above him but still deafeningly loud due to the size disparity, Harry could hear grunts and groans.

After what felt like hours, and after Harry became intimately familiar with every crease of Ron’s skin, the foot shifted away, flooding the place with the sunlight that was peeking through the bed’s curtains. Ron’s face was too distant to be clearly seen, but Harry noticed his face and ears were a rich shade of red and sweat was beading his forehead.

“Oh, Harry… I… I didn’t see you there,” said Ron, short of breath. With an awkward laugh, Ron hurriedly opened the curtains and hopped off the bed, leaving Harry encased in the blanket. “Shower” was all that Ron mumbled as he gathered clean clothes and disappeared in the distance.

“What… the Hell… was that…?” said Harry. As he heard the shower turn on in the next room, he finally gathered whatever little energy his sore little body had left to stand up. He had a long… a very, very long few weeks ahead of him, if today was any indication.

Tiny Potter & The Shrinking Spell - Part 2

Harry’s prediction quickly proved true, he found. Ron remained in the shower much longer than usual, and Dean, then Seamus, and eventually even Neville—who was usually late to class—left the dormitory while the water was still running. When Ron finally emerged, he was a deep lobster-red, and his eyes immediately locked onto Harry.

“Blimey, Harry! We’re late!” he exclaimed, as if Harry could somehow help it. Without giving the smaller boy even a second to express that thought, however, Ron snatched him in his fist and shoved him in his robe’s pocket before running out.

“Hey! Don’t do that!” Harry yelled up at him from the confines of the fabric—but it was useless without a sonorus charm, so he just laid back and tried to forget he had just been manhandled like one of Dudley’s action figures.

Ron’s pocket was not the most comfortable place, as the fabric had a rough, second-hand quality. Each and every movement of the giant wearing it made Harry’s whole world swing and twist—not like a hammock, more like a slow-mo car crash that made it hard to rest, which wasn’t helped by a hole the width of Harry’s leg that he had to constantly look out for. To not help the matter, the pocket was rather dirty, it clearly hadn’t been cleaned since the last time Molly Weasley was in charge of laundry.

But the worst part was a lone sickle discarded and probably forgotten in the pocket. Harry was roughly introduced to his unwanted roommate while Ron was barreling down the stairs to the common room and, Harry supposed, slammed into another student who was equally late to class. Harry had been trying to keep himself in place as the fabric around him swirled dangerously fast, and the sudden shock and stop sent him literally flying to the other side of the pocket, face first into the lone coin.

“Sorry Jae!” had been all he could hear from Ron—certainly talking to Jae Kim, a Korean underclassman, who politely apologized in turn. As he massaged his bruised forehead, Harry made a mental note to demand an apology out of Ron as soon as he was out of there.

The rest of the day was not too bad, thankfully, once he got the rhythm of Ron’s walk and how it affected the inside of his pocket. It was still upsetting to be carried in a pocket like any random item, but Harry could deal with that. From his hiding place, he could hear McGonagall’s strict instructions and Binns’ droning voice as classes went on, and he was almost glad he was in here and not out there, if only just to avoid classes. He even got a few giggles out of the repeated “Have you seen Potter?” addressed to Ron throughout the day, and his friend’s stammered lies in reply.

The only times when Harry felt genuine annoyance were when Ron’s hand was shoved in the pocket, which happened more often than the small boy was comfortable with. While he could understand a quick check once in a while out of concern, when the humongous fingers slid in there for what felt like the hundredth time during Flitwick’s class, prodding and squeezing Harry’s whole body with stubborn insistence, he punched and even bit his friend’s pointer finger, making them quickly retreat in understanding. Harry promised himself he would have a serious talk with Ron about it… after the day was up, again. He hated feeling so helpless.

One unexpected effect of that, however, was that Ron didn’t put his fingers back in his pocket at all all day, even to share some of his food during lunch. Maybe he had just forgotten, Harry figured, but the effect was that he felt increasingly hungry as the day went on. When the last class of the day concluded, he was positively famished and eager to get out of his black and bland hiding place.

On the way back to the dormitories, Ron seemingly took a detour, Harry assumed, as he could hear the sounds of thousands of massive students being quickly replaced by the sound of running water. Somewhere in the bathroom, perhaps?

“Hey Ron! Here to buy a potion, are ya?” came Lee Jordan’s voice suddenly, making Harry perk up. Ron’s reply came whispered and inaudible, and Lee continued the conversation in kind, forcing Harry to strain his ears to listen. Even then, he couldn’t distinguish words from the hushed exchange.

Taking the matter into his own hands, Harry decided to scale up the pocket. It was rather easy, after all, as he was surrounded by fabric; grabbing a handful of the “wall,” he hauled himself up, climbing towards the ray of light shining from the pocket’s opening. That is, until the now-familiar fingers appeared at the opening and casually shoved themselves into the pocket.

At first, Harry assumed Ron was trying to grab him, but the hand completely ignored him—Ron seemingly didn’t realize Harry was climbing up—and kept going down, the moving wall of flesh very nearly knocking Harry off. To his surprise, Ron had actually grabbed the sickle, and he hauled it out of the pocket.

“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Lee exclaimed, and Ron resumed walking. The sudden swaying of the fabric made it harder to hold on, and Harry tumbled back down. There, he just let the walking movements toss him around. Looking up at all the progress he had made towards leaving the pocket, it was disheartening to see he’d just lost it due to Ron’s most minute, accidental movement. He added another question to his mental list and gave up.

Finally, Ron stopped in what Harry could only assume was their dormitory. Eager to see the light of day again, Harry welcomed the fingers when they slithered their way in again and wrapped themselves up around him. Encased inside Ron’s fist, Harry was uncomfortable and blinded, but he was getting used to it, somewhat.

“Sonorus,” said Ron somewhere beyond the pink walls blocking Harry’s vision, indicating he was pointing his wand at his fist, as the feeling of the spell taking hold proved to Harry that the spell worked. An instant later, after some ruffling fabric sounds could be heard, Harry was finally dropped down on what appeared to be a slab of stone. It wasn’t the sunlight Harry had been hoping for, as he was on Ron’s bed, with the curtains closed, but it was something, he figured. However, he didn’t have much time to look at his environment, as his eyes were irresistibly drawn toward Ron, who was sitting on the bed next to him.

Although he would have preferred not to,, Harry got a good look at Ron’s upper body, which was towering above him. The giant was wearing only his pajama pants, a ruffled, half-open shirt and a large grin on his face. It was the kind of expression Harry would expect to see on his friend’s face if the Chudley Cannons had beaten the odds and won the Quidditch World Cup. But this wasn’t about Quidditch; Ron’s eyes were locked on Harry, and it was giving the smaller boy the screaming ab-dabs.

Harry tried to divert his own attention from Ron’s gaze by talking. “So, what a-”.

“How about a game of chess?” If Harry’s voice was a wisp of smoke, Ron’s authoritative, booming voice was a hurricane blowing it out of existence. Harry winced, and he realized the slab of what he thought was stone, under his feet, was indeed a chess board. Harry tried to open his mouth again to address the events of the day, but even he couldn’t hear his own voice as Ron kept talking.

“You will be the king—it’s no fun if you’re a piece I can take out at the beginning of the game,” continued Ron. As he spoke, the living chess pieces hopped into Harry’s field of vision to take their spots on the board. The black king’s square was empty, and Harry hesitantly walked towards it, accompanied by Ron’s voice. “The winner gets full authority over the loser for a day—if you lose, you’re gonna have to do everything I tell you to~”.

Harry whipped around as he heard that. “Hey! I’m not agreeing to that!” 

Ron simply raised an eyebrow, half-surprised. “Look at yourself, mate. You don’t really have a choice. If you refuse to play, I’ll consider you the loser by forfeit.” He smirked slightly. “Actually, maybe you should refuse to play. It’d save us some time.”

Swallowing his pride and anger—and the ball of fear that was building up in his throat—Harry didn’t quip back and resumed his walk towards the king’s square, his spot. Seeing the massive chess pieces all around him, like statues of an ancient civilization, Harry remembered a similar scene years earlier. At the time, Ron was on his team, and Hermione was there too. It wasn’t nearly as scary.

Harry took his place besides the queen, and he got the first good look at the battlefield. From his vantage point in the middle of his pieces, Harry simply couldn’t see anything past the rooks on his teams. Ahead, beyond the line of pawns, laid the empty board, then Ron’s pieces in military formation… and then the giant himself.

The sheer volume of Ron was unsettling to Harry. The boy was so small that he was dwarfed even by the chess pieces around him, many of which were animated with magical shivers in anticipation of the fight to come. Excitation or fear, Harry couldn’t tell. If one rook was as tall as the Forbidden Forest's trees, Ron was comparatively as massive as Hogwarts itself. For a moment, Harry felt back in his 11-year-old body, beholding the castle for the first time… but this time, he was beholding Ron’s immensity.

In their first year’s ultimate chess match, Ron had also been knocked out; something told Harry that Ron wouldn’t be the one to sustain injuries after this game. Things weren’t looking too good.

“Pawn in E4!” The starting signal resounded, followed by the scratching sound of the living chess piece moving.

“Pawn in D6!” Harry yelled in response, bracing himself for a crushing defeat.

After sending his queen out and losing sight of her, Harry heard the violent crash that magical chess pieces characteristically make when destroying another. His queen was dead.

“By Merlin’s saggy left, what happened to your chess skills, Harry? When you shrank to the size of a bug, did your brain become a bug’s brain too?” Ron let out a loud, self-satisfied laugh, ignoring Harry’s deep humiliation.

The chess match was much faster than even Harry feared. It didn’t take Ron more than 15 turns to threaten Harry with his queen, and two turns later, Harry was done for.

“Checkmate… mate,” said Ron. His ears had grown redder and redder throughout the whole match—a tell-tale sign that the ginger was getting excited—and he was clearly overjoyed with his victory, to Harry’s dismay. “As the loser, I want you to...” In the corner of his vision, Harry saw him wiggling his toes. “... kiss my feet~”.

“No, I won’t,” Harry stated with as much confidence as he could muster. From the get-go, he was steeling his will to look past Ron’s gargantuan size; his friend wouldn’t hurt him, no matter what the size difference was, and Harry just refused to humiliate himself further. For a moment, the expression on Ron’s face made Harry fear he was wrong, that Ron could in fact hurt him… but the giant eventually shrugged.

“Of course, it was a joke,” he said, as if it were obvious. “Blimey, Harry, you don’t really think I want you to kiss my feet, do you? Nah, the real thing I want you to do is to try out my cheering potion. It’ll make you euphoric, believe me!”

Taking out a small potion flask from a place out of Harry’s sight, Ron put one drop of it on his fingertip and presented it to the tiny. Harry instinctively backed off, but his faith in Ron’s good character, as well as the delightful fragrance of the potion, made him bold enough to walk towards the extended finger. Ron let him approach at his own rhythm, as if he were a feral kitten.

The drop of potion was slightly bigger than Harry’s head and shaped like a water-filled balloon squeezed at the top. It resembled a pearl and smelt like treacle tart and broomstick handles. Lured in by its appearance, Harry gave in. He put his lips against the drop, barely breaking surface tension, and swallowed several mouthfuls of the substance. It tasted divine, just what his tired body needed after this crazy adventure.

It’s only after he backed away and looked up at Ron’s face that Harry felt something. Was Ron always so… gorgeous? Harry’s eyes fluttered as he focused on the giant’s beautiful features; Ron’s eyes were the deepest, most mesmerizing shade of blue one could imagine, and his mop of fiery hair—it had an elegant, purposefully chaotic feel to it when you looked in detail—looked so right on his symmetrical face. And his lips… Harry blushed as he studied Ron’s lips. They were so full, so red, just waiting to be kissed, bitten, loved.

“What the hell did you make me drink?!” Harry screamed, as he realized that his thoughts were most definitely not his own. He was not in love with Ron, dammit!

The giant’s demeanor was lazy, confident in his victory, a smile lingering on his lips as he quietly observed his tiny friend. After a bit, Ron broke the silence. “Amortentia. The world’s strongest love potion. If I’m not mistaken, you’re currently deeply infatuated with me. Tell me, Harry, do you want to kiss me~? Do you want to dedicate your puny life to me~?”

Seeing Harry cover his face with his hands to avoid replying, as the only possible answer that could cross the tiny’s lips would be ‘yes,’ Ron continued in a sing-song tone. “Knew it! It will last a few weeks, so get used to loving me, runt. I got pleeeeenty more where this came from.”

With a movement of his hand, Ron shoved the remaining chess pieces off the board, so only Harry was left standing on this piece of solid ground, surrounded by Ron’s body nearly on all sides. With deliberate slowness, Ron raised one foot, depositing it gently sole-down on top of the chess board so Harry’s tiny body would be a few inches away from his toes.

“Do you have any idea how terrible it feels to be always in the shadow of the Boy-Who-Lived? Nobody knows Ron Weasley. People always call me ‘Harry Potter’s friend.’ When I meet a girl, all she wants to know is how you are in private. From now on, I can tell girls that Harry Potter’s pecker is microscopic and that you're desperately in love with me. I could swear it under Veritaserum! Now, you’re the one living in my shadow—literally!”

During his spiel, Ron’s facial expression was harsh, but it became almost loving as he continued talking. “You know, I genuinely care about you, Harry. I really do. That’s why I want you to enjoy what you’ll be doing. Now, my dear , if you want to make me happy, you will worship my feet. You will love my feet as much as you love me, understood?”

Harry kneeled, his head in his hands, gritting his teeth. His whole body was torn apart by contradictions. He didn’t want to obey, but a primal, deep compulsion pushed him to throw himself at his friend’s feet. The idea was simultaneously repulsive and the most alluring thought to ever cross his mind. The butterflies in his stomach made him want to puke. It was like shackles weighing down his mind. Harry found himself cursing the Ministry for letting Hogwarts students buy Merlindamn love potions!

“Harry? Look at me,” said Ron. The tiny boy obeyed instinctively and he knew he had lost as soon as his eyes fell on Ron’s face. It was too beautiful to resist. Love won—that sentence had never had such a nefarious meaning before. Ron’s lips parted. “This is an order.”

Defeated by the love potion, Harry got to his feet and walked towards the toes that were towering far above him. Between Ron’s first and second toe, a gap big enough for five people of Harry’s size called him. He entered it. As he let himself be engulfed in the cave of skin and flesh, his hand gently caressing the toe’s skin, a potent smell assaulted Harry’s nostrils. It wasn’t unpleasant—nothing that came from Ron’s body could ever be unpleasant—more like a deeply masculine musk with a hint of sweat. The skin under Harry hand was becoming softer, smoother as he reached the deepest part of the cave, at the base of his friend’s big toe. Harry hesitated for a moment, until Ron’s next order came.

“Lick.”

Harry obeyed.

Pressing his face against the skin, he gave it one long, bold lick, which was instantly rewarded by intense shivers coursin through the toes surrounding him.

“Merlin’s warty pecker, you’re really doing it,” Ron said above, his voice dissolving into giggles, suffusing Harry’s body with warmth.

Harry’s tongue dutifully lapped the skin, enjoying the flavors exploding on his taste buds. He felt hot and passionate, feeling his normal self slipping away and replaced by a lovestruck admirer—but he couldn’t muster the energy to care. Pleasure was flowing in his veins, now, and all he could think about was Ron. Harry kept his eyes half-closed, picturing his best friend’s face, his thick fiery hair, his freckles.

Before he knew it, Harry was fully lost in the act, making out with the skin before him like it was the love of his life—and the love potion that was suffusing itself in his entire body made him believe it truly was. With both hands, he proceeded to knead the skin, sinking his arm as deep as he could in it—even though flesh seems pretty firm at a normal size, it appeared to have the consistency of a massive wall of pillows, and Harry could bury his hands deeply in it. Soon, his whole body followed, pushing himself as deep as he could without ever breaking the pace of his licks and kisses, quickly turning it into a full-body massage. He wanted to be as close to Ron as possible, to be absorbed by him.

Harry struggled to breathe as he didn’t allow himself even a second without his lips locked against his best friend’s body. His short gasps for air before diving back in were mirrored, far above, by the labored breath of Ron; the temperature between the giant’s toes seemed to quickly increase; the walls around Harry kept vibrating in a regular cadence; the rhythm was quickening, turning into a mad frenzy.

“Hey Ron, everything good?”

Suddenly, Seamus Finnigan’s voice, accompanied by a sudden flood of sunlight, interrupted the two boys. Immediately, the walls around Harry closed in violently as Ron scrunched his toes, squishing him so tightly that no love potions in the world could make the position pleasant. Almost instantly, both Ron’s and Seamus’ voices rang out simultaneously:

“Merlin, mate! You can't do that in the dorm!”

“Don't open the bed curtains without asking!”

A series of noises and rapid movements permeated Ron’s toes to reach Harry, but he was left in the dark until the toes unclenched, letting him fall back on the chessboard. From there, looking up, he was greeted by Ron’s face, looking miffed, red as a tomato and glistening with sweat. He was still the most handsome person Harry’s eyes ever had the privilege to see.

“You stay here, I have to shower,” Ron mumbled so low that even Harry’s over-sensitive ears could barely pick it up. He jumped out of bed and made a point to close the curtains behind him, plunging Harry in semi-darkness again. “ Collojaceo ,” Ron said on the other side of the bed curtains—a locking charm ensuring nobody would be able to open them without using a counterspell. Was he jealous and possessive of him, Harry wondered. It was adorable.

No. No, it wasn’t adorable, he suddenly thought to himself. Without Ron right there, some of the thoughts clouding his judgement seemed to drift away, and it slowly dawned on him what he had just done. He had offered himself to Ron, worshipped his foot, given up his humanity for temporary pleasure.

Harry suddenly wanted to cry—or run away. But the magically-locked curtains were as much of an obstacle to him as they were for normal-sized students. There was no way out. So he cried.

When sunlight—much dimmer now, and tainted with dusk’s unique orange—flooded Harry’s world again, as Ron’s impressive frame opened the bed curtains, Harry had emptied his tear ducts and circled through every stage of grief, anger, self-deprecation, love and anger again. But looking up at Ron standing by the bed, his pajamas opened and showing off part of his bare chest, his wet hair slicked back, Harry felt butterflies explode in his stomach again and happiness stretch his lips in a smile. He hated— hated —being in love with Ron.

The giant barely gave Harry a look, instead checking over his shoulder that no other roommates were in sight. Then, Ron casually sat, cross-legged, on his bed, locked the curtains with a spell again, and finally focused his attention on Harry—who was battling an overwhelming desire to literally throw himself at the much-bigger man.

Harry expected Ron’s feet to come for him, to resume their “session,” but it was instead Ron’s hand that sprung to life to grab him. With two humongous fingers on each side of him, Harry was pulled far in the sky until he was face to face with his friend. A potent scent of hot water, soap and toothpaste hit the tiny man’s nostrils.

“We can’t keep doing that here,” Ron said, clearly bummed by the thought. “Tomorrow, we’re going to the Room of Requirements. We won’t be disturbed there.” His lips stretched in a roguish smile. “But tonight, we’re sleeping together for the first time. How about a goodnight kiss~?”

Harry’s heart almost exploded. Slowly, Ron’s fingers brought him closer to the red, full lips in front of him, which parted slightly. Harry unwittingly wiggled in excitement as he was getting closer, so close Ron’s breathing ruffled his hair with each exhalation, and he bent forward, lips ready, in anticipation. The movement was excruciatingly slow—only five centimeters left. Four. Three. Harry couldn’t shake the thought kissing Ron was wrong, but he would have literally killed someone just to cross these remaining three centimeters. Two. He could almost touch the lips by extending his arms.

“Hahahaha!” Ron burst out laughing, violently pulling Harry away from his face. “You really believed it? All you’re kissing tonight is my sole, mate!”

Looking down, and although it was blurry without his glasses, Harry did indeed realize that Ron had shifted his foot onto his knee, sole up. In a blur, Ron brought him down towards it, ending in Harry’s entire front body being squeezed against it, Ron’s fingertips on his back and keeping him in place.

“Epoximise.”

Harry’s blood ran cold. That was the gluing spell, which kept anything solidly anchored to any surface. And, although he couldn’t see them with his face buried in his friend’s sole, Harry felt Ron’s fingertips leave his back and the foot move until it was on its heel, Harry being upright.

But he didn’t fall. He didn’t even budge. His body was solidly adhering to the skin. Trying to ignore the fire of lust that the sole ignited in him—”It’s just the love potion! It’s not real, it’s just the potion!” he repeated in his mind like a mantra—Harry tried in vain to unstick himself. The foot kept moving as Ron was evidently preparing himself to sleep, Harry seemingly forgotten.

“Ron? Ron?! Ron!” He strained his voice screaming, thanking Merlin the sonorus charm was still active, It took a minute before he got a reaction.

“Belt up, mate,” came Ron’s reply in hushed, annoyed tones. “You’ll wake up the whole dorm. Quietus.”

The counterspell to sonorus washed over an increasingly panicked Harry, who kept screaming for his own ears—without magic, his voice barely amounted to squeaks. By the time he stopped yelling for attention, his throat was sore and Ron had long settled in his sleeping position, on his back; powerful snoring could be heard from afar. Finally, Harry slumped as much as he could while glued to his best friend’s foot, and he accepted the warm embrace of the skin against his puny self. Defeated, he weakly gave into the potion’s desires and stuck his tongue out to lick, but the spark he felt before had dimmed.

While Harry’s torso was so tightly attached to Ron’s skin that he couldn’t move it at all, his head, arms and legs were free; so he could keep rubbing the giant’s foot all night, he figured. Although his mind kept protesting, each fiber of his being made him yearn for it, so Harry kept running his hands and tongue on the wall he was trapped against. That continued until his right hand brushed against something cold and stiff.

“Wait… that can’t be…” he whispered to himself, bringing the object closer.

It was his glasses. Although they were roughed up and slightly cracked, they still fulfilled their function—once Harry’s world became clear and crisp again, relief washed over him.

The place around him was bathed in the bluish glow of the moon weaseling its way past the drawn curtains of the bed. With his glasses, Harry could see the crinkles of the blanket below, the details of the golden laces on the curtains surrounding him, the outline of Ron’s other foot next to Harry’s prison. With a clear vision came clearer thoughts; it was like a veil was lifted from his mind. He looked at his surroundings with a new perspective.

The sensation that had nestled itself in Harry’s mind since he drank that damned potion wasn’t unlike what he had felt when the fake Mad Eye Moody had used the imperius spell on him, he realized. A powerful desire filled him, a sense of calm purpose. The heat radiating from Ron’s foot, the silky smooth skin pressed up against’ Harry’s cheek; it was calling him, like a cradle. If Harry trusted his feelings, he would tear off his pajamas so every bit of him could bask in the perfection of Ron.

But, no matter how insistent the voice in Harry’s head was, the tiny boy knew he had to resist it.

“I’m stubborn like that,” he said to himself. Talking out loud helped keep him sane, ironically.

Another fire burned alongside passion in his chest. Anger. A yearning for revenge. It’s that fire that fueled Harry’s movements when he finally snapped out of it—he pressed his palms against the giant’s skin and pushed. He pushed so hard that his muscles screamed in pain, but he kept going. After a minute of intense efforts, and perhaps a pinch of accidental magic, Harry’s entire body suddenly unstuck itself with an uncharacteristic “Pop,” signaling Ron’s sticking charm had been bested. An instant later, Harry was falling backwards, and down, and Ron’s titanic toes seemed increasingly farther away.

He landed on the mattress, sinking deep into a Harry Potter-shaped hole. Laying down at the bottom of it, Harry remained immobile for a moment, staring up. From his new vantage point at the heels of Ron’s feet, they were like the most beautiful painting in the world; towers of pale, smooth skin that Harry knew to be warm, welcoming, loving.

Inhale.

Exhale.

Entirely denying his attraction for Ron’s soles and his infatuation with the handsome ginger giant just wouldn’t do, Harry figured. So he let the feeling flow freely through him and explode in his heart; when Harry crawled out of his hole in the blanket, he had accepted these feelings and chosen to act in spite of them. He walked up to Ron’s right heel and put his hand against the skin, longing for it, knowing that he was too small to ever wake up a behemoth like Ron—the giant’s light snoring, reverberated by the closed curtains of the bed, was deeply soothing for Harry’s wounded heart.

Putting his lips against the skin, the Boy-who-lived wormed his tongue out and gave the sole a drawn-out lick. He focused on the complex taste that lingered on his taste buds after licking Ron’s skin, cherishing this feeling.

Excruciatingly, he moved away from the feet and towards the edge of the bed. Harry only gave one last look to the slumbering form of Ron, totally unaware of what had just happened, then he jumped off the bed, using the messy blanket as a giant slide. Once he reached the floor, he made a beeline for the dormitory’s door, knowing he could easily crawl underneath.

It was time for him to escape.