I feel like a fucking freak not being able to get off. There is something wrong with me, and I imagine Madam Pomfrey cackling when I tell her. I don’t even feel like wanking. There’s no pressure building in my balls. No urgency. I don’t feel a fucking thing. I kick the weasel in the nuts for company, and his elongated shrill is worth it even when Gryffindor comes down on me like a ton of bricks after quidditch practice.