We've Got Tonight

By Opopanax

A/N: My attempt at smut, but still a bit angsty. Lemons ahead.


I know it's late, I know you're weary,

I know your plans don't include me.

Still here we are, both of us lonely,

Longing for shelter from all that we see.

Why should we worry, no one will care, girl.

Look at the stars so far away.

We've got tonight, who needs tomorrow? We've got tonight babe,

Why don't you stay?

-Bob Seger


1

She had been watching him for five years. Five long years and never once had he looked at her before this year. It was interesting, really. She was the kind of girl who faded into the background. It was sort of a defence mechanism; in Muggle primary school she had been picked on, and she developed the habit of being inconspicuous. She was neither a good student nor a bad one, she simply did her best and was somewhere in the middle, which is why she was in Hufflepuff. 'Puffs did their best, but generally weren't interested in the spotlight. Unless you were somebody like Cedric Diggory, may he rest in peace. Although, Cedric deserved all the attention he got. He was genuinely a good guy, and Hufflepuff House needed something to make it stand out from the other houses, who thought the 'Puffs were the rubbish heap of the school. Of course, pompous blowhards like Ernie Macmillan and Justin Finch-Fletchley didn't help their reputation either. And stupid idiots like Zacharias Smith … Ugh.

She had, of course, purchased a number of modern history books when she found out she was a witch, wanting to know all about this strange new world she found herself in. In them, she read all about Harry Potter, the fabled Boy-Who-Lived. She had bought a few of the books which detailed his supposed adventures and scoffed at them. Honestly, marrying a veela at the age of five? Hogwash.

Still, it had been rather a shock when she saw him for the first time on the Hogwarts Express. He was scrawny, underfed looking and had the general air of someone who hadn't seen much sunlight. Also, he was dressed in little better than rags. Hardly the image of what a saviour was supposed to look like. His green eyes had briefly met hers, though, and something called to her heart in them. Some indefinable quality of loss which she couldn't clearly articulate at the tender age of eleven.

It was hard to approach him. Hermione Granger and Ron Weasley did their best to discourage anyone from socializing with him. It was sort of understandable. Too many people wanted to capitalize on his fame, even though anyone with half a brain could see he didn't want it at all.

Another puzzling thing was his clothes. Anybody at all familiar with the wizarding world knew that the Potters were one of the wealthiest families out there. So why was the last scion of the house dressed worse than a London street urchin?

During the first year, she had watched him only sporadically, and observed some interesting things. He hated bullies like Malfoy, he wouldn't stand for them. He was a superb flyer. But what most interested her was the fact that he held back in classes.

Being shunted mostly to the sidelines of social life, she had developed a keen observational talent. People watching was by far her best skill, and it was this that made her decide to become some sort of diplomat after school. And it was this talent that had helped her to notice that Harry wasn't living up to his potential. After observing Hermione Granger, she understood why: he didn't want to be better than her. Further contemplation made her realize that Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger had to be his first ever friends, if he was deliberately slowing his learning down to stay with them. Granger's Achilles heel was her intelligence, and having anyone do better than her would be a deliberate insult to her. She was sad that Harry had to do this, but understood where he was coming from. And this revelation, more than anything, totally killed the Boy-Who-Lived mystique for her; he was just another lost, scared first year. She quit caring about the legend then, and he was forever just Harry afterward.

Rumours abounded at the end of the first year that he had once again faced and vanquished the Dark Lord, and his three day stay in the hospital wing certainly lent credence to the story. And then the whole mess in second year…

She had scoffed internally at her house mates' insistence, led by that pompous idiot, Macmillan, that Harry was the heir of Slytherin, just because he could speak Parseltongue. If you took a narrow minded view on things, it made sense (sort of), but when you looked at the big picture, it was utterly ludicrous. One of his best friends was Muggleborn, along with his mother, so it made absolutely no sense whatsoever that he was attacking Muggleborns in the school. To her shame though, she didn't speak out in his defence. She didn't want to bring attention on herself. Nobody would've listened to her anyway.

To her disgust, everybody once again believed him innocent at the end of the year. It held a pattern. Over the past five years, she had watched him go from being admired by the school, to hated, back to being admired again. It was bloody ridiculous.

Everybody once again turned on him in fourth year, thinking he was trying to steal glory from Hufflepuff by cheating and illegally entering himself into the Triwizard Tournament. Again, if you only looked at the surface of things, it made sense. For someone like her who had made a habit of watching Harry Potter, however, it was ridiculous. Harry hated his fame and wanted nothing to do with it.

When the Yule Ball had come, she had hoped deep within her heart of hearts that Harry might ask her to go with him. It was stupid though; she never had spoken a word to him, not once. But still, she hoped. He hadn't of course, and had gone with Parvati Patil, but to her secret relief, he didn't seem to enjoy it much, even though Parvati was one of the prettiest girls in the year. She had, however, seen him mooning after Cho Chang, which was slightly disappointing.

She had been sad as anyone when Harry had returned from the third task, clutching the dead body of Cedric Diggory. And then all summer, the papers were printing that Harry was a lying, attention-seeking brat and delusional, and that Albus Dumbledore was senile and losing his touch, when both had publicly announced the return of Voldemort. It made her furious, why would Harry lie about such a thing?

During fifth year, things got horrible. Being sort of shoved into the background of her year mates meant that she had missed the initial meeting of the DA, but also meant that people tended to talk freely in front of her, like she was a piece of furniture. As a result, she had overheard Susan Bones and Hannah Abbot discussing the fact that the HarryPotter would be teaching them defence. Susan even bubbled that he could perform a corporeal Patronus, a feat nobody else could match.

So she approached Hermione Granger and signed up just around the end of November. She was fifteen now, and knew beyond a doubt that she loved Harry Potter. However, she would not be another Ginny Weasley or one of those other fangirls. She would probably never even get to speak with him personally beyond the DA. That was OK though; she could treasure her love in the sanctity of her own heart. No one need know. That was the beauty of love; it thrived on its own, without any pretence. The first time Harry Potter smiled at her would be one of her most treasured memories. She had smiled back, and she rejoiced quietly that he had noticed her. She did not blush in his presence, she did not stammer, she did not scribble his initials in little hearts on her notebooks. He existed in her heart, in his own special place, like a secret ache.

She had no illusions about herself. She was no Cho Chang or even Ginny Weasley, both of whom were popular and beautiful, and thus Harry probably would not even give her a second thought. She was a big girl with large round breasts even at fifteen, a round belly, broad hips and heavy thighs. She (and most of the Puffs, actually) had a tendency to snack a lot, what with the Hufflepuff dorms being near the kitchens. But, carrying heavy spell books up and down and all through the meandering corridors of Hogwarts kept her in reasonable shape. However, she would never be one of the svelte skinny girls everyone seemed to want.

She had signed up for the DA to be close to Harry, but also to learn defence. Umbridge had been the absolute worst teacher in the history of the school, and took great joy in punishing Harry. She had wept quietly one night when she had seen him trudging wearily down a corridor, hand wrapped in a bloody bandage. When it had slipped, she had caught the words I must not tell lies embedded in his flesh.

Now, here it was, the end of the year, and she was sitting in the Great Hall on the day before the leaving feast, absently nibbling a slice of pie. Rumours were flying rapidly all over the castle that Harry Potter and five of his friends had gone and battled You-Know-Who and his inner circle at the Ministry. The Daily Prophet was now calling him "the Chosen One" and hailing him as a saviour once more, naming him the sole voice of truth, forced to bear ridicule and slander. Conveniently ignoring the fact that it was they who had done the ridiculing and slandering. It was pathetic.

Sighing in disgust, she tossed the paper down and finished her pie. She needed a walk on the grounds.

Before she could get up, an owl flew in through the mail hole at the top of the hall and headed for her. Her eyes widened and she paled at the black envelope it clutched in its talons.

With trembling fingers, she removed the envelope and paid no heed as the owl flew away. Tears flooded her eyes as she read that her family had been killed, the house burned down by Fiendfyre, leaving no survivors: Just another attack on Muggles by those animals.

She was truly all alone in the world now.

She rose numbly from the nearly empty Hufflepuff table and trudged out of the hall toward the grounds. What was she going to do now? She paid no heed to the numerous clusters of students, all whispering about the story in the paper about Harry Potter and Voldemort.

It was still an hour before curfew, so she headed out onto the grounds. The sun was just going down in a riot of colours over the lake. The air was soft and warm, not too hot yet and the humidity which crashed down over the area wasn't here. It was perfect strolling weather.

She noticed none of it, though. She might not have been very close to her family, especially after they had found out that she was a witch, but they were hers, and they were gone.

Her mind was blank; she had no idea what to do. She had no relatives in England; they were all very distant cousins in America or even Australia. This meant that she would no longer be able to attend Hogwarts.

That thought brought her up short. No longer attend Hogwarts? No longer be able to see Harry Potter? It was churlish of her to be thinking of Harry at a time like this, but she couldn't help it. Affairs of the heart followed no rules.

Could she go to him for asylum? By all account, he lived with his Muggle relatives, and conditions there were not … ideal. But he was the heir of the Noble and Most Ancient House of Potter, so he must own properties somewhere. She really did not want to leave Hogwarts. But, what could she do to get him on her side?

Just then, she heard quiet sobbing nearby, in a grove of trees by the lake. The sobs weren't loud, but they were heart-wrenching and full of grief. And even through the watery sounds, she thought she recognized their source: Harry Potter.

She felt her resolve firm. It was time to come out of the shadows and be counted. Picking up her pace, she headed for the sobs. She would do what was right, rather than what was easy, as the Headmaster had exhorted them to do last year. The easy thing would be to keep on watching from afar. But she wouldn't do that anymore. She would help Harry.

2

Harry Potter left the Headmaster's office, feeling numb. He knew he should be feeling something, anything at all. But he wasn't. He was just numb.

He felt like a crab which had been sucked dry by a starfish; utterly empty. He had led his friends into a trap, where they had to fight twelve Death Eaters. None of them except him and Luna Lovegood had escaped injury. Ginny had broken her ankle, Ron had gotten attacked by those weird brain things, Neville had a broken nose and a snapped wand, and Hermione had fallen to a vicious looking curse. Madam Pomfrey told Harry that it was an organ shredding curse, and that the power behind it had been weakened by the fact that Dolohov was silenced. It had done enough damage anyway though, that Hermione would have a scar for life.

None of that mattered though. Not really. What mattered more than anything else was the fact that his godfather Sirius Black had died, killed by his own psychotic cousin, and all because of Harry. If he had only remembered about the mirrors, if he had remembered that Snape was an Order member, if, if, if…

But most of the blame lay with Albus Bloody Dumbledore. Because Albus Bloody Dumbledore thought he was fucking god and only he knew what was best. Harry started to feel something now: cold anger. This wasn't the hot headed rage he was known for; this was a cold, calculating anger. He would never trust anything Dumbledore said, not anymore.

But, just as quickly as the anger came, it fled, leaving only sadness behind. There wasn't much he could do against Dumbledore, and he was too consumed with grief to do any sort of rational thinking.

Over the next day, Harry kept to himself, only putting in a token presence at the hospital wing, where Hermione was on a dozen different potions to treat her injury. Neville, Ron, Ginny and Luna had already left and were already hanging out with their own groups of friends. Harry was oddly conflicted; when he was with people he wanted to be alone, and when he was alone he wanted company. Most of the time, he just drifted along, not really thinking about much.

Memories of Sirius played out in his mind: Their first meeting; seeing him ride off on Buckbeak; meeting him occasionally over the next year; Christmas at Grimmauld Place ... For having known the man for only two years, Sirius had come to mean an awful lot to Harry. He was the only one, absolutely the only one, to not care about the bloody Boy-Who-Lived; to Sirius, he was just Harry, godson. Not even Ron and Hermione could say that.

Now, here it was, the night before the leaving feast and he was sitting by the lake, hidden in a patch of bushes, clutching his letters from Sirius. He had pulled them out of his trunk, along with the mirror, which he had just in time stopped himself from breaking in a fit of grief-fuelled rage. Here was the makeshift good luck card from the last task of the Triwizard Tournament, just a folded piece of parchment with a paw print, but it had meant so much to him back then.

It was all too much. Everything always seemed to happen to him, and he never caught a break. Even in his own head, it sounded whiny, but he couldn't help it. Didn't he deserve to feel a little whiny? Parents lost, relatives who hated him, people who only saw the scar that meant the Boy-Who's-Parents-Died, torn up in the press one day and put up on a pedestal the next, godfather dead, and finding out it was now either kill or be killed.

Harry put his head on his knees and wept. He hadn't allowed himself to really weep since he was a small child in his cupboard, and it all came pouring out of him. He didn't wail. His grief was too big to let it out all at once in a howl of agony, it seemed.

Warm arms suddenly came around him and pulled him into a soft body. He tensed briefly, but gentle hands stroked his hair. "It's OK, Harry, let it out," a soothing voice said into his ear. "Let it all out, Harry."

Tears fell onto his own head as they both wept together, Harry clutching desperately at whomever it was, not caring, only knowing that somebody was here to comfort him when he most needed it.

At long last, his tears dried up, petering out in sniffles and hitching gasps. Sitting up, he reached into his pocket and took out a handkerchief, blowing his nose and wiping his red, puffy eyes. He cleaned it with his wand and offered it to the girl who had hugged him, her shape only a blur without his glasses.

"Thank you, Harry," she said, sounding as choked up as he was, accepting the handkerchief and cleaning her face up.

"No, thank you," Harry croaked, his voice raspy from crying, suddenly feeling embarrassed. "I'm sorry I cried all over you."

"It's OK," she said gently. "You looked like you needed it."

Putting his glasses back on, Harry studied the girl in front of him. He recognized her from the DA. She had medium length black hair, blue eyes and a slightly upturned nose, which, like his, was slightly red from crying. Full lips, which were smiling slightly, plump apple cheeks. Maybe a couple inches shorter than him. She was not wearing school robes, this being a weekend, and he felt his face heat up slightly as he saw the large breasts poking at her thin Muggle t-shirt, nipples firmly erect in the evening chill. He tried to remember her name, to distract himself.

"Sally-Anne Perks, right?" he asked.

She smiled more genuinely this time. "Right in one, I'm surprised you remembered. But call me Sally or Anne, both at once makes me sound pretentious."

Harry raised an eyebrow. "Of course I remember. You were in the DA and I helped you with your Protego shield once."

A faint blush stained her own cheeks as she shifted nervously. Almost against his will, Harry felt his eyes track the jiggling motion of her breasts as she shrugged uncomfortably. "Yeah, I remember that."

Harry berated himself. You're grief stricken; don't stare at her tits, Potter.

Shaking his head at himself, he dragged his mind back to the conversation and addressed Anne. "What brings you out here, anyway? Not that I'm not glad to see you or anything, just curious."

Anne hesitated. "I got some bad news earlier," she said finally. "My parents were killed yesterday. Somebody used Fiendfyre and burned their house down."

"I'm sorry, Anne," Harry said gently, taking her hand and squeezing it. He was inwardly surprised at his own daring; back in February he couldn't even bring himself to touch Cho at that horrible date in Madam Puddifoot's, and yet here he was, holding this girl's hand as easy as could be.

She blushed again and sniffled, but squeezed his hand back. "Thank you, Harry. I guess you do know how I feel, don't you?"

"I sure do," he said softly. "My godfather died earlier this week."

Anne nodded and shyly scooted closer, so her thigh was brushing his. Their hands still entwined. There was a comfortable silence for a while. The squid was doing lazy strokes across the lake. Somewhere near the castle, somebody was playing with a Weasley Wildfire Whiz-Bang. A soft breeze blew from the direction of the forest, bringing the mysterious scent of loam and trees.

"I started drifting apart from my family when we found out I was a witch," Anne said at last, breaking the silence. "They didn't denounce me or anything; we just … didn't move in the same circles, I guess you'd say. They were both insurance agents, you see, and well, we didn't have much in common anymore. They were happy when I brought home good marks, of course, but it wasn't the same thing anymore … d'you know what I'm saying?"

Harry nodded. "I think so. Getting good marks in Charms isn't the same thing as getting good marks in calculus or something."

"Exactly," Anne said. "It was all beyond their frame of reference. I wonder how common that is with Muggleborns."

"Pretty common, I'd think. Most Muggles have this idea that magic is this … thing that ought to come instantly to you without any effort. They don't understand that it's something we have to work at, and in extreme cases like my aunt and uncle, they don't want to understand it either."

Anne ducked her head and nodded. "I sort of figured that about you," she said, then, still staring at the ground, she said: "I have a confession to make, Harry."

Harry hadn't let go of her hand, and he gave it a squeeze. "Whatever it is, I'm sure it isn't that bad," he said gently.

"W-well, I've, uh, sort of been watching you off and on for the past five years," she said in a rush, then turned her face away, her cheeks burning red.

Harry took a deep breath and counted to ten. I will not call her a rabid fan-girl, I will not call her a rabid fan-girl, he chanted in his head.

Finally, he asked simply: "Why?"

"I'm not a rabid Boy-Who-Lived groupie, I promise," she said, as if reading his mind. "I don't care about the Boy-Who-Lived. I would've watched you anyway, even if you weren't. It's just … well. When I first saw your name in the history books, I couldn't believe they celebrated the night your parents died. I mean, I get that they were actually celebrating the downfall of … Voldemort, but it still seemed silly to me."

She paused and took a deep breath. "I saw you that first day on the train and I thought you looked lost. And then I started watching you and how the school either hated or loved you with few in betweens and how you never seemed to catch a break."

Harry had calmed down by now and ran his hand through his hair. "I know, I was just thinking that a minute ago. Everything seems to happen to me."

Anne nodded. "Yeah; and when you made that comment on your relatives, I started thinking about how ragged you always looked and how, if you're supposed to be this great saviour, nobody seemed to care how you looked."

"Yeah, I always got my cousin's castoffs, and he's like five times bigger than me."

"Why haven't you done something about it?"

"Like what? I'm either here at Hogwarts or trapped at Privet Drive."

"Trapped?"

Harry nodded. "Yeah, old Dumbledore decided to post guards to make sure his precious weapon didn't slip his control."

"Weapon? What the hell?"

"Yeah, apparently there's a prophecy that says I'm the only one to defeat Voldemort," Harry said, the weight of all his problems suddenly crashing back down on him. "I found that out just a few minutes ago, right after watching my godfather killed in front of me."

"OH my god, that's horrible," Anne said, sniffling again.. "So the paper's write, you are the 'chosen one'. And you having to find that out after watching your godfather die … my god Harry.""

"I guess so," Harry said morosely. "Not much I can do about it I guess."

"Oh Harry, it's always you, isn't it?" Anne shifted and pulled him into a hug.

Something in Harry gave way then. Perhaps it was a combination of circumstances. Here was this girl, who he hadn't even noticed before, coming to him out of the blue. And that was quite remarkable in itself, wasn't it? Ten years growing up with Harry Hunting and he hadn't spotted the fact that this girl had been watching him for five years. She didn't come across as a fan-girl either, just a girl crushing on a guy, any ordinary guy. And any release from the grief that had been crushing his heart was welcome.

His experience with holding girls was limited to Cho, Ginny and Hermione, neither of whom had felt this good. All three of them adhered to the skinny is good philosophy, and holding them had felt rather like embracing a sack of hangers.

Not Anne, though. She was big and pillowy and soft, and she smelled wonderfully of vanilla. Harry felt his pants tighten uncomfortably as the heavy mounds of her breasts squished against him. The embrace didn't last long, since they were both sitting on the ground, but it left him feeling fevered and thoroughly excited.

Anne looked flushed too, and both their breathing had quickened. "Uh, I'm sorry," she said, looking nervously away.

Harry debated with himself, and then decided, what the hell. If he was going to defeat Voldemort or die trying, why not live a little? Here was this absolutely hot girl, who had a crush on just Harry. Run with the situation.

Taking Anne's chin in his hand and marvelling at her soft warm skin, Harry brought her around to face him. Green eyes met blue and held, each of them sinking into the other's gaze. They both saw a desperate vulnerability, a desire for the affirmation of life in the face of death. Perhaps it was all very sudden, and in the ordinary course of things, it wouldn't have happened the way it did, but they were both very needy people, and they both felt that the other was just the antidote for what ailed them.

Slowly, they leaned toward each other and their lips met, both sets of eyes closing. A catlike purr of satisfaction issued from deep within Anne's chest. Harry's hands, seemingly of their own volition, found their way into the soft mass of her hair and buried themselves there, cupping the back of her neck and running down her back. Anne's hand came up to also bury itself in Harry's messy hair and tugged him closer gently.

The kiss was sweet, gentle, yet passionate. Anne's tongue shyly darted out, and Harry opened his mouth to let it in. She tasted of strawberries and sunshine, of dreams and desires yet to be discovered. In short, it was a far cry from kissing the walking hosepipe, also known as Cho Chang.

The kiss was broken by the rather important, if inconvenient, need for oxygen. Anne was breathing hard, her cheeks and neck flushed, her bountiful breasts heaving, and her lips puffed up, eyes glazed slightly. Harry was little better. He could feel his heart pounding in his temples, and he was alternately flashing hot and cold, as if he was suffering from a tropical fever. His cock was an iron bar in his pants, his balls ached dully.

"Wow," Anne whispered, touching her lips tentatively, like she didn't believe it.

"Yeah," Harry said, sounding hoarse. "Wow."

Their eyes met again, and, without needing to say anything, they rose together, took each other's hand and set off for the castle.

3

They ended up on the seventh floor, of course. Harry paced in front of the tapestry of Barnabas the Barmy, not really thinking of anything in particular except Anne's wonderful lips, but the room caught on and a door appeared with a faint pop.

Harry had to bite back a laugh when they walked in. Taking up one side of the well-appointed room was a gigantic four-poster bed with red and yellow hangings. Off to another side was a table with a bench seat, and in another corner was a Jacuzzi. On a shelf above the bed were ranged a number of massage oils and mysterious objects that Harry guessed were sex toys. The whole room was lit with an amorphous low level light that promised to reveal everything, if only you'd step a little closer. Soft music played, coming seemingly from the air itself. Room of Requirement, indeed.

They looked at each other, and blushed madly, before Harry raised an eyebrow. Nodding, Anne stepped in and shut the door, which sealed with a satisfying squelch.

Harry shyly took her hand and led her toward a love seat, both of them still blushing. Anne was suffering from conflicting emotions. On one hand, she was more horny than she could ever remember being. Her twat was soaked, rubbing with delicious fiction on her panties. But, on the other hand, she was terrified that Harry would reject her for being too fat; she was more than twice his size, after all. One of her thighs was as big as his waist, for Merlin's sake! Or at least that's what it felt like to her.

All doubts were swept away though, along with any other coherent thought, when Harry pulled her back into his arms and kissed her again. Their hands roamed a little more freely this time, Harry grabbing as much of her ass as he could, Anne's hands finding their way inside his shirt and gripping his back with lustful tightness, her hips wriggling involuntarily. Her heart pounded wildly, and she could feel her pussy throbbing between her legs. Harry was no longer the skinny boy she remembered, but a lean, well-muscled, if not bulky young man. Years of Quidditch and especially this year with the DA had toned him up a great deal. The feel of him made her knees weak.

Harry, for his part, was absolutely entranced with the girl in his arms. He was rather ashamed of himself for bowing to the stereotype that skinny girls were the best and only desirable partners. Sure, Cho and Ginny were beautiful girls, but they had nothing on Anne. Both of them had pretty faces, but were built rather like boys. That was pretty interesting in Ginny's case, given who her mother was.

Anne's breasts were the biggest ones he'd ever laid eyes on, at least in this castle full of teenage girls, and he cursed Hogwarts robes for hiding so much. Her arms were soft, like small pillows. Her hips were broad and her buttocks stuck out behind her in high, round mounds.. She wasn't saggy at all either; all that walking up and down Hogwarts' many staircases saw to that. She was just … big. She was like an Earth Mother, like ice cream on a hot day. Harry couldn't get enough.

"Merlin, you're beautiful," Harry croaked, when they came up for air again. "I'm sorry I never noticed you before."

It didn't even cross her mind to question him, when she saw the absolute sincerity and naked lust shining in his green orbs. Later she might, but now it didn't matter, Harry Potter, the guy she had wanted for a couple of years now, wanted her back. All the worries about her situation, all her worries about what she was going to do now that she had no family, were swept away in a tide of long pent up desire.

"Thank you, Harry," she whispered, tilting her flushed face up to him. "You don't know how long I've waited for you to say that."

"Tell me," he said into her ear, sending goose bumps down her spine.

"Since the end of second year," she whispered back, blushing even more brightly, but determined to always tell him the truth.

"Wow. I'm very, very lucky," he said reverently, tracing her cheeks with the pad of a calloused thumb.

"No, I'm the lucky one," she answered, smiling winningly up at him.

"I think we're both lucky," he said in a husky voice, his heartbeat pounding in his ears.

"I can live with that," she whispered.

Slowly, her eyes asking for permission, Anne reached out for Harry's shirt. Harry raised his arms and let it fall, adjusting his glasses so they didn't get pulled off with the shirt.

Stepping close, Anne breathed heavily as she traced her fingertips lightly over Harry's upper body, leaving a trail of goose bumps in her wake. She had never so much as kissed a boy on the cheek, and here she was, stripping one. But it felt so right, and she wasn't going to question anymore.

She ran her fingers gently over the various scars on his body, kissing each one as she left it. For the first time, Harry was not self conscious. His heart was pounding and his palms were slightly damp, but not with nervousness. Well, not much.

"Like what you see?" he asked.

"Oh, most definitely yes," Anne breathed, kissing the scar where Wormtail had cut him last year. Harry didn't care about Wormtail. All he cared about was this amazing woman doing even more amazing things to him.

She stroked and nibbled her way across his belly, making the skin quiver like something was alive under it, before arriving at the waistband of his jeans. She was on her knees, and she looked up at Harry, her lips parted as she breathed quickly. May I?"

Harry nodded, barely able to speak at the erotic sight in front of him. It felt like his cock was going to burst free of its cloth prison all by itself. It felt like if she so much as breathed on it, he would shoot off like a rocket all over her.

She took off his shoes and socks first, tossing them impatiently to one side.

Her hand trembled as she reached for the button at the waistband of his jeans. Her knuckles brushed against his belly, making the skin there jump again, and also making his cock twitch. Slowly, she undid the top button and slid the zipper down, following its progress with her hungry eyes.

The white briefs soon came into view, then the bulge in them. Anne had seen a few naughty magazines in the Muggle world, not to mention a few risqué photographs around the girls' dorms. In these photos, the men all looked like they had summer sausages down their pants, and Anne had wondered how the hell women could stand to have those things inserted in them.

Harry wasn't like that. She brushed her hand over the bulge in his briefs as she pushed his jeans down, pulling them over his feet. It was pulsing in front of her and looked to be a good six or seven inches long, and not too thick, about average, according to the reading she'd done.

Finally, she was about to unveil the grand prize. Her inner muscles clenched as she took in the sight of his cock, pulsing and barely constrained in the tight briefs. Slowly, she reached up and took hold of the elastic and brought them down. And he was naked before her.

She ran her hands over his toned muscular thighs. All those years of sitting a broom had made his leg muscles huge. She felt him quiver underneath her hands and revelled in the power she had over him. She had no more doubts about her desirability, now. The hard cock bouncing in front of her and the heavy breathing of the man attached to it put paid to all that.

"Wow, Harry. You're gorgeous," she breathed, sliding around to cup the globes of his hard bum. "I can't believe what you've been hiding all this time."

"Th-thanks," Harry said, feeling a little embarrassed, but not doubting her sincerity. "I'm glad you like me. And I'm glad I've done some growing up."

"Oh yeah, you sure have," she said, coming back to stand in front of him, bosom heaving and slight beads of sweat standing on her forehead. "Now, it's your turn."

Harry's breath hitched and his cock jumped. They both laughed. "It's got a mind of its own, I think," Harry said.

"Well, hurry up so you can put your basilisk in my Chamber of Secrets," Anne breathed huskily, giving him a saucy wink.

Groaning at the horrible line, Harry tentatively reached out and gripped the hem of Anne's t-shirt. He lifted it up slowly and raised it over her head, tossing it to the floor. And gaped.

Harry had always known that girls matured faster than blokes. And he had always known that witches matured faster than Muggle girls. But he really saw the evidence for this in Anne.

Her enormous breasts pointed straight at him, due to the magical bra she was wearing. Unlike Muggle bras, they had a built in enhancement charm instead of underwires, making for a much more comfortable experience. They worked on the witch's own magic though, so Muggles couldn't use them. If Harry had to guess, Anne was at least an E cup.

"Holy damn, Anne," he murmured reverently. "They're huge."

Anne giggled. Her hand snaked out and stroked his penis, collecting a sizable drop of precum, which she proceeded to lick off her fingers. "I'm glad you like me," she echoed him, her eyes dancing. "And I'm glad I've done some growing up."

"I'll say you have. I had no idea you were hiding all this," he said, gesturing at her breasts.

"Well, are you going to unwrap me, Harry?" she asked, bouncing slightly so that her breasts jiggled.

"Absolutely," he said. "Wild hippogriffs wouldn't stop me."

Harry moved closer and reached for her breasts. They were heavy indeed, overflowing his hands in warm flesh. Unhooking the bra took some doing, but with much giggling on both their parts, he got it undone. Her belly was round and firm, like a small drum, and her breasts rested on top of it, creating a succulent valley of flesh in between, which Harry licked and nibbled on, making Anne's knees a little weak. Her nipples were like pencil erasers and very sensitive as well. Harry hefted a breast in one hand and suckled on it, tweaking the other nipple and making Anne pant a little. He could smell the scent of her arousal and it was getting him even more worked up than playing with her breasts. He felt more powerful than when he was casting a Patronus, that he could make this woman into putty in his hands.

Moving behind her, he rubbed away the creases from her bra on the skin of her back, making her sigh in contentment and arch her back like a cat. She had strong shoulders, broad but not mannish, from carrying her books around. Her neck was delicate and smooth, and he nibbled on the back of it just under the hairline, flicking his tongue over the sensitive skin. Anne writhed in pleasure, mewing in excitement, as Harry worked his lips and teeth and tongue over the tops of her shoulders and into the little valley where shoulder met neck.

Still standing behind her, Harry brought his arms around her waist in a full body hug, his hard cock pressing against her soft arse. Anne ground back against him, making him moan huskily in her ear. "Be careful doing that, babe, or I might lose it," he warned, nibbling her earlobe.

"You're young and will recover quickly," she breathed back, still grinding.

"With you as my inspiration, how could I not," he said, meeting her thrusts with his own. This was his first sexual contact, and, true to prediction, he didn't last long. He never knew when his … relatives might come busting in, so he never really got into the habit of wanking much. The only times he did it was in the shower, where he had a door locked on the inside, and nobody could come crashing in.

His breathing quickened and he felt the familiar tightening in his belly. His hands rose and began kneading her breasts, tugging the nipples and running his nails along the sensitive undersides, and nibbling her neck and shoulder.

As first orgasms went, it was rather awkward. He spurted spectacularly all over the back of her skirt and dripped onto the floor. They both laughed about it, though Harry was very red faced with embarrassment. Anne Scourgified the mess away and discretely cast a contraception charm on herself at the same time.

"Don't worry about it, Harry. I'm very flattered that I could bring you to that," she soothed, hugging him and whispering in his ear. "And look, you're all ready to go again," she giggled. "I told you, you would be."

Sure enough, he was already up again, his cock standing proudly once more. "Is this where I should go, 'yes dear, you're always right'?" he asked, smiling slightly.

"Absolutely," she said, laughing and ruffling his hair. "Seriously, Harry, don't worry about it. You'll be able to really take your time when you get inside me," she purred.

"Oh Merlin, I'll probably explode when that happens," he muttered, gazing at her like she was the most precious thing in the universe.

Anne blushed. "You'll take me right along with you," she murmured, gazing back at him.

Harry mimicked her position from earlier and dropped to his knees in front of her. Her thighs were like elegant pillars, firm and soft at the same time, from all that staircase climbing. Her scent was intoxicating and he breathed deeply, feeling his head spin.

He pulled off her sturdy school shoes and, like she had done, tossed them impatiently off to the side.

With shaking hands, he reached for the buttons on the side of her skirt and undid them one by one, until it came down in a puddle around her ankles. She was wearing practical underwear, for she was a practical girl. Her scent was stronger and he was nearly drunk with it.

And then it was time to unveil his own prize. He reached up and took hold of the waistband and slowly pulled her underwear down.

"Oh, Merlin," he breathed, rocking back on his heels. "You are so beautiful, Anne."

Her pubic hair was neatly trimmed, and it was shiny with her juices. Harry, feeling helpless to resist, buried his nose in her neat bush and lapped at it. She tasted heavenly. Anne moaned and quivered above him.

Crabbing around behind her, he took in the sight of her naked arse. It was wide, firm, and smooth, with lovely dimples. He hefted the heavy cheeks and kneaded them, his pulse pounding in his ears, and nibbled each one, cauzing her to break out in goose bumps and making her squirm and giggle. The cleft was deep, and he ran a finger through it, making her squirm and clench. Harry watched the big muscles of her legs quivering, and grinned with satisfaction. This was the first naked woman he'd ever seen, and he took his time exploring every mysterious inch.

"I'll say it again," he said, rising from the floor and standing in front of her, drinking her in with his eyes, "you're absolutely stunning."

"Thank you," she said simply. "Now, come here. I want to give you my virginity, Harry." "I want that very much."

Taking her hand, he led her toward the massive bed with the yellow and red hangings. It was covered in a variety of pillows with different embroidery, and only a thin blanket. The room was comfortable, so more covers weren't needed.

He guided Anne to sit on the edge of the bed and moved between her legs. Taking her chin in one hand, he leaned down and kissed her, his other hand roaming restlessly over her lush curves, with hers doing the same to him. Before long, they had moved to the middle of the bed, Anne was on her back and Harry was licking and nibbling his way down her body. Then, at last, he had reached her fiery centre.

Anne tucked her ankles against her buttocks and spread her knees wide, granting Harry access. She was panting with need, her hips jerking involuntarily, as Harry began nibbling up her inner thighs. She wanted this man to have her, and she wanted it now. It was all she could do not to grab him and force him into her.

Harry, meanwhile, was finding it difficult not to charge ahead and pound into her. But he'd sneaked some glances at Seamus' girly magazines and all of them said they liked to go slow, their first time.

Harry blew a slow trickle of air at Anne's pussy lips, making her moan his name and her hips writhe. And finally, he spread her lips open.

She was absolutely soaked. Her juices ran down the crack of her bum and pooled on the bed beneath her. She smelled divine and Harry dove in with his tongue. Then, an absolutely wicked thought flicked into his lust-addled brain: Parseltongue. It was time to see if Anne thought it was evil.

Picturing a snake in his mind, Harry began to whisper about Anne's body in Parseltongue, causing his tongue to vibrate over her pussy. The results were galvanic. Her big thighs clamped over his ears, her hands fisted in his hair, and the juices poured out of her, drenching his nose and face. It was absolutely intoxicating.

Finally, she came down, her arse coming back to rest on the bed, her thighs relaxing and her fists unclenching. Harry came up, grinning wickedly at her, his face shiny with her juices. "Mmmm," he said, licking his lips lasciviously. "That was amazing. And you taste wonderful."

"What the hell was that, Harry?" she asked. Her face and chest were flushed and he could see a pulse beating rapidly in her throat.

"That, my dear Anne, was Parseltongue," Harry grinned, coming up to lie on top of her, his cock coming to rest in the valley between her thighs along her slit, which was still soaked. "It has other uses than scaring idiot second years at a duelling club."

Anne laughed shakily. "I'll say it does … wow. That was absolutely amazing."

"Thank you. Since snakes can't really hear, Parseltongue is actually magical vibrations. So nobody else without the magical gift can imitate it, I don't care what they say. All anyone without the magical gift will be able to do is go 'sssss', that's all."

"That's very interesting, Harry, and I'm glad you told me, but will you please stop torturing me and bury that cock of yours inside me?" Anne asked, jerking her hips upward. She was feeling very bold, and she wanted him in her, now.

"Yes, I'd love to," Harry said, forgetting all about Parseltongue. He had been sliding along her slit, doing his best not to come again all over her, and the Parseltongue mini lecture was a good way to distract himself.

"Thank you," Anne said, spreading her legs again and tucking her ankles against her bum.

Harry rose off her, and took himself in hand. He paused for a moment, just gazing at her. She was sprawled in front of him, breasts heaving and flushed, nipples jutting up like pencil points, hair spread in a halo around her head. In short, she was absolutely, heart-stoppingly gorgeous. Some dim part of his mind marvelled at himself. Here he was, the one who stammered and made a fool of himself in front of girls, about to fuck one, and not feeling at all tongue-tied. Who would've thought it?

"Well? What're you waiting for?" Anne asked, wiggling her hips at him. And Harry needed no further urging. He slipped inside her and threw his head back and moaned.

Anne hissed in a breath of air through clenched teeth as her hymen was broken, but the pain disappeared quickly. "Don't worry about me, Harry," she said, noticing his concerned look. "It happens like that, the first time. Keep going."

Harry nodded and pushed further inside. Entering her was like slipping into a long forgotten dream. Her inner walls wrapped snugly around him. He couldn't believe how wonderful it felt.

Harry began to move within Anne, sliding in and out with delicious friction. Her legs came up and wrapped around his waist, her powerful thighs tugging him closer. "God, Harry, you feel so good," she said through her heavy breathing.

Harry didn't answer, couldn't. He was concentrating with all his might on not shooting his load. As clueless as he was around girls, even he knew that they wouldn't be impressed if you fired off within ten seconds of first penetration.

Finally, he had himself under control by listing potion ingredients, and began to move faster within Anne. He hoped she wouldn't need long to orgasm though, as his makeshift postponement wouldn't last long; the girl was just too hot for words.

Indeed, Anne was dangerously close to the edge. She had come out to the lake only an hour ago, and her sadness at the loss of her family had morphed into a raging torrent of lust, love, and desire. The petting and playing and slow undressing had worked their magic on her, and she was a bubbling stew of wild emotions. Her heartbeat was picking up, her pussy was dripping again, and Harry was pressing into her clit as he bottomed out at the end of each thrust.

Harry, meanwhile, was also rapidly losing his cool, thrusting wildly into Anne and kneading her breasts restlessly. He felt the gathering tingle at the base of his spine, as his balls tightened. No listing of potion ingredients was going to stop this one. His back arched as he gave one last, hard thrust, as their bellies clapped together with a loud smack. His buttocks tightened, his head flew back and his hands tightened on Anne's arms. "Oh, Anne, you're so fucking hot," he hissed out through clenched teeth, and let everything go at once. His cock pulsed wildly, spewing spurt after spurt of hot cum deep into Anne's pussy, which tightened around him with exquisite agony. It seemed to last forever as he fired what felt like a gallon into her, but at long last, he softened and fell out of her, with a wet plop.

"Ahhhh," she nearly screamed, hips arching high off the bed and nearly throwing Harry off her as her own orgasm hit. It seemed to last forever, as her perception of reality splintered apart, leaving only a collection of bright lights firing off in her brain. Her muscles spasmed madly and she was barely aware that Harry had rolled off, panting like a race horse.

"Dear Merlin that was fucking incredible," Harry breathed, after catching his breath a bit.

Anne rolled over, secretly relishing their combined fluids dripping out of her sopping pussy. She drew Harry to her and buried her head in his shoulder. She couldn't believe the speed with which the preceding events had taken place. One moment, she was thinking about her loss of family, the next moment, she was up in the Room of Requirement getting shagged by Harry Potter, her secret crush. It was surreal.

"Yes it was," she said, her hand petting his back. "I feel so good right now, Harry. Thank you."

"No, I ought to thank you. You gave me a very precious gift," Harry said into her hair.

Harry felt Anne smile into his chest. She hugged him tighter, pressing his wet cock between them. It was well used though, and only twitched a bit. "You're welcome, then," she said. "Although I still think I got the better deal."

"Oh?"

"You made me feel like I wasn't just drifting along from day to day … You made me feel beautiful, Harry, and desired."

Harry hugged her back. "You're incredibly beautiful, Anne, and I apologize for not noticing you for all our time at Hogwarts. I hope you don't want this to be our only encounter."

He felt the heat of her blush. "It's OK, Harry," she said softly, moving up so they were eye to eye. "I watched you off and on, but I never spoke to you, never sought you out, so it's mostly my fault."

"No, I don't want this to be our only encounter. I … I want to explore what we could have, but-"

Suddenly her eyes filled with tears. "Oh, Harry, I almost forgot my family was gone. What's wrong with me?" she wailed.

Alarmed, Harry drew her to him and let her cry on his shoulder, making soothing noises. His own grief came back on him too, but this time it was bittersweet. He had no doubt Sirius would've congratulated him and clapped him on the back with his trademark bark-like laugh. Together, they wept for what they'd lost, clinging to each other desperately, each the other's affirmation that life did go on in the face of tragedy.

Finally, both their tears dried up and they stared at each other. "They would've wanted us to be happy, I think," Harry said softly. "I don't regret what we've done, Anne. I hope you don't think any less of me now."

"Never, Harry," she whispered, gazing into his green eyes. "It's just … what we just did … it's not like me at all and I thought that … in books I read…"

She took a deep, shuddering breath. "No, I don't regret what we did either. I was really messing that up, wasn't I? And life isn't like a storybook, I know that. What I mean to say is, I couldn't ever think badly of you. What we just had was very special and I'd like to explore what we could build. It's just that it was all so sudden, with the loss of both our families and everything."

Harry stroked her hair while she talked and thought carefully. "I know what you mean, and I want to explore what we might have, as well. You don't have to feel guilty though, Anne. Both our families would want us to be happy, I think, and not mourn them too much. You helped pull me out of a very dark place, and for that I thank you."

She smiled for the first time. "You're very welcome, Harry," she said, and they kissed. And for two lonely teenagers in the midst of war, life grew a little brighter. Neither knew what the future would hold, but they were sure of one thing: they would face it together, come what may.

THE END