Thank you for your patience and lovely reviews. I apologize for the month and a half long delay in the writing of the new chapter. Please direct your anger towards Dell. And Best Buy. And all of my teachers who love to give me tons of homework (that means you, Psych 101 professor and your project that took me 2 months to finish).

Now, however, we are back in business and are ready to keep going.

DISCLAIMER: I'm going to project "I Own Harry Potter" onto the moon tomorrow. That'll show J.K. Rowling. She can't stop me. Hear me, J.K. Rowling? YOU CAN'T STOP…okay, that's my door you're breaking down. Aaaand that's my Nintendo 64 you're smashing. You say whoever wins in a Mariokart race can have Harry Potter ownership? You're on.

Aaaand here we go.

0000000000

Not gonna lie-I've imagined this moment for what seems like forever.

And if you remember, I've imagined it in the sort of Norah Roberts way where as you're reading it you just know that things like this don't happen that perfectly.

Well, I'm here to stand up and say that no amount of imagining and fantasizing can even begin to compare to the real thing.

His lips are soft, and as my lips part slightly to receive his kiss I send out a silent thank-you to Chapstick. Nobody wants to kiss Scaly Mouth.

His tongue pushes gently into my mouth and flicks mine tentatively. As our lips begin to move against each other, becoming more impassioned with each passing moment, I realize that this is how kissing is supposed to be.

His hands move slowly up to my waist, and before long, one is creeping onto my lower back. As for my part, I cautiously touch his naked skin, feeling the muscles quiver beneath my hands. His body is warm and perfect.

If I could choose to stay in one moment forever, this would be the moment that I chose.

The kiss ends all too soon, and the Sex God pulls back a bit and rests his forehead against mine sweetly. He drops his arms down to hold my hands.

"Wow," he says, breathing a bit heavily.

I nod and smile at him. I don't trust myself to say anything. My brain seems to have gone out to lunch.

"Why don't we continue this someplace more private?" the Sex God asks.

"What?" I'm sorry, I'm not quite paying attention.

He jerks his head towards the glass balcony doors, and I come back down to Earth with a crashing start as I realize that there are several people including Notorious Gossip Extraordinaire Lavender Brown watching us.

"What do you have in mind?" I ask cautiously.

"My bedroom?" he suggests.

WHOA.

WAIT.

Have I fantasized about the Sex God taking me up against a wall?

Absolutely.

Am I ready for the Sex God to take me up against a wall?

Absolutely not.

I never imagined that I would wait until marriage to have sex. I'm not quite that silly-people don't get married as young as they used to, and besides, I'm planning on having my career take off before I even think about getting married. To anyone.

But at the same time, I don't want it to be the kind of spur-of-the-moment, wake-up-and-realize-you've-made-a-stupid-sexual-decision thing: kind of like the things that happen at parties.

"I'm really not comfortable with that," I say honestly.

"Well you seemed pretty comfortable a few minutes ago," the Sex God argues, pulling back from me and letting go of my hands.

"Yeah, but I'm not really ready to go further," I counter. This situation is slowly getting out of hand. Crap. And we were having such a nice time just a few minutes ago, before he opened his big mouth.

"Well why not?" he demands, crossing his arms and looking at me like I've just said something horribly offensive.

"I just don't want to!" I snap. Why the hell should I have to explain myself? I said no. The answer is no. I don't need to tell you why, I'm just saying no.

"Fine. You know what, Granger, when you figure out what the hell is going on in that bushy head of yours, why don't you let me know," he snarls just before marching off.

Even after he walks away, I stand there for a few seconds, slightly stunned. I mean, sure, the two of us have definitely done our share of below-the-belt name calling over the years. But wasn't he just smiling that painfully perfect smile and kissing me? I didn't realize asserting myself and saying "no" to sex qualified bringing our relationship back to square one.

I look down and notice the goosebumps on my arms. I have two options: stay out here and freeze miserably but avoid seeing anyone for the rest of the night, or act like an adult, go back inside, and hope to the high heavens this party ends soon, like right now.

I go back inside.

0000000000

I walk down the hallway, too miserable with the events of the night to even cry. From the sounds of doors closing and the snoring coming from those too drunk or too lazy to find a room, I would hazard a guess that the party is over.

Hallelujah.

I hear some soft laughing behind one door that sounds suspiciously like Mr. Draco Malfoy and Skankarella (although I could be wrong-I didn't give her much time to talk.) I pause for a moment and against my will imagine them in there, kissing and talking.

I can't decide if I wish it was me or not. I didn't want to be just a party fling to him, some drunken hook-up, but I didn't want to be left alone in a cold hallway either.

In the immortal words of Mick Jagger, you can't always get what you want. That seems to be the moral of the story in this case.

In a wild moment of irrationality, I flip the Sex God and his fling off. It's dark and neither one of them can see me and I'm not even sure that they're in that room, but it makes me feel better.

A few doors down, I finally discover an empty bedroom (yes, I even checked the closets. Drunks have been known to sleep in sillier places). I close the door behind me and lock it with a slightly more advanced spell that a simple "Alohomora" can't break. I don't think anyone in this house will be able to think further than that elementary spell at the moment. I kick off my heels, wincing at the blisters that have formed on my feet. Ginny always says I should practice wearing high heels and that I wouldn't have feet that looked like I'd just walked the Bataan Death March if I did. Oh well. Too late for that now.

I lie down on the bed and pull the covers up to my chin, suddenly realizing how tired I am. This entire night has been exhausting, both emotionally and physically. I can't wait for the weekend to be over so I can focus on regular things like my classes and homework-things that don't involve making a person feel bad because they spent the night alone. I meant what I said: I don't want to sleep with the Sex God. I'm not ready for that and I've heard too many tales of girls who hoped for a relationship sleeping with a guy way too early and finding themselves without any chance of a serious attachment at all. But I would have slept in his bed with him. Nothing would be better right now than to feel his warm body in the bed next to me.

I catch myself staring at the doors and chastise my silly, girly brain for even daring to hope that he's going to knock on my bedroom door and ask if he can lay in the bed with me.

Like he would want to just sleep next to some girl when he's got Skanky's taco bar open and ready for business.

Yuck.

Stupid, stupid, stupid. Stop it. You're only hurting yourself more. And grossing yourself out.

I roll over (ha, silly girl brain! Take that! Now you only have the wall to stare at!) and the tears come without my permission. They roll down my cheeks, making little damp spots on the previously dry pillow. I don't have the energy to try and stop myself. I'll just continue until I fall asleep, crying over someone who doesn't deserve to have broken my heart.

0000000000

The rest of the weekend is spent doing homework. For once, I'm actually glad I have the motherload. Keeps me nice and hidden in my room.

It also keeps me from thinking about how disappointed I am that the Sex God and I have still gotten nowhere. It seemed like we were making some progress, but that got shot to hell, and now I'm right back where I started, except slightly more miserable and a lot more confused.

Monday morning comes all too quickly, and once again I find myself in the Great Hall, eating breakfast with the other Gryffindors.

As I butter my waffles, I look furtively around the room, and notice with some degree of unjustified comfort that I'm not the only one avoiding eye contact with everyone, including the mail owls.

I'm also not the only one planning on making an early exodus. A Hufflepuff girl whose name I can never remember (but whose bartop striptease won't be forgotten anytime soon) doesn't even make it through 5 minutes' worth of breakfast.

I wave goodbye to Harry and Ron and head off towards the section of the castle that houses the Ancient Runes classroom. I'm the only Gryffindor in the class: it's mostly seventh-year Ravenclaws, which is unsurprising when you consider the difficulty of the class. Me, ten Ravenclaws, and…Pansy Parkinson.

Who is standing outside the classroom, examining her nails and looking murderous.

As I near the door I get the distinct, uncomfortable feeling that say, a Dragon Tamer gets when he enters the pen of a Hungarian Horntail.

"Granger!" she barks, making a beeline towards me.

Le sigh.

"What is it, Parkinson? Broke a nail and need help looking for it?" I ask in a stony voice. Inside, I'm shaking. What does she want?

I'm not afraid of Pansy Parkinson in the least, but at the same time, I don't particularly want to be Most Wanted on her shit list.

"I heard about what happened with Draco at the party, you little Gryffinwhore," Pansy snarls, gripping her books as though they're the only things preventing her from hauling off and punching me.

"And?" I say, as though this piece of information means absolutely nothing to me. I'm not really surprised. Lavender Brown doesn't hesitate to sow the seeds of gossip and social destruction, regardless of house loyalties.

"And if you ever go near him again, you'll be sorry. We may not be together right now, but Draco and I-we're MEANT to be. He just needs to get this out of his system and then we can start planning our future. I may not be able to stop him from having a little fling, but I can definitely influence who he's fooling around with. And you, you prude little bitch, you just won't do."

"Are you threatened by me, Pansy?" I ask mockingly. "You sound threatened. Are you worried that your precious Draco Malfoy might actually choose someone of my inferior bloodline over you?"

For a moment, a worried look flickers across Pansy's face, and I get to see what's under her fabulous skin. I might almost feel bad for her, if she wasn't, well, Pansy Parkinson. I mean, here she is, totally in love with a guy, and he doesn't want her and openly screws around with other women without caring about how she might feel. And she can't say anything, because they're not together and there's nothing she can do about it. I can't imagine how terrifying it must be to wonder if you really should go out on a limb like that. What if you find you're standing alone?

There's probably nothing worse, at least, not in the relationship department. I'm not saying this rivals, say, the Ebola Virus in the category of Things That Suck In Life.

I walk into the classroom without giving her a chance to respond.

0000000000

"HE SAID THAT?!"

"Gin, come on, not so loud," I plead, nervously glancing towards my bedroom door.

"I can't believe he said that to you. Hermione, he is such a jerk. Props for not caving to the pressure," Ginny says, giving me an apologetic look and plopping down on my bed.

"Do all guys do that? I mean, I know being told you're not getting laid isn't the best thing to hear, but I don't know, I was kind of expecting that he'd just be all 'okay,' not demanding an explanation."

"Well you don't owe him anything," Ginny says bracingly. "If you're not ready, you're not ready. That's all there is to it."

"He's probably never going to talk to me again," I mutter, absentmindedly straightening a stack of books.

"Oh come on, you don't know that. I mean yeah, he's acting like a complete asshole right now, but it'll blow over. Don't worry about it."

"How can I NOT worry about it? It's all I can think about. HE'S all I can think about. I feel ridiculous. I'm like a twelve year old. I like him so much I don't even like to admit it to myself."

"Well no matter what, playing hard to get has been a tried and true method for pretty much since women realized that they could outsmart men. Just go around acting like nothing has changed, and give him the cold shoulder. Once he realizes that you're not paying any attention to him, it'll make him want your attention even more, and then it's a whole new Quidditch game," Ginny says.

Sometimes, she's so wise I can't even get over it.

And anyway, it's worth a shot. I couldn't possibly do any worse than I'm doing now.

0000000000

It's a little short, but I figured a shorter installment is better than no installment. I love you all, and please forgive me. Read and review. Doooo it.

-Carrie