Despite Cobbleshot's instructions, Harry had no intention of actually going to bed. The chocolate had done wonders, and he hadn't had a free evening in what felt like ages. He did go to his room and lay down, though, his mind too full of too many things.
His lesson with Cobbleshot had been exhausting but exhilarating. He knew the skill wouldn't solve all his problems if he happened to be captured, but it was nice to have a secret weapon of his own. It would be unexpected, and it certainly seemed to Harry as if it would incapacitate at least one foe. The element of surprise was always useful. Wands and magic were so conventionally inseparable, the term Wandless Magic was practically an oxymoron. Everyone was always concerned about how strong a person's wand was, how compatible it was with its bearer. No one, not even Voldemort, would suspect what he was capable of. It gave Harry hope. Not mountains of it but enough, as if that was one thing he could now stop worrying so obsessively over.
There were others, however. Harry chewed his bottom lip, then reached into his pocket to withdraw the note he'd received the day before, re-reading it for the hundredth time.
'Tomorrow night. Just us. Bring the bondage straps.'
Bring the bondage straps. Harry shivered. He knew it was a joke. At least, he hoped it was a joke. But it didn't make him feel like laughing. Far, far from it. Harry closed his eyes, debating. (Well, he did a bit of fantasising, too, but mostly it was debating.) Tonight. Eric Conners would be waiting for him in the alcove tonight. Harry was nervous. He told himself that he shouldn't be, that this was what he'd been wanting to happen, but he couldn't help it. If he accepted this invitation, he'd finally know once and for all, wouldn't he? He'd know if it was just Remus or if he really was attracted to boys in general.
Harry worried the note he still held. He read it again. He would know, wouldn't he? Something would seem wrong or gross or something. And what if it didn't? What would that mean?
But there had been Cho, and Harry was certain he'd liked Cho, and not just for her personality. He hadn't really known her, he'd just seen her and had wanted to kiss her.
At the same time, there was Hermione, and he didn't want to kissher. Inexplicably, he just didn't. Hermione, who was pretty and smart and courageous, who was almost perfect in all the ways that mattered, who knew him better than he knew himself. His Hermione, who...who...
Who was dating Draco Malfoy, and Harry wanted to strangle the bastard for it. Harry would not say he was not jealous. He just wasn't jealous in the right way, and he should be, shouldn't he? The fact that he wasn't surely was proof that he must be gay.
Wasn't it?
Harry groaned and threw an arm over his eyes. He'd never been so confused. Of course, there was one person who could help him make sense of it-who could make sense of anything-but she wasn't speaking to him.
Harry sat up in bed, still debating, but this time over something else.
Though Draco had surely been doing his best to keep them apart, Harry thought he could tell Hermione wasn't happy with the distance that had developed between them. She'd been withdrawn after confessing her feelings, but he felt certain she would have come to him after he'd caught her with Draco the first time if he hadn't indicated that she shouldn't. She'd startedto come to him after the thing with Remus. The point was, Hermione had tried, and maybe it was time for Harry to try, too.
He made his way to the Common Room but did not find her. Harry waited around on the sofa for nearly an hour, thinking he'd catch her on her way through, but he saw no sign of her. Finally, Harry petitioned a random girl to go upstairs and see if she was in her dorm room, and if she was to please fetch Hermione for him. It was a lot to ask of a practical stranger and he thought, belatedly, of trying to bribe the girl somehow, but he had nothing of value handy. Luckily, she acted as if there was nothing else in the world she'd rather do, and Harry eyed her closely as she went, hoping she hadn't been the author of one of his pink notes. If so, there was no telling if Harry's message would be delivered accurately.
But she'd already gone up, and there was nothing he could do about it at that point. She was gone for a long while, actually, so Harry sat back down on the sofa and picked up the new Quibbler. He was becoming rather addicted to it. If nothing else, there was the Continuing Saga of Ol' Shotty to follow. Harry flipped straight to the back. Sure enough, there was an ad telling his Last and Most Fervent Hope that a mutual friend would be depositing a gift on her doorstep soon.
'I hope you know how to use it.'
Shotty sure liked things to be complicated, Harry thought. He would have just gone with flowers and chocolates. There were only so many ways to use those gifts.
Just as Harry was contemplating what kind of difficult-to-use gift was being left (Something Muggle-made, perhaps?), the Random Girl returned with Hermione in tow, and Harry stood to meet them when they came down the stairs. His go-between slipped to the side to give them some privacy but did not back far enough away to actually provide any. Harry tried not to scowl at her. She had helped him, after all.
Hermione hesitated on the last step, and they regarded one another awkwardly.
"Hello, Hermione," he said, nervous for some reason.
She smiled, but it was small and perfunctory. "Harry," she replied. He could hear the uncertainty in her voice but also the hope. However, neither seemed to know where to start. The silence between them started to turn embarrassing, and the audience in the Common Room was far too large and attentive for Harry's liking.
"Do you, perhaps, want to...?" he asked, jabbing a thumb in the direction of the Portrait Hole.
She hesitated but then nodded. "Yeah, okay. Sure," she said softly, as aware of all the prying eyes as he was.
Harry led the way and they strolled slowly down the corridor not too far from Gryffindor. Curfew would be coming soon, and Harry suspected she had plans of her own. That thought didn't help make their reconciliation any easier. Their outing had the stiff and uncomfortable air of a first date with someone you weren't sure you should have asked out in the first place. The distance between them at Grimmauld Place was nothing compared to this, and he kicked himself that he had allowed things to become so difficult.
It was Hermione, eventually, who broke the silence. "Harry," she ventured, eyeing the ever-present cardigan. "Where's Remus?"
Of course, that would be her first line of inquiry. The wound was still too raw and he spoke before thinking. "How's Draco? "
Pain pinched her expression, and he instantly felt like an arse. He shook his head as if chastising himself. "I'm sorry, Hermione," he said. This was not why he'd dragged her out of her room.
She studied him for a long while before apparently deciding that he'd meant it. She relaxed a bit, accepting his apology with a nod and waiting for him to work up the nerve to answer her question.
It took him a moment.
"Remus is..."
Harry bowed his head. Gods, he'd been gone a week. It felt like an eternity to Harry, and still he had trouble saying it out loud.
"Remus is gone," he said in a broken whisper.
Hermione took a step closer as if she wanted to comfort him, and her face broke into the very picture of sympathy. "Oh, Harry," she sighed, fearful. "Did you...?"
Harry puffed out a short, joyless laugh. He tried to smile but failed spectacularly. It amazed him that he still had tears left for this. He examined the ceiling, knowing she'd see them anyway but willing them to subside. "You know me, Hermione," he said wryly. But he couldn't keep up the act, and his expression crumpled lightly.
She lay a hand on his arm. Then, deciding that wouldn't suffice, she pulled him into a hug which Harry returned. It felt like such a long time since he'd last talked her. He'd meant what he'd said to Remus. Harry needed Hermione and was only just realising how much in that moment. He couldn't seem to let her go.
"I've missed you, Hermione," he sobbed softly into her hair.
"I've missed you, too," she whispered back. They hugged each other for a long while, and when they pulled back, both their cheeks were wet. Finally, they smiled at one another, and it was easy and natural again; and very long overdue. Even though they no longer embraced, neither was willing to let go of the other's hands.
"So," Harry sniffed, trying to regain his composure, "how is it going? With..." Harry could hardly bring himself to say his name.
"Okay, actually," she nodded as if amazed by it herself. "We don't do much other than talk." It wasn't a confession or an excuse. She didn't have to justify herself to Harry and wasn't looking for his approval. "It's all I'm ready for, really," she explained, "and he respects that."
Hearing that Draco respected Hermione made Harry feel as though he'd stepped into some alternate dimension, but he was sincerely happy for her. Not about the situation, but for her. She didn't seem haunted at all anymore. "Good," he said, trying to convince himself he meant it. "That's good, Hermione. I'm glad."
Hermione fixed him with a look. "Harry," she said, intuitive as ever. "You didn't bring me out here to talk about Draco."
He gave a small, self-deprecating laugh. She knew him too well. "Listen," he said, releasing her hands and nervously running one of his own through his hair. "I know I don't have any right to talk to you about this. I don't know if you still feel..."
No. Wrong approach.
"It's just that I've no one else to talk to, Hermione," he explained, changing tact, "and I know it looks as if I'm just trying to be your friend when it's convenient..."
She started to object, but he continued before he could lose his nerve.
"...But I've hated that we haven't been talking. I want to give you your space, if you need it-"
She took his hand to quiet him. "Harry. It's okay," she assured him, giving it a firm squeeze. "Really, it is. I understand. And I can tell something is on your mind." She ducked her head to catch his eye which was cast sheepishly to the floor between them. "You know you can talk to me about anything."
He let out a grateful sigh though still sneered at his audacity. He didn't let go of her hand. "I know I can, Hermione. I just don't know if I should."
"Harry, what is it?" she asked, sounding increasingly troubled.
He looked up through his fringe at her open expression, searching for any sign that what he was about to say might hurt her. He took a deep breath, blowing it out slowly. "It's just that I might have a date tonight," he said, trying to judge her reaction. Harry wasn't sure whether or not he was relieved when she gave none. "With a bloke," he added with a wince.
"Why, Harry," she exclaimed quietly, "Why, that's good. I mean..." Her cheeks coloured. "I just thought you were about to tell me something awful had happened," she laughed, sounding relieved. "Well? Who is he?"
Even though she was being supportive, he still blushed from ear to ear. "No one you're likely to know," he dodged, "just someone from Hufflepuff. It's not serious or anything." It was absolutely the furthest thing from serious. Honestly, he didn't know himself what it was. Harry sighed. "I'm just not sure that I'll go. I mean, I haven't decided yet if I should," he confessed.
"Go on," she urged, "What is it?"
He swallowed nervously. "I'm confused, Hermione. I'd never really noticed boys before, and now I'm meant to go and snog one?" He felt his face burn. "I don't understand it. I don't understand how I can be so infatuated with Cho Chang and then suddenly... Well, how in hell is it that I like Remus and Eric if I...?" He wasn't even sure he was making sense. He couldn't seem to finish any of this thoughts. He hadn't worked any of them out sufficiently to manage it. "And with Cho, if I can like Cho that way then why can't I make myself… I mean, why can't you and I..."
He broke off, looking at her apologetically. The rest of that thought was simply too painful, and Harry shouldn't have even started it. He groaned and released her hand to rub his eyes. He was such a cock up.
Hermione didn't seem to be bothered, though. She merely shook her head at him as if he was being daft. Harry couldn't help but break into a weak smile. He'd missed that look.
"Harry, you don't have to choose, you know. And I'm not saying that just because I hope you...well...you know." She blushed again but ignored it and carried on. "It's not either-or," she explained more confidently. "It's okay to like whatever you like. Whoever you like. You're not required to register a preference or anything. You can like Cho and this Eric person. And as for us..." She shook her head sadly, but there was no pain in her expression. "As for us, Harry, we're just good friends. Perhaps we're simply too good of friends to be anything else. But, you know? We will always be good friends," she said, catching his eye again and making sure he understood.
He nodded, a little overcome, and pulled her into another grateful hug. "Thank you, Hermione," he said, allowing himself to smile, to finally forgive himself for not returning her attraction, as it seemed she'd forgiven him a while ago, and he hadn't bothered to notice. Noticing was her strong suit, not his, and it was no wonder he'd been a screw-up this whole while they hadn't been talking.
"Hey," he said, feeling playful again for the first time in a long while. "How is it you know everything, again?"
She laughed at that. It was light and easy and good for Harry's soul. "I actually use my faculties the way they were intended," she said matter-of-factly, though through a smile, rapping her knuckles lightly on the top of his head, "unlike some silly boys I know. Now. Don't you have a date to be getting ready for?" she asked, raising her eyebrows. There was nothing for it. Now that he'd mentioned it, there was no way she'd let him back out. "Just be sure not to wear those hideous trousers again that Mrs. Weasley picked up," she grimaced. "I swear, I told her they were a terrible idea, but she said she couldn't get her money back for them."
Harry cracked up at that. "He's requested them, actually!" he grinned.
Hermione looked horrified. "You aren't actually going to wear them, though?"
Harry refused to admit he really had considered it. "No," he said with a shudder. "In fact, they may find themselves in the rubbish bin tonight. But you could help me pick something," he proposed hopefully, unsure if he'd taken things too far.
She grinned at him and took his arm like she used to, leading him back to the Common Room. "Come on, Cinderella. Let's get you ready for the ball."
"Really, Hermione. I haven't even snogged the guy. I don't think I'm quite ready for drag."
She batted at his arm. "Oh, stop pretending you don't know what I mean," she chided. "I'm making sure you look presentable. We both know if I leave it to you, you'll just close your eyes and hope what you fish out of your trunk isn't as horrid as that outfit you wore last week. Half the Tower is still talking about it."
"That wasn't my doing," he said defensively. "Snape threw random clothes at me and made me put them on."
Hermione gave him a sideways look, perhaps wondering why Snape was forcing clothes on Harry, but she bit her tongue. Harry didn't have it in him to explain properly. It was too nice having Hermione back, and he decided he'd best just stop talking before he made things weird again.
Harry made his way to the alcove later that night feeling like his world had righted itself by at least a few degrees. He was far too sharply dressed for whatever this was he was walking into, but playing dress up with Hermione had been fun. She'd groaned at most of his suggestions and lamented that some boys would wear anything halfway clean and only partially wrinkled. Then she took it upon herself to deck him in Autumnal colours (as she called them), which she claimed complimented his complexion. He just took her word for it and put on whatever she laid out for him.
He had to admit, he did look nice. If not for Hermione he'd have come wearing a worn out t-shirt or something. But perhaps that would have been for the best. He didn't want Eric to think he was taking this too seriously. This was The Alcove. Whatever it was, it was casual. He hadn't even been, but he understood that much. Though somehow, knowing he looked nice gave him the confidence he needed to see this through.
At least, he thought it did, for at least most of the way there, but the closer he got, the more anxious he became. Eric had said it would just be the two of them, but Harry'd left the Map behind. He hadn't wanted to explain it if the boy accidentally discovered it. And Harry hoped Eric would be sure to investigate anywhere he might have stowed it. Harry felt his face burn at the thought, and for a moment he panicked.
Just what in hell did he think he was doing, really? Was he actually about to tuck in behind a curtain with a boy he'd never even spoken with?
Harry vacillated. Why did he even need to prove this to himself? So what if he was gay or wasn't gay or whatever? It wasn't as if he didn't have more important things to worry about. And it wasn't as if he was pent up to the point of distraction. He'd been taking care of that just fine on his own for a little while now. In fact, he was almost surprised the thing still functioned, he'd given it such a work out these past several days.
But he was curious. Harry thought of Eric again, with his full hair and blue eyes. He remembered the way he'd sized Harry up in the Great Hall and the expression on his face when he'd first met Harry in the corridor. Harry recalled quite clearly what he'd overheard just before then. Abruptly, Harry's pulse quickened, along with his pace, but he only made it as far as the next corridor over before he stopped again. He knew what kind of trouble his impulsiveness got him into. He also knew he never held out against it for long.
Harry finished the trek at a crawl, warring with himself all the way. Maybe Eric wouldn't even be there, he worried. Maybe he'd changed his mind. Maybe it was a prank. Wouldn't that be just his luck?
But no. Harry'd watched the nook for a week. No one who frequented would admit to having seen him there. That was the whole point of it.
Harry knew he was making excuses. Nonetheless, he found himself standing outside the wall-hanging, bunching his jumper in his fists, still trying to decide whether to go in or to make himself known or...whatever they did. He didn't even know the protocol.
He had just determined to give the whole venture up, to just go back to Gryffindor and spin some sappy hand-holding story for Hermione, when a hand appeared. It shot out from inside and grasped Harry by the wrist, yanking him through the wall hanging whether he had decided he really wanted to be there or not.
Harry suddenly found himself face to face with a handsome, very chuffed-looking Hufflepuff. He swallowed hard.
Eric seemed to have decided the whole of the alcove consisted of the two square feet they now shared. Harry wasn't exactly comfortable with such instant intimacy, but he held his ground. He couldn't quite wipe the terrified look from his face, though, and Eric laughed softly at him though not mockingly. Amusement and lust were written equally at the corners of the boy's mouth. Harry couldn't look away.
"So, I was right," Eric said, not bothering to hide the way he was admiring Harry's mouth as well. "Shy, but not too shy."
Harry gulped and didn't reply, but his mouth may have fallen open slightly. He was intensely aware that Eric had not released his hand and that the boy's own was now sliding slowly up Harry's arm. It made breathing difficult.
"You showed up a bit too late last time. I kept waiting for you to come back," Eric pouted prettily, "but you never did." The words were low and spoken so close to Harry's face they made soft puffs of breath that teased Harry's lips, making him dizzy. The boy was just so close, and the heat coming off of him was fogging Harry's brain like a car window on a cool morning. "Harry Fucking Potter," Eric whispered smugly, running a finger lazily along Harry's jawline, causing him to gasp. "Who would have thought it?"
He moved a smidgen closer, almost nuzzling Harry's cheek as he spoke softly to him. Everything the boy did and everything about him seemed to be soft, from the thick, dark blond fringe of his lashes to his well-formed lips which appeared to be seeking Harry's own, though their owner kept them in check...for now.
"Oh, you have no idea how many girls are going to be pissed when they find out," Eric grinned.
The comment helped snap Harry back to reality. He was suddenly consternated and moved back as far as the seat behind his knees would allow him. Which was perhaps half an inch. "I'm not...I mean, I don't..."
"Oh, don't worry, Ducky," Eric said with a sultry laugh, "they won't hear it from me."
He sighed longingly but finally took mercy on him. Eric released Harry's arm and backed up to lounge on the half-circle couch that ran along the inside of the alcove. Harry's lungs took the opportunity to properly fill themselves. Several times. Harry was out of his element. And they both knew it.
"Rules of the Nook, as it were: No kiss and tell. No sharing the location unless you're sure. There were more of us last year," the boy shrugged with a sigh, "but what are you going to do?"
Harry nodded wordlessly. Those terms sounded just fine to him.
"By the way, who told you about the alcove?" Eric asked. He eyed Harry curiously, then hungrily, actually licking his lips. "I asked all the others, but no one will fess up."
Harry cleared his throat. "No one," he admitted quietly, shaking his head. "No one told me."
Eric obviously didn't believe him. "Just a happy accident, then?" he asked sceptically.
Harry scowled. "Perhaps."
Everything about Eric's posture spoke of invitation, and though Harry's own body was telling him to go ahead and accept it already, he was starting to have second thoughts. He began to feel as if he really had no business being there. If he were honest with himself, the only reason he was there was because he couldn't be with who he really wanted. Harry felt a bit guilty, as if he were cheating on Remus. Which was absurd but didn't change the way he felt. He lifted a hand to stroke his cardigan only to realise he hadn't worn it.
"I was visiting a friend," Harry explained, swallowing back that pain and locking it away. "I just happened to be passing outside in the corridor when you..." Harry looked away and hugged the backs of his arms, hoping it was too dark for the other boy to see his deep blush.
Eric's eyebrows rose. "Well. Lucky me," he said, leaning forward to coax one of Harry's hands free and urge him to have a seat beside him.
Though the touch thrilled him, Harry did so hesitantly. He didn't quite understand himself. When he'd gone to Remus that night, he had been determination personified. Now, he felt like he was in some unimaginative porno, playing the role of the shy schoolgirl in over her head. And if Harry was the prey, Eric was definitely the predator. He didn't waste any time moving in for the kill.
Harry leaned back slightly and placed his fingertips on Eric's chest, stilling him. He needed a second to think, to remember why he'd come and decide if he really wanted to stay. But he was rather distracted by the observation that Eric wasn't all soft. Not at all. The chest beneath Harry's fingers was firm and well-shaped.
He took a moment to just look at the boy. Nothing about him reminded Harry of Remus. Not even their hair, which were two very different shades of blond. Eric's gently questioning eyes were large and darkened by desire, his lips were full and his nose delicate. No, nothing like Remus. Remus had been far more rugged. Eric didn't look feminine but was definitely at the gentler end of the masculine spectrum.
It was his jaw, Harry decided. It was too strong for a girl, and his neck was more substantial. And satisfyingly, Harry realised both looked delicious to him. It all did, really. Something about the subtle androgyny was unbelievably tempting, but there was nothing fragile about Eric. This was undeniably a boy, and Harry was undeniably aroused.
So that answered that question. The next was whether he was going to do anything about it.
"Look. I've never..." Harry willed away his blush. "I mean, this is all kind of new to me," he admitted, his voice quavering.
"Ah," Eric said, his eyes lighting up as if Christmas had come early. "So, that's it." The boy's grin both unsettled Harry and made his breath catch in his throat. "Very lucky me, then. Don't fret, Ducky. I'll be gentle," he teased, leaning in again.
Harry allowed it this time, his eyes fluttering almost to a close. "Well," he whispered just before their lips met, "you don't have to go that far."
Eric paused for a fraction of a second, his eyes dancing with delight, and then they were kissing. And, oh! It was surprising. Eric's lips were full but strong. Harry couldn't suppress an almost immediate whimper.
He also couldn't help comparing it with his last kiss. Eric wasn't nearly as talented as Remus had been, but he was definitely practised, even if Harry felt he was trying a bit too hard to impress. It was far from disappointing, though. Harry knew he was woefully inexperienced himself, but it didn't matter. Harry wasn't timid, and he was a fast learner.
They opened to one another, tongued tangled. It was heady and sublime, and before long, Harry found his hands had a mind of their own. One slipped itself beneath Eric's shirt, just grasping the boy's hip at first as if to ground Harry while he lost himself in the kiss. He'd not gotten to do this with Remus. He'd been so close, but he hadn't actually laid his hand on Remus' bare skin. He'd dreamed of it since, wondered now if it would have felt the same. Then their kiss deepened, and Harry's hand was skimming the length of Eric's torso, loving the flatness of it, the firmness. He slid it up the boy's back, grasping at his shoulder while his other hand finally searched out what it'd been longing for all week.
Eric's hair was stacked short in the back, but where it was longer, there seemed no end of it. It was so thick Harry could scarcely weave his fingers through it, but weave them he did. It was almost downy underneath, and it reminded Harry of something. It reminded him of…
Fur.
Dense Wolf-fur.
Harry quivered, taking as much of it in his hand as he could, and he felt Eric's pleasantly surprised groan against his tongue.
And gods, introducing vibration to kissing was the most brilliant thing Harry could think of. He wanted Eric to moan again and tightened his grip. Then again, more roughly, until the boy finally pulled back, breaking their kiss to drink in Harry's fierce, heavy-lidded expression.
"Not so inexperienced as you let on, then?" he panted, raising an eyebrow. "But slow down a bit, Duck. There's no hurry."
Harry considered this for a half a moment but quickly shook his head. "Next time," he muttered, already lunging again for the boy's lips.
Eric drew back, just out of reach, and his grin turned wicked. The time for nicety seemed to be over, and Harry's stomach did a small flip. Eric snaked a hand around to press against the small of Harry's back beneath his jumper, pulling him closer as he attacked Harry's mouth in earnest.
Now this, this was more like the kiss he and Remus had shared. Deep and insistent and urgent. Eric caught Harry's bottom lip in his teeth and Harry moaned.
"I knew you wouldn't be a quiet one," Eric whispered huskily against the corner of Harry's mouth. Harry responded by quickly removing his hand from Eric's shirt (Not his hair.Gods, not his hair) and whipping out his wand to mutter a quick sound-dampening spell on the chamber, his eyes never leaving the boy's mouth as he did so.
Eric seemed impressed. "Useful that."
Harry rather wished the boy would stop talking. It kept distracting him from imagining who he really wanted.
"It comes in handy," Harry replied breathlessly, already considering where to next sample the skin in front of him, "I like my privacy." Before the sentence had fully passed Harry's lips, they were pressed to other boy's neck, tasting the light film of sweat there. Eric clung to him and pushed at him at the same time, gasping. It was spectacular and almost combative, and Harry felt like growling, like pinning this beautiful boy beneath him and testing every inch of him with his teeth.
Was it meant to do that? Harry wondered vaguely as Eric shifted his hips so that the planes of their bodies better aligned while they kissed. Was this exercise supposed to be so savage? He remembered the look on Remus' face when he'd touched Harry that night, the feral snarl on his lips, and then Harry really did growl.
Eric shivered. He responded by sinking both of his hands inside Harry's jumper and carefully raking his nails like claws across Harry's ribs. Harry threw his head back with a voiceless cry, the sensation making his whole body twitch. His chest heaved, and he looked back down at the boy, slightly surprised by the intensity of his reaction.
"You told me not to be gentle," Eric said with a coy shrug. Then, instead of reaching his face up to kiss him again, Eric pressed Harry roughly against the back of the couch and straddled his legs. Harry's hands instinctively settled on the boy's hips, but the sudden change of position overwhelmed him. For all his thoughts of pinning and biting, Harry realised he was completely at Eric's mercy.
The bold Hufflepuff ran his hands firmly up Harry's torso, pulling up his shirt as he did so to reveal Harry's chest to the cool air of the alcove. It was a shock to his senses, but before Harry could properly process it over the delicious additional sensation of hands against skin, Eric's head dipped.
Harry thought he might have seen stars when warm breath struck his nipple moments before hot, wet lips wrapped themselves around it. He cried aloud this time, clutching at the back of Eric's head to ensure he didn't stop whatever miraculous thing he was presently doing. With his mouth was occupied elsewhere, one of Eric's hands moved cautiously lower, toward the snap on Harry's jeans.
For the first time since they began, Harry felt apprehensive. Part of him screamed that this was not for this stranger to take. It belonged to someone else, even if that someone did not want it.
He stilled Eric's hand with his own and wet his lips, flustered, his voice trembling. "Eric, I-"
Eric's lips removed themselves from Harry's chest with a smack and his head popped up. "So, you do know my name," the boy said, grinning. The comment had been so unexpected that Harry couldn't reply. Eric didn't remove his hand, but he didn't move to continue. He left it where it was while he bent down to whisper in Harry's ear, "Trust me, Harry."
The sound of his name spoken in such a sensual voice, and the sensation of breath against the sensitive part of his neck just below his earlobe, caused Harry to twitch, but this time it was localised to beneath the tight denim under Eric's waiting hand, and the other boy knew he'd won. He didn't rush it, though. It was as if he understood better than Harry did how important this first time really was. He kissed Harry more gently now, cajolingly, as he carefully undid Harry's jeans. Harry's hands finally fell away, granting the boy permission while he panted against Eric's lightly caressing lips.
His head fell back against the wall, eyes closed and breath held, when Eric gingerly fished him from his pants. Gods. It was the first time he'd ever been touched by someone else and it was so different-so much better-than he'd imagined it would be. Harry knew he wouldn't last long, and he was preemptively humiliated.
But Eric seemed to know a thing or two about this exercise. His touch was slow and thorough, drawing a moan from Harry instead of climax. While Harry concentrated on each luxurious stroke, remembering a similar fantasy involving a different set of careful fingers, Eric concentrated on Harry's expression. He gently took Harry's hand and pressed it to his own erection. Harry did his best to reciprocate, firmly petting the fabric-covered bulge as Eric pressed into his touch.
Hand shaking, Harry unfastened the top button of Eric's trousers, but then he hesitated. "I don't know how," he confessed.
"Don't worry," Eric said patiently despite that he was panting heavily himself now. "I'll show you." He liberated himself from his pants and guided Harry's hand, moaning sweetly when Harry's fingers closed around his prick.
It was different from Harry's, longer but more slender. Touching it felt somehow alien and familiar at the same time. Eric laid his own hand over Harry's and led him, showing Harry where and when to apply pressure and how much. It wasn't the same as doing it to oneself. There was much more finesse required, and somehow Eric applied that finesse to them both at the same time.
"You're doing so well," he encouraged Harry with a barely-suppressed moan. "That's it, right there. Just a little twist and, oh! " The sound of Eric's pleasure made Harry's spike, and he involuntarily thrust up into the boy's fist.
"Good! Now you're getting it," Eric said, rocking his hips. He released Harry's hand to lose himself in the sensation, tossing his head back and exposing that gleaming golden throat in all its glory. Harry couldn't resist hooking it with his free hand and bringing it to his lips. He wasn't able to focus on doing anything particularly intricate there, he only wanted to taste it. Eric mewled and bucked under Harry's hand.
And so it continued, back and forth, until they were both writhing-their movements more frantic than artful-and Harry simply couldn't any longer. His hand stilled, and he threw his head back, replacing the name that wanted to escape his lips with a subdued cry as he came over Eric's fingers.
"Oh, gods, Harry. Your face," the boy groaned, knocking Harry's now mostly-useless hand away to take over, bringing himself quickly to a finish. Harry could feel Eric's body shudder atop him while he came, and Harry's residual sensitivity made his own body respond in kind. All of Eric's bones seemed to disappear at once, and he melted into Harry. Both of them were breathless. Spent and sticky. Eric cast a scouring spell with a rubbery arm then went back to curling against Harry's chest.
"Mm. I could get used to this," he purred into Harry's neck, giving it a quick swipe with his tongue.
Harry shuddered again, amusing the boy in his lap. Harry'd never been so sensitive or so sated. He imagined he could get used to this kind of thing himself. He had no romantic feelings toward Eric, but the experience had had the tang of addiction. He could certainly do this again, and so much more besides. Harry slid an arm around the quivering Hufflepuff and slipped the tips of his fingers into the waistband at the back of Eric's trousers, causing him to squeak.
"Not tonight, Ducky," he rasped through a contented smile, "Maybe next time." But Harry hadn't had anything in mind besides feeling more smooth skin, besides investigating the unfamiliar shape of a warm, pliant body other than his own.
Eric reluctantly drew himself up, giving Harry one last luscious kiss before crawling off him. They both went about tucking themselves back in and adjusting things in preparation to leave. Harry felt as if he should be feeling something more than this milky afterglow. Something like shame, or embarrassment, but there was none.
Okay, perhaps there was a bit of guilt. But Remus had cast him away. Remus wouldn't have him. Harry couldn't save himself forever for a man he wasn't sure would ever…
Harry pushed those thoughts from his mind. He wouldn't waste this sense of peace. Though, far below it, quiet for the time being but newly born, was an appetite he'd never known before. One that would have to be fed again eventually.
"Tomorrow?" Eric asked hopefully, rising from the couch.
"Maybe," Harry said distractedly. He didn't like committing to anything. He was still processing this revelation and what had just happened.
Eric smirked. "You don't happen to have any headache potion, do you?" he asked, almost as if it were an afterthought. Harry looked at him quizzically. "It's just that, in a pinch, it makes great lube."
Harry's mouth fell open, but Eric just smiled at him smugly and drew back the curtain to go. "You might want to visit Madam Pomfrey in the morning," Eric suggested meaningfully. "I'll see you tomorrow, Harry," he said confidently with a small wink, and then he was gone, leaving Harry alone to gather whatever was left of his thoughts.