The potions classroom.

His lips sinking into her collar bone.

Her hand gripping red hair.

'Violet' his voice said. 'Violet, Violet, Violet, Violet.'

"Violet," Sadie yelled, startling her awake. "Turn off your bloody alarm."

"Sorry, sorry," she said back, rolling over to turn off the clock, ignoring the ache between her legs from the lewd images in her dream.

She quietly stood up and got ready for the day, making sure not to rouse the beast still asleep in her roommates bed. She haphazardly threw on her uniform, looking into the mirror to straighten out her skirt and sweater more than usual, telling herself that it wasn't because of the man who plagued her dreams. Her hair elastic was nowhere to be found this morning so she tucked her chin-length bangs behind her ears and let her long wavy hair hang past her shoulders and down her back, glancing in the mirror a final time before rushing off to potions.

George wasn't there yet so she opened her textbook and shook out the recipe for polyjuice potion that she'd scribbled onto some parchment last night. She was nervous to run her plan for the complex potion by him and hoped he wouldn't take her idea the wrong way. After their moment at this very desk a few days ago, she doubted that there was anything she could do to steer their relationship back to friendlier shores, but she was going to try, regardless. It would take some maneuvering, and possibly require her to put her foot down but it was for the best. Regardless of this decision, a little voice in the back of her head whispered discouraging sentiments. George had a habit of not listening to her, what made her think this would be any different? She'd said that they should keep things professional and yet he pounced at every chance he got close to her. She couldn't tell if the intimate nature of his movements was to make her uncomfortable, to get what he wanted, or something else…something worse. The voice made her focus on the last option, imagining what would happen if she confronted him about needing some space. Her mind flooded her with visuals of the conversation where George would ignore all of it and ravish her deliciously to get her to shut up. The thought poisoned her mind and her focus on the potion recipe in front of her waned. She was so focused on steering herself back to safety, that she didn't hear George come up behind her.

"Your hair is long," he said, sliding into the chair next to her, making her jump.

"Godric, you need to stop scaring me like that," she hissed breathlessly, thankful he couldn't read minds. "What did you say?"

He smiled and shook his head at her instantaneous irritation. "I said, your hair is long."

"And?" She responded, shooting him an annoyed look. "So is yours, if you haven't noticed."

"Geez Vi, who pissed in your pumpkin juice this morning?"

"Nobody," she snapped. "I'm actually in a great mood today."

"Could've fooled me," he teased.

She glared at him, unsure of what his problem was with her initial response.

"You're right, I'm sorry for being rude. Thank you ever so much for commenting on the length of my hair. It was incredibly thoughtful of you to finally notice after seeing me nearly every day for the past month."

"That's more like it," he said with an approving, smug smile.

"You're insufferable."

"What? Am I not being sweet enough for you?"

Her eyes widened in surprise. What a git. He was making fun of her.

"What did you just say?" she hissed angrily.

His smile widened and she saw something drift over his satisfied expression. If she was less attuned to his facial expressions, it could've been mistaken for anger, but it was something different. His stare was always intense but today, he was boring into her head as if he was trying to memorize every variation of color in her eyes. A shiver went down her spine as she watched his iris's flush, turning his mischievous eyes, black.

"I said, am I not being sweet enough for you, Violet," he questioned slowly, barely moving his mouth.

His question delicately dribbled from his lips and poured into the space between them. She cocked an eyebrow in distrust but it seemed to egg him on. He was riling her up, that much was clear but she couldn't tell why. He'd chosen to bring up a rather intimate and sweet moment between them and twist it into something to taunt her with. Surely she was mistaken to think that the animalistic expression on his face was anything other than anger because, despite his crooked smile, he looked positively livid.

"You're being a prick," she stammered. "Save it for later because I have something important to talk to you about."

"Is it about whether or not you should get a haircut," he asked, faking a thoughtful look.

"Will you cut it out, it's urgent and you need to know today or —"

"Because personally, I like it the way it is," he dipped his chin with the last word and leaned in a little closer so that just she could hear his quiet words. She studied his face wordlessly trying to make sense of the mood he was in.

"George, —"

"But then again, short might be a good change of pace," he whispered. "You should let me do it. I'm very gifted with my — "

"Will you shut up about my hair, I have to tell you — "

Snape slammed the classroom door and cut off her next wave of anger directed at the overly confident redhead who was clearly relishing in his ability to get under her skin.

Their professor continued last week's lesson on the Cure for Boils and other medicinal potions but no amount of interesting ingredient factoids or monotonous lecturing could quell her simmering anger and nerves. He kept a smug smile glued to his lips as he watched Snape as if he could feel her anger marinating in her mind. She knew she shouldn't let him rile her up that easily but she'd let her guard down and grown more accustomed to the sweet George, and less keen on whatever version of him sitting next to her now.

She glanced over at him and swore that in the dim lighting, she saw the mask slip. His haughty attitude shifted to a certain kind of sadness for just a moment and with it, her anger waned. His hair covered most of his face in a vibrant curtain but she could see the place where his eyes crinkled when he smiled through the strands. He wasn't smiling, or frowning — just staring at his hands on the desk in some sort of a trance. She noticed the expression as one of a man deep in thought. If she had to wager a guess, she'd predict that he was sorting himself out, internally. It always seemed like he was teetering between so many versions of himself, indecisive about which one he wanted her to see and constantly overthinking where and when to present each of them. He switched back and forth, depending on who was around, and always looked like he was deep in contemplation about what to say next. She couldn't blame him, especially with a reputation like his to maintain, but it was a mystery as to which one was real. Did the real George blush when she called him sweet or was he the one that used her words against her? Did he rile her up in playful banter, or actually want to see her angry? She looked away before he could come out of his trance and felt guilt creep in as she was prone to putting her own thoughts into other people's heads.

After class, Lee pulled George away before she could even get a word out which made her even more frustrated with her inability to get the redhead to listen to her plan and she spent the majority of Ancient Runes and lunch stewing about it. She half hoped to see Fred in the hallway on her walk to the library so that she could relay the plan to him instead and cut George out completely, but he was nowhere to be found. She stood outside the entrance to the moving staircase, in one last attempt but she ran into Hermione instead and decided to abandon her mission to pester the busy witch about polyjuice potion.

"I've made it but it was rather difficult," Hermione said thoughtfully as they walked into the library. "Why do you want to know?"

"It's just one of the only realistic potions that I haven't tried yet," Violet lied. "Does it really take a month?"

"Yes but most of the time is just spent letting it simmer," she answered. "How'd you get the recipe?"

"Snape gave me access to the restricted potion books ages ago and I've had it copied down in the back of a textbook for years," she lied again, hoping that it sounded convincing. "I've just never tried it."

"Oh. Well, you should be able to manage. The worst part was getting all the bloody ingredients though," Hermione said, sitting down at her usual spot, disappearing behind a stack of books. "Do let me know if you end up trying it."

A few hours passed before Hermione said goodbye and let Potter drag her off to Godric only knows where. Despite the loneliness of the corner, Violet remained glued to her homework, only moving for a change of scenery, to sit on the window sill and watch the sunset.

The purple and blue sky reminded her of the black eye she'd had just last week. She focused her vision on her reflection in the glass and searched the last remaining sheen of her bruise. Had it really only been last week? Usually, her days at Hogwarts bled together, only distinguishing themselves by Sadies gossip, which potions she was brewing and holidays, but now, each day seemed to last at least a century. She had done and felt more in this last month than she had in almost her entire time at Hogwarts.

It was nice to have time move a little slower but the whole year stretched far ahead in front of her, meaning there was so much left in store. This felt more daunting than anything, especially because of her discovery that as happy as she could be with George and their strange new friendship, the reverse was true as well. The sadness that she'd felt this morning at George's dismissiveness hadn't moved from her chest and she was having a difficult time deciphering why it was bogging her mood down completely. On her walk back down to her room, it had become impossible to ignore. Even though she'd seen George this morning, a melancholy cloud hung over her head about not getting to speak with him or even see him again all day. She felt silly for missing his attentiveness but was fearful of what might've caused the shift. Maybe Ginny's comment on Saturday had scared him off, or maybe he'd grown bored of her already. She wasn't used to missing anyone besides her family and even then, she went nearly a whole six months without seeing them and never felt too terrible.

The unfamiliar feeling wouldn't go away, even as she tossed and turned in bed, and she wondered what it meant to miss someone whom she saw nearly every day. Before she saw his face, she dreaded it, and then as soon as he was gone, a heavy feeling rippled through her chest as if she was saying goodbye to him for the last time. It was unreasonable, that much she knew, but no matter how much she reassured herself that he would come and find her the next day and make her regret ever missing him, the deep feeling remained. In place of her longing, she opted to reassess the anger that George had spurred this morning. The thought didn't keep her up much longer as the possibility of seeing George's face in her dreams pulled her into a deep sleep.

Violet woke up still angry about George's indifference to her urgent news regarding their next round of product invention and continued to stew on his uninterested attitude throughout Herbology. She flicked the dangerous plant in front of her to feign some interest but its bright red petals did a shit job of getting George off her mind. What bugged her most, she'd decided, is that he knew she needed to speak with him urgently and yet he didn't even bother to find her in the library last night, or at breakfast this morning? For fucks sake, he was so desperate to speak with her last week that he'd sent a letter.

On her walk to lunch, she pulled out a book to hold in front of her face to hide the fact that she was deep in thought and didn't put it down even when she sat at the almost empty Slytherin table. The pages brushed against her forehead, creating a safe house of paper stories and another world that she could delve into as an escape. Deep down, she knew that she was overreacting. She held no claim or ownership of his time and they'd never even hung out outside of the business, or class so there was no reason to be worked up about him not finding time for her. She chanted these sentiments over and over but the sliver of sadness remained because the piece of her that was desperate for self-preservation and fearful of any type of rejection, gnawed at her common sense. She exhaled the insecurities into the pages of her book and forced herself to actually read the words as she ate.

After half a sandwich and a few chapters of escape, her mind had calmed for just a few moments before a booming voice called her name from the entrance. The noise made her jump and she frantically put her book down, praying it wasn't Anastas with some kind of tragic news about Sadie. Craning her neck, she searched for the culprit through the sea of the lunch rush until she saw Fred and George barreling towards her with excited looks on their faces. She made direct eye contact with George's upbeat face and felt a pang of resentment as his unburdened features, clearly, she'd been the only one stuck wallowing in misery. She closed her book and waited patiently for them to make a beeline for the Gryffindor bench across the aisle from her but they didn't.

Oh no.

She shot a worried look down her table, and then back up at them, shaking her head as they got closer to the seats across from her, showing no signs of slowing down. Hopefully, Ginnys occasional visits to her table hadn't made them think they could sit here too. The youngest Weasley was a bit more inconspicuous, and by far the least hated of the family so she didn't worry about catching too much ridicule for letting her join her. But the twins were another story. There was no way she could be seen with them at her table.

"What are you doing," she hissed as they got close enough to hear her. "You can't sit here."

"Why," Fred teased, ignoring her and taking a seat across from her anyway. "Are you waiting for your boyfriend?"

"Oi what are you talking about Freddie, Snape's already sitting at the head table," George responded with a shit-eating grin, scooting in next to him.

She was sure she would've killed them both if her glare could've actually shot daggers. He'd been right yesterday, she thought, he wasn't being sweet enough for her liking, in fact, he was being rather mean.

"I'm being serious, you need to get up now."

"Calm down Wilkes," Fred said with fake concern. "You sat at our table just fine didn't you?"

"That's different and you know it. No one cares if you hang out with me, but I'll never hear the end of it if Malfoy or anyone else sees that I let you sit here."

"Violet," George said quietly.

Uncaring for his suddenly soft demeanor she hissed back, "Get up now."

"Are you really that embarrassed by us," George asked, a little more seriously.

"No that's not it, I just don't want to give them another reason to talk about me," she hissed.

She could feel herself failing miserably at hiding the anger boiling over in her chest. Why couldn't he just listen, for once?

"Another reason? What are you talking about?" George challenged, the darkness passing over his face with a serious glare.

"It doesn't matter, just go!"

George was now looking very peeved and even more stubborn than before, despite Fred's increasingly concerned demeanor.

"No," George hissed. "I thought you had something to tell us?"

"I tried to tell you yesterday but you wouldn't listen, so I'm sure you'll have no problem waiting a little longer!"

"Well, I'm here now so just spit it out!" She saw Fred from the corner of her eye glance to the Gryffindor table where Ginny was staring at them intently with a worried expression on her face. Great. Now she would think Violet was embarrassed by her too. George's stubbornness was really starting to piss her off.

"I'm not doing this here. Just move!"

"Stop being so bloody difficult, we don't want to be at the Slytherin table any more than you want us to be," George spat.

"Then go!"

"No!"

"Fine, you prick. Then I'll go and you can leave me the fuck alone."

And with that, she ripped her bag from the seat next to her and ran out the door and towards the library, trying to avoid eye contact with the few Slytherins she passed along the way.

She managed to make it to her chair and hide her face behind her knees before the frustrated tears started falling. How did their discourse dissolve so quickly? She cursed herself for overthinking everything that George did but she just couldn't help it. If she'd just kept her cool and got up as soon as they sat down, she could've avoided this mess. On the other hand, if George had just listened to her in potions yesterday, she wouldn't have even been angry in the first place. She didn't know who to blame but it didn't matter because now she'd made a great dumb mountain out of a molehill.

Was she always so angry or did he just know how to infuriate her quickly? His carefree, fun, joking attitude is what she hated about him a year ago, loved about him last week, and then hated again today and it was too confusing. The woman she was last year would've laughed in her face for crying over a boy being mean to her and she couldn't shake the voice in the back of her head telling her to suck it up. She tried desperately to listen, and suck the tears back up into her head but they came hot and fast until she heard footsteps barreling down the center aisle. She turned towards the windows so that whoever it was wouldn't be able to watch her wipe away her tears and prayed it wasn't Hermione.

"Violet," a familiar voice said as the footsteps stopped.

Even worse.

She glanced up and watched George stumble over to her and sit down on the ottoman wordlessly, still wearing the upset expression from a few minutes ago. She stared back and furrowed her brow at his infuriating silence and air of superiority. Was he waiting for her to apologize? There was a tiny bit of concern in his expression, but she could tell he wasn't in the mood to back down, and that was enough for her to erupt.

"You're an annoying, smug, arse, you know that?" she spat, just quiet enough for the rest of the library to remain undisturbed. Her tears quickly came to a halt as her pride overwhelmed any sadness left.

George looked taken aback but rage returned to his face as he registered her words. He looked the same as he did when she'd successfully cast the counter charm during their first conversation on the train. This time, it was nowhere near as satisfying.

"And you're an uptight, angry, swot," he hissed back, leaning forward to get in her face.

Worried that someone might walk by due to the noise, she stood up and grabbed him by the arm to drag him to a small space behind the back bookcase and a few large stacks of books, effectively concealing them from view.

"I am not uptight," she said, furrowing her brow and fighting to keep her tone appropriate for the library. "And it's your fault that I'm angry!"

"Why? Because I sat at your precious table?" His face was only a few inches away now and she could feel the frustrated heat rising off of his body.

"That's not it, and you know it," she scoffed.

"Then what is it, Violet?" He hissed. The only other time she'd seen him even remotely this angry was a few times on the Quidditch pitch when their house teams had played each other but this time, his anger wasn't large and animated, it was twisted with sadness and frustration and directed at her.

"You didn't listen to me on Monday and then you wouldn't listen to me again today!"

"That's why you're upset? Cause I don't do everything you say?"

"No! I'm upset because you don't know when to be serious!" She exclaimed, gesturing to George wildly.

He looked taken aback and slightly hurt but recovered quickly. "Well, you don't know when to relax!"

"That's not true!" Her better judgment told her to take a step back, to calm down, and walk away because she didn't trust herself not to hurl another snake at him but she stayed firmly planted in place, remembering that she'd left her wand in her bag.

He leaned closer, eyes on fire. "Or when take a joke!"

"Please enlighten me about what joke I'm missing here!"

"There is none!" He exclaimed, grabbing one of her arms. "You're being ridiculous! I was just trying to compliment your hair on Monday but you got angry at me before I even sat down!"

"That's not why I —"

"And I didn't get to talk to you after that or see you all weekend so hex me for wanting to sit with you at lunch!"

Her heart was beating against her ribcage so hard, she was worried it might actually pop out. He'd missed her?

"Yeah right," she hesitated, trying to fully take in his confession. "You just want to make things difficult for me!"

"No, I don't!"

"Yes, you do!"

"Violet, no I don't!"

"Then what do you want?"

"I just want to be near you!" He admitted breathlessly, bringing his other hand up to tightly grip her chin. "But you make it impossible by always pushing me away!"

George held her tight as she attempted to literally push him away and roared over her when she tried to squeak out a small protest.

"I think you're embarrassed by how much you like spending time with me, and you're scared of what the rest of your pretentious Slytherins will say!"

"Shut up."

"Violet, you said it yourself!"

"Stop it," she weakly challenged him, trying to yank herself out of his grip.

"You said yourself that you don't want to give them a reason to talk about you!"

"THEY ALREADY TALK ABOUT ME!"

She clasped a hand over her mouth as a few shh's echoed towards them through the library and stared at his shocked face. He leaned in closer and furrowed his brow.

"So then why do you care?"

George looked at her with angry and desperate eyes, breathing hard only an inch away from her face. She knew he couldn't possibly understand her predicament but it wasn't his fault. He didn't know the whole story and she'd have to risk severing the bond between them to explain it fully, so instead, she abandoned logic.

She glanced down at his mouth, and tilted her head upwards, lightly caressing his nose with the tip of hers.

The contact made his breath against her face suddenly stop. He stared at her like she'd appeared out of nowhere, suddenly in front of him, inexplicably and silently begging to be touched.

He let out a shaky breath, and tilted his face downwards, hesitantly, as if she was about to disappear in a poof of smoke if he moved too quickly.

She blinked away from his lips, locking back onto his eyes. Wide, on fire, and in complete disbelief. He blinked, moving from her mouth to her eyes rapidly, over and over again, dipping his chin a little lower.

He thought she was going to run.

She flicked down to his lips one last time and closed her eyes.

That seemed to be answer enough for him as not a moment later, his mouth crashed onto hers. He was strong but hesitant, testing the waters again. Her brain screamed run, but she parted her lips and drowned herself in him. The tension, ache, and frustration left her body in a sharp gasp against his lips. He responded by pulling her in closer, by the waist, and by hair, until she'd practically disappeared into his chest.

Her body couldn't react fast enough as his scent and taste overwhelmed her senses, burning her nose and throat with smokey sweetness. Their lips' fought each other for dominance, closing over the others in an urgent sloppy rhythm. He held her tight, refusing to let her move, for fear that she would push him away again but she needed to be closer.

She flung her arms around his neck, running fingers through his hair, pressing her full body weight against him. He grunted at the force and stumbled against the wall before giving into the momentum and sliding back against the smooth stone, and onto the carpeted floor, dragging her down with him.

She straddled him on the ground and moaned as her legs spread open on his lap. The pressure, the friction, the release she craved was so close to her core it made her dizzy.

His tongue greedily explored the inside of her mouth, as he pushed past the base of her skirt to grip the tops of her bare thighs, pressing her into him harder and igniting the flame underneath her navel.

"George," she groaned into his mouth as his fingers toyed with the edge of her underwear. He broke their kiss and nibbled down her jaw. His tongue grazed over her neck, making her twitch and gasp. She felt him smile against her skin as he repeated the motion, over and over, leaving wet bruises just under her ear, making her bury her face in his hair to stifle a deep guttural moan.

"I'm sorry," he mumbled into her skin between kisses. He slid her skirt up and pressed his hands into the plush skin that covered her bare hip bones.

She purred as his fingers toyed with the waistband of her underwear and reached down to recapture his lips, "Shut up."

He groaned into her mouth, passionately gorging himself on her lips and tongue, his hands fumbling to grasp any bare skin that her uniform would allow. His wildness left her breathless and lightheaded, his touch leaving scorch marks against her skin. His fingers worked rigorous patterns into her hips and waist. The floodgates had opened and any semblance of the George who had tentatively caressed her cheek, or hair, was gone; replaced by a curious, craving wild man.

She nibbled his bottom lip, drawing gasps and moans from the man pressing her against his lap with searing force. Her knees slid across the carpet as her pelvis met the bulge in his pants. It hit her core deliciously, coaxing a guttural hiss from her mouth. She rocked her aching center against him; over and over, successfully pulling a moan from deep in his chest. She swallowed his moans, and he swallowed hers. The desperate grinding of their hips and the electric release of pent of aggression and longing made her forget that they were still very much in public.

Shit.

The shuffling sound of books sorting themselves, and faint voices from alcoves far away drew her back to reality. Definitely, still in public.

The euphoria she'd been chasing would have to wait. She loosened her iron grip around his neck, and skated her hands down his neck, settling for a light touch against his chest. She slowed her movement and sat still across his lap, and held his lips in an unmoving passionate connection with hers.

It was torture to stop. A groan from deep in his throat told her it was for him too.

He followed her lead, breath by breath, touch by touch, and slowed his searching hands to hold each side of her face as he pressed a final peck against her puckered, swollen lips.

"I don't want to get a lifetime ban from Madam Pince," she whispered, pulling away from George's dazed face.

She watched him break out into a big dumb grin before wrapping his arms around her for a final embrace. Resting her chin against his shoulder, she tried to ignore the unmet ache between her legs and the sinking dread that everything would be different now. There would be no way to avoid her feelings for him, even to herself.

"You didn't run away," he hummed against her neck. She felt a pang of guilt for ever fleeing from his touch, made worse by the fact that she wasn't sure if she could guarantee that she'd never do it again.

"I never run away from a fight," she assured him quietly.

"I'll be sure to piss you off more often," he murmured into her hair before letting her stand up and help him off of the floor.

"I can't guarantee I'll always react so pleasantly," she said, letting go of his hands, straightening her skirt, and peaking around the corner to make sure the coast was clear.

"No matter darling, I'm a gambling man," he said, shooting her a wink before following her out from behind the bookshelf.

Trying to look as casual as possible, she led them back over to the chair, reaching into her bag as she sat down. George sat across from her on the ottoman with even more of a mischievous, smug look on his bright pink face than normal.

She ignored the buzzing feeling on her lips and tried to concentrate. As good as she'd felt as soon as their lips touched, the reality was settling back in. She stared at his sweet smile and playful eyes and felt immense guilt. She shouldn't have kissed him, or let him kiss her, but at the moment it seemed inevitable. They'd been careening towards this for more than a week so she'd let herself believe that it was inescapable, and yet it wasn't. She'd seen the train coming this entire time, and honestly, if she couldn't avoid it completely, the least she could've done was step out of the way. But it was too late now. They were now hurtling towards a different fate; one that she'd been mentally avoiding since she first noticed the freckles on his face.

"Are you ready to listen?" She asked nervously, pulling out the note from her Advanced Potions textbook.

"Now, I will literally do anything that you tell me to," he said jokingly, raising his eyebrows suggestively, and leaning towards her.

"Be careful," she whispered. "I'll hold you to that."

She leaned back into the chair and watched his eyes grow wilder in conjunction with a toothy grin.

"Okay seriously, if we are going to begin the polyjuice potion on Friday, you and Fred will need to get these ingredients by then," she explained, stuffing the list into his hand and ignoring his obvious glances down to her mouth.

"Also, the potion takes a month to finish so we can't brew it in the classroom. I thought that since you and Fred are the only ones in your room, we could leave it in there. I can drop off all the ingredients, tools, and instructions on Friday night but you will have to be the one to brew it," she said hesitantly, watching his face for a reaction.

He furrowed his brow and shook his head vigorously, "The Gryffindor boys dorm doesn't have a charm to keep girls out. I can just meet you outside our common room with the invisibility cloak and sneak you in, no problem."

She squinted her eyes and carefully considered his plan. Technically, it was better than leaving him to screw up a complicated potion, but her heart skipped a beat at the thought of being in his bedroom, possibly alone. It was a bad idea, but it seemed to be their only option.

"You just want me in your bedroom," she said skeptically, although, in her head, she had already agreed to the plan.

He clutched his chest in fake offense. "Not true," he assured her with a wicked look on his face. "I want you anywhere, but some privacy would be nice."

She rolled her eyes, ignoring the butterflies in her chest, and continued. "Fine, but we are starting at 8 and I'll just be there to work."

"Ah back to business as usual then," he said, holding her gaze for a moment more and then standing up to head to class.

She watched him for a second and then panic crept up on her.

"George," she called at his retreating figure, motioning for him to come back a few steps, which he did. "No one can know… about this, not even Fred."

She watched him take in her words, letting his smile drop slightly, before reaching out to tuck a loose hair behind her ear. She let herself close her eyes and lean into his touch briefly before he was turning to walk away again.

"As you wish," he mumbled, disappearing behind the bookshelves.

"What?" She called after him, unsure that she'd heard him correctly, but he was already out of sight.

After a few hours of Care of Magical Creatures homework and dinner with Sadie, she was practically skipping through the dungeon halls, on her way to bed.

There were almost one hundred different times throughout dinner that she'd blurted out what had happened in the library to her best friend but she'd successfully managed to bite her tongue. She'd told him to keep their secret, and for her own sake, she was hellbent on keeping it too. It was just for the best.

Her lips and skin still buzzed from passionate contact as she showered, got ready for bed, and used her wand to flick off the light. She closed her eyes and wondered if anyone would be able to tell a difference in their relationship just by looking at them, but shook the bizarre thought from her head before drifting off to sleep.