Disclaimer: I own nothing and make no profit
Acknowledgments: Rpeh for the beta work on this.
Chapter Three
Harry woke in a cocoon of flowery warmth. He kept his eyes closed as he pressed his face into the blankets, enjoying their soft warmth as he curled up in them. He wondered if this was what it was like having someone in bed with you. If this was the warmth, the safety, the sweetness that everyone longed for.
He shifted against the blankets, his body pressing fully to them. He imagined it was Cho's body pressing back to his. He held the blankets tightly as he attempted to drift off to sleep.
He knew there was something that should be bothering him. Something that had been bothering him since the evening before. But in his early-morning mind he couldn't quite remember what it was, and the warm secureness of the blanket did its part in willing that away.
But he knew more sleep was a futile endeavor. The more coherent he became the more the pain returned. No, that thought was wrong. It wasn't the same pain. The pain had been mostly gone for a few days now, only appearing momentarily here and there. Often at the least convenient times, but still it wasn't the constant companion it had been for his first few days.
No, this was different. He stretched in bed, the blankets falling partially off of him, as it occurred to him just what it was. It was the general soreness of a good workout. It actually, once it occurred to him what it was, felt amazing.
He stretched his arms and legs, reveling in the feel of it, before a cool breeze blew through the open window. He sat up on the bed and turned to the table to grab his glass of water. Next to it, as there had been every morning he woke up, were two familiar potions. He peered at them for a moment.
The servings were smaller than normal. He didn't know if that was her way of being petty or if that meant that he needed less of it than before. He remembered thinking the last few days seemed like less as well. But this time he was certain of it.
It also annoyed him that she managed to get the potions into his room, every single morning, without waking him or him even noticing in the slightest. He'd never been a very sound sleeper. Living with the Dursley's had guaranteed that. It wasn't ever a good idea for his aunt to find him asleep. So usually the slightest noise woke him. But she managed to get in and out without him ever being the wiser.
He drank the potions, washing them down with the remainder of the water, before rising out of bed and moving toward his window. The actual logistics of the house still confused him. From how he got to his room inside he didn't think he should have a view overlooking the beach and the sea. But he did, and it was an amazing view.
The particulars about how he wound up on the island still bothered him. He tried to remember what happened that brought him here. He hadn't been entirely honest that he didn't remember anything. But it was certainly not anything that made any sense.
He remembered fighting Krum. He remembered somehow besting him. He remembered fury over what the quidditch star had done to his best friend. And he remembered channeling that into power. He knew he got hit by spells while they fought. But he pressed on. And eventually Krum was on the ground, and he was still standing.
He vaguely remembered walking through the maze in a haze, not really caring if he found the cup or the exit. Winning seemed less important to him at that point. Not important enough to give up, he realized. As he'd always had that out. But it wouldn't have bothered him had he turned a corner and aw the exit to the maze.
But he didn't. He found the cup instead. And he'd won. A brief sense of euphoria, of pride, flashed through him. But mostly it was just relief. He just wanted it all to be over. He'd reached for the cup, ready to get out of the maze.
And it did take him out of the maze. He'd barely managed to hold onto the Portkey as it threw him onto the ground. He hit something, a stone slab he thought. And he vaguely remembered a graveyard. It must have been a headstone. But after that everything went fuzzy.
He still has flashes of memory. He remembered something propping him up and cutting his arm. He remembered an angry hissing that the boy was injured and near death. The boy? That must have been him. He remembered a silver and blue crown glinting in the moonlight near a smoky alcove.
The only thing he could think of that would cause that was a potion mid brew. But he didn't remember seeing any more evidence of that. There were flashes here and there after that. A skittered hurrying of some sort. Perhaps a hissed argument. He didn't remember.
He came to a little later to chaos. He remembered screaming or squealing or something. There seemed to be fire around him. He heard a man begging for something, seeming shocked that he had to beg. And then Harry remembered nothing. His next memory was waking up on the Greek island, feeling like he'd been through hell.
He sighed as he stared out the window. The blank spaces in his mind were diminishing, he thought. Certain flashes seemed to make more and more sense with each passing day. He vaguely remembered Madame Pomfrey saying something about memory loss akin to sometimes they came back. His only recourse, he knew, was to simply keep trying to remember.
He tried to clear his head, to focus on the problems of the present rather than those of the past. He could feel the cooling comfort of the pain potion starting to take effect as his arms and legs started to feel less like jelly. He stretched more and started to dress.
He took a breath when he finished and something heavenly filled his nose. His eyes shot to his bedroom door as he inhaled deeply through his nose once more. It had to be, he thought, as his mouth started to water.
Harry practically ran to the kitchen, sliding on the polished floor through the open door. She'd called it modern once, in passing, but to him it felt slightly dated. He'd been a gracious enough guest to not point that out. But his aunt had newer appliances.
Then he saw her. She wore a simple dress as always, her reddish hair in a braid down her back. She wore no shoes or socks, and no jewelry of any description. She was standing at the stove, a frying pan before her making a familiar sizzling sound.
He knew they were fighting. No, that wasn't the right word. They weren't fighting. But she'd seemed disappointed in him at the end of the previous night. Something about their conversation hadn't gone well. There'd been a tension when she'd sent him to bed. But none of that mattered at the moment. Only one thing mattered.
"You found bacon?" he asked, breathlessly. He hated that he felt winded after such little effort. It wasn't like him. He'd never tired that easily. He'd have never lasted with Dudley would he. But his breathing leveled quickly and again he thought he felt almost back to normal.
"I did," she said without turning to face him.
"Where?" he asked. She paused, clearly contemplating her words carefully. It was a trait she had that he didn't recall ever quite seeing in another person. There were moments when he would have sworn she was talking to herself, or debating with herself, or something. It was more evident when looking at her, her eyes would zone out for a moment. It was rarely more than the briefest of instants. He wasn't even sure that she noticed when it happened. But he'd always been observant. And he could tell she was doing it now.
"I caught a wild pig in the forest," she said.
"There's wild pigs in the forest?" he asked.
"Oh yes," she said. "And I got up early and caught one this morning. I then went to town and met back up with our pretty little butcher, whose name is Cassandra by the way, you're welcome, and had her slaughter it up."
"She did that?" Harry sounded surprised.
"Of course she did it's her job. Anyway, she got me some of the bacon right away and is currently processing the rest of the pig. It might take her a bit, she seemed a little overwhelmed this morning," Emily said.
"It smells amazing," Harry said. He moved rather cautiously up next to her. She didn't seem to notice his presence as her floral scent mixed with that of the cooking bacon.
"How do you like it done?" she asked.
"A little crispier than that," he said.
"Okay," she said. She summoned a couple of eggs to her then and cracked them into another pan. In mere minutes, he found himself sitting at a table with a plate of eggs, toast, and bacon. He devoured the bacon so quickly that she started on another batch.
"Thank you," he said, doing his best impression of his friend Ron as he spoke through a mouth full of food.
"Swallow before you speak," she scoffed.
"Sorry," he said.
"Everything you missed?" she asked, gesturing to the plate before him. This time he did finish his mouthful, and took a sip of water, before responding.
"It's amazing," he said. "Thanks. Can I ask how you trap a pig?"
"Not much different than any other animal," she said, rather disdainfully. "And easy with magical aide. Just find something it likes to lure it somewhere and pounce when it's close."
"Good to know, I guess," Harry said as he ate his breakfast. She placed the new bacon down in front of him as soon as it finished.
"It's a solid strategy for nearly everything," she said. She then sat at the table and started to slice a peach, eating the slices as she cut them. Harry peered at her for a moment but kept eating. The silence grew uncomfortable, but while he focused on his food it wasn't too bad. The more he ate, though, the more he felt like he needed to say something. His mind seemed incapable of placing just what that something should be. When he finished eating he looked up at her.
"I was hungry," he said, staring down at the empty plate.
"That's good," she said. "Means your strength should return."
"I had an idea," Harry said. She raised her brows at him and took a bite out of a slice of peach. When he didn't continue she spoke up.
"And that is?" she asked.
"Well the ministry tracks magic. So if I cast a spell they should show up to expel me. Or at least send an owl. And if that's the case I can get a note to someone and be out of your hair," Harry said.
"By all means then," she said, finishing the peach.
"Oh, uhm, okay," he responded. He took out his wand, glad it had survived the trip to the island and held it up. "Lumos."
Harry let the magic radiate from the tip of his wand for a few moments before canceling the spell. He looked around the room, toward the windows, as if expecting owls to rush in. That didn't happen. "
"You don't seem to have any mail," the Sorceress said.
"Maybe it takes a while for them to get here?" Harry suggested.
"Or maybe the British Ministry doesn't have any authority in Greece. Or that the trace is put on locations so they can only tell where magic is used and not who used it," she responded.
"Oh," he said.
"I'm surprised you've not tried to cast a spell before that," she said.
"I'm not supposed to do magic outside of school," Harry said.
"And?" she asked.
"I didn't want to get in trouble?" he said.
"Well the trace is mostly just so Muggleborns don't do something stupid when they get home from school. In magic families it's on the parents to enforce it. In my experience some do, some don't," she said. "Given that I am the adult here. That leaves it up to me to punish you for such a grandiose and excessive use of magic."
"What?" he blinked as if he didn't quite follow all of that.
"Do the dishes so I don't have to," she said.
"I, uh, okay," he said. He stood and took his plate over toward the sink and started to wash it. She watched him from the table, eating a second peach while she did. When the plate was clean she waved her hand and it shot into an open cupboard.
"Come with me," she said, rising from the table and turning to leave the room. "And bring the peach pits."
"Uh okay," Harry said again. He gathered them up with some paper towel and followed her into her laboratory.
He'd seen into the room before but never bothered entering it. He could best describe it as organized chaos. But he knew that wasn't an apt description. Everything was perfectly organized. But there was just so much of it that it couldn't help but seem cluttered.
She started pointing out every detail of the room to him. His mind quickly becoming jumbled with an overload of information. It took her the better part of an hour to explain where everything was, what everything was, and why it was exactly where it was. He knew he'd never remember any of it. And that she'd harp on him for not knowing. When she finished with all of that she gestured to an open book on a table in the middle of the room.
"Make that potion," she said. And then she turned and left the room. Harry blinked a couple of times and then looked down at the text. It was in Greek. He blinked again and realized there were small, hand-written instructions in English next to it. The first thing he needed was the peach pits. He realized he was still holding onto them and tossed them into the cauldron before peering down at the other ingredients.
It was a complicated potion, more so than anything Snape had ever had them brew. By the third step he already felt behind. When there was finally a gap, five minutes of counter-clockwise stirring, he managed to peer up and around. One window peered out into the garden.
He saw her there, on the ground tilling at the soil, her hair matted back and her cheeks flushed with effort. He frowned down at the cauldron. Honestly, he'd have rather been out in the garden than in the lab. At least there he'd have some idea what he was doing.
She returned about twenty minutes later and inspected his work with a frown. She spent the next half hour lecturing him on what he did wrong and how to rectify it. But there wasn't any disdain in her voice. If anything he could sense that her annoyance was directed more at previous teachers than anything else.
"So why am I doing this?" he asked after she finished inspection the potion.
"If you're here you may as well learn something," she shrugged. "You can be done now."
"And do what then?" he asked.
"Whatever you like," she said. He nodded and left the lab.
That routine continued. By the end of the week he felt physically normal. Probably stronger than normal, really. Every morning she taught him something. Sometimes it was herbology, sometimes a potion, sometimes transfiguration. The lessons usually took a couple of hours. After that, he was free to do whatever he wanted.
At first he kept near to the villa. But he grew more adventurous and she never scolded him for it. By the second week he was visiting the town on a near daily basis. He couldn't help but stop in and speak to Cassandra. She seemed happier than when he'd first seen her. There was never any sign of the butcher while he visited.
That made her busier. But she still made time for Harry whenever he stopped by. She was smiley and warm, albeit rather quiet. But Harry didn't mind. They spent at least two evenings a week sitting down by the water sipping cold juice or warm wine. Emily never commented when he came home late. Although sometimes she did let him sleep in the morning after.
Their lessons continued, the days droned on. It was a nice island, Harry knew, but he didn't want to be there. He debated hopping on a ship and leaving, but there seemed to be very few that even came to the island. And the ones that went out fishing in the morning always came back in the evening.
June and July passed in a blur. On the final night of July he found himself walking in from the beach. He hadn't gone to town that day. He just hadn't felt up to seeing that many people or walking that far. Emily offered to Apparate him after that morning's potions lesson but he'd declined and relaxed in the sun instead. She brought him lunch out on the beach but other than that made herself scarce.
When he finally returned the house that evening he was rather shocked by the aroma that hit him. Emily waited in the kitchen, putting the finishing touches on some type of chicken and potato dish he didn't recognize but that she hadn't made before. A treacle tart in a small glass display case rested on the middle of the table, next to a wrapped package.
"What's all this?" he asked.
"I know it's your birthday," she said. "You mentioned liking the tart so I tried to make one. And I think you'll like this."
"You didn't have to do that," he said.
"I know," she said. "But it's your birthday. So, Happy Birthday."
"Thanks," he said as she served the food. The ate mostly in silence. After he'd eaten half of the tart he turned his attention to the wrapped box.
"What's in that?" he asked.
"Just a little something," she shrugged. He raised his brows but unwrapped it slowly revealing an ornate wooden box. He opened that and peered inside. It contained a broomstick unlike any he'd ever seen before. It was more compact than his Firebolt and the wood and bristles both a darker tone than he was accustomed to. There was no branding on it at all.
"A broomstick?" he asked, staring down at it.
"Yes. I made it myself" she said. "You've talked about flying a lot and I've heard the island is beautiful by air. I'll teach you some disillusionment charms tomorrow and you should be fine around here."
"You made this?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "I'm not really sure if it'll be any good. But it will at least fly."
"I can't wait to try it out," he said.
"And I guess that gets us to the crux of the problem," the Sorceress sighed.
"The problem?" Harry asked, weighing the broomstick in his hands as he spoke.
"I haven't been entirely honest with you," she said.
"Really?" Harry commented. "I would have never guessed that."
"You could at least feign surprise," she said.
"Sorry," he said. "What are you lying to me about?"
"The island," she said, despite her first thought being simply everything.
"What about it?" he asked.
"There's powerful magic here. Ancient magic," she stood as she continued to speak, moving toward a book on the counter and returning to the table with it. "Magic does not leave this island."
"What do you mean?" he asked.
"Get five hundred meters or so off in any direction and it pulls you back. It feels suffocating as it does. But you always wind up back. There's runes in the basement of this home that have mostly faded away but were obviously for containment."
"So, the island is a prison?" Harry asked.
"Well, it was at some time," she said.
"To hold what?" Harry asked.
"Something long dead, I would assume," she said.
"How did you get here anyway?" he asked.
"Same as you. I wound up too close a few years ago and got pulled to it. When I saw you washed ashore and figured out who you were…I knew you'd be in the same boat as me," she sighed.
"So, I'm stuck here?" Harry said, anger rising in his voice.
"For now, I'm sorry to say that you are," she said.
"For now?" he countered.
"I've found a spell," she said, flipping over the book and sliding it across the table to him. He put the broom down and spun the book toward him. The spell was in Greek but she'd made English notations in the margins.
"Why haven't you used it yet?" he asked as he started to read. It was incredibly complicated and the gist of it was it would create a portal to someplace else. Harry could only decipher some of her notation.
"It's too complex for one witch," she said. "It takes a great deal of power."
"And you think the two of us could do it?" he asked.
"Not yet. No offense, but you're not strong enough yet. Wizards, I'm sure you know, strengthen with age. It would be best to wait until you're seventeen."
"Two years?" he scoffed.
"But," she continued. "I think by sixteen you'll be strong enough. You're certainly stronger than most. And with me picking up the slack."
"That confident in yourself?" he asked.
"Yes," she smirked, her lone dimple flashing as she did.
"Why are you telling me this now?" Harry asked.
"I figured you should at least have some clue as to why I'm bothering to teach you at all. And why I haven't come up with a better way to get you out of here. And I figured it's better to be cognizant of why you're pulled back to the island when you try to fly away tomorrow," she said.
"You think I'm going to try to fly away?" he asked.
"I'd be almost disappointed if you didn't," the Sorceress said.
"Flying to another island did occur to me," he admitted, looking back down at the broom.
"And now you know what to expect when you try it tomorrow," she said.
"So, I'm stuck here for at least a year?" he asked.
"Yes," she said. "You're taking it better than I expected."
"Well, it's a nice island," Harry said, his voice a little stiff. She could tell he was coming to terms with it.
"And I don't think I'm the worst company," she said, smiling as innocently as possible.
"You're not bad," Harry blushed. She pouted.
"Oh fine, just keep visiting your little island trollop," she teased.
"The one that you keep telling me to go see?" he asked.
"Okay, fine, you win," she laughed.
"Thanks for the broom," he said after a few moments of silence.
"You're welcome," she said before excusing herself to bed. Harry sat at the table for a while, staring down at the broom. His mind filled with terror at his current situation. A terror he couldn't voice. A terror he couldn't even fathom how to approach.
Eventually, he knew that he wouldn't be able to accomplish anything past worry no matter how late he stayed awake. So he went to bed.
The next morning he did try to fly away on the broom. And, exactly like she said would happen, some unseen force pulled him back to the center of the island. She was waiting for him when he landed, wearing what she'd told him was a peplos. She looked sad when he landed. A frown on her face. But it didn't seem like she was upset with him. Instead she taught him the charms she said she would, and then sent him on his way.
At first he didn't know what to do with himself. Nothing really made sense. He kept to the same routine, his mind filled with thoughts of how he was losing a year of his life. How he was losing everything he knew and valued. How the island was stealing it from him.
Then it was September, and his mind was nothing but ideas of how he was missing out on school and how he missed his friends, and how he hated every moment of it. It was a rough month. The locals on the island seemed to sense his mood and stayed away from him. Even Cassandra winced away from him.
In October he made her cry. He didn't really know what caused it. But it made him realize that he'd been a bit of an ass the last few weeks. Or maybe he realized it before. But after he hugged her one day she ran away in tears.
Emily was positively unhelpful with that when he complained about it, telling him that he should attempt to figure it out with the girl, and not with her. Harry found that very useless advice.
But it occupied him until November. After that he started to figure it out. He couldn't really talk to her about it, talking ended poorly every time, with her uncomfortable and embarrassed and often fleeing. But he'd learned the ground rules.
He could take her hand, but only gently and never it if involved trying to lead her or pull her somewhere. No, if he presumed to move her she was out of his grasp in an instant. If he managed to hug her, it could only be loose, barely any pressure. He could kiss her, but only if she kissed him first.
It occupied him so much that he didn't even notice as November turned into December. When he thought about it, his only real thought was that he didn't particularly miss winter. He remembered people talking about how they enjoyed for distinct seasons. But he felt that opinion could be cleansed with a winter on a Greek island.
Christmas sneaked up on him. It was a quiet affair for them. Emily prepared a rather large dinner and Harry invited Cassandra over. They ate quietly and then Emily made herself scarce. Harry found himself on a couch in front of a dying fire, cuddled close to the young Greek.
She was warm and like most things on the island, smelled faintly of the sea. Her soft skin felt wonderful wherever it managed to touch his as they kissed on the couch. He marveled at her thick hair as his fingers weaved through it.
They kissed for some time until they simply lay close to each other. He was sure they each must have dozed off for a moment or two, but eventually, she quietly suggested moving to someplace more comfortable. Harry swallowed his nerves and led her to his bedroom.
He didn't know what he expected. Something more Hollywood perhaps? But what he got was a lot of confused blushing, bright eyes, excuses to go and brush teeth, and for something to wear. Regardless, eventually, he realized she looked much better in one of his t-shirts and a pair of his shorts than he could ever dream of.
After the confusion they lay silently on his bed, waiting. But neither of them had the courage to do more than wait until they both fell asleep. Their unconscious minds had other ideas, though. They woke spooning and neither of them wanted to leave that warmth. So they spent the morning together, afraid of what being apart could bring.
The situation repeated itself for the new year but with a change of venue. Emily gifted him a bottle of champagne and a couple of glasses when he'd told her of his plans. She'd seemed disappointed, for the briefest of moments, before wishing him a wonderful evening.
He'd met her at the shop. She was behind on her daily work and looking flustered, as if she'd forgotten they'd agreed to meet. He just put the champagne down on the counter and asked what he could do to help.
She'd blinked at him, an expression he recognized easily enough. She couldn't fathom that someone wanted to actually help with her chores. But she told him to wipe down the counter and so he did. She watched intently as he did the chore, he recognized the look of someone who wanted to make sure it was done correctly. Eventually, though, she decided he was doing a good enough job and continued with her work.
Once he'd finished that chore she'd found another one for him to complete, and then another, until the work in the shop was done. He didn't have the courage to ask about her missing uncle. He thought if she wanted to talk about it she would have brought it up.
After that, she locked the shop and guided him up a small hill to the residential area of town. She brought him to a small house and led him inside. The furnishings were shabby and sparse but it looked like she kept everything neat and tidy. Except for a bedroom and a small office she didn't seem interested in entering or acknowledging. And Harry didn't comment.
Instead they drank at the table, peering out the small window through a gap in two other buildings and down at the harbor. She moved a chair next to his and they both drank in silence as the time ticked away.
She played with his fingers on the table for a few moments, or ran her fingers up his arm, or leaned close to him. But they didn't really talk until after they kissed to celebrate the coming of January.
She asked him to stay the night and he accepted without any other thought. This time was slightly less awkward. When they overcame their nerves and crawled into her small bed they had no choice but to lay close to each other. Harry took a deep breath and then a leap of faith as he put an arm around her, loosely. She responded by shifting closer to him, burying her face in his chest.
They woke like that in the morning. She kissed him and then insisted that she had to return to the shop for the day. He knew better than to argue. As he walked back to Emily's villa, he thought of how much of a difference a year could make. And then it dawned on him that he only had half of one left before he could leave the island.
But the island wasn't that bad, he immediately argued with himself. He was still learning magic and he had far more freedom that he could have ever imagined having outside of the island. And there was a pretty Greek girl that he rather enjoyed spending time with.
And so he spent January with Cassandra. He'd stop by the shop and help out in afternoons so they could do something in the evening, he'd pick flowers for her, take her to dinner, bring her lunch on busy days, and really revel in her company.
They spent the night together usually at least once a week. More often at her house than Emily's. He got the feeling Cassandra wasn't overly comfortable in Emily's home. And it was a fairly long walk, so he didn't press the issue. Emily herself never commented one way or the other, although he did suspect she knew his whereabouts more often than she let on.
Usually he'd visit her in the shop in the morning, during the slow hour in the late morning. Sometimes she'd invite him over that evening. Occasionally she'd offer to cook for him as well.
And that was what she did one night in early February. Harry thought nothing of it at the time and agreed immediately. It was a little odd that she didn't want him to meet her at the shop for closing. She insisted that whatever she was going to make would take a while and he should just come over a little later than usual.
He obeyed. And when she answered the door he was fairly surprised to find her in what looked like a new green dress. Cassandra wasn't a very large girl but the dress appeared to have been tailored to her and complimented her form well. Harry had to pry his eyes from the plunging neckline at least twice.
She'd styled her hair as well, some of it was up in an elaborate braid, while the rest fell down her back in soft curls.
She'd made a moussaka and had set the table with the fanciest plates she owned and lit a bunch of candles. She took the wine he'd brought and opened it, pouring two glasses before they sat at the table and ate.
He'd asked what the occasion was, but she'd just blushed and muttered that there wasn't anything special on her mind. She'd just wanted to do something nice, she'd said. And Harry knew better than to argue.
He cleaned up when they were done. She'd made him a container of leftovers and put it into the fridge. And then she turned to him and asked him if he wanted to spend the night.
Of course, he said immediately. She normally didn't ask. Normally they just made out for a while and then wound up holding each other in bed.
She nodded when he agreed and led him to her bedroom. It felt awkward as she disappeared into the bathroom. But he just assumed it was his nerves. So after a deep breath and a sip from the glass of water she kept on her bedside table he stripped down to his undershirt and boxers and lay on her bed.
Cassandra stepped into her room from the bathroom. She wore a translucent white nightgown and as she flipped the lights off it seemed to glow around her in the moonlight filtering into her room.
The gown left nothing to the imagination. Harry could see all of her through the thin fabric. She'd never worn anything close to it in his presence. She walked slowly to the bed, swaying her hips slightly and then crawling into both the bed and his lap.
They kissed. She put her arms around him and so he wrapped his around her. They kissed for a while, until they were both flushed and panting. Harry froze as she pulled her lips from his, her eyes focused onto his.
She stared into his eyes. Confusion on her face. Harry pressed his lips together, wondering what she expected of him, wondering what she expected of him, what he should do. But he froze. He just looked at her, his fingers digging into her hips. She bit her bottom lip and pressed her body experimentally to his. He felt every inch of her, he felt surrounded by her. But still he didn't know how to react.
She took a deep, steadying breath before sliding her hands over his chest and down toward his waist and to the waist of his underwear. And then her hand was around him, holding him.
His instincts took over at that point. He kissed her and she giggled against his lips as she squeezed him. After more kissing he tugged at her gown until she was free of it, and she did the same to his clothing.
And then he lay her on the bed, his lips never leaving hers as they shared each other for the first time.
After she seemed surprised when he still wanted to hold her and cuddle. But after her initial tension faded she relaxed into him and they fell asleep.
Cassandra was already dressed and ready for the day when she woke him the next morning. She kissed him and said he was welcome to stay until he was more awake but she was going to the shop. He kissed her back and said he should head home anyway.
She didn't invite him back that week. Although she still looked happy to see him whenever he stopped by. But something felt off.
He couldn't help but wonder if he'd been terrible. He'd been so absorbed in the moment that he wondered if he'd failed in some way. He tried to trace her reactions, to see if there was something out of place. She'd been quiet the entire time, but he hadn't thought she looked like she wasn't enjoying it.
But then after she was brusque with him and he didn't know why. And he didn't know how to bring it up with her. He wanted to do it again, but he thought that telling her that would be the wrong move. He wanted to invite her over, but again, he didn't know what she would expect or how she would take it. Mostly, he just wanted to be nearer to her again.
He tried to go to Emily for advice, but in hindsight, opening the conversation with, 'Hey Emily, you've had sex, right?' wasn't the correct way to go about it. Although it was worth it for her expression. Even if she didn't offer him any sort of advice or answer the question.
That brought more interesting questions to the forefront of his mind. But they were ones that he knew were better if he didn't focus on them.
At the start of the next week he picked some wildflowers on his way to town. He was procrastinating, mostly, as Emily had taken to giving him shopping lists for his trips. He turned them into a sloppy bouquet and conjured a vase and water as he finished the walk.
Cassandra smiled brightly at him as he entered the shop and put the flowers on prime display. They talked while she packaged up his order and she told him to stop by that evening when he left.
He felt a hundred pounds lighter as he walked back to the villa. Emily noticed during their lesson, he could tell by her expression. But she didn't say anything. It wasn't until he was leaving that she told him to go slow and pay attention to what she liked. He flushed crimson and fled.
He didn't have to worry about Emily's advice. She'd crawled into his lap and took control immediately and he didn't mind in the least.
March and April continued that way. Cassandra showed him more of the island, some of her favorite spots, and introduced her to some of her friends. And he spent many more evenings with her. It was easily the most blissful spring of his life.
And then in May she left and it broke his heart.
It wasn't really her choosing. In hindsight he was surprised she got away with it as long as she did. But eventually family figured out her Uncle was gone and came to take her to the mainland.
He wondered if he'd have been able to keep up the charade as long as she had. But thinking about that just made him miss her even more. She filled his thoughts at all sorts of times that it became distracting. He'd lose focus in lessons, he struggled sleeping and he spent days not wanting to do anything.
Two or three times he thought Emily was going to snap at him about it. But she held her tongue which made him feel worse. He knew he shouldn't be sulking as much as he was, but he just couldn't help it.
One night toward the end of the month he found himself again unable to sleep. It was four fifteen in the morning when he finally gave up trying. He threw the blankets off of himself and wandered the house until he wound up sitting on a balcony, looking out at the stars.
About ten minutes later he heard soft footsteps behind him. Emily walked out onto the balcony and tossed a carton at him. He caught it on instinct, the coolness surprising him, and turned his eyes down to it.
"Chocolate?" he asked as she handed him a spoon. She wore pajama pants and a tank top and her auburn hair was pulled back into a pony tail.
"Unless you'd rather have the raspberry sorbet," she said, holding up her own carton.
"They'd probably mix pretty well," he said, pulling the top off of the carton and taking a spoonful. The chocolate warmed him despite the coolness of the treat.
"True," she responded, opening her own and sitting next to him on the couch. They didn't really talk after that. After a few bites she took a spoonful of his and then tried to fence his spoon away when he went to do the same. He won the battle though.
They ate and fought for ice cream for the next couple of minutes. He continued to stare off at the sea. After a while he felt a warm weight on his shoulder. He peered over and saw her mass of red-brown hair resting on his shoulder. He let her rest there for a few more spoons of ice cream.
After that he put the top back on his carton and laid her down on the couch. He took the carton from her fingers and topped it before taking her spoon. He used magic to clean the spoons and return them to their cupboard before summoning a blanket to her and lay it over her. Then he went to bed.
Things improved after that. Sure, town lost its appeal, but Emily kept him busy with new spells and magic. He still wandered down and did the shopping because it got him out. But there was just something missing every time he did. And he quickly found himself back at the villa.
When May ended his thoughts focused less on Cassandra. But a sense of ennui returned from realizing he should be finishing another year of Hogwarts. He didn't know what Fifth year would have brought. Part of him thought he learned more in a year with a private tutor than he would have at school. But he had no way of confirming if that was true or not.
June brought another realization though. It came as he reflected back on how weak he'd felt when he got there. He was anything but weak now. All the walking, hiking, and flying had done him good. When he looked in the mirror now, he actually liked what he saw. It surprised hadn't even really been aware that he hadn't liked how he looked until, suddenly, he did. If he thought about it, he'd probably just assumed that there was truth to the taunts the Dursley's threw at him. But now, almost two years from their last influence on him, he'd pushed them so far from his thoughts. It was refreshing.
July ended with a small party for him. Sixteen, he thought idly as he lay in bed. But that just made his thoughts turn to Ron and Hermione. He'd thought of them less and less as the time passed. But it sent a fresh pang through him, his heart aching in his chest. Tears came, but so did sleep.
August fourth was the date. She'd told him in the morning. He'd hesitated and that reaction caught her off guard. She'd told him it could wait, if he wanted. But his resolve hardened immediately. The fourth would work. He'd just need to know what to do.
It ended up being less glamorous than he'd hoped. She needed a battery, essentially. He frowned when she told him. She'd crossed her arms over her chest and snapped that if he wanted to spend two more years there she could teach him the hard parts. And he decided being a battery was fine.
They sat close to each other on the sandy beach outside the villa. She held his hands, closed her eyes, and started chanting in Greek. And then, he experienced something he couldn't quite describe.
It was like they were together. Suddenly the Greek made perfect sense as she chanted. He could make out her words of wishing to be away from the place, of wishing to be back at home, of wishing to be where the happiness was. Of returning him to his home.
He could feel her focus. He could sense her thoughts as they fought to control the spell she was channeling. He could sense her correcting herself, adjusting herself, keeping the spell active.
And then he felt her magic. He felt her power and it felt almost limitless. He could sense it slowly fading from her and he used the spell she taught him to channel some of his into her. It seemed to have very little effect but he just kept doing it, feeling his power leaving him slowly and feeling like he wasn't having the effect he'd hoped.
And then he felt something above him. He looked up and just feet above their head was a small orb, places flashing through it. He thought he caught glimpses of islands, and London, and Hogwarts. Hogwarts! He focused on Hogwarts and the orb seemed to focus as well. But the castle flashed through different stages above him. He tried to picture it exactly like he remembered. He tried to focus on that as he pressed more power into her. The orb grew and grew until it was almost touching them. His vision was blurring and his head throbbing as he felt his magic leaving him rapidly.
And then it was done. He knew it was done because she knew it was done. He looked up and saw Hogwarts above him but he could feel the power in the orb fading. She nodded and helped him to his feet. They just had to float through it and they would be off the island.
Harry could feel her relief at the concept of being off of the island. He looked around the island one last time as he started to move toward the portal. His last thought, before he felt himself enter it, visions of Hogwarts filling his mind, was that it really wouldn't have been that bad of a place to grow up.
When he came to he was laying on a beach.
"This is not Hogwarts," he said, frowning as he sat up. Emily was already on her feet, dusting the sand off of her and looking around, a confused expression on her face.
"It is not," she said, reaching down to help him up. "But it's also not the same island. And we haven't been pulled back."
"How can you tell?" he asked.
"Look around," she said. He did and quickly realized she was right, the island was smaller, he could see the entire length of it, and an overgrown stone path led up a small hill. He started walking up the path.
"Have you been here before?" he asked.
"I don't know," she said, following him.
"I think there's someone on top of the hill," he said. Emily froze.
"Oh," she said. She ducked behind a tree, pressing her body to it. Harry turned and looked at her, then looked back at the person at the top of the hill.
It was a young girl, perhaps five or six. She wore a white dress of sorts and had long red hair with a gold net weaved into it. She had bright gold eyes that seemed to project the sun when he focused on them. It was almost blinding. She wore gold bangles on each of her wrists.
The girl was oblivious to their presence. She was humming herself while moving her right hand in circles as she focused on the ground. Moments later a flower bloomed and rose from the dirt beneath her. She giggled and did it again.
Harry found himself so engrossed in her magic as he peered out at her from behind Emily's tree that he didn't even notice the man approach.
"What are you doing little lady?" he asked in Greek, Harry thought, although it seemed to be a different dialect than what he was familiar with. The man was tall and thin and dressed in a black robe and black pants. He had short black hair and he walked with no sense of urgency as he moved toward the girl.
"Nothing," the girl said, blushing and hiding her hands behind her back.
"That doesn't look like nothing," the man said, gesturing to the flowers. He lowered himself to them and examined them.
"That wasn't me," she said. It was an obvious lie.
"That's a shame," the man said. "They're very good."
"You think so?" she asked. Harry recognized the desperate need for approval in her voice.
"Yes," he said. "Can you do another one?"
"Okay," she responded. She brought her hands out again and waved them slowly. Another flower sprouted from the dirt.
"Very nice," he said.
"Thank you," she said. "Daddy says I shouldn't do it in front of people."
"And where is your father?" he asked.
"Over there," she said, gesturing vaguely toward the sun.
"I see," the man said.
"Can you do this too?" she asked as she made another flower sprout.
"Yes," he said.
"Prove it," she responded, eyeing him as if she didn't believe him. The man just smirked at her and, without moving, a ten foot circle around them bloomed into an elaborate, organized flower garden.
"Wow," the girl said.
"It's fun, isn't it," he said.
"I think so," she said. "But they get mad at me when I do it too much."
"Well that's not nice of them. It's a skill that requires practice. What's your name, little lady?"
"Kiki," she said.
"Nice to meet you Kiki, I'm Seth," he said, offering his hand to her. She looked curiously at him but took it for a moment.
"Nice to meet you too," she said.
"Would you like to come with me and learn more magic like that?" he asked.
"I shouldn't," she said. But she took a step closer to him as if she'd already made a decision.
"He's going to abduct her," Harry said, moving toward the man and the girl. "We have to stop him."
"We can't," she said, grabbing his wrist and pulling him back to the tree.
"Emily," he hissed. "We can't just let him take her."
"We have to," she hissed back. He turned his gaze from the man and child to her. Her expression stopped him cold. There was fear in her eyes. No, it was more than fear, it was sheer terror. And somehow, he knew the only action she'd be able to take would be to stop him from going near the man and girl.
A small popping noise brought his attention back to the man and the girl. But when he turned to look in their direction there was no sign of them, even the flowers had vanished. He felt the fury rise up in him, the annoyance at his own inaction. He knew, deep down, his inaction had condemned that little girl to her fate.
He turned his gaze back to Emily, knowing full well his expression was all he needed to ask the questions dancing on the tip of his tongue.