THAT SUMMER, Chapter 12
By Reija Linn
Bill
'... I think I am falling in love...'
I remembered Tom, that night, my first boyfriend, back at Hogwarts, and how he had said that one day. I did not understand then, never really did, until that day. Before that, I believed you either were in love, or not, how could you 'think' you were, perhaps, maybe?
'... falling in love... what an utterly strange phrase... but so fitting... for falling in love *is* like falling, falling down an abyss, knowing you will smash down on the ground, so helpless, unless the other catches you...'
Was it love to feel another as yourself, to hold someone and feel that though you live in two bodies, you could merge into one being? Was it love to give all of yourself, unconditionally, not expecting anything returned? Was it love to feel like this for someone though you know you may never act upon it?
'... Love is the strangest thing. It does not choose by who you are, or what you are, or by how wrong you and everyone thinks it is. It just is. And that's the wonder of it all...'
Was it love then, that I was feeling for Harry? I knew I desired him, and cherished him as a brother and friend, but did I love him? And if I did, what cruel game had Cupid decided to play on me?
'Cupid's arrows are swift and sharp, they burn as they pierce your heart, and even if you pull them out, they leave their sweet poison in your veins... yes, his arrows are sharp, but Cupid himself must be blind, or a very sadistic little prat...'
I had never understood this, either. Of course, I'd fallen in and out of love a couple of times in my life, I'd had my share of lovers, and some of them I'd even thought I'd loved... but with none of them had I felt this pain, and anguish, with none of them had I felt this mixture of right and wrong.
What was right and wrong, anyway?
Harry's arms around me, his sweet breath on my chest, the tiny sounds he made when he was sleeping, the sound of breathing next to me in the dark, that was right.
Our talks, our friendly touches, his fingers stroking my back absent-mindedly while falling asleep, that was right.
Yet, it had to be wrong, though I saw less and less reason why it should be so. I just knew, somehow, without reason.
There were a hundred reasons against, why, then, could my mind not phrase a single one, when those emerald eyes looked upon me?
Why did I shiver whenever he spoke to me while we were like this, at night, so close?
Why was the feeling of his cool hand stroking my back so softly the most erotic touch I had ever felt, despite all my experiences with sex?
And why, in all heaven's sake, did I shift closer yet, though I was aroused, while my mind screamed 'Back off, idiot!'?
But the stroking continued, and though up to this day I know not how it happened, these gentle touches spread out, the circles getting wider. Feathery touches on my back, my shoulders, my arms... and I did nothing to stop them... encouraged them... even returned them...
Was Harry awake? Another question I never got answered, though I was pretty sure he was dosing at the beginning, at least...
His skin, so soft beneath my touch, though despite his wiry frame I felt well-developed muscles beneath my fingertips. A result of his Quidditch, probably.
So soft... softer yet, his lips on mine... I can't remember who started the gentle kiss... though I think it was I... or perhaps both of us, at the same time? I do remember that he tasted sweet as strawberries, though they did not grow anywhere in Egypt, like apple-pie and ginger ale, like... like everything that reminded me of home.
I do remember the feeling of his fingertips, caressing my neck, the outline of my ear, brushing my cheek, tracing my lips that had kissed him, tasted him, moments before, remember how his fingers were trembling, and I knew then he was as wide awake as I was, as fascinated and scared of this new development as I...
My thoughts were twirling while my mind was still screaming at me to stop, but it was too late to stop, I could not, at least not with his touch on my skin, one hand behind my neck, drawing me closer to continue our kiss, the other, trembling, on my chest, cool, sending bolts of electricity throughout my body...
His sharp intake of breath as I deepened the kiss, gently parting his lips with my tongue, barely touching the tip of his at first...
I did not speak for fear of breaking this magical moment, but our touches grew firmer, and we moved closer, yet, until it felt as if we were merged into one single being, a being that was not Harry and not Bill, but both at the same time, as his leg moved in between mine, our bodies pressed against each other, so hot I was afraid of burning...
Desire, as I had never felt it before in my life, burning, passionate, afraid, scared, all at the same time, not the rushing feel of hormone-induced contact, nor the easy and fun-orientated feel of the romances I had had up to then with my lovers.
His weight on mine as he moved on top of me, his thigh pressing into my hardness, shifting against me as hungry lips searched mine... his own erection, printing into my hip... the low sigh he emitted as I moved upwards to meet him...
Was this love, not to know whether the other was thinking of you or someone else, and still continuing, not because of hormones, but because you felt defeated by this touch? Because you simply could not stop?
His eyes were closed, I noticed despite the dark, yet the whispered words against my ear were unmistakably "Oh, Bill..."
Then his shoulders tensed, and I felt a hot wetness on my neck... tears?
Of course. Only then I remembered, and wondered how I could have ever forgotten. Ron. I could only hope this would not drive us apart again, after we had gone through that once.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, collapsing against me, his arms around my neck, hot tears on my shoulder. "I... I can't..."
"Shh. It's alright, Harry. I understand. It doesn't change a thing, okay?"
I pulled him close, though my touches were no longer caressing but comforting.
"Let's just forget it ever happened, okay?"
But forget, I could not, and I knew it that night.
By Reija Linn
Bill
'... I think I am falling in love...'
I remembered Tom, that night, my first boyfriend, back at Hogwarts, and how he had said that one day. I did not understand then, never really did, until that day. Before that, I believed you either were in love, or not, how could you 'think' you were, perhaps, maybe?
'... falling in love... what an utterly strange phrase... but so fitting... for falling in love *is* like falling, falling down an abyss, knowing you will smash down on the ground, so helpless, unless the other catches you...'
Was it love to feel another as yourself, to hold someone and feel that though you live in two bodies, you could merge into one being? Was it love to give all of yourself, unconditionally, not expecting anything returned? Was it love to feel like this for someone though you know you may never act upon it?
'... Love is the strangest thing. It does not choose by who you are, or what you are, or by how wrong you and everyone thinks it is. It just is. And that's the wonder of it all...'
Was it love then, that I was feeling for Harry? I knew I desired him, and cherished him as a brother and friend, but did I love him? And if I did, what cruel game had Cupid decided to play on me?
'Cupid's arrows are swift and sharp, they burn as they pierce your heart, and even if you pull them out, they leave their sweet poison in your veins... yes, his arrows are sharp, but Cupid himself must be blind, or a very sadistic little prat...'
I had never understood this, either. Of course, I'd fallen in and out of love a couple of times in my life, I'd had my share of lovers, and some of them I'd even thought I'd loved... but with none of them had I felt this pain, and anguish, with none of them had I felt this mixture of right and wrong.
What was right and wrong, anyway?
Harry's arms around me, his sweet breath on my chest, the tiny sounds he made when he was sleeping, the sound of breathing next to me in the dark, that was right.
Our talks, our friendly touches, his fingers stroking my back absent-mindedly while falling asleep, that was right.
Yet, it had to be wrong, though I saw less and less reason why it should be so. I just knew, somehow, without reason.
There were a hundred reasons against, why, then, could my mind not phrase a single one, when those emerald eyes looked upon me?
Why did I shiver whenever he spoke to me while we were like this, at night, so close?
Why was the feeling of his cool hand stroking my back so softly the most erotic touch I had ever felt, despite all my experiences with sex?
And why, in all heaven's sake, did I shift closer yet, though I was aroused, while my mind screamed 'Back off, idiot!'?
But the stroking continued, and though up to this day I know not how it happened, these gentle touches spread out, the circles getting wider. Feathery touches on my back, my shoulders, my arms... and I did nothing to stop them... encouraged them... even returned them...
Was Harry awake? Another question I never got answered, though I was pretty sure he was dosing at the beginning, at least...
His skin, so soft beneath my touch, though despite his wiry frame I felt well-developed muscles beneath my fingertips. A result of his Quidditch, probably.
So soft... softer yet, his lips on mine... I can't remember who started the gentle kiss... though I think it was I... or perhaps both of us, at the same time? I do remember that he tasted sweet as strawberries, though they did not grow anywhere in Egypt, like apple-pie and ginger ale, like... like everything that reminded me of home.
I do remember the feeling of his fingertips, caressing my neck, the outline of my ear, brushing my cheek, tracing my lips that had kissed him, tasted him, moments before, remember how his fingers were trembling, and I knew then he was as wide awake as I was, as fascinated and scared of this new development as I...
My thoughts were twirling while my mind was still screaming at me to stop, but it was too late to stop, I could not, at least not with his touch on my skin, one hand behind my neck, drawing me closer to continue our kiss, the other, trembling, on my chest, cool, sending bolts of electricity throughout my body...
His sharp intake of breath as I deepened the kiss, gently parting his lips with my tongue, barely touching the tip of his at first...
I did not speak for fear of breaking this magical moment, but our touches grew firmer, and we moved closer, yet, until it felt as if we were merged into one single being, a being that was not Harry and not Bill, but both at the same time, as his leg moved in between mine, our bodies pressed against each other, so hot I was afraid of burning...
Desire, as I had never felt it before in my life, burning, passionate, afraid, scared, all at the same time, not the rushing feel of hormone-induced contact, nor the easy and fun-orientated feel of the romances I had had up to then with my lovers.
His weight on mine as he moved on top of me, his thigh pressing into my hardness, shifting against me as hungry lips searched mine... his own erection, printing into my hip... the low sigh he emitted as I moved upwards to meet him...
Was this love, not to know whether the other was thinking of you or someone else, and still continuing, not because of hormones, but because you felt defeated by this touch? Because you simply could not stop?
His eyes were closed, I noticed despite the dark, yet the whispered words against my ear were unmistakably "Oh, Bill..."
Then his shoulders tensed, and I felt a hot wetness on my neck... tears?
Of course. Only then I remembered, and wondered how I could have ever forgotten. Ron. I could only hope this would not drive us apart again, after we had gone through that once.
"I'm sorry," he whispered, collapsing against me, his arms around my neck, hot tears on my shoulder. "I... I can't..."
"Shh. It's alright, Harry. I understand. It doesn't change a thing, okay?"
I pulled him close, though my touches were no longer caressing but comforting.
"Let's just forget it ever happened, okay?"
But forget, I could not, and I knew it that night.