A/N: TBC means "To Be Continued."
Thank you to Mar and Liebling for the helpful reviews, and hello again to Dart Kid. Many warm fuzzies for actually following this story.
I don't know how American ratings work. As far as I know this chapter ups the story to an R. I've seen far worse in the cinemas.
IV: because the young must sleep with their eyes open
The beginning of the school year, and a Weasley already in trouble.
Ron opened his Howler, fingers trembling and face tomato-red. With every eye in the Great Hall on his youngest brother, Percy slipped out. Not that he needed a distraction to go unnoticed, but one never knew.
Penelope hadn't been in the Prefects compartment at the Hogwarts Express, and she had been busy rounding up the Ravenclaw first years after the Sorting Feast. But then, he wouldn't have known how to approach her anyway; somehow when the summer ended, what they had left parchment and carried over here.
If they had anything at all.
He walked briskly down the corridors, peering into the rooms he passed by as if he were merely patrolling the school like any good prefect. Empty, empty, closed, empty, the staff lounge, empty, the Prefects' bathroom. Up the stairs. Another corridor, more staircases moving. A gaggle of Slytherins chattering loudly. One more staircase swinging to the right. The trophy room.
She was inside.
He paused at the doorway, wondering how he should approach her. There had been no promises made in their letters. He should know. He'd memorised every word she wrote him.
Suddenly, a strong gust of wind shut the heavy wooden doors behind him. How, he didn't know, but then one never knew much about how and why at Hogwarts. One simply did.
She turned around. "Percy," she said, her eyes bigger and darker than he remembered.
"Yes," he said, quickly crossing the short distance between them.
She took his hands in hers, and then suddenly he was upon her, drawing her closer to him, kissing her.
Her hair was rougher, less soft than he had imagined, but it didn't matter. He kissed her the way he'd wanted to all summer long, reminded her of the way the long summer had been. Too warm, a bit sticky, heavy and languid.
When he'd finally pulled away, she touched the tip of his nose, and smiled.
"Do you know, I've been wanting you to do that for a very long time."
Playing games again, chasing down in hallways, just like last year.
Except this time, she ran after him, and he let himself be caught.
After prefect meetings, lingering too long before he made his way back to the Gryffindor Tower. The Head Boy and Girl would smile in approval, whilst the other prefects would shrug their shoulders and roll their eyes, for he always stayed behind to put back the chairs, clear up the scattered parchment, make sure the minutes were in order.
Such a good boy.
Then he'd walk slowly, letting the dark passageways swallow him. Filch and Mrs. Norris didn't bother him; he had the protection of his prefect badge and the knowledge that he had every right to be here.
And no one would see his robes being tugged into corners, his lanky body disappearing behind pillars. No one saw the fumbling and groping and hesitant kissing, the slight pause where they both realised they were going too far and too fast, then the sighs, the murmurs. We shouldn't. We can't. Blouses buttoned, robes fastened, badges pinned.
After the first prefects' meeting, he got as far as her breast. Then lower after the next meeting, more skin bared after the next. And each time he felt as if they were in their own little world, this place of pure pleasure where promises were made and desires were fulfilled. All from kisses and touches and caresses, driving him mad, making him anticipate just how good the real thing would be like.
Another tryst, and this time there was no more pausing, no more whispered protests. They had both tasted too much, hoped for more, to make them content. He surged on, single-mindedly, knowing that if he waited he would lose his nerve. They were half-naked, and shivering, and he knew they would catch their death of cold because it wasn't right to be surrounded by cold air when their bodies felt like they would catch on fire. He heard her hiss in pain, felt something give, then something trickled down his leg, smelling of metal and sex. He pushed in, out, in, out, until he finally came. He waited inside her, until she gave out a tiny, strangled cry.
When he opened his eyes, she had tears in her own, and he apologised over and over again. Did I hurt you, did we go too fast, I'm sorry, I'm sorry. He held her, and he thought it strange that his bones felt like they'd melted whilst her body was rigid and tight as stone.
She smoothed back his hair. "That's not what you want to ask, Percy. That's not what you want to say."
He felt a strange current of violence surging through him, an urge to smack her for putting words in his mouth. Instead, he asked, "What did I want to say, then?"
"You just want to know, if it was as good for me as it was for you."She kissed him on the forehead, on each cheek, then held his face in her tiny hands and smiled at him.
He smiled back, even managing to chuckle a little at the cliché. But deep in his heart, he hoped that wasn't the case, because it wasn't much good for him at all.
"Ow!" Percy said, jerking away. He touched his neck and felt dampness; he licked his fingers and tasted blood.
"Did I hurt you?" Penelope asked.
"Yes!" Percy said sharply. He thought better of it, and said, "I mean, it wasn't really necessary for you to be so- so rough."
Penelope laughed. "Yes, it was. I needed to know if I could hurt you, Percy."
"Why would you want to hurt me?"
"I didn't say I wanted to hurt you. I needed to know if I could."
A hand, reaching out, pulling him into dark and dank and damp.
"Penelope- "
"Shh." A finger, moist, sliding gently across his lip.
"We'll be caught this time- "
Her breath gently thrumming against his ear. "Don't worry. I made sure we won't."
This is now.
She pulls off his glasses. He can only hope that she keeps them safe. For now, he is blind; all he has are his other four senses. Her lips on his; gentle at first, sucking. He tries to concentrate, but there's the smell of old potions and cauldron explosions putting him off, distracting him. Her hands reaching up to gently stroke his hair, the tips of her fingers skimming over his scalp, doing their best to bring him here. He puts his arms around her, clutches her ass, pulls her closer to him. And something goes off; she presses against him, starts clawing against his back, kisses like devouring. He doesn't know what to do.
He tries to hide his ignorance; he cups her face gently and starts kissing her softly. She pulls away and shakes her head and nuzzles his neck, murmuring "Break me, break me," so he does. He tries to be suave, and sure, to make up for last time, for all the times before. Somehow he manages to peel off her robes as if he's been doing this his whole life. His robes, too. He sees her teeth flashing white in the darkness, and he knows he's not fooling her. Unhooks her bra, carefully; he can't afford to buy her a new one. Ducks down, fumbles for what seems far too long before he clamps his mouth over one nipple, starts sucking. She tastes clean, and she's soft and warm, and his arms are around her waist and tossing her about until she's the one with her back against the wall. Break her, yes. He goes to the breast that's been left neglected, and her nails are digging into the skin below his neck. That iron smell of blood; he presses against her. Skin on skin. He hears himself grunt, and winces inwardly; he didn't know he could sound so uncouth. She grabs one of his hands and shoves it down between her legs. Moist, and hot, there's something lost in the folds of flesh, small and hard and throbbing, and he worries it. She's mewling like a cat now, and it's just too bloody hot, and his whole body feels so hard he wonders why he hasn't crushed her yet. Both her legs wrapped around him now, if he doesn't do this right they'll both fall. She's pinned to the wall; there'll be bruises on both of them later. Her hand again, she's guiding him, telling him where to go, but he's had enough of that so he tosses her hand away and spreads her open and just pushes his way inside. It's going to be different this time. It's going to be better.
And over and over and over he goes, face pressed against her neck and her head bobbing. The dull sound of flesh slapping on stone. Her hair tangled wildly about him, tickling his ears and some straying into his mouth, but he doesn't care, she's so hot and she's all around him, tightening around his cock and arching up and holding her breath, breathe Penny damn you breathe or we're going to die here, you and me. One last thrust for her, he thinks she got what she wanted because she spasms around him for what seems like forever, shuddering and gasping and thank Merlin she's breathing again, then one last thrust for him and he's completely gone.
That was then.
Another dark corner, the same whispered charm.
Bruises and bites and blood; the Hogwarts robes and Weasley jumpers hid them well.
He went around as always, taking away points, burying his nose in parchments and musty tomes, trying to hold his own against Fred and George and the spectres of Bill and Charlie. Acting busy and important, fussing over Ginny, putting some second-year Slytherins in their place.
She seemed insatiable, sometimes; he never knew where she would come from but whenever she dragged him he would be only too happy to oblige. He wondered if he hurt her, if it wasn't a little too much, sometimes, but she wanted it. She didn't even ask, or beg, she simply took and he couldn't say no. She needs this, he would say to himself, sometimes. I need this.
The rest of the time, though, he wouldn't give it any thought at all. It happened, that was all.
And all was as it should be.
-0-
This time, an empty classroom. It was different. No pain, more room, less bruising.
Yet she was still shaking by the time they put their clothes back on.
"Penny?" He held her, she leaned into him but didn't seem any calmer.
"It's Mudbloods that- that thing is attacking, Percy. Whatever it is that's coming from the Chamber of Secrets. Mudbloods all."
He jerked his head away from her, looked at her sternly. "Don't say that word. It's ugly."
"But it's true."
He couldn't promise her anything, couldn't vow to protect her from something he didn't even know. But he could kiss her, and make her feel safe, so that was what he did.
"Percy?"
That wasn't Penny's voice. It was higher and coming from behind him.
He and Penelope broke apart, stared at the figure standing in the doorway. "Ginny, what- "
But his little sister had already turned and fled.
Fear.
"That Ravenclaw prefect, Penelope Clearwater- "
"Petrified- "
"Attacked- "
Fear. If they hadn't snuck around, if only they had stuck to the rules. Nausea. His feet pounding on stone floors. So cold. To the hospital wing, where he wondered why there was no heat and why his blood wouldn't flow.
Then revulsion, at himself, looking at the girl frozen on the bed. He tasted the bitterness creeping into his mouth, and bolted out of the hospital wing before he could be really, truly sick.
He wished she could always look that peaceful.
He didn't know where he got the stones to demand that Madam Pomfrey let him stay. But she did, and he held Penelope's hand the whole time the school nurse administered the Mandrake potion.
Penelope opened her eyes to Percy sitting by her bedside, looking near tears. "Penny. Oh Merlin, you're- Penny, I'm sorry. You shouldn't have- I could have- I didn't do enough. I couldn't save you."
She squeezed his hand. "You didn't have to save me. You just had to be here when I woke up."
TBC