A/N: Okay, this is my first attempt at Harry Potter fan fiction. I've been reading it for a while, but I just recently got an idea. So this is my attempt at writing it. (And if I do say so myself, it's a very good attempt!)

Rating: PG-13. For, uh, racy comments, I suppose. This one might be pushing R, but not really.

Pairing: The main one, all I'm going to tell you is that it's Harry and someone else. Otherwise, we have Ron/Padma, Draco/Hermione, and Neville/Ginny.

Disclaimer: Harry, Hermione, Ron, Draco, Padma, Parvati, Dumbledore, Snape, Ginny, Neville, Crabbe, Goyle, Pansy, Blaise, and anyone else I've forgotten to mention, are not mine. They are the property of Joanne K. Rowling, a genius in her own right. I'm just, uh … borrowing them.

***************

Harry led her down the hallway, towards the third floor. She was extremely excited. In just a few minutes, she would be on her way to having a very nice evening with Harry Potter. She sighed inwardly. Who would have guessed that she would fall for him? Definitely not her. He wasn't particularly popular with her family. And he was, of course, half-Muggle-born. No matter that he had almost single-handedly defeated the greatest Dark wizard of their times.

It didn't help that her mother had been a supporter of You-Know-Who. She'd never been able to bring herself to say his name. She knew she wasn't strong, that she was weak. She was what everyone believed her to be… A Mudblood-hater and all-around shallow little girl. But another part of her disagreed with that. The part that had listened to her father's stories about "electricity," and "airplanes," and so many other things that Muggles used in place of magic. The part that had believed so fiercely for so long that her father was right, that she was beautiful, and could be anything she wanted to be.

But she knew that was a lie. She was practically a slut. So she'd only done it a few times … with the same guy. She'd never really wanted to. But her mother had told her that she had to. Her mother scared her, so she'd never gone against her mother's wishes, never needing to be told twice. But it hadn't meant anything. And in her eyes, that made her a slut. So why was she going for a one-night stand with Harry Potter?

Because she knew that she could never have anything more with him, and, this time at least, she wouldn't be a slut. She wanted to do this with all her heart, and she would always treasure it in her heart.

Damn her mother to hell.

***

Harry's heart was pounding fiercely within his chest as he pulled the girl – woman, really – down the corridors. More than once he was certain he heard footsteps, but just as quickly as he heard them, they had disappeared. They had probably never even been there. Gods, Potter. Are you crazy? You don't even know this girl.

The rational part of his brain was right. This was, no doubt, the stupidest thing he had ever done. But something made him continue walking – almost running – to the third floor. There was something about her… But he didn't know who she was. He was almost certain that he'd heard her voice before, but he couldn't place it.

He sighed in relief as he reached the door, and pulled out his wand. He whispered "Alohomora," before pushing the door open and pulling the girl through. She glanced around, smiling softly, and walked over to the far side of the room. There was a moth-eaten couch there, which she quickly sat down on. Harry followed slowly, just looking at her.

The soft mauve-color of her robes was exquisite, and they were obviously well-made. But that didn't narrow it down much. Plenty of Wizarding families had money … although some had lost it after Voldemort's fall, trying to get out of Azkaban. Her honey-blonde hair had been pulled up in a French twist, and she was … healthily thin, he supposed it would be called.

He sat down, now feeling extremely nervous. What was he supposed to do? He'd never done this before. He'd never even done … it … before.

His thoughts were silenced when a pair of lips descended on his. The first thought that popped into his mind was that she tasted minty. He almost laughed at that, but was too busy just feeling. Truthfully, this was his first real kiss. The girl's arms had come around his neck, and she pushed him down until she was lying on top of him.

He raised his arms hesitantly, wrapping one around her waist while the other delved into her hair. She groaned, her mouth opening slightly, allowing her tongue to slip out and tempt him into opening his mouth. When he consented, and her tongue slipped into his mouth, teaching his to dance with hers… He was certain he had died. All rational thought slipped from his brain until all that was left was feeling.

***

Harry lay on the couch with his arms wrapped around the girl. She was sleeping soundly against his chest, her robe draped over her, his beneath them. He was tempted to remove her mask, but she'd asked that he not, and he wanted to respect her wishes. She'd kept it on the entire time they had been… Harry wasn't sure what to call it. He supposed sex would be appropriate. But it seemed so crude. And what they had done hadn't quite been making love. It was only a one-night-stand, after all.

He still wasn't sure what had made him accept her offer. As she'd suspected, he'd never had sex before. So why had he chosen the first time to be with her? Intuition, he supposed. He sensed that she was actually a very nice girl. And nothing had happened to dispute that.

She stirred, lifting her head and looking at him. "Is this a dream?" she mumbled.

Harry laughed nervously. "Erm…no, I don't think so."

She seemed to be processing this information, as well as some that she didn't share with him. She glanced down, and, taking in their lack of clothing, she flushed.

Harry looked at her nervously. Was she going to regret it? Despite the fact that nearly every fiber of his being knew that this was wrong, he didn't regret it. And even though she had been the one to approach him, he was worried that she would regret it. "Uh…" he trailed off. He really couldn't think of anything that was appropriate to say in this situation. "Can I ask you what your name is?"

She smiled. "You can ask, but that doesn't mean I'll answer."

Harry snorted. "You sound like Dumbledore."

The girl laughed, a rich, throaty sound that made Harry's already light mood even lighter. Trailing a finger down his chest, she whispered, "But I don't think Dumbledore would be in this situation…" the finger reached his belly button, and she paused, seeming to contemplate her next words. "Perhaps we might continue this?"

A grin slowly appeared on Harry's face, which he lowered until he could claim her lips with his own. Thus the dance began again, and continued, long into the night.

***

The young woman sat up, every part of her body screaming to lay back down on the couch. But she had to go. Just one night. That was all she had promised herself. There was no future for them. It wasn't as though he returned her feelings… And that was all that mattered, she mused. She'd had her night. Now it was time to leave.

***

Harry felt her leave the couch, and waited a few seconds before opening his eyes. She was putting her robe back on, and trying to make her hair presentable. He smiled. It was his fault it was that way. He lifted himself onto his elbows, and her head snapped up, their eyes making contact.

"Will you never tell me who you are?" he whispered.

"I…"

"Please. Just, at some point, I'd like to know."

She sighed. "I'll tell you at the Graduation Ball. Save me the last dance."

And then she was gone.

***************

A/N: Thanks to Caffine, the first (and so far only, but I won't dwell on that…) person to review this story!

Hey, can anyone figure out who the mystery woman is? I don't think I've left enough clues yet, but we'll find out more soon…