Prying Eyes
It wasn't the best place for it.
Then again, for the three of them, doing what they were doing, there weren't
exactly any good places.
It had begun innocently; it always did. Hermione and Ron had dragged Harry
into the deserted lavatory after a particularly hellish Potions class,
determined to make him calm down before cauldrons or unfortunate bystanders
began blowing up unexpectedly.
But these days, restraining grips on the arm often led to slow, soothing pats;
every little touch became something more until the three of them were woven
together, in and out and in, the pattern one they might have been destined for
since the beginning.
Still, they really should have thought twice before choosing this place, with
its cold stone floors and strange greenish-grey mold creeping down the walls,
and, most importantly, its ethereal resident.
Who was, at this moment, quite intrigued.
Myrtle swooped down from her perch near the ceiling silently, more graceful in
flight than even the most regal snowy owl. Fifty-some years of inhabiting
pipes and walls and toilet stalls in a castle teeming with hormones meant she
had seen many interesting things, but this wasn't something that came
to one of her cubicles every day.
She cocked her head to the side thoughtfully. The trouble was, they were all
wearing too many clothes - particularly the one whose spectacles had
just skidded across the floor. Myrtle blamed the bushy-haired one for that;
the boys looked quite prepared to risk a month or so of detention in the
pursuit of bare skin.
It really was rather unfair, she thought peevishly. It was all very well for them,
meltingly hot friction building between bodies and robes twisting and rubbing
and knotting together. It was just like the living, not to even consider
that pleasure for the corporeally challenged simply had to be visual.
If she wanted to enjoy this at all, Myrtle decided, she was going to have to
get a closer look.
There was a whoosh.
Hermione shivered violently, a tremble that shook her from her sensible black
socks to her fearsomely disarrayed hair. She lifted her head. "Is it
freezing in here, or is it just me?" she whispered.
"Just you," Harry replied, tightening an arm around her. Ron made an
"mmph" sound, slightly too busy to speak.
Hermione sighed, and went back to a deliciously up-close inspection of a spot
just at the base of Harry's throat.
This was more like it.