Praeclarus Solum
The Weaver Atropos
Comments: Chapter II

Praeclarus Solum

"Can you walk?"

Hermione, startled, glanced upwards once more, and stared into they icy gray depths of Draco's eyes. She felt her breathing stop. He still had that effect on her. Hermione had thought—hoped—that her attraction for Draco last night had been product of the alcohol…of her insobriety. But it hadn't. Even now, she could feel her skin goosebump as he raked his eyes unabashedly over her body. It made her feel strangely empowered. Then, she remembered his question. She shook her head slightly. "No—actually…but its—"

All sound was robbed from Hermione's lips when Draco bent down easily, and, with all the grace of a cat, scooped her up in his arms. About to complain, Hermione was silenced by Draco's warning glare, and, realizing talking would get her nowhere, she bit her lip and allowed the young man to take her to the adjoining bathroom.

Hermione supposed she should feel naked. Embarrassed. Uncomfortable, at least. But she didn't. Not at all. A slight shiver ran through her as Draco momentarily straightened her, letting her toes alight on the cool, slippery surface of the tile. Quite aware of the tremble, and attributing it wholeheartedly to the floor, Draco didn't realize how much of an effect he had on the young girl.

He held her possessively to his chest as he made to open the shower, letting the bath fill to an acceptable level before closing the tap. Still holding onto Hermione, and placing the young girl briefly in his lap as he squatted, he dipped a pale, white hand into the bath to check its temperature. He turned curiously towards Hermione. "How hot do you like it?"

Hermione darkened a shade as she thought of the many ways in which she could answer the question. Draco, however, didn't seem to notice, so she simply shrugged, the feeling of sitting on his lap reminding her of the many times Ron would grab her from behind and pull her onto him. But this was different…So different…because—because Hermione knew Draco hadn't placed her there so that he could feel her…Where Ron had done so years ago in order to experience the feel of her body atop his, Draco was doing it in order to accommodate her. "Here. Dip your hand in and tell me if it's okay."

Blushing as she felt Draco tip her forward ever-so-slightly, and feeling her breasts, by force of gravity, begin to fall away from her, Hermione let her hand fall into the murky, white water. "It's perfect," she whispered, just as Draco pulled her back into him, her back falling against his chest, "just perfect."

"Would you like anything else in it?"

Hermione looked at him curiously then, leaning forwards to try and catch his gaze. Feeling the stare, Draco turned to her, and the two locked eyes. He pressed his lips into a strained smile. Funny…Hermione only just realized how he didn't smirk much anymore…

Not wanting to disappoint him, and feeling strangely compelled to thank him for everything he'd done for her so far, Hermione shrugged. "What else is there?"

Draco didn't seem prepared to answer the question. He remained quiet for a few seconds, simply looking at her uncertainly, before letting his eyes travel over the entire bathroom. It was a rather large room, and to the left was a large, marble closet. His eyes lingered on it. " Bath salts. Bubbles. Milk…for soft skin," he unwittingly shot her a longing glance, "and shampoo. Different kinds. Mint, Cocoa—Did you know Bernie Botts makes shampoos, too?"

Hermione smiled at Draco's attempt to lessen the tension in the room. As it was, Hermione realized, the boy had changed a lot since their Hogwarts days. True, she doubted he was now a member of Harry's fanclub, but she could see what Lavender had meant about him when she'd spoken of him…he was, indeed, rather vulnerable.

"No. I didn't, actually. Bath salts sound nice. And Milk, too. I like Coconut shampoo."

Again, Draco seemed bewildered at her having answered so pleasantly. Nodding slightly, he rose to his full height, taking her along with him and looked about him. "I left my wand out there."

Hermione said nothing. At her silence, he continued, "You'd rather stand, I suppose, considering…"

Hermione managed a slight smile. "I can stand now. It's okay."

Nodding, but not seeming entirely convinced, Draco gently placed her on her feet, steadying her momentarily before heading over to retrieve his wand. He returned a few seconds later, waving a large, dark black wand in his right hand as he did so, so that the door closed behind him, the cabinet door opened, and a variety of bottles, jars, and baskets hovered about him. Hermione, who had pulled on a midnight colored robe she'd found hanging near a rack of towels, watched him. He had grown rather powerful since their graduation. As far as she knew, closing a door, opening another one, and levitating nearly twenty items took a great deal of magic. He didn't seem to be at all perturbed.

Once he'd selected the items, he gave his wand another idle flick, and everything else returned to its place, the chosen objects floating instead towards Draco's feet. Having assembled everything at his side, the young man shot her a wary glance. She half-expected him to ask whether or not she wanted to be left alone. Instead, he stood once more, having previously crouched, and crossed the entire expanse of the bathroom to get to her. Lifting her up effortlessly into his arms, he returned to his previous position and settled her at the edge of the bath. "Are you going to take off the robe, or should I?"

The very base of Hermione's spine tingled at his tone. Granted, Draco Malfoy had changed…but his essence had remained the same…

Shaking her head faintly, Hermione undid the clasp of the robe and let it fall and gather about her waist. A few seconds later, Draco had pulled her up into a standing position atop the tub and used his wand to return his robe to where it'd originally been. Standing there, as the two were, Hermione now a good foot taller than he, product of standing on the marble edge of the tub, she let her eyes fall shut as she felt Draco's cool, steady breath land in an area just above her belly button. It provoked a ticklish sensation within her. Draco hesitated then, fighting his body's natural reaction to a woman's naked body, and fighting the fact that, that same woman's body was reacting rather positively to his touch.

Taking in a quick breath, he wrapped his arms about her waist, and gently set her in the tub. A pleased shudder shook her body. Another ran though his own. Turning away, he pulled open the bottles he'd laid beside him and explained what each was. With his wand, he levitated the first bottle, making it so that it poured small amounts of pink powder into the tub's water as he spoke.

"It's Goblin Ore. It's supposed to make your skin glow. Mother used it quite frequently. This—this was actually for her…but I never had a chance to give it to her…"

Hermione nodded mildly at the explanation, sighing pleasurably to herself at the light tingle the Goblin Ore exacted on her skin as it worked its magic on her. "And this," Draco shook his near-silver locks out of habit as he spoke, "this is Pixie Bubbles. No use for it, really. Just a blasted muggle-invented triviality that gained popularity in the Wizarding World."

Years ago, if Hermione would've heard Draco mention the word 'blasted' before anything, she would've glared and screamed him a new tomorrow. Now…now it didn't seem nearly as important.

Hermione blinked curious mocha eyes as pixies—blue, pink, jade, and white ones, began to fly playfully about her, splashing one another and giggling as they caught Hermione's hair in their fingertips and sprinkled glitter atop it. Having used muggle bubbles for the larger part of her life—and having never come across bubbles used by wizards, Hermione was genuinely enthralled by the Pixie Bubbles. Draco simply watched her. Merlin, did he love to watch her.

After a good half hour of laughing alongside the pixies, Hermione became aware that two hands were, and had been for quite some time, gently rubbing a lathered sponge over her upper back. Sighing at the spoiling treatment, and having caught the last remaining pixie in her fist, Hermione relented to her body's needs, and relaxed against the tub's edge. That was as close as she could be to Draco, after all.

The young wizard, who'd rolled up his sleeves and waited until the girl was distracted enough before beginning to wash her, paused in his ministrations. "Don't stop."

At the request, Draco resumed his actions. It was hard, bathing her from where he was. It would be infinitely easier to enchant the sponge and let it do the work of its own accord, but that felt impersonal…and, despite himself, he knew he wanted to feel her. "Can I see your wand?"

Pausing once more, Draco hesitantly wagered the question. Then, figuring that if things were to go downhill, they might as well start then, he turned and picked up his wand. He placed it in her hands. It was the ultimate demonstration of trust. One's weapon in the hands of another. In the hands of one who should've been the enemy.

Hermione inspected the wand. It was rather strong. Thick, too. Hermione, forgetting where she was, turned unexpectedly to face Draco. "Is its power from a unicorn hair?"

Draco shook his head no, "It's from a serpent."

Hermione seemed perplexed. "But how could that possibly match the power of a phoenix feather?"

Draco's features tightened, if minutely. A reference to Potter. It seemed he would never rid himself of comparisons to the 'Boy Who Lived.'

Draco shrugged. "The power lies in those who wield it. A powerful wand is useless in the hands of an inept wizard. The same is true inversely."

Hermione smiled. "Mine is vinewood."

Draco smirked—the first real smirk she'd seen from him the entire day. "It's strangely fitting to you."

"You haven't bathed me appropriately."

Draco's eyes narrowed at the abrupt change in topic. He gave her a once over. "I didn't think you'd let me bathe you 'appropriately.'"

Hermione remained silent, choosing instead to let the young man make his own conclusions. He made up his mind quickly enough. "Do you mind if I get inside with you? It's easier for me that way."

The young girl shrugged. Studying her shortly, and deciding that, from the way her body reacted, she wasn't opposed to the idea, Draco leisurely removed his shoes and his socks. From the corner of his eyes, he could see Hermione tighten at the absolute lassitude with which he was undressing. A smile twitched at his lips. She wanted to seem uncaring—unaffected…but he knew better.

Hermione had turned away after a few minutes of examining him. He supposed she didn't feel entirely ready to see him nude. Not that he was planning on that anytime soon.

Turning around only when she felt the smooth action of the sponge resume, Hermione's lips pursed for a few seconds. "You're still dressed," she noted absently, nevertheless admiring the way his wet clothes clung to his every curve.

Draco nodded. "I am."

Hermione took in a breath and looked away. Draco sighed. He couldn't quite understand Hermione at the moment. He was trying to be sympathetic. He was going out of his way to try and be considerate; he was restraining himself when we would've otherwise jumped at the opportunity of an affair. And then, when he finally thought he understood her, she'd do something that sent him off kilter. Just ten minutes ago, she'd been too shy to even allow him to look at her body, and now she was disappointed that he not be undressed when he entered the tub with her.

"Look, Hermione—"

Hermione blinked inquisitively towards Draco. He hesitated at the look in her eyes. "I can't rightly tell what you want me to do. It's either I do this or I do that. Please make up your mind. It's not all that enticing being on the receiving end of mixed signals."

And it was true. Draco hated that. It was one thing that she be confused, but it was another thing entirely that she expect him to tend to every stage of her confusion. "What do you want me to say, then?"

Draco sighed, quite unintentionally running a wet hand through his hair, and shrugged. "Tell me what you want me to do."

The young girl hesitated. How exactly was she to go about that?

Then, rather coyly, and in a manner quite unlike that of the woman she'd been the night before, Hermione pressed smooth, wet lips against the corner of Draco's lips. Pulling away, she studied his reaction.

He simply stared at her, silver eyes unreadable, before wrapping his arms about the small of her back and pulling her all the closer. He captured her lips more fully, fingertips tightening about the flesh of her hips, and pulled away to settle his forehead against hers.

She could feel his breathing—shallow, broken—and scrunched her face up when his mussed hair tickled at her nose. He blinked silver eyes at her, studying her intently, a smirk curling about his lips. "There's an owl for you."

"What?" Hermione turned curiously, not seeing any.

Draco nudged at her cheek, giving a slight nod. "In the room. He's tapping."


Hermione had never much believed in it before. Years ago, when Lavender had gushed on and on about how different things were after sex, she'd rolled her eyes and turned a blind ear to it. She'd been interested, admittedly, knowing despite herself that certain things couldn't be learned through books, but had to be felt, gleamed from experience.

She felt so different around him now…as though they shared an intimacy that was on another level entirely. With every passing moment the events of the night before became clearer in her mind, and she felt herself blush at her audacity. She had been awfully…bold with Malfoy, smiling at him from beneath lidded, suggestive eyes. She'd given herself mindlessly and completely to him—to what he had made her feel, and she finally understood the implications of giving oneself for another. Nothing was certain, she knew…but at that point—she had no intention of thinking of the future; she was merely glad for what Malfoy had given her, even if it were nothing but a momentary solace.

Draco studied the young woman from his perch by the fireplace, chin supported by his thumb, the rest of his digits spread out before him. He loved looking at her. She had only recently discovered the Malfoy library—expansive in all manners of magic. Looking at her now, Draco remembered why she'd been named the smartest witch at Hogwarts. It was her love of learning that did it.

She brushed errant curls away from her face, pushing them behind her ears, glanced up…to find him watching her earnestly. At his smile, she blushed, cheeks twinged pink at the unaccustomed attention. He wondered if she had already forgotten his touch…he hadn't. If anything, seeing her standing as she was—unassumingly by the tall shelf, body gravitated subconsciously towards him, fingers skimming the books as the read…he imagined those same fingertips on him, over his face, on his lips—

"You scare me when you do that."

"Hmm?"

He pulled his hand away from his mouth as he was distracted from his reverie. "Do what?"

"Look at me like that…you don't even bother blinking."

A pale brow rose along with its owner. "And you blame that solely on me?"

Hermione brought the book she'd been reading close, keeping a finger inside to hold a page. She craned her head to the right, honey curls tumbling, and waited wordlessly for him to continue.

Draco leaned towards her, breath catching as he took in her scent, and pulled her close to him. "You're beautiful."

He was vaguely aware of the sound of a book crashing to the floor.

Hermione trembled and dropped to the floor, fingertips tightening about the spine of the book, and hugged it to herself. Her glance upwards revealed the tall blonde, eyes closed and hands fisted, and she felt her cheeks burn a little more on account of it. She'd never once really felt desire before…and she never thought it'd been a sentiment she'd have liked to have been on the receiving end of, but…

Having him so close to her, despite the feelings of awkwardness that it inspired within her…also made her feel excited—womanly. To be desired was something of another world entirely.

She touched his cheek tentatively, unsure yet of her touch, and pursed her lips in curious wonder when his eyes fell shut, a yearning expression coming to his face. He was pale. Pale all over, she recalled with a blush. His skin was silky—of the definite aristocratic kind, and it held the look of being the type to bruise easily.

He was breathtaking. He was handsome in that classical way—well mannered because of his upbringing, genteel and gentlemanly. He had changed over the years, his disposition morphing as his body did, his manner of thought complimentary to his newfound discoveries about life. He had long distanced himself from his family's ancestral traditions…and, she realized belatedly, his ideals regarding blood purity.

"Yesterday…" he cleared his voice as he began to speak, deep tenor sounding richer amidst the library, "when I saw you…I didn't know what to think."

Her fingertip's journey continued downwards, so that it dipped and teased at his jaw, "You'd changed so much…but…you were still the same."

Hermione stood on tiptoe, chancing a quick peck at his lips. "And then you kissed me."

The young girl cocked her head adoringly, and stared into the depths of his eyes. His expression hardened slightly. "And I had hoped you'd be gone by morning."

Hermione's brows came together, and she took a hesitant step back.

"…I didn't want to face your regret."

"Regret?"

A nod, "Regret. Because of what you'd done. With whom you'd done it with."

The young witch frowned, but sighed. "I don't regret anything."

"Nothing at all?"

"No."

She hesitated. "Last night was…pardoning the cliché…mind-blowing. You made me feel," she lifted brown eyes to meet silver, "like I'd never thought I'd feel. And I thank you for that."

"Don't thank me."

"Why not?"

"It's not something to be thanked over. It's something I'd do…over and over, if you asked me to."

"If I asked you…?"

There was another nod. All he needed was a word. An indication. Anything. He wasn't the type to kid himself into believing he'd stumbled upon something that was instantly perfect. He understood what had happened; welcomed it whole-heartedly despite the wronged nature of it all. He'd had a one-night stand with Hermione Granger. But that didn't mean it had to end there. Not by any means.

There was that shyness about her that was beginning to drive him to extremes. He longed to be with her again, to feel her moist, tan skin beneath his hands, to feel her body yielding and warm under his own. He wanted to touch her all over again, kiss her, feel her caresses. And he wanted to know it was all her.

No alcohol. No impending threats. Just him and her.

She had received a letter from Potter he knew, he'd recognize that temperamental, snowy owl anywhere. He'd excused himself as she'd read the message, not wanting to intrude despite his better judgement, and had taken her to the library shortly thereafter. But it was gnawing at him. And it would've made an even bigger impression if he hadn't remembered what Hermione had told him the night before. About Potter marrying Weasley's sister. He'd probably been worried when Hermione hadn't shown up.

Draco rubbed at his temple despite himself, wishing he could excuse himself indefinitely, go back to his room, brew a sleeping draught, and dream of his night with Hermione over and over again.

It was unrealistic, but it was his only option as of then.

"Why do you think I'd regret it?"

She was curious, perhaps even the slightest bit hurt. "Because you weren't in the best state of mind last night, is why."

"I am now, though, aren't I?"

A nod.

"And I'm not screaming at you for staining my purity, am I?"

A bit of a scowl appeared on the man's features. He was about to protest when Hermione raised a silencing hand. "I'm a woman, Draco."

He had noticed that much.

She swallowed and closed her eyes, "I wanted you just as much as you wanted me, and Merlin know it, if I had had but one doubt, I wouldn't have let it happen. But it did, because I let it and because I wanted it to."

"Because of Potter?"

"Harry? What does Harry have to do with this?"

Silver eyes darkened as the tall man turned his back on the honey-tressed girl, fists tightening. "That's why you were drinking last night."

"That's not why I was drinking."

"Hermione…" His voice had softened. It was pleading.

"It's not…not really."

"Then why?"

"Because…I just realized…how lonely I was."

Draco paused then, uncertain of how to proceed…or of what to say. Hermione took a step forward, reaching out and placing a tentative arm on the curve of his shoulder. "I…I was just—afraid that I was going to be alone, just like when we started Hogwarts."

"Harry's married, Ron's off with Lavender…doing Merlin knows what," here she stopped, grimacing before continuing, "and I was back to being me. Boring ol' Hermione, who hangs out at the lab for fun. How quaint."

"You're not quaint."

"I am."

He was awfully adept at changing the subject. "Not at all. You're a beautiful woman. Intelligent, cautious, sensual…soft."

Hermione shifted under his gaze, "But I was still alone."

"And you never told Potter or Weasley about it?"

She looked near the point of glaring. "Tell them what? To sod off their girlfriends?"

"If you were their friend—"

Hermione smiled sadly, shaking her head, "It doesn't quite work that way. I want them to be happy."

"What about you?"

"What about me?"

"Don't you want to be happy?"

"I don't know anyone sane who doesn't want to be."

"Then? I don't see the problem."

Hermione's shoulders fell in a delicate shrug. Her smooth shirt, wrinkled as it was from the previous night's endeavors, hung nicely over her frame, highlighting her womanly body, despite its decidedly androgynous nature. "I don't either. I'm not supposed to be lonely."

"Books can't teach you how to find someone."

"I know…"

She looked upwards at him, hazel eyes twinkling absently. "Harry's owl invited me to their reception dinner."

"What?"

She had a habit of going off on tangents. She nodded. "Their reception dinner. They're having one…this weekend. And they want me to go. I didn't want to go alone…but, I was thinking," she cast him a sizing look, "…maybe you would come with me?"

"Me?"

She nodded, tufts of chocolate curls falling in her face. "Me? To the Weasley's house?"

"Why not?"

"I'm Malfoy. I'm not supposed to like the Weasley's."

"You don't have to. Come with me."

"Hermione—I don't quite think my presence will be appreciated."

"We're not in school anymore."

"I didn't say we were."

Hermione gave a nod. She stayed quiet for a while, focus on his black, shiny dragon-hide shoes, before lifting her eyes up to study him. "Do you regret it, Malfoy?"

"Draco."

"Malfoy."

"No. I don't."

"Why?"

"Why the questions?"

"Because I want to know."

"…Because it's something I'd always wanted."

Hermione's eyes narrowed slightly. "You'd always wanted to sleep with me?"

"No. I'd always wanted to know you."

"You don't know me. Not at all."

Draco gave a succinct nod. "All right then. I don't know you." His manner was crisp, rigid—formal.

Hermione opened her mouth, ready to argue, when steely silver eyes snapped in her direction. "You're right. I don't know you. All I know is how your body shivers when I kiss you, how your eyebrow crinkles when I touch you—your smell, the way you blush whenever I look at you…the way you feel around me, the texture of your skin," his eyes darkened another notch, "the way you look when you're spent—your head thrown back, your body glistening, your breathing ragged and shallow—the way your voice sounds when you feel you can't go on."

The young woman bit her lip at his litany, stomach churning at the vivacity with which he expressed himself, heart constricting at the bitterness in his voice. She'd never been talked to like that before, but granted, she'd never been involved in an affair, either. The tears bit at her eyes, and Hermione could feel her taking a step back at his onslaught. "I'm not made of stone Hermione!"

She raised wet eyes up at him, rubbing at her cheeks roughly, the optimism in her tummy dropping at his tone. Her lips quivered despite herself and her eyes searched out the door. She wanted to leave. More than anything she wanted to leave; forget she'd ever seen him again—forget about Harry, about Ginny, Ron…everyone.

She wrung her hands desperately, choking back a sob and feeling her breath catch as she made for the door. It hurt. Deep down, somewhere, she'd been building up the hope that despite what had happened—despite their drunken encounter—there would be occasion for more.

She was clumsy to pull open the door, it being of sturdy and heavy material, ideal for keeping out the noise. She was momentarily torn between running upstairs and burying her face in sheets of the bed where she'd awakened, or running out the front door and leaving her nightmare behind.

Vaguely, she recalled she was in a wizard's house, and sought out the fireplace. Her steps were quick staccato on the marbled floor of the Malfoy foyer, and she was a good twenty feet from the mantle when Draco's arms fell about her, bringing her crushingly close to his chest.

She felt stifled at first, Gryffindor pride pushing her to try and pull away, but Malfoy was dogged with determination and held her close as she cried hot angry tears. Her heart was pounding in her ears and she found she couldn't quite breathe. "Don't…don't, Hermione."

She could breathe in his scent—musky cologne and something innately him that made her tingle at her toes, and lightheaded in her thought. There was something just as desperate in his nature that made her hesitate, "Don't go."

His arms tightened about her, and his lips were at the crown of her head. He began a trail of kisses from then on, dropping them haphazardly about her face, kissing away her tears, groaning inwardly in despair when they began anew. "Don't…"

He caught her lips then, unable to stand the sight of her—eyes bleary red, cheeks tearstained and puffy, hair askew—and crushed her even closer.

"No one ever told me I was beautiful before."

"Why not?"

Hazel eyes blinked up blearily at him as their owner brought a fine glass to her lips, "Because. Everyone was always too busy with themselves."

"Should I be honored then?" There was a slight twinkle to otherwise lifeless eyes.

"Yes. You should."

"Then I am. You're beautiful."

"Say it with my name."

He paused, setting down his glass, and pressed his smooth, cool hand at her cheek. He brought his face closer to hers, platinum hair brushing caramel. His breath was soft against her lips, and she closed her eyes in anticipation. He shifted slightly, pressing his lips to her ear, "You're beautiful, Hermione."

And that was all she needed to hear.

His hands found hers and held her fast, fingertips intertwining, thumb brushing against the underside of her trembling palm. He pressed his forehead against hers, feeling the rise and fall of her chest against him, and sighed. Merlin, but did he want to kiss her!

"I never understood why you and Potter never amounted to anything."

Frail shoulders rose and fell in a detached shrug. "The Wonder Trio, was it? That's what they called us."

'That's what I called you.'

Hermione, as if reading his mind, gave an affirmative nod, "There's something to be said about being surrounded by men…and never being minded."

"They were intimidated, maybe?"

"No. They were just too different from me."

"Why's that?"

"Because…they were never lonely—being with someone was never just enough for me."

Giving in to instinct, and knowing she'd pull away if she so desired, Draco pressed his mouth to hers, surrendering his pride as he kissed her. He could feel her resolve fading, dissipating as her hands found their way about his neck, a little sigh escaping her.

A smooth kiss was pressed to the base of his neck, the touch experimental…bemused. Somewhere in the back of his mind he remembered a night—when they were still at Hogwarts, when he had stumbled in on her and Potter. The two were a blushing fiasco, and—though he had seen nothing of what had transpired—they both threatened him at wand-point, should he say anything of what he had seen.

He never had. He'd never felt any real need to. As far as he'd been concerned, Potter and the Mudblood could have done as they'd liked; it bore no consequence on him. But his mind had been piquied since then. He'd pondered over Granger's condition.

Over how she must have felt watching all those girls fuss over Potter at whatever thing he did.

Eight years later, he still couldn't understand her blind devotion to the 'Boy Who Lived.' It ate at his male ego—made him bristle, even…but there was something that kept him from acting out upon it…and that was the fact that she was with him, then. And that Potter was miles away, getting hitched.

"Come upstairs."

"Not here, Hermione."

"Why not?"

"There are people watching—"

The young girl nodded vaguely, lost in the feel of Draco's arms…in the sound of his voice.

"You know what's funny?"

A handsome smile spread itself on attentive pink lips, "what's that?"

"I'm not lonely anymore."

Hermione was vaguely aware of Hedwig—aware that she still awaited a letter of response to Harry, aware that she shouldn't be where she was…

But all she could rightly think of was the young man hovering above his, his hot kisses, and the whispered promise of his touch.

The young man's smile widened. "You know…neither am I."

End


This one goes out to pinkdelusion, who helped me in the final stages when...I was really confused. Hope you enjoyed!