Disclaimer: We are seniors in high school. We are not J.K.R. We do not own the characters that we use in these stories, we own the plot, some of the location (Well, we don't own Florida, but we own how we use it, I think), and we own the characters that you don't recognize from the Harry Potter books and movies.

A/N: We know that the last chapter was really short. I (Brittany) am trying to make the chapters longer, but when I put them on this it's like three pages on Word and then it seems somuch smaller when it gets here. I don't know why. Anyway, I will try to make them longer for all of you who like to read a lot!

Enjoy!

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V. Body Over Mind

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"Are you all right?" Harry asked. There was a girl with her head down on the bar, she was sobbing. Harry could hear her sniffling and moaning. "What's wrong?" he tried again as he sat next to the shaken brunette.

"My boyfriend…" she said. "He—he—"

"He broke up with you?" Harry asked.

"He died," she said, sobbing uncontrollably.

"Oh," Harry said. "How did that happen?" he asked.

"Quidditch accident," she said.

He stared open-mouthed at her, this was a Muggle club, he didn't expect a witch to be here.

"It's not a very well-known sport, you've probably never heard of it," she continued.

"No," he said. "I have heard of it, I play it."

"Really?" she asked, starting to wipe the tears from her eyes, but leaving her head on the counter.

"Yeah, I play seeker for Puddlemere," he said.

"That's the team Oliver was on before he went to the Cannons. Yesterday a bludger knocked him off of his broom and he—he fell—" She started sobbing again.

"Oliver? As in Oliver Wood?"

"Yes," the girl said.

"He's dead?" Harry asked.

"Yes, and now I have no one."

"What's your name?" Harry asked softly, feeling sorry for the woman.

"Pansy…" she sobbed. "Pansy Malfoy."

Harry's hands tensed. "Pansy Parkinson?" he asked.

"Yes, until I married my bastard husband! We really aren't married in truth—we've never…he—he refuses to sleep with me!"

Oh gods, I didn't remember how much she whined. Harry thought bitterly. "I'm sorry," he forced.

"What's your name?" she asked softly, finally lifting her head from the bar. She looked into his bright green eyes and started crying again. "Gods, I told Harry bloody Potter that my husband won't sleep with me?" she cried.

Harry was looking dumbstruck at his old school mate's face. She had nothing of the pugliness left that she had back in school. In fact, she was quite beautiful now. She had a small, pointed nose; aristocratic in a feminine way. Her raven hair nearly as dark as his own fell in waves midway down her back. Bright blue eyes, still watery from her tears. Her cheeks were splashed with rouge. Her lips, red, rosy, pouty, made in a way that looked as though they waited to be kissed.

He looked back to her eyes, noticing that he had spent far too long looking at her lips. "Why not?" he asked and cursed himself at the question sounding husky and a bit breathless.

"I don't know," she said softly, lowering her tear-stricken eyes. "He doesn't desire me, I have a horrible feeling that he's in love with someone he can't have. He's always so depressed and he drinks all the time. I just wish that once he would get so drunk to climb into my bed, just so I would know what it would be like to sleep with my husband," she cried.

"He doesn't deserve you," Harry heard himself say—his body taking over his mind. He therefore reasoned that his next action of wrapping his arm about her neck and dragging her mouth to his was also not his fault.

Lemons and Vanilla Sporks (Wait, Vanilla Forks!)

Brittany and Amber