It was near an outcrop of oversized boulders where Harry spotted her sitting by the lake. The sky was as dark and hard as steel, it's impenetrable coverage hiding any warmth or happiness that could be drawn from the sun.
The death of Cho Chang had been a shock. She'd been found poisoned on the floor of an unused broom closet.
Harry had followed the professors that night, hidden beneath his invisibility cloak. He'd hardly been able to keep pace with Dumbledore as he rushed out of his office. When they discovered Cho, he'd nearly fallen over at the sight of her.
She did not look peaceful in death; in fact, she looked far from it. Her last moments appeared to be those of extreme agony. Cho Chang was a twisted wreck on the floor, blood and foam dripping from the silent scream of her open mouth. Her face was a hideous mixture of green and purple, and her eyes were red pools of burst vessels. Perhaps worst of all was the mangled remains of her neck, flesh torn away in strips by desperate claws as she gasped for a breath she could not find.
Around her lay a litter of empty bottles—they'd determined it to be the missing pieces to Slughorn's expensive collection. Freshly shattered and spilt across the floor was a gifted bottle of oak matured mead, still partially wrapped with Professor Slughorn's name written on it. It was the same bottle he'd wanted to share with Harry.
Harry didn't sleep a wink that night.
It was during breakfast when the news started to filter its way through Hogwarts. At least that was what he'd heard when returning to the dorms from the kitchen. The students were in shock to hear that the beautiful, brilliant, and talented Cho Chang was dead. It almost had a fairy tale aspect to it, if it weren't so gruesome.
She was with Cedric now. Perhaps that brought her a sense of peace wherever she was.
Tears were shed by many; others were too stunned to speak. But it was the D.A. who were the most affected. They swore that they hadn't noticed anything wrong, that aside from missing the odd meeting, which wasn't entirely uncommon, she looked fine. They wore their guilt openly, though they didn't have to. It appeared as if Cho had managed to hide her condition from everyone.
But yet, Daphne had known—at least to some extent.
It was all too confusing and all too tragic.
What made the day worse, was today was the day Katie returned to Hogwarts: one girl dead and the other alive. A life for a life. Only luck and its double-edged nature separated the two.
While checking his map that afternoon, Harry happened across a name leaving the castle. It was something he had pushed off for far too long, and that was how he found himself approaching the water's edge.
His heart was pumping, heating his body against the cold nipping at his face. Her form was hunched, her brown hair splayed out behind her in a way that was both unkempt and attractive. At one point he had envisioned himself beside her, especially after the day they had spent together in Hogsmeade, in what felt like forever ago despite only being at the beginning of the year.
Despite what might have been, and whatever circumstances held them apart, he was her friend first before anything else.
"Long-time no see," Harry called as he approached from the rocky shore.
She turned, her nose dripping and face red from the cold. "I missed you," she breathed.
"I missed you too, Megan."
Harry took a seat next to her on the ground, immediately removing his cloak and throwing it over her shoulders.
"I'm sorry—"
"No, don't," Harry cut her off softly. "I don't need you to apologize. Things have been tough… really tough this year—for everyone. Gwenog told me you had something to say to me, but that can wait. It's just good to see you, and I want to talk to my friend before anything else."
She smiled, a ray of sunlight escaping from its cloud covered prison. They talked just as they used to. Words came easy to them, a playful dialogue that ebbed and flowed like the current of a lazy river. It was an odd friendship most wouldn't have expected, one forged from a shared love for a sport, but it worked and they didn't question it.
In a short silence that accompanied a pause which naturally settled between them, Harry could still sense a certain nervousness to Megan.
He sighed and a puff of breath blew visibly out of his mouth "What is it?" he asked.
Megan turned and fidgeted, her gaze quickly diverting to the freezing waters of the lake. "Do you trust me?" Her voice was just above a mumble.
"Of course."
She looked at him then with only a trace of hesitance, the rest of her set in determination. He felt a warm hand on his cheek as her body moved closer to his. Her breath tickled his face, before her lips pressed softly against his. They were gone before they even touched.
"I thought so…" she trailed off.
"Thought what?" There was no awkwardness between them, no passion, no confusion, simply a platonic understanding.
"I just needed to be sure I made the right choice," she said mostly to herself. "I once thought I loved you—I was a little girl then, but still I thought so. I grew up, and love slowly turned into genuine affection, attraction, and a crush on a little boy who flew better than I could ever hope to, without even trying."
"Well, I wouldn't say without trying."
"Oh, shush you!" She slapped him playfully on the shoulder. "I'm telling you something important, you can at least be serious."
"I'll try," he laughed.
"I had a crush on you for a long time. Longer than I would like to admit, actually. It's part of the reason why I disliked Weasley for all those years. I saw her as competition, I guess."
"Ginny? You don't seriously think—"
"Who knows, she might have grown up too. I can't speak for her now," Megan continued. "It was while I was growing up where I started to notice new things—new people. I was scared at first, it didn't fit with what I had always thought I wanted. I still don't know even now. But when Katie got hurt I had a sense of what I was feeling.
"We started spending more and more time together outside of just Quidditch, and I felt connected with Katie. She understood me—kind of like you do—and she made me smile. Katie told me how she felt one day, how she liked me, and I didn't know what to do or say. I'm still not sure. But when she got hurt, when she was dying in front of my eyes, I knew I couldn't just do nothing and float in the air while the game passed me by."
"Wow…" Harry was gobsmacked. "That's great, Megan."
"Wait! You're not mad at me?" She sounded surprised. "You're not mad I kept things from you? Lied to you?"
"Of course not!" Harry exclaimed. "Katie's alive! Just look around, in times like these nobody is safe, we don't know what will happen tomorrow. All we can do is hold on to the people we care about for as long as we can."
"What if I don't want what she wants?" Megan shrank back, her voice small and afraid. "I don't want to hurt her more than she has been already."
"Katie will understand—I know she will. Katie has a big heart, just tell her what you told me."
The tight embrace he received was unexpected. "Thank you," she whispered into his ear, and kissed him lightly on the cheek.
"Harry…" Her voice called back, carried on the wings of a light breeze. He twisted around to see her standing several feet away, already on her way back to the castle. "You're the best person I've ever met, don't let anyone tell you otherwise."
She was gone after that, yet Harry continued to sit and watch the rippling surface of the Black Lake. The tentacles of the giant squid peaked above the waters, knocking aside thin chunks of broken ice. He almost wished he'd brought some toast.
In the cold afternoon of a day mixed so gravely with joy and despair, Harry allowed a smile to creep up on his face, at this glint of happiness in a dark world.
The warmth of the shower as the water ran down his face drew a sigh of satisfaction from Harry. The heat was delightful during cold days such as these. He only just returned from outdoors moments ago, and decided to wash up before heading down for an early supper. Not one for long showers, he quickly finished before drying off and entering the dorm.
Dean and Seamus had been inside debating West Ham United's latest football results when he first entered, but it appeared as if they'd departed without him. Harry did not particularly mind.
Expecting to be the last Gryffindor to leave, Harry was surprised when he left the dorm to find Ron, Hermione, Ginny and Neville waiting for him below. Even more so, he was puzzled as to why they looked so anxious.
"Is everything alright?" Harry asked.
"Is everything alright?" Hermione's voice rang sharp with emotion. "Of course not!"
Harry cringed internally. "Right, sorry. I wasn't thinking."
"It's alright mate," Ron spoke up, though his voice sounded strange. "It's all a bit mental innit? You know with all the students getting attacked… I couldn't help but notice you didn't seem shocked though when you learnt about Cho, especially with your history."
"What's that supposed to mean?" Harry asked directly. He couldn't help but notice the way everyone shifted nervously.
"Nothing, Harry," Neville interceded from the side. "We were just wondering how you found out first?"
"I was with Dumbledore—" Harry quickly realized he shouldn't have said that.
"Were you, now?" Ron picked up from where he had left off. "Seeing him quite a bit aren't you? Big pals, what with you running into Cho's dead body together and him picking you up from our house on Christmas—"
"Where are you going with this?" demanded Harry, unamused. He was beginning to feel his patience slip. "If you want to say something, just say it."
"We just want to talk, Harry." This time Hermione cut across Ron, trying to placate him. "We've just noticed how you've been acting odd this year…"
"In case you haven't noticed, Hermione, there have a been a lot of odd things happening this year—you're not excluded from this either." He looked pointedly in Ron's direction, causing her to flush. It wasn't particularly fair of him, but he didn't care.
"You're hiding something from us, Harry. We've known it for a while. We just want to help," Ginny tried the direct approach, and stepped boldly towards him
"I don't need help," he lied. "And I'm not hiding anything."
"Hippogriff shit!" Ron spat, his face growing a deeper shade of red. "You can lie to whoever you want, but I've been your best mate for years and I'm not falling for it."
"I don't know what you want me to say." Harry was not pleased with the way his friends had attempted to trap him, and get answers out of him.
"Just tell us the truth! Tell us what in Merlin's name is going on, and why you've been running around by yourself all year!"
"A war is going on, Ron! I've just been doing what needs to be done in order to be prepared!" He could feel the irritation crawling under his skin at the way his friends tried to trap him for answers.
"Do you not trust us, is that what this is? After all we've been through together—all of us—you're going to shut us out when it really matters?"
"I don't have a choice!" Harry snapped. "You're asking for things I can't give."
He'd made his choice back in the summer based on his faith in Dumbledore; but now, he saw the reasoning behind it and why it was so imperative. Everything conducted in their lessons: the magic, the theory, the places they visited and the memories they studied, the implications of them all were too valuable to let slip. If the wrong person caught wind of what they were up to, it could spell disaster and lose the single advantage they held over Voldemort.
He trusted his friends with his own life, but he couldn't trust anyone but himself to the secrets of Voldemort's destruction.
To pass that knowledge any further would open countless avenues for the secret to be revealed. Like ink in water, it had the potential to disperse without control, and sooner or later Voldemort would learn of the discovery of his Horcruxes.
"You can't act like nothing is going on, Harry. I've seen the scar on your shoulder and Neville has too—it's not like you can hide it when you're changing in the dorm and locker rooms."
Harry's hand instinctively reached to where the Lethifold had bit his shoulder.
"You got it around the time you were stuck in the Hospital Wing," Ron finished.
"I had Dragon Lung," Harry protested, but it was weakly done.
"I checked the map, Harry," revealed Ron, shaking his head sadly. "We weren't allowed to see you when Dumbledore announced you had Dragon Lung and we wanted to make sure you were alright in the Hospital Wing, so I took out the map… and you weren't there."
Harry was at a loss for words. "I was—"
"With Dumbledore, I'm sure." There was nothing pleasant about the sarcasm in Ron's voice.
"You're always disappearing at odd times," Hermione said.
"Not to mention how broody you were when you came back with Dumbledore after Christmas," Ginny added.
"We're not the only ones who've noticed this, Harry," Neville pointed out. "Everyone has been talking about how you're never around, and living off in your own world separate from the rest of us."
"Harry, we understand what you're going through. We just don't want to see you isolate yourself from us. You can trust us, Harry. We love you and will always be by your side whether you want us to, or not."
Hermione's words, and the passion behind them, touched his soul. He looked around at his friends with something heavy in his throat. He didn't know what he did to deserve such loyalty. It only made his next words that much more painful.
"I can't."
"Can't or won't?" Ron's voice was tight.
"Does it really matter?" he replied, helplessly.
Hermione's brown eyes were filled with tears. "You can't keep everything secret forever, Harry. Wars aren't won by a single person."
"Maybe. But this one might have to," Harry whispered to no one.
He turned to leave the room, hating himself with each step he took, and not having the strength to glimpse back at his friends. While exiting through the portrait of the Fat Lady, Harry heard a frightening roar of frustration followed by the crunch of splintering wood.
The only thought running through his mind being if his friends would ever forgive him.
"Are you sure about this?"
"No, but what other choice do we have?" Katie replied. She stood in front of him at the exit of the dressing room, adjusting the armour over her Gryffindor jersey. She had what Harry liked to call her 'game face' on, the very same one worn so often by Angelina and Oliver before that.
Perhaps it was a captain thing.
"Not McLaggen," Harry deadpanned.
Cormac McLaggen was likely the worst option available, but sadly the only one as well.
After their bust up in the common room, Ron in a fit of frustrated rage punched a carved wooden shield that sat upon the mantel above the fireplace, and shattered both the shield and his hand. As if to prove a further point, Ron refused to get it checked.
Perhaps he thought the pain of his broken wrist would crack Harry and force him to come back and confide in his friends. For nearly two weeks Ron continued his antics, struggling even to hold his wand for the most basic spells in class. In the end, after a series of explosive rows in the middle of the common room, Hermione stunned him and brought him to Pomfrey.
The only thing Ron's stubbornness led to was the bones in his hand settling poorly in his hand, forcing Madam Pomfrey to vanish them all and grow them again. He hadn't recovered in time for the next Quidditch match, and that was how they ended up with McLaggen as their last minute keeper replacement.
"He's actually fairly good, you know," Katie pointed out, leaning against the tip of her broom. They were waiting for the rest of the team to join them.
Harry could hear the roar of the crowd overhead. Quidditch at Hogwarts was always a spectacle no matter the match. There was always something going on the pitch: long-held grudges, new rivalries, up and coming players, and bragging rights if not anything else. The match today had almost been cancelled, but the professors thought it might do some good—to raise spirits and help students unleash their emotions through a common passion.
As such, the atmosphere was notably charged today. With a win, Gryffindor could clinch the Quidditch Cup, and everyone in the crowd knew this. The chorus' of familiar chants, both new and centuries old, could be heard reverberating around the stadium, sending vibrations down through shaky wooden beams and into its very foundation. The enchantments on the stands were being stretched to their limits, and Harry knew without a doubt today's match would be a mad one.
"Sure, he might be alright when he's not being a complete blighter in the air," Harry grumbled. He knew he was being unfair to Katie, who'd made the only decision she could, but Harry really did not like Cormac.
"If he helps us win the cup, I don't care what he does," Katie laughed nervously.
"You'll be fine Katie—the best captain we've ever had—and I'm not just saying that because you're not a slave driver who has us up and running before the crack of dawn."
Katie giggled and smiled at him appreciatively, much of the pre-match tension leaving her features.
"Thank, Harry…" she paused and looked up at him with a light blush coloring her cheeks, "… and thanks."
"Don't mention it," Harry shrugged.
"Alright! Let's go ladies, we've got some duffers to smack around!" A booming voice came blasting from behind them, causing Harry to cringe just as a hand smacked painfully against his back.
Cormac McLaggen stood donned in his full Quidditch gear, a proud smirk dominating his face. He looked like model straight off the pages of Teen Witch Weekly.
Harry wanted to punch the idiot in the face.
"I knew it was only a matter of time before you all came to your senses and called me up—for the season clinching game no less!" He spoke with such confidence that Harry wondered if he actually knew how unwanted he was, or simply was completely oblivious
"Alright McLaggen, line up," Katie ordered.
"Yes captain," he answered in a voice that made Harry's skin crawl with its smarminess. "I'm just happy that we can put this slide behind us and get back to winning ways—"
"We haven't lost a game yet," said Ginny, who'd just stepped out of the dressing room.
"—I don't want to knock the old keeper or anything," Cormac continued as if he hadn't heard Ginny, "but had we stuck with me since the beginning, we would have won the cup by now."
"I don't think that's even possible," Harry whispered to Katie, who snickered and nodded in response.
"Peakes! Coote! Get out here!" Katie shouted, and two stocky adolescents came stumbling out of the locker room, fumbling with the straps of their shoulder pads. "Alright, listen up—that includes you too McLaggen." They all focused with single-minded attention. "We know the way Hufflepuff is going to play. It's going to be the same as what they did against Slytherin and Ravenclaw. It'll be a high-press, so be sure to keep your head up when their chasers are closing you down."
"Move the quaffle quick, girls," she continued, looking at Demelza and Ginny. "Side-to-side passes and looking to switch the play quickly—that's how we'll break their line. No fancy flying. If you hold on to the quaffle for more than five seconds, they'll poke it free and be through on goal. Bludgers will be coming quick and fast, but they're not so much looking to hit you as they are trying to force you into their press. Coote and Peakes, you two are there to intercept and break their lines. We need the space to go on the offensive. I don't want to see you smacking the bludger anywhere other than at their chasers."
"Yes ma'am," they called in a salute.
Katie smiled, and for a moment, let them bask in the noise of the crowd. It was electrifying. Harry could feel his blood pumping through his veins. His body craved the speed of his Firebolt and the rush of wind in his face.
We've got Potter! Harry Potter! I just don't think you understand!
A single chant cut through them all in that moment. One Dean had come up with at the start of the season.
He's Gryffindor's Man! He's better than his old man!
The buzz building inside him was almost too much.
We've got Harry Potter!
"Harry?"
"Yes?" He looked over to Katie.
"Just do your thing."
We've got Potter!
"In the starting squad for Gryffindor today!" An amplified voice rang from the stadium above. Harry was a touch disappointed it Luna wasn't commentating today. Her insight into the game was unlike anyone else's. "The Captain… Katie Bell!"
Harry Potter!
"McLaggen, don't fuck this up," were the last words she had to say, before mounting her broom and shooting out on to the pitch.
"Standing in beside her, is the sensational… Ginny Weasley!"
It looked as if Cormac was trying to give Ginny some last minute advice, but she flashed away before he could finish.
"And the fantastic rookie… Demelza Robins!"
I just don't think you understand!
Cormac looked a bit put off that he hadn't been able to finish what he wanted to say.
"In position of beaters today… Jimmy Peakes and Ritchie Coote!"
The two knocked their heads and smacked their clubs together, before taking off in tandem
.
"Filling in at keeper for the injured Ron Weasley… Cormac McLaggen!"
He's Gryffindor's Man!
Cormac seemed to want to pass on some of his wisdom to Harry, but the call for his name was enough to pull him away.
"And starting at seeker…"
He's better than his old man!
The crowd was nearly deafening at this point.
We've got—
"Harry Potter!"
Harry was halfway across the pitch in the blink of an eye. Wind whipping across his face, arms gripping tightly to the handle, and legs squeezing to control the bucking of the backend of his broom, Harry pushed to a higher speed before shooting directly up into the air like a rocket.
A smile split his face the entire way, as he looped and twirled about the air, getting a feel for the wind conditions of the game.
Cutting down to the level of the stands, Harry slowed as he circled the pitch, looking over the assembled crowd.
Harry Potter's magic! He wears a magic hat!
Harry burst out laughing as they moved into another one of Dean's creations.
When he sees the golden snitch, he says I'm having that!
Each section reserved for the different houses was decked out in their colors. Hufflepuff had a giant moving banner of a badger they named Ced. He could see the mass of their fans chanting something, but it was drowned out by the wave of Gryffindor supporters.
He catches it with his left hand!
The Gryffindor section was filled with gold flags and crimson streamers, giving off the impression the stand had caught fire and turned into an untameable blaze. Posters that read 'Weasley Is Our King' and the alternate 'Weasley Is Our Queen', stood tall and proud. Under the one that read 'Potter for President' was Dean, wearing a 'Weasley Is My Queen' t-shirt and Seamus with one that read 'Marry Me Potter'. Beside them was Hermione donning her Gryffindor scarf, a face-painted Ron, and Neville who was trying to keep his head away from the gaping maw of Luna's giant lion head.
He catches it with his right!
"OR MOUTH!" the Gryffindor section shouted together with cheers and laughter.
The Ravenclaw gallery was more subdued. They wore badges in honour of Cho and cheered politely for all the players.
And when we win the Cup again we sing this song all night!
Oooooooooooooooohhhh
Slytherin on the other hand knew exactly who to cheer for, and it wasn't Gryffindor. A chorus of boos and hisses were hailed his way. Slytherin needed a Gryffindor loss both for the sake of their rivalry, but also to have just the slightest chance of winning the cup. Harry spotted Daphne hidden in the corner of the stand. He waved to her as he flew by, hoping she would see.
The neutral section was jam-packed with scouts and professionals, former students, parents, and teachers. It was a melting pot of individuals with different allegiances. Harry could see colors of the four different houses, but also jerseys and memorabilia from the various professional and national teams. Tonks was there cheering madly with Auror Fardale, her hair a spiky mess of black and yellow.
At some point the Hufflepuff players had entered the pitch, and it was time to form up.
Hermione was always right about one thing, he thought as the captains shook hands with Madam Hooch. Us magicals are mad about Quidditch. And I love it.
The game was on with a flash, fans screaming and players shouting as Hooch released the match balls into the air. A bludger nearly took Harry's head off with its erratic flight, only a shout from Richie saving him as he flew over and smacked the iron ball into the crowd of Hufflepuff chasers converging like a swarm of bees on the quaffle in Ginny's hand.
Not wasting another moment, Harry soared above the main action of the game. His eyes searched the pitch like a hawk, hoping to glimpse the snitch.
"And Gryffindor scores! Weasley with a fantastic Biggins Role, before assisting a rocket from Bell!"
As quick as they scored, Hufflepuff came right back and evened the game. The back and forth action between the teams continued for some time, with Katie's game plan working effectively against Hufflepuff's pressure. However, Gryffindor struggled defensively.
Harry did his best to block out the noise of the crowd, zipping around the pitch and between play searching for the elusive glint of gold. The Hufflepuff seeker stuck tight next to him, in a manner he'd grown used to over the years. With Harry's speed on a broom, it was almost impossible for the other seekers to catch up if he spotted the snitch first.
"Zacharias Smith scores for Hufflepuff! Increasing their lead to 70-50!"
Zach Smith's on fire! Your defence is terrified!
The groans from the Gryffindor section hit his ears, and Harry dipped down towards the pitch, to see Cormac—red-faced in fury—screaming at Ginny for holding on to the Quaffle too long.
Zach Smith's on fire! Your defence is terrified!
"Harry! Get back to your position!" Katie shouted at him, her face frustrated and sweaty.
Harry immediately went back to his seeking, while Katie flew over to address Cormac.
The match was well underway at this point, and still he hadn't caught sight of the snitch. He'd seen gleams of silver reflecting by the stands, but nothing gold.
"Cadwallader scores another after a brilliant Maxoff's Scoop by Smith, making it 130-80 for Hufflepuff! The Quaffle slipped right through McLaggen's hands. He'll be wanting that one back."
He scores when he wants! He scores when he wants! Cadwallader, he scores when he wants!
Harry's irritation at Cormac grew. The idiot was playing terribly and spent more time shouting at his teammates than doing his job.
Ginny and Demelza then scored twice in quick succession, stretching passes across the field to open gaps between the Hufflepuff players, before slipping Katie through to beat the keeper.
Just as the cheers for Katie were dying down, something fizzed past his ear so fast it was nothing more than blur before his eyes. From behind a patchy cloud, the sun peaked out, flashing gold off something in the distance. The next moment, he was off in pursuit, instinctively following the distinct hum of wings vibrating through the air.
"Another goal for Smith! McLaggen is not pleased with his beaters about that one!"
Harry ignored the commentator as he zeroed in on the golden snitch. He could feel the Hufflepuff seeker struggling to keep up with his break-neck pace, barrelling through the sky and cutting across gusts of wind in his chase.
"It looks like Potter has seen the snitch!"
A great roar burst forth from the crowd.
Harry Potter's magic! He wears a magic hat!
It was music to his ears.
When he sees the golden snitch, he says I'm having that!
He was creeping closer and closer, only several feet away. There was a familiar ache to his body; his arms and core straining with each correction he made to the lines of his flight in order to match those of the snitch.
He catches it with his left hand!
"Summerby has fallen off and Potter is now left on his own! Can he—Oh, no! What's this!?"
He catches it with his right!
"Cormac McLaggen has taken hold of Ritchie Coote's bat!"
Harry was inches away now. The wings of the snitch tickled the tips of his fingers. With his legs, he pushed himself up the shaft of his broom, only seconds away from victory.
And when we win the Cup again we sing this song all night!
CLANK
Harry's fist closed around the snitch, and he looked up just in time to see McLaggen with a bat in hand, a rattling goalpost, and a Bludger redirecting right at his head.
Oooooooooooooooohhhh
He didn't even feel the impact. All he heard were screams mixed amongst the chants and shouts of victory. And then he met darkness.
Harry woke to the scent of over sanitized walls and the painful flash of sterile white tiles in his eyes. Even in his dazed state, he immediately knew he was under Madam Pomfrey's tender care in the Hospital Wing.
"Oi! He's awake!"
Harry cringed at the voice ringing in his skull. It felt like he'd taken a bludgeoning hex from a foot away. When he reached to touch the sore spot, he felt a wad of bandages wrapped around his head.
"Honestly Ronald, do you really need to yell?"
"We've always said Ron was a bit simple."
Harry fished around the dresser to his right, feeling for his glasses. Putting them on, he blinked, and pushed himself up his bed into a sitting position.
"What happened?" Harry asked, looking around at the crowd assembled by his bed.
"A shattered skull is what happened," Madam Pomfrey huffed, pushing her way to the bedside. She tutted under her breath while cutting away bandages and inspecting his head, poking and prodding at different areas. "I spent six hours picking shards of bone out of your head, I'll have you know Mr. Potter, and I did not enjoy a minute of it! All because of some suicidal game."
"The best game," said George grinning ear-to-ear and winking at him.
"We never had a problem, and we were smacking around Bludgers for years," added Fred from his brother's side.
"Unfortunately not all of us are born with such thick skulls that Bludgers simply bounce off them," Madam Pomfrey commented before pouring out an array of colorful potions. "Drink these—all of them—and then you'll be staying for lunch." She collected the strips of his bandages and walked back to her office.
"Did she just—"
"—I think she did, Fred"
"Ouch." They said together.
"So lunch, huh, it's been a day?" Harry asked.
"It's been four, Harry," Hermione said seriously. She looked as if she was fighting the urge to engulf him in a hug.
Four! he thought to himself in shock. He rubbed his head, trying to dampen its dull pounding. He hadn't expected that.
"Then what are they still doing here?" Harry asked in confusion, looking at the twins.
"Dumbledore invited us back when you woke up. We wanted to see how you were doing," George answered for the two of them.
"McLaggen?"
"These two already… took care of him." It was Katie who spoke up, standing at the back of his group of friends. Fred and George looked very pleased with themselves.
"Is it wrong that I want to kill him?" he asked.
"You'll need to get in line behind the rest of Gryffindor. Idiot almost cost us the match," she said.
"Almost cost us? We won?" There was a gaping black hole that made his head spin every time he tried to remember what happened. There was only the snitch and McLaggen's name.
"Yeah! Uh, you caught the snitch right before the bludger hit you in the head. It was kind of scary, actually. You fell almost a hundred feet from your broom—Coote and Peakes had to catch you before you hit the ground," Ron explained, scratching nervously at his injured hand.
"Brilliant," Harry beamed. "That's brilliant! We won the cup then?"
"We did," Katie grinned, unable to mask her elation. "We decided to hold back on the celebrations until you were feeling better. You were the one who won us the match after all, wouldn't be fair if you weren't there with us."
Harry perked up. "So when is it?"
"Tonight."
"Brilliant!" The twins cheered.
"You're not invited," said Ginny, killing their enthusiasm immediately.
"Listen… Harry," Ron interrupted, his blue eyes hesitant as they caught Harry's.
"Don't—" Harry cut off his friend. "I know what you're going to say, it's fine—"
"I need to say this, mate," Ron was adamant. Despite his obvious discomfort, there was a steely resolve to his posture as he pushed on. "I'm sorry. If I wasn't such a prat and got my hand fixed when I should have, McLaggen wouldn't have gone in goal and you wouldn't have got hurt. It's my fault, and I shouldn't have snapped like that. I'm also sorry about the way we—I confronted you. Mind you, I'm still not happy with everything going on and what you're not telling us, but you're my best mate… and I trust your judgment."
He smiled, feeling much better than he had since before their fight.
"Thanks Ron, that means a lot—"
The door to the Hospital Wing creaked open, cutting him off, and drawing everyone's attention to the solitary figure entering. Dressed in a simple grey robe with her hair tied back was Daphne.
Harry's heart leapt up into his throat.
"I think we should, uh, clear the room," Ron said, flicking his eyes between Harry and Daphne. Moments later, after hurried goodbyes and promises to see him tonight, the others followed Ron out of the Hospital Wing, leaving him and Daphne alone.
She approached him slowly, her footsteps echoing lightly against the stone floor. Her eyes had yet to meet his, almost as if afraid to do so.
"It's good to see you're alright," she said softly. The tips of her fingers danced across the sheets of the bed next to his.
"It's good to see you still care," he replied bluntly.
"I do—care that is. I always did." Her eyes looked up at him then, their depth as open and exposed as the ocean
"You have a funny way of showing it then."
"I thought I was doing you a favour," she said, moving to sit at the edge of his bed.
"What do you mean you were doing me a favour? You hid from me." Daphne shifted uncomfortably, but held his gaze and didn't deny anything. Harry continued. "You don't think that's not the least bit confusing? First, we're kissing at Slughorn's party, next you're buying me a gift worth more than three of my Firebolts—"
"You still have it?" The look on her face was inscrutable as she asked.
"Of course I do," he answered, noticing something flare within in her eyes. "It's in a pouch I keep around my neck. I left it up in the dorms for the match."
"Did you like it?" Her features were soft and her voice sounded awfully vulnerable, in a way that was unlike Daphne's usual demeanor.
"Like it? I loved it—how couldn't I? It was probably the most beautiful thing I've ever seen. How did you manage to get it made?"
A beautiful smile pulled at the corner of her lips, lighting up her pretty face and melting away its tension. She inched closer to him on the bed, and settled into a more comfortable position against his knees.
"Daddy—My father," she corrected herself stiffly, "has contacts with a good number of artists. I managed to contact one who specializes in hand-crafted jewellery, and he promised to have it done as quickly as possible for the right price."
"How much was it?"
Daphne tried to turn her face away, but Harry stopped her gently with his hand.
"It doesn't matter," she dismissed.
"How much?" he persisted. His thumb stroked the line of her cheek enjoying the warmth of her skin.
She slipped from his grasp. "It was for you! The price didn't matter, okay!"
Their eyes connected then, staring unblinkingly at each other, trying to convey something unspoken.
"I'm sorry," she finally said. There was something honest and desperate about her words. "I shouldn't have done that to you. I was wrong, I was hurting—"
She stopped herself.
"Just promise me," Harry started. He placed his hand on her thigh, and Daphne covered it with her own. "Promise me you won't do it again. Promise me you won't disappear when I care so much about you."
Daphne looked broken. A sheen clouded over her eyes just as tears began spill down her porcelain cheeks, but still she wouldn't look away. Daphne opened her mouth as if to speak, her lips trembling, but instead she closed them and threw herself into his embrace.
Her lips were on his, claiming them with vigor, the salt of her tears mixing agonizingly with the sweetness of her mouth. He steadied her against his body, and slowed her attack into something more passionate.
He'd only just opened his mouth to deepen their kiss, when the door to the Hospital Wing closed with a smack.
The two of them jumped apart.
"Je m'excuse."
What in Merlin's name is she doing here?
The question on his mind was spelt across Daphne's flushed face along with an expression much less pleasant.
"I deed not know zat someone was already in here."
"Well, now you know," said Daphne with words of ice.
"Could I speak to 'Arry in private for a moment?"
The two girls stared at one other for what felt like an eternity to Harry. For a moment he thought they might have forgotten he was laying down only a few feet away.
"You may," Daphne finally ceded.
The Slytherin girl calmly straightened from her position on the bed and started to leave. She stopped suddenly next to Fleur, and looked back at Harry with a word half formed on her lips. Something like indecision danced in her eyes.
She left without saying anything.
The door closed softly behind her, and Harry was alone with Fleur for the first time since Christmas Eve.
"What are you doing here?"
"I was at ze match, and I wanted to see you when you woke up."
"Why?"
"I care about you 'Arry," she breathed out as if afraid to be overheard, and took a step closer. "William eez at work, and I thought—"
Harry laughed bitterly and ugly laugh. "Of course, you're here when Bill isn't."
"What eez zat supposed to mean?"
"I think you know very well what it's supposed to mean. You don't think I haven't noticed how you come sneaking in here, only when everyone else has left and without Bill knowing. Haven't you done enough?" Harry could feel his voice stuck in his throat.
"You would not understand."
"I wouldn't understand?" His heart was pumping violently against his chest. "I wouldn't understand everything going on? I know I was hit pretty hard in the head, but I know there were two of us in that bedroom that night Fleur. I can still smell the lavender even now and feel the way you touched me. How do you think that makes me feel, when I kiss Daphne but all I taste is you!"
"She will leave you 'Arry," Fleur retorted, sounding so very sure. "I know ze type."
"Oh, will she now?" His voice came out low and dangerous, and his chest squeezed as though caught in a vice.
"Zis Daphne might say she loves you and do sweet things for you, but in ze end she will leave. She eez ze one who comes first, and when eet matters she will not be ze one to stay and stand by your side."
"And who would that be? You?" Harry asked, challenging Fleur to say what neither of them had been able to. Silence stretched between them timelessly. A part of him, one that burned with passion and entertained fantasies, dared her to give in. His wished it could be different, that whatever obstacles and misunderstandings had brought them to this impasse would be removed.
For a heartbeat, he thought he saw her mouth twitch and eyes reach to him imploring, but the moment passed and their standoff had lasted long enough.
"Go back to Bill, Fleur… at least Daphne is honest."
A crack appeared in the icy wall built between them, and slowly he could see Fleur collapsing inwards upon herself like an arch without its keystone. The slight twitches of her face as she fought and failed to keep the wetness from her eyes, showed his words had struck a mortal blow. Her mouth opened to speak, but all that came out was a chocked gasp.
It tore at Harry from the inside to not move and comfort her. He'd caused her this pain and he hated himself for it. What kind of monster was he, to be so cruel to the girl he…
He stopped. It didn't matter now. Not when she had already fled the room, her hands covering her face, and tears splattering to the ground.
"Virtue."
"I'm sorry dear, but I already told you that password won't work."
"Virtue."
"Dear, you will be staying in this hallway all night unless you give me the correct password."
"I refuse to use this." Harry shoved a small piece of parchment into the Fat Lady's face. Madam Pomfrey had given it to him when she finally discharged him from the infirmary. The sun had set and it was long past supper time.
"Then it will be a night on the floor for you," the portrait harrumphed, and turned her back on him.
"Virtue," Harry repeated for perhaps the tenth time.
She ignored him, singing to herself some horrible half-baked composition she was improvising on the spot.
"Virtue."
Still nothing.
"Bloody hell fine!" Harry gave up. "It's a Potty Party," he said through gritted teeth. He swore vengeance on whoever had come up with that password.
The Fat Lady raised a painted eyebrow and posed with her hands on her hips. "There, now was that so hard?"
Harry was a hair away from blasting open his own entrance.
"Just open the bloody door."
Thankfully (for the Fat Lady's sake) the portrait swung open and Harry finally was able to climb through.
"There he is! Our Chosen Boy—uh, I mean our Golden One—I… never mind, Harry's back everyone!"
The common room, which looked to be packed with the entirety of Gryffindor house, erupted into roars and raucous laughter. A clearly drunk Seamus Finnegan came stumbling over, a goblet in his hand, barely being kept upright with the help of Dean.
"Alright, Harry," Dean greeted him pleasantly, handing him a drink. "How's the head?"
"Bit sore but back in one peace at least. Common room looks great, Dean," Harry complimented.
"Thanks," he said, dipping his head bashfully. "I had some help from Parvati and Lavender."
The common area was decorated in full Gryffindor regalia. Streamers, balloons, flags, and scarves were pinned on almost every surface available. The posters from the match were there as well, which was why he was staring at a blown up version of his face hanging from above the fireplace. A table was set up near the stairs, piled with food smuggled in from the kitchens, and lined with rows of Butterbeer. Standing proudly at the center of the room on a makeshift pedestal of stacked textbooks, was the Quidditch Cup.
"Dean, you don't know who came up with the new password, do you?" Harry asked with calculating interest.
"Umm…" Dean's eyes shifted nervously to his side.
"Ha! I told you he'd like it Dean!" Seamus pulled his best mate roughly around the shoulders, completely ignorant of Harry's intentions. "It's a Potty Party—Get it! Because he's, Harry. Bloody. Potter. Talked that cute new fifth year prefect into changing it. I promised her I'd get her some whiskyyy-eeeiiiii!"
Seamus' boast quickly morphed into a girlish scream as he was hoisted upside-down in the air by his ankle.
Harry silently slipped his wand away.
"Oi! What's going on!" Seamus shouted panicked. "Get me down! Get me down!" He wiggled in the air like a Flobberworm.
Dean, and most of the room who had stopped to watch the floating spectacle, were laughing hysterically.
"Next time, don't be a git when naming the passwords," said Harry with a silly grin, before letting him down slowly.
He went off in search of Ron and Hermione after that, passing through the crowds of celebrating students, being stopped what felt like every two feet for hugs, handshakes, congratulations, and questions abought his head.
While slipping past a couple of out of place third-years, who watched on mortified and red-faced as an overzealous pair of seventh years were caught up in a competitive match of mouth wrestling, Harry caught the sight of a lonely looking figure, partially hidden by the overstuffed material of the couches by the fireplace.
It took nearly all of Harry's limited self-control to not go hex him senseless, and maybe put to use the Prince's spell for uncontrollable toe-nail growth, but he managed to hold back. In fact, the longer he looked, the more he felt his anger start to ebb away.
McLaggen's back was turned to the rest of the party, trying to pretend it didn't exist. Harry could he'd been shut away from the celebration by the other students—he was the only one who seemed to notice Cormac's presence at all—and the effect it had on the seventh-year was obvious. His appearance of disinterest was as thin and transparent as tissue paper. He couldn't go ten seconds without checking over his shoulder to see what he was missing out.
With his previous attitude and thoughts toward Cormac in mind, Harry was rightfully shocked when he felt pity well up inside him. He questioned himself and his sanity with each step he took, not knowing what had gotten into him, but still his feet carried him towards the exiled keeper.
"Hey," greeted Harry, as he tossed his own unopened Butterbeer to Cormac.
"Potter?" McLaggen stared up at him perplexed, likely expecting Harry to be the last person to come sit next to him. His features quickly returned to their previously depressed state, and he shrunk into his chair.
"Last time I checked you were a part of the Gryffindor team—started in the last game actually—and I don't see anyone else sitting by themselves."
Cormac's eyes flicked over to where the party was going on in full swing. "They don't want me there—"
"—because you nearly cost us the game… I've heard."
Harry smiled at the comically bewildered look on Cormac's face. If he was dead-set on taking pity on him, he would at least enjoy the moments where McLaggen looked like an idiot.
"I almost killed you!"
"Almost," Harry stressed the word. The back of his skull throbbed as if in agreement. "More dangerous people have tried, Cormac, and there's no way I'd let you and an enchanted iron ball do me in when Voldemort couldn't."
McLaggen flinched. "I'm sorry by the way," he said. His apology was timid, which was strange in comparison to his normal demeanor. "It wasn't my best moment looking back at it, but Coote and Peakes weren't following Katie's tactics and were firing Bludgers at their beaters…"
"And you decided to do their job for them," Harry finished and Cormac nodded.
"You know," Harry started with a smirk, "there's a reason Katie picked you for Keeper and not Beater. It's a good thing too, otherwise we'd all be missing heads."
Cormac actually laughed at that, and some of his usual boisterousness leaked through. "You're funny Potter."
"Well, it was getting a bit pathetic watching you sit here like a kicked puppy, so I thought I'd come kick your arse instead and get you involved with the rest of us."
"They don't want me," McLaggen's voice came out wounded. He gazed longingly at a group of upper year students shouting wildly while playing Nessie the Kelpie, a Gryffindor favorite drinking game.
Harry could see just how poorly McLaggen had taken his treatment by his housemates, and how much this meant to him: playing on the team, winning the Quidditch Cup, and celebrating with the house.
It was in moments like this, where Harry forgot how simple life could be. Not everyone's lives were at the center of far-reaching events. Cormac wasn't some evil villain; he was just an arrogant teenage boy who wanted to show off to his friends, and maybe impress a few girls along the way, not thinking of the consequences.
Perhaps, showing kindness wasn't out of order.
"I doubt they'll complain much when it's me bringing you over," Harry said.
If the enormous smile which grew across McLaggen's face was anything to go by, then he seemed to understand.
Standing together and walking towards the main body of the party, Harry began to notice the amount of attention they had drawn, as nearly every pair of eyes in the room was focused in their direction. Before he could so much as react, Harry felt himself hoisted up off the ground by a pair of powerful arms. He was looking down at the congregated Gryffindor's below from the vantage of McLaggen's shoulders. Cormac had the strength of a troll.
"Someone bring the trophy and some Ogden's!" Cormac bellowed as loud as he could, his old self alight and thriving once again. "Potter's drinking from the cup!"
Cheers and whistles erupted in an unruly fever, the entirety of Gryffindor loving every second of Harry being bounced around by McLaggen and seeing their Quidditch team fill the cup with copious amounts of firewhiskey.
Potter! Potter! Potter!
Chants accompanied the rise of the Quidditch Cup as it was levitated in the air. Slowly it began to tilt, whiskey slopping over its rim, before being poured directly into Harry's waiting mouth. Very little found its mark, but that hardly hindered the enthusiasm of the crowd.
He stumbled when hitting the floor. Cormac, having forgotten him in his newfound rush at being the center of the party, was now alternating massive swigs from the lip of the cup with shouts of "GRYFFINDOR!"
Moving off to the side and finding a quiet corner of the room next to the food table, Harry felt a towel pushed into his hand. He mumbled a quick 'thanks' before wiping himself down. Ignoring the uncomfortable way his shirt stuck to his neck, and the stray dribbles of spilt whiskey which crawled down his back, Harry went to return the towel only to find himself face-to-face with Romilda Vane.
She stared at him in great anticipation, her thick black hair curled into bouncing waves and her dark eyes pulling with their enticing allure. Her skirt was cut too short, and her blouse was tight and revealing in a way that was intentionally done to draw eyes. "Hi Harry," she smiled impishly with colored lips. Something about her seemed very eager in a way that put him off.
"Hi Romilda, er… thanks for the towel."
"I just thought you might like one. I can help you reach the places on your back? We'd just need to find someplace else." She took a predatory step towards him, her gaze heavy and sensuous. "You played great by the way! Everyone loved it! Except what happened at the end—I was so scared for you." She took hold of his arm in a way he knew was meant to be gentle, but felt to him as though she were trying to trap him.
"I—uh, imagine it was pretty scary to look at…" Harry looked around the room in the vain hope he'd catch a glimpse of one of his friends. The crowd gathered around Cormac and the cup had dissipated, with people now returning to their own conversations.
"It was nice speaking to you, but I actually just came over here looking for a drink," said Harry trying to excuse himself. The only issue was when he turned around there was only food left.
"You can have some of mine?" Romilda offered, almost shoving the bottle in his face.
"Well—er, you see—I can't…" Harry stalled in the attempt to catch his wits. "I can't… because I have a bad case of… the lurgies—yes! I have the lurgies."
"The lurgies?" Romilda asked confused, while Harry coughed awkwardly.
"Yeah, my friend Luna told me about them. She says I have a really bad case of them, and I wouldn't want to pass it on to you."
They stared at each other for a rather prolonged moment, before Romilda suddenly perked up and gave him a blindingly white smile, as if he hadn't just blatantly lied to her face.
"That's alright! My friend Mary had an extra Butterbeer earlier, I'll go ask her," she said smoothly, and walked over to a short blonde girl with pigtails standing alone a dozen feet away and dragged her over.
Demelza walked passed Harry in that moment, her face strewn up in confusion at his current company. He prayed he managed to adequately convey his desperation in the second their eyes were locked. The distinct scent of broom polish wafted after her, and he wondered mindlessly if she'd just been cleaning her Nimbus 2001.
"I knew it!" Romilda half-giggled from his side. "See, I told you Mary had one!"
The pigtailed girl looked up at him nervously, her hand practically trembling while passing him the bottle. It was cold, so that was nice at least.
"Thanks," said Harry, trying to be nice.
The girl simply squeaked and ran away, disappearing into the throngs of people still partying. He'd forgotten how strange much of the lower year students acted around him.
"Do you want to—"
"Mate! There you are, I need a partner for Nessie!"
Whatever Romilda was about to say was cut off by Ron jogging over. Harry had never been more relieved to see his best mate.
"Uh… yeah! Are we up now?"
"Of course! Get your scrawny arse moving, I'm not gonna let Dean and Seamus claim dorm room bragging rights!" Ron shouted, while grabbing his arm and leading him away from Romilda, who continued to stare him down from across the room.
"We aren't actually playing Nessie, are we?" Harry asked, raising the butterbeer he'd been given to his lips. "You know how much I hate that game."
Out of all the queer magical drinking games Harry had been introduced to over the years, Nessie the Kelpie was perhaps the strangest. It involved a person playing the role of the Kelpie with a mouth full of water, while their partner sat on top of their back and fired stinging jinxes at the other team. The first team to fall or have the 'Kelpie' spit out the water would lose.
"No, we're not," said Ron, and Harry blew out a sigh of relief. "Can't even if we wanted to. Seamus is passed out by the steps to the girl's dorms and Dean is trying to keep people from messing around with his body."
Harry lowered his bottle without taking a sip, and asked suddenly: "Did you eat treacle tart?"
"What?" Ron blurted. He looked at Harry strangely. "There were those really good lemon tarts the elves make, but I didn't see any treacle if that's what you're asking."
Harry shook his head. "Never mind, I just thought I smelt some that's all. I've barely had anything to eat or drink today, all of Pomfrey's food tasted like blood-replenisher."
"Rank." Ron scrunched up his face in disgust. "Demelza is the one who told me where you were, by the way."
"I could kiss that girl."
"I can't wait to tell all my friends that, Harry," said Demelza, popping out of seemingly nowhere. She winked cheekily at him. "But I don't want to catch the lurgies."
"Lurgies?" Ron repeated.
"Don't ask," said Harry, as Demelza laughed to herself and walked away.
Taking a moment to breath, Harry ran his gaze over the room and lifted his drink for a sip. The rich sweetness of Butterbeer splashed around in his mouth, its foam and cream washing out the scratch of thirst at the back of his throat. It was delicious, save for a strange bitter aftertaste which he could feel all the way up in his nose.
"Where's Hermione?" Harry asked, suddenly feeling his head swim. He could feel the Butterbeer flowing through him with an unusual warmth.
He smelt lavender.
"Hermione went off to get some more sandwiches from the kitchen with Ginny. She said something about paying the house elves for their service, since nobody else will…"
Ron's voice faded away into the background, replaced by a distant buzz that wouldn't leave his head.
Something tickled at the back of his mind—a part of him which knew something was up. Why was he smelling lavender? In fact, he could smell the broom polish and treacle again as well. All three mixed into a lovely concoction which made his heart trill gaily.
Oh no…
A paralyzing sense of horror took hold of him. The thought ran through his mind only once, but he knew in his gut it was true. He threw his bottle to the ground, but his reaction was too late. He'd already taken a sip.
"Harry? Harry! What's going on?" Ron's voice was fuzzy in his ears.
He had no time to stop and listen. He pushed away from his friend, much more forceful than he wanted to, and sprinted towards the exit.
Every step was excruciating. His legs felt like bags of sand had been tied to his ankles.
Romilda…
The name rattled around in his consciousness.
He could feel his body slow as he ran at the portrait hole. A part of him was drawn back to the common room, grasping and pulling with unnatural strength and innumerable arms. The world in front of him stretched further and further down an endless hallway. He took a thousand steps and one, yet he still found himself trapped in the same position.
Romilda… Romilda Vane.
He could feel his body giving in to the temptation. The sweet sound of her name called out to him, enticing him with the promise of her pleasure. He needed her.
"This potion can destroy lives…"
Slughorn's words from their first class flittered across his mind, slipping through the shadowy grasp of the lust beating through him.
You love her…
He could feel the potion—no, the poison—coursing through his veins, spreading its influence and corrupting his very being.
Go to her.
He was out of breath. His lungs were pumping madly, screaming for any sort of relief, but instead of oxygen he only drew in more of her essence.
He was losing, and losing fast.
He could taste chocolate and almond and ink in his mouth, each sensation assaulting him without remorse. He wanted to retch. They were harsh and felt entirely wrong.
Love her…
It called to him again, no longer in its enticing and sensual tone, but viciously like some savage monster that would sooner kill then let you run away. It was ferocious as it clawed and tore away at his resolve.
Love her.
He wanted to love her.
Love her!
It would be so easy.
You want her!
Chocolate and Almond and Ink, they all tasted like bile. He didn't want Romilda.
She is yours!
She wasn't.
He loved another. He loved something much sweeter. He loved broom polish and fresh treacle and lavender.
A sudden awareness came over him, like he'd been doused by a bucket of cold water in the dead of winter. His mouth was open, and liquid could be felt being poured down his throat. Light slowly returned to the world, chasing away the foulness which plagued him. With each gulp breath came easier, and the unconscious rhythm of inhaling and exhaling had never been more welcome.
He could feel someone holding on to him, their hand running through the back of his hair.
Blue eyes peered down into his own.
His mind was still in a daze when he felt the soft touch of lips, and it took a second more for him to realize they were on his own. They moved in tandem, forming a slow, uncertain dance in which they alternated leads. He heard a purr of satisfaction when he bit down lightly on the cush of her bottom lip, sucking on it before moving his tongue to tangle with hers.
The sweet taste of her mouth gave him something to focus on. He was submerged in fog, as if travelling through a misty lake with nothing more than a simple lumos charm to guide him. The feeling of her soft and supple skin under his hands drove him mad. She was gripping his face in desperation, her nails clawing into his skin in a manner that was more fight than fancy. He could feel a pleased smile form through their locked lips.
They were pressed up against what felt to be a desk. Harry wasn't entirely sure when that had happened; his mind out of focus and skipping in time like a faulty time-turner. He flipped his partner onto its surface, his mouth latching on to the tender skin of her neck, inciting a soft, pleased moan from her mouth.
She shivered under his touch, a firm hand travelling up the flatness of her stomach until it reached a firm, round breast.
Pushing through the haze, he could see her form partially hidden in the shadows, but what was illuminated by the silver streaks of moonlight stole his breath away.
When had she taken off her shirt?
She gasped and squirmed under the efforts of his mouth, her breaths coming out faster and more ragged.
He was lost in euphoria. Was this a dream? It felt like he was a passenger in his own body, with no control over his next action.
An odd sensation caught his attention, and he looked down to see something long and hard in hands that weren't his own. It was twitching with undeniable pleasure as it was drawn close to a mound of flawless bare skin.
When had they gotten naked?
Whatever was running through his mind was quickly forgotten as she jerked forward, his length slipping along her folds and creating a friction which left them both gasping for breath. There was a rough unsteady rhythm to their movements, until he felt himself slip into wetness.
He stopped.
"No." He felt panicked, his mind addled and unsure of the events around him.
"No…" he whispered again, feeling her hand guide him.
Was he speaking to himself or to her?
"Yes." He heard the word cut through his mind, just as she captured his lips again. "Yes, I want this. I need this."
She wanted it. He did as well.
But with who?
He couldn't find an answer before he felt himself sinking into her again.
She whimpered, but guided him further, rocking back and forth and gripping him tightly as if she never wanted to let go.
Soon their pace was frantic, and Harry could feel her tightness pressing against him. Time meant little to him as everything blurred around him. There was an immense pressure building within his core, and with each passing second it grew exponentially, his grunts increasing in volume along with her shouts, until…
She clenched and he released.
They collapsed on top of one another, intertwined, panting, and shaking. The darkness obscured the figure next to him. Trying to ground himself in reality and not succumb to the heaviness of his mind, Harry pressed his face into her silky hair and inhaled deeply.
He wished he hadn't.
He smelt peaches, not lavender.