Maddy turned over and hugged her pillow to her chest. The dormitory was dark and still, save for the snores of her roommates. It was late. The lights had been put out over an hour ago, but still Maddy could not sleep. The events of her date with Rabastan ran through her mind over and over again.

On their return from Hogsmeade, and later over supper, Rabastan had been sullen and monosyllabic. Maddy had tried to engage him in conversation, without success. Her chatter seemed only to irritate him.

Had she done something wrong? She had tried her best to please him, and not hurt his feelings, even when she knew she should tell him to stop. It was not her fault they had been interrupted.

Though she would never say so to Rabastan, Maddy had been relieved in the moment, glad for some time and space to sort through her feelings about what was happening between them. Now, though, in the safety of her dormitory, she could not help wondering what might have happened, were they not interrupted. What might he have asked of her? What might she have let him get away with?

"I just fingered her a bit ..." Rabastan murmured in her memory.

Maddy shivered. Was that what he wanted to do to her? Her torn bloomers were hidden at the bottom of her trunk. She had used the mending charm on them, but there was other evidence of her indiscretion.

"Mm, you're getting wet. Knew you wanted it ..."

She had noticed dampness before, after Rabastan's more passionate kisses, or after reading a particularly steamy scene by Freya Lovelace, but this time her bloomers were soaked through. Maddy had scrubbed them in the sink with soap and hot water, but still she feared that somehow the house-elves in the Hogwarts laundry would know. Were they required to report such things to her Head of House? Would Professor Slughorn call her to his office? Would he tell her mother? Maddy would just have to wash them herself. And if it happened again ...

She squirmed and kicked off the covers. It was stuffy and too warm behind her bed curtains.

Did she want it to happen again? Maddy closed her eyes, remembering the feel of Rabastan's hands roaming freely over her body. Her lips parted and her pulse quickened with the echo of excitement and fear. Unconsciously, Maddy's hand cupped her breast through the thin cotton of her nightdress. The breath caught in her throat as she recalled the strange thickness of his staff in her hand, and the feel of Rabastan's brazen fingers probing her most secret places.

Heat bloomed between her thighs, and Maddy squeezed them together, as she should have done when he tried to touch her there. She was not supposed to let him. She was not supposed to like it.

"I did, though," she whispered, shivering at her own audacity even to admit such a thing to herself.

Rabastan might forget about propriety, overwhelmed by his passion for her, but girls were expected to be mindful of their reputations, and not get carried away in the heat of the moment. But how could she, when he looked at her with such hunger, and his touch felt so good? As long as no one else found out, and as long as she did not let him put his staff inside her, surely her reputation would be safe. And if Rabastan married her one day - and surely he must, if they felt so strongly about one another already - what harm was there in a little indiscretion between them now?

The thought of being married to him thrilled her, and she wriggled with joy, pressing her lips together to keep from squealing her excitement.

A sliver of moonlight glinted from the cover of the new Freya Lovelace novel which lay, untouched, on Maddy's nightstand. What need had she for fictional romance, when she was living her own love story?

When she and Rabastan were married, they could do whatever they liked, as often as they liked. He could touch her, and she could touch him. Maddy tried to imagine what it would feel like to lie back and open her legs for him, without fear or shame; how tenderly and reverently he would touch her then. Even through her underwear, Rabastan's fingers had felt so good. What would it feel like for him to touch her bare flesh?

Heart pounding, Maddy curled her fingers in the thin cotton of her nightgown, and drew it slowly upwards. The cool air of the dormitory raised a shiver of gooseflesh over her thighs. She had never tried this before, but so long as her roommates did not wake and peek between her bed curtains, there was no one to know she had ever dared to do such a thing.

A light touch on the skin of her thighs brought on a second shiver. Maddy stroked the silky smooth skin gently, working up the nerve to try a bolder touch. Her muscles tensed and quivered as she dragged her fingertips slowly upwards, until they brushed the dark, springy hair that sheltered her feminine mysteries. Damp heat radiated just beyond her touch. Maddy closed her eyes and delicately drew a finger downwards.

Two soft folds of skin were all that protected her innermost secrets, and the seam where they met was slippery-wet. Maddy traced the slit lightly up and down several times before she dared to slip a fingertip between.

Past the folds lay hot slickness that nearly took Maddy's breath away. Was it always so wet? Or only now, when she was thinking of Rabastan, and imagining his touch? But still, it did not match the intense thrill Maddy felt when Rabastan touched her at the pub. She quested between the slippery folds, frustrated. What if only he could make her feel that way? What if his touch alone was the key to -

Maddy bit back a startled cry, nearly snatching her hand away. For a split second, she had touched something too sensitive - too intense.

Cautiously, she felt for it again. There. That spot. That must be where Rabastan had rubbed her. If she touched it lightly, she could bear it, but if she pressed or rubbed, it became too much. After a little experimentation, she found that a gentle stroking motion seemed to work best.

Maddy's lips parted, and her breath came in shallow gasps. A shiver of pleasure raced through her as she imagined that it was Rabastan's finger, and not her own, touching her so intimately. Was this what fingering meant? Or was it -?

Leaving the sensitive spot for a moment, Maddy continued her exploration, feeling her way around the slippery folds until she found it: the opening of her sacred passage. This was the place. One day, her husband's staff would enter it, breaking her maidenhead, and making her a woman and a wife. It was supposed to hurt, the first time, but also feel wonderful.

She traced a fingertip around the entrance, again remembering the thick, heavy feel of Rabastan's staff in her hand. Would it really fit? What would it feel like, to have that thing inside her?

The forbidden thought made the breath catch in her throat, and sent another thrill of excitement coursing through her. Gathering her courage, Maddy pressed her fingertip experimentally to the opening. It slipped in so easily that she gasped. She met no resistance or pain as she cautiously eased it in deeper. She could feel it inside, though.

Was this what Rabastan had wanted to do to her at the pub? If he tried again, would she let him do it? His fingers were longer and thicker than Maddy's. At the thought of them, the hot flesh around her own finger pulsed, and a soft, involuntary sound escaped her throat.

Pulling her finger out, Maddy added a second one. Two of hers together were almost as thick as one of Rabastan's. When she slid them back inside herself, it felt, if possible, even better than before. Without her willing it, her hips rose to meet the intrusion, and her legs spread wider apart.

Her other hand let go of the fistful of sweaty sheets she was gripping, and sought the sensitive spot she had felt before. Maddy had to hold her breath and press her lips together to keep from making a sound as she stroked it lightly with a fingertip. The more she did it, the better it felt.

She imagined that it was her wedding night. In her mind she wore a sheer silk nightdress, and stockings laced with satin ribbons around her thighs. Rabastan lay naked in the bed beside her. His eyes were filled with love as he touched her tenderly and told her how beautiful she was. Maddy's fingers moved feverishly as she imagined him carefully easing his staff into her sacred passage, kissing her brow and murmuring an apology for the pain he must cause her.

She was too hungry for him to care about the pain; too drunk on their passion for one another. An urgency gripped her, driving her on, though she did not know where it carried her. She had only enough presence of mind to know that she must keep quiet. Biting down hard on her lower lip, Maddy swallowed gasps and whimpers, as the pleasure building at her fingertips expanded, filling her with raw need. Every muscle in her body was coiled with tension. She never wanted to stop, not even if it filled her until her skin could no longer contain it, and she burst from sheer ecstasy.

A shuddering wave broke over her, exploding from the tips of Maddy's fingers, shooting through her belly and down her legs. She made a choked sound as her sacred passage quivered and pulsed, squeezing her fingers.

Maddy's eyes flew wide. Had she just performed some kind of accidental magic? She slipped her fingers out from between her legs and wiped them on the sheets. A sense of warmth and well-being radiated through her. It had certainly felt magical. Even now, her secret places continued to twitch and shiver with delicious aftershocks. Maddy stretched and sighed with sleepy contentment.

She sank into sleep wondering whether it would be possible for her to repeat that magic, and whether it was a type of magic Rabastan knew.