Ron
My potion is...brown. Brown and thick and smelling strongly of...turnips? I lean into the steam drifting up from my cauldron and sniff again. Definitely turnips. That can't be right. I wait until Snape's not looking and pull my textbook out of my backpack, quickly flipping to the last page of Pepper-Up Potion instructions and skimming through the lines I spent hours memorizing last night.
"After sprinkling in the powdered salamander scales," the last line reads, "allow the concoction to simmer until it has achieved its characteristic ethereal, flamelike appearance. (approx. 15 mins.)"
My potion's been simmering for at least that long and there's nothing even remotely 'ethereal' or 'flamelike' about the cauldronful of muck sitting in front of me. What the hell could've—
And then, it hits me. The scales. Did I remember to put them in? I must have! Even I couldn't be so thick. But even while I deny it, I realize that I can't actually remember using the salamander scales. Suddenly, I'm rifling through my things, searching for the little leather pouch and praying to Merlin that I find it half empty. When I lift my backpack to look underneath, the pouch falls from a side pocket. I pick it up, knowing by its weight alone that not a single grain has gone into my potion, and whatever's holding up my insides gives out.
"Shit!" I curse angrily under my breath.
"You should now be adding the finishing touches to your potions," Snape's voice calls from two tables away, "and if you're not, ten minutes won't be enough to save you. When you have finished, bring a sample of your work to my desk for grading."
I start to panic, my eyes jumping from table to table as if solving my problem were as easy as looking into another cauldron. Everyone's already started gathering their samples. Well, everyone except—
"—Potter will be making up for his utter ineptitude by spending his dinner hour cleaning up each and every one of your work stations. Without magic."
Don't look at him, I snap at myself. He's not your problem anymore.
But I've been telling myself that for months and it's never felt less true. I've stolen glances at him almost daily since the night he made his choice. Catching sight of him with Malfoy makes me feel like an idiot and seeing him alone makes me curse my weak heart, but neither has ever convinced me to stop. His cauldron is belching green smoke, his potion the only one that looks to be anywhere near as bad as mine. I should thank him; it could just as easily have been me who'd drawn Snape's attention. Yet, somehow, I don't think that would make him so eager to rekindle our friendship after three months of silence.
I turn my attention to the table to my right, where none other than Ernie Macmillan is gingerly ladling swirling red, yellow, and orange vapor into a vial.
"How the hell did you manage that?" I ask, shock temporarily taking over my anxiety.
"Perseverance and perspicacity," he answers, his eyes never leaving the vial slowly filling with liquid fire.
I roll my eyes, knowing I should've expected a bollocks answer from such a pompous arse, and something in his cauldron draws my attention. There's some potion in there, licking up the insides. It's not much, but it might be enough for another sample.
"Ernie," I hiss, with one eye trained on Snape, now sitting at his desk, "let me have some of your potion."
"Piss off," Ernie whispers back.
"Come on, Ern! Help me out," I urge through clenched teeth. "I swear I'd do the same for you!"
He takes his time getting the last wisps of potion into his vial and it's only after he's sealed it that he finally looks my way.
"Oh, ho, ho," he chortles, peering into my cauldron, "from the look of that mess, I'd say I'm better off without your help."
It takes a moment for his insult to register, and by that time, his back is already to me. That doesn't stop me from putting two fingers up at him and calling him a git, though. He pretends not to hear me as he swaggers up to Snape's desk, leaves his vial, and walks down the center aisle, toward the door.
After he disappears into the corridor, I throw myself back into my chair and scowl at my poor excuse for a potion, but that just makes me want to upend the cauldron, so I lean forward, dropping my head into my hands.
Ronald Weasley, begging for help from Ernie Macmillan? a familiarly disapproving voice rings in the darkness. I never thought the day would come.
Well, you haven't been very much help lately, so I've had to make do, I reply.
You shouldn't speak ill of the dead, she says coolly.
I could still do it, you know. The idiot didn't vanish his potion. I could nick a bit and—
You wouldn't dare! Snape would fail you for the whole year if he caught you cheating!
I'll probably fail anyway.
Don't be so dramatic. You'll be fine.
Have you seen my potion?
Yes, and you'll be fine.
It looks like mud.
You'll. Be. Fine.
I know she's right. This is just one exam—one part of one exam—and I've been doing pretty well all year. It would be stupid of me to risk all that work to try to save one grade. There's something else, though. Something itching at the back of my throat, demanding to be acknowledged.
We've fallen apart without you, I confess with an inward sigh. I'm so alone, now.
I know, she answers in a tender voice that brings comfort and pain in equal amounts.
Why did you have to go?
Like always, she doesn't say anything, and that's how I know it's time for me to go back to facing reality. With a deep breath to keep myself from falling apart, I raise my head. By now, the dungeon is nearly empty—just me and a handful of desperate stragglers left. And Harry, of course. I'd better get a move on, otherwise it'll be just the two of us and I might be forced to talk to him.
Getting my sample together isn't easy, considering my potion has the consistency of custard, but I manage to put enough of it into the vial that Snape should have no trouble "evaluating" it. Then, I make the agonizing trip to his desk. He's distracted when I get there, too busy sneering at Harry to even notice me, so I bury my vial in the collection on the desk and chivvy back to my seat.
"Evanesco," I mutter, and my leftover potion disappears. I throw my bag over my shoulder and take the first few steps to the door, but a clang from across the room makes me hesitate. I know at once that it's Harry, that if I just turned my head, I'd see him struggling with the first of the cauldrons. I want to offer to help him, but I'd probably earn my own detention from Snape. Plus, there's no guarantee he'd accept, since we're not exactly speaking to each other. Still, the desire to do something for him is too strong to ignore.
I turn back and pull my wand out from the pocket of my robes. "Scourgify," I whisper, sweeping my arm over the array of ingredient residue and potion splatter. To my surprise, the worst of the mess disappears and the wooden surface shines like it's been freshly polished.
There, I think, that's something, at least.
Five steps into the corridor, I hear a squeal that stops me in my tracks.
"Won-Won!"
Not a second later, I feel a body slam against my back and two surprisingly strong arms wrap around my middle, pinning my own arms to my sides.
"Lav," I say with less enthusiasm. She twists around to my front, loosening her hold enough for me to free my arms. "What're you doing here?"
Her wide mouth curves into a big smile. "I finished my Divination exam early so I came down here to wait for you! But you walked right past me, silly boy!"
She turns her smile into an exaggerated pout and reaches up to pinch the end of my nose with her thumb and forefinger.
"Did I?" I ask, pushing her hand away from my face as tenderly as I can. "Sorry, I've got a lot on my mind."
"That's okay. I've caught you, all the same." She pulls her hand from mine and snakes both arms around my neck instead. "I thought we could walk to dinner together."
"Oh? Well, I'm not, er, going to dinner, actually," I lie. "I've got, er, quidditch practice."
"Oh Won-Won, that's not for hours," she says, with a raised eyebrow. "Surely, you can spare some time for a bite with me."
"Yeah, but, well," I stammer, "what I meant was I wanted to, er, study beforehand—study Potions. Alone. In—In my dormitory."
"Ooh, I'll come with you," she answers, "we can study together!"
"But you're not in N.E.W.T Potions, Lav," I argue, trying to hide my increasing annoyance with the sing-song voice that she's so fond of using.
"Then, I can help you study," she sings back. Then, her voice drops to a husky whisper. "I can be very inspiring."
My next excuse is on the tip of my tongue when she tugs me down and presses her mouth to mine. Her lips are plump and soft, sweet and slippery with fruity lip gloss. She pushes her tongue through my lips and runs the tip back and forth over my clenched teeth. Each pass sends a thrill to a different part of my body until the whole of me is tingling with need. By the time she pulls away from me, I'm nothing more than an eighteen-year-old boy with loneliness aching into his bones.
Fuck it, I think as I bend down to kiss her again, squeezing every inch of her pillowy soft front to mine and letting the evidence of my surrender throb against her hip.
I use every shortcut I can think of to get us to Gryffindor Tower. She has my robe off and my shirt unbuttoned before we're through the dormitory door, my trousers unfastened and falling to the floor before we reach my bed. I try my best to keep pace, but my fingers aren't as nimble and I barely manage half of the buttons on her robes.
She pushes me onto the bed, happy to finish what I started. First, her robes. Then, her shirt, her trousers, her bra, her panties—everything, until she's standing naked before me and I can't remember how to breathe. It's the first time I've seen all of her at once. My eyes flit from place to place like pixies, unable to decide where to land. Her light skin, shimmering pink and orange in the evening sun. Her breasts, large and round with pink nipples. Her blond hair, hanging in loose coils around her face. Her lips, full and moist and slightly parted. Her waist, sloping inward and then blooming and cascading into the wide curves of her hips...
She has a tattoo on her thigh, a small butterfly, that I haven't seen before. I watch it flap its wings, zigzagging this way and that over her perfectly smooth skin. It climbs higher and higher up her leg, does a funny little loop-de-loop at her hip, flutters inward, and comes to rest, hovering just above the inverted triangle of soft brown curls nestled in between her thighs.
"Merlin's beard..." I mutter.
The giggle that follows pulls my gaze back to her face just in time for her to grin at me before tossing her hair over her shoulder and bending to reach the top drawer of my bedside table.
"What are you looking for?" I ask, my ears burning.
A second later, she pops up, brandishing a bright metallic pink square. She sits so close to me that our legs touch and I can feel her heat through the thin fabric of my boxers. "This," she answers. "I got some from Parvati. She and Dean use them and she says they're amazing."
She puts the foil packet in my hand and, before I can raise any objections, pulls me into another long, deep kiss. Her hand slips into the opening of my shorts and any worry I would have voiced about sharing condoms with Dean Thomas evaporates with the rush of blood to my groin.
I push her down, part her legs, and settle into place between them. She starts to giggle at my show of force but my hand on her breast turns it into a moan. Her nipple hardens against my palm. I drag my lips down her neck and chest and capture her other nipple in my mouth. She curls her fingers into my hair and arches her back against me, pressing her skin to my face, her breast into the movements of my tongue.
"Oh, Won-Won," she sighs as I massage her with hand and mouth, working her nipples into tight buds.
She doubles her grip on my hair, suddenly wrenching me away from her breasts with both hands and pushing me down to her abdomen. Reading her message loud and clear, I kiss her stomach, lick her belly button, trace an invisible line down her skin with my lips, and bury my face in the soft brown hair between her thighs. I push my tongue past her lips to find the warm wetness within. I lick her from one end of her sex to the other with a flat tongue and circle her arousal with the tip. She whimpers. Encouraged, I close my mouth around her and suck firmly but gently on her swollen flesh. When she lets out a long shuddering moan, I know that this is exactly where I need to stay. With each slow pass of my lips, her soft cries grow louder and more urgent. She rolls her hips against my mouth in search of satisfaction and, as I consider slipping a finger into her, she calls to me in a voice that's high and strained with need.
"Now, Won-Won! I want you now!"
I'm up on my knees in a heartbeat, tugging my shorts down with one hand and bringing the condom wrapper to my teeth with the other. I tear it open with a jerk. The cloying taste of fruit flavored lubricant almost makes me gag, but my desperation wins out. I toss the wrapper aside and unravel the slippery plastic over myself. It stretches around me like a second skin and, when I slowly enter her, the sheath seems to disappear altogether and I drown in the sensation her bare flesh surrounding mine.
Restraint becomes impossible. I thrust deep into her and groan in relief as her warmth washes over me. The feeling is so delicious I can't stop myself from chasing after it again and again and again and again until my four poster is creaking and sighing in time with my hard, steady rhythm.
"Just like that," Lavender breathes against my neck, her inner muscles clenching around me with each plunge into her depths. "Yes! Yes! Oh—Oh—Oh!"
Within a half dozen more strokes, her body starts to shudder wildly beneath me. She clamps her legs around me and bucks her hips against mine. She rakes her fingernails down my back and sinks her teeth into my shoulder, and, as if on cue, the final barrier between me and my true desire falls. Images that I forced myself to bury weeks ago spring fully formed into my mind. He's standing naked in bright sunlight, reaching for me and smiling at me the way I've always wanted him to. I take his hand, pull him to me, breathe in his scent, kiss his lips, touch his skin; I sink into him again and again, whispering his name over and over like a spell while pleasure builds to ecstasy just beyond reach.
I'm so close...
"Go on, Won-Won! That's it!"
"Argh!" I groan suddenly, arching my back and pushing myself deep into her, tightening every muscle in my body to add to the charade before collapsing in a heap on top of her.
She holds onto me for a long while afterwards, kissing and nuzzling my neck, running her fingertips up and down my back, basking in the afterglow of our lovemaking. I wait patiently for her to release me, matching her slow, deep breaths while the air cools around our bodies. I count ten seconds. Twenty seconds. Thirty. Forty. When she finally lets me go, I roll onto my side. The empty condom catches on my skin as I try to pull it off and for a second I worry that Lavender will see me, but she never stirs.
"Well, I've certainly worked up an appetite," she says dreamily from behind me. "Are you sure you can't come to dinner?"
I turn to her and put on my best look of sincere disappointment.
"I really wish I could, Lav, but I need to study for the second part of my Potions exam. Maybe we can do something after that."
She beams. "Is that a promise?"
"Sure."
She presses her mouth against mine for one last long kiss. "Good," she says after our lips separate with a wet smack. "I'll leave you to your work."
I make sure to keep my eyes on her, as she leaves the bed to pick up her clothes and to dress, so that none of her flirtatious glances and smiles go to waste. Then, when she finally closes the door after not one but two rounds of air kisses, I let out the breath I didn't know I'd been holding and give myself over to the guilt roiling inside me.
Deep down, I know I shouldn't be surprised. I've been using her since the start of our relationship, as an outlet for my frustration, as a distraction from my loneliness. What happened this evening was just...the next step. Or, maybe it was what I wanted from her all along.
But I didn't go through with it. I stopped myself.
The words feel empty, like the lies I've been feeding myself for weeks to keep the shame at bay. I need something more than words. I need to act—to choose, right now. Am I with Lavender or hoping for Harry to come around?
The rattle and creak of the door swinging open pulls me out of my thoughts.
"Lav?" I call out.
But when I turn to look for her in the doorway, the eyes that meet mine are bright green, not brown. I sit up.
"Harry."
AN: I've declared a cease-fire in my own personal war between timeliness and inspiration. Please, don't let that keep you from reviewing! Even sporadic publishers need constructive criticism. -Mimi