Weeks passed, and Harry looked up to find that all of a sudden it was threatening snowfall.
It was now mid-November. The chill in the air had steadily progressed to deep, scathing cold and the sky had become gray and cloudless. The brittle cold was spreading to the foliage and the trees had lost all their leaves in the blink of an eye, bringing the draft of winter to Hogwarts' doorstep. During the progression of these days and nights many things happened. They'd had more D.A. meetings, and the next Quidditch match for Gryffindor was coming up; this one against Hufflepuff.
Angelina had thrown herself into Quidditch; scheduling practices for the team as often as she could. She was determined to work with them and gain improvement before the Hufflepuff match. If they won, they could take a break while Ravenclaw took on Slytherin and play the winner after Christmas break. She had plunged ahead and created a new playbook, salvaging what she could remember from her old one and even adding stuff she hadn't yet perfected before it was stolen. Though Montague, the Slytherin captain, feigned ignorance of any stolen plays, his team strutted about with a smug air of confidence that belied his denials. Harry knew that if he should ever wish to sneak up on them while they were practicing, he would see them implementing Angelina's moves with their own, but she insisted that she wouldn't let it get her down. Instead of dwelling on it, she came up with some excellent new material, with some help from Fred and George, and even Ginny, who was proving to be quite the little strategist.
The youngest Weasley sibling confessed that she'd been into Quidditch since she was little, and had learned to ride a broom by stealing her brothers' and teaching herself. Harry, along with her brothers and Angelina, was impressed. The interesting spin she put on the Sloth Grip Roll, for example, was really genius. Dean and Kirk had told him excitedly one night about how Ginny made Dean think the Snitch was zooming off somewhere above her head, when really it was just bellow her. "And when I caught up and was about to knock her out of the way, she rolled upside down and got it before I even realized what was going on!" Dean gushed, totally in awe. "Harry, mate, she's giving you a run for your money, she is!"
He only wished he could still be a part of the team; to feel the excitement that the others felt when making progress with the improved new techniques. Ginny promised to show him the move when he was back on the team, dismissing any negative remarks from him on the subject. "Once Umbridge is gone, you're back," she said rather confidently. "And I think I might fancy being a Chaser anyway. Seeker is ok, but I prefer scoring points to going blind looking for that annoying little ball."
Ron was dedicating himself just as much, if not more. Not being able to solve his problem with Hermione and refusing to make the first move had led him to submerge himself in the game. He disappeared from their midst, along with Ginny, on early weekend mornings and did not return until the evening; usually sweaty, dog-tired, and quiet. He would eat, drink, and only grunted his answers to questions that Harry asked about how practice was going. Angelina usually reserved the pitch for practice drills after breakfast on those weekends, which meant that Ron and Dean were up and gone before Harry even opened his eyes.
Today Harry was in the library, catching up on mountains of homework with Hermione while Ron and Ginny were off killing themselves at practice.
Fred and George finally came to him as they promised they would. Hermione was in the stacks, looking for some books she needed, and he was watching the gray sky through the large windows. Fred shoved his beaming face into Harry's field of vision by bending over sideways, his eyebrows wiggling up and down with whimsical mischief.
"All done, mate!" he whispered happily, standing up straight and walking around to take Hermione's seat across from Harry.
George had already situated himself by pulling up a seat from a nearby table; causing the three first years sitting there to groan quietly and look about for Madame Pince, as one of them now had nowhere to sit. Harry looked from one to the other expectantly, sitting up straight in his chair. "What's all done?" he whispered, his eyebrows rising.
The twins exchanged looks of satisfaction and George told Harry, "They're only prototypes, mind, you…"
Fred continued: "But, we figured it was time to test them out."
"And what better subject…?"
"…than our sneaky little lab rat, Malfoy?"
Harry forgave them their routine of finishing each other's sentences and adopted his own wayward grin, his insides tingling with eagerness. He was quite keen to hear what the boys had in mind, and he hoped that Hermione would take a little longer finding her books. He glanced around, his eyes scanning the area for Pince or Granger, neither of whom he saw any sign of. Pince must've been patrolling the stacks, looking for kids putting books in the wrong places or abusing the pages by thumbing through. Hermione was probably taking time to probe books she found with interesting titles while on her search for the texts she needed for her Ancient Runes essay. He turned back to the twins, nodding at them to have out with it.
"Well, let's just say when we're finished with him it'll be a while before he can show his face around school again," Fred said, leaning back in Hermione's chair so he was balancing it on two legs.
"And we mean that quite literally, of course," George added.
"Excellent!"
Yes, many things had happened during those days and nights that marked winter's steady descent upon them.
The most significant occurrence for Harry, aside from his plan with the twins for revenge on Malfoy, had happened the night of the Slytherin match. That night he had gone to bed with his mind buzzing stubbornly. For starters, he could not shake the feeling that Angelina was a bit more upset about what he told her than she let on. She had barely being paying attention while he, Hermione and Ginny discussed Malfoy's conversation with Umbridge. She merely gave Harry's hand a squeeze when they sat down, and he rightly took this gesture to mean that she did not want him telling anyone else about what they'd argued over in the corridor. He could respect this. He didn't fancy the idea of anyone else knowing either.
Hermione, however, was quite rapt with the story.
"And you're positive?" she asked him when he'd finished. "You actually heard him say he knew we were up to something?"
Harry nodded. "Yeah, and you were right about Umbridge-someone did tell her about our meeting at the Hog's Head because she said she knew it, too. That decree was definitely because of us."
Hermione sat thinking for a moment. When she piped up again, she was shaking her head, which gave Harry the impression she was dismissing his concern. "He was bluffing…"
"What do you mean?" Harry frowned at her.
"I mean I don't think he's got a clue what we're up to." Before he could speak she leaned in closer to him, along with Ginny and Angelina, and proceeded to explain herself in a hushed whisper. "Think about it: if he did know what we were doing, he would have just turned us in, instead of asking her to let him help her. He just wants Umbridge in his corner."
"But, why? He hates teachers. And furthermore, Umbridge may be mean and completely mad, but she's not stupid. She wouldn't just give him whatever he wants, unless…"
It was Ginny who spoke next. "Unless that thing he said he had over her was something really bad." Harry looked at her and nodded. "And if it involves his father, it's probably something dark and not very suitable for someone who works under the Minister."
"Yeah…he did say that if the Minister found out about it, she'd be in big trouble."
"So we know she's going to give Malfoy what he wants just to shut him up and keep him happy." Hermione agreed. "I suspect that's really all he's aiming for. I mean, think about it Harry: if you were as terrible as Malfoy and wanted to be able to bully people all day long without getting into trouble for it, wouldn't you make a deal like that?"
Harry had to admit, that yes, he would probably. That would be, of course, if he thought the way people like Draco Malfoy did, or needed to bully people at all to make himself feel like some big man. He didn't. Still…there was just something off about it. He couldn't put his finger on it, but he knew that it couldn't be that simple. Harry realized that he was very hungry and had still not eaten. He also noticed that he was still clutching Angelina's hand. He looked over at her and saw that she was deep in thought. At first he figured that she was merely going over what they were talking about in her head, but as he released her hand she looked up at him as if this action had only just brought her to the present. Harry frowned.
"You okay?"
"Uh huh…" she smiled faintly at him.
He did not believe her. This stirred the dark feelings he was having about Malfoy's boast at the top of those stairs again. Harry reached over and quickly filled his plate, not wishing to ask her again in front of Ginny or Hermione. Dessert was all that was left because he'd missed the main course, so Harry started on a thick slice of chocolate pie and began guessing with Ginny and Hermione what exactly Draco had on Umbridge. He also found, according to Angelina, that his suspicions about how Umbridge found out about the playbook had been right. She explained that McGonagall had come to speak with her in the changing rooms after the game, having noticed quite clearly that Montague was mimicking her every move almost as if he knew what she was going to do before she did it.
"It was kind of horrible, really," Angelina told them. "I felt so bad, and she was furious."
"Not at you?" Harry asked through a mouthful of pie, his eyes narrowing with disbelief.
"No, at Slytherin. She was going to go and find Snape, but he was with you I expect, so Umbridge butted in."
"Of course she did…" Harry shook his head at his plate, knowing full well that eating so much pie would make him sick later on, but his empty stomach would not have him denying it food.
Hermione made a face at him as he shoved more pie into his mouth before turning her attention back to Angelina. "I heard there was a fantastic row. People said they heard the two of them yelling at each other in the tunnel to the changing rooms while we were filing out."
Angelina confirmed this. "Yeah, the whole team was there. McGonagall demanded that we search the Slytherin lockers but Umbridge said something about it being a violation of student privacy-"
"What a load of shite!" Ginny muttered bitterly. Hermione shot her a disapproving look, which she ignored, and Harry raised his eyebrows at her. This girl continued to surprise and impress him every day. "I wanted to hex her so badly! She knows she doesn't respect students' privacy! She just wanted to be a bitch to Professor McGonagall for disagreeing with that decree!"
Harry looked up at the staff table. Dumbledore was missing again, which displeased him—he was still waiting for those "answers" he was promised. McGonagall was eating in silence, her eyes narrowed and her lips tight. He looked over at Snape, who also looked angry, though Harry wondered with whom. "What d'you reckon Snape said when he found this out?"
Hermione shrugged. "He doesn't seem to like Umbridge very much, but he's probably furious that McGonagall tried to search his team's lockers." When dinner was over and the plates were wiped away, he hurriedly gulped down some cold milk before it vanished, too. "We've got to be extra careful with the D.A. now, just in case…" Hermione said as they made their way back up to the common room. "If Umbridge gives Malfoy and his twin twits whatever special authority, they'll use it to sniff us out."
"We should have another meeting as soon as possible to talk about options," Harry said darkly, looking at Angelina sideways. Her eyes were unfocused again, and she was staring at the back of some girl's head as they walked, her grip on his hand very loose.
Hermione must have noticed this as well, because she leaned closer and whispered in his ear: "What did you pull her out of dinner for, Harry? Did you two have a row?" Harry turned his gaze away from Angelina and nodded. "What about?" was her next question.
"Nothing…just…" he hesitated, "nothing important."
"But it's okay, now, right?" Hermione pressed. He shrugged, truthfully. They reached the common room and Angelina announced she was going to bed early, citing her weariness from the game as her excuse. She gave Harry a soft kiss on the lips and carried herself upstairs and away from him. Both Hermione and Ginny echoed this feeling. He sighed. When he was about to part ways with the girls, Hermione took hold of him and gave him a hug.
"I'm sorry you and Angelina argued, Harry, but don't feel bad." She offered him an embarrassed, tragically depressed smile. "Ronald kissed me earlier today and instead of kissing him back like I wanted to, I ran away…"
Harry couldn't think of a response and she turned to walk up to her dorm with Ginny in tow. Harry sighed and sat down in a chair by a window. He felt completely numb. He could only think to himself vaguely: boy the first two months of school are usually crazy, but this year takes the cake. He sat there for a while, vaguely aware of Fred and George doing their now almost nightly routine of dazzling crowds of young Gryffindors with their latest inventions. Tonight it was chews that would make the eater's nose gush out streams of blood. They had finally perfected the chews that would stop the bleeding. Applause and the occasional clink of Knuts, Sickles and Galleons could be heard.
He wanted to see Malfoy pay for what he said.
Harry stared at the night sky, thinking of Angelina and how much he wished she would just tell him what was making her so distant. The match was over; why was she still acting that way? Was it him, then? He supposed that arguing with her over Malfoy's pettiness had not helped much. Yelling at her was certainly not the way to relieve her of her sullenness. He groaned inwardly at himself. Was she regretting getting started with him because he was so hotheaded? This had been Hermione's label for him once, and at the time it only made Harry angry but now he realized that ironically enough that just proved her point even more.
Harry remembered something that his Aunt Petunia always said when Dudley was acting particularly evil. "Boys will be boys!" she crooned to her little Dudders, and it had always made Harry's blood boil to have his cousin's atrocious behavior brushed off by something as silly as that. But, then no….
A lot of people in the Wizarding World thought Muggles uncivilized and unsophisticated. Malfoy didn't resort to physical violence because his father taught him that proper wizards used wands and that was all there was to it. Yes…but they were boys. Wizards or no, they were boys—the lot of them, Harry, Malfoy, Crabbe, Goyle, Ronald, Fred, and George…they were rough, rude, joking, scratching, cursing, jealous boys. Weren't they? And didn't boys have their own instincts, their own way of doing things, whether with a wand or their bare hands? What made Malfoy taunt Harry by saying terrible things about his girlfriend? What made Harry try to pound him into the pitch when he insulted his parents? That same carnality that all boys had – both magic folk and Muggles alike.
There was no way he could take it lying down.
Fred and George were on their way up to bed when Harry jumped to his feet and caught them.
"Hey, guys, wait."
"What's up, Harry? Care to purchase one for yourself?" George dangled a chew in his face.
Harry shook his head and beckoned them closer, lowering his voice even though they were pretty much the last ones left in the common room. "No…I need your help with something."
"With what, lad?" Fred asked, frowning, though he seemed quite keen to hear. Harry told them an abridged version of events—saying only that Malfoy had insulted Angelina and that it was time for some payback. "We've been saying all along we should have dunked that sod head-first into the toilets for stealing Angie's playbook."
George nodded his agreement. "You should've seen us at the match. It was all Granger could do to keep us from pelting him and that ugly beast Montague with the Stinksap bombs we'd brought."
"So you'll help, then? Only you can't tell Angelina," said Harry anxiously. It wasn't like him to be planning the blatant harassment of a fellow student, but despite whatever pang of conscience he was experiencing, he felt almost giddy with satisfaction. The twins echoed this sentiment, and the three of them sat talking for a while longer.
"We've got some good Homemade Hexes we've been working on," George had confided in Harry as the embers from the once huge fire crackled softly. "Fred and me have been testing them out on ourselves, with disastrous results, mind you, for a couple of years now."
"But I reckon it's time for us to get a new guinea pig, eh, Harry?" Fred smiled evilly.
"When do you want to do it, then?" Harry asked without hesitation. The twins thought for a moment.
"We'll need a week or two…" said Fred.
Harry frowned, slightly disappointed. "Why?"
"There's something we'll need, and we have to put the finishing touches on it. We've been wanting to try this out for a while."
They didn't elaborate on what exactly they were planning to use on Malfoy, but Harry suspected that whatever it was, it was going to be good. As for himself, he mostly just wanted to participate. The twins were the experts, and if he could only see Malfoy get what he deserved it would be enough. Of course…he did feel a little guilty. Simply because he knew that neither Hermione nor Angelina would thank him for doing something so petty. Angelina's disapproval of him, he realized, was almost worse than Hermione's. Where Hermione scolded him mercilessly to the point of extreme irritation, Angelina's reproach of his less honorable actions came with cut-and-dry simplicity that made him feel like a brat. It was so hard to take sometimes.
The twins did not make fun of him for not wanting to let Angelina know about what they were doing.
"Sometimes she's worse than Granger," Fred admitted, voicing Harry's very feelings on the matter. "But they just don't' understand, Harry. A wizard's gotta do what a wizard's gotta do, eh?" Harry fancied Fred's sly wink had sealed their friendship. He had always been rather amused by and in awe of the twins, but now it seemed they had finally found the means to bond. Funny it was Malfoy's humiliation that did such.
Saying goodnight and parting ways with the boys, Harry carried himself tiredly into his dorm.
He felt a poke of guilt when he saw Ron asleep on his bed, still wearing his Quidditch gear; his was head still pressed into that pillow. Harry shuffled over to his friend and gently shook him. "Hey, Ron…" he whispered.
Ronald's lanky body gave a violent twitch and he rolled over onto his back, his mouth wide open. He snored loudly at Harry in response. Harry tried again, poking Ron in the shoulder.
"Hey, wake up, you git. You're not gonna sleep in your Quidditch things, are you?"
"Nah…" said Ron, still sound asleep. He did not move, but his mouth hung open even wider and Harry stifled an amused snort at the thin line of drool that was making its way slowly down the boy's chin. "Lemme alone, Hermione…" he mumbled. Harry did laugh quietly at this. Sighing, he walked around and gently removed Ron's Quidditch boots, stowing them beside his trunk. He then began to undress himself, pulling off his shirt and jeans before slipping into his pajama bottoms and climbing into bed.
He took off his glasses and lay down.
It took him a long time to fall asleep. He was thinking of the ways in which he could cause Malfoy to retract his nasty lies about Angelina…he was thinking of Quidditch…he missed it so much and he had only been banned for a week. He thought of Ron and Hermione. They liked each other but were too stubborn to admit it. He couldn't wait for them to figure out whatever it was they needed to so he wouldn't have to be stuck in the middle of their bickering anymore. He knew he was falling asleep when he thought nonsensically: we could double-date on the next Hogsmeade trip…get some hot chocolate…and maybe Hermione and Angelina could play with each other's hair…yeah…
He fell into black unconsciousness and touched down in the corridor of torches.
The doors floated past him in a blur as he sped toward his target—the one door at the end with the promising light shimmering at him from underneath it. Harry lifted his hand, his fingers groping, his heart pounding. It seemed to be taking him forever. He hissed in his sleep. He was almost there…Ron snored loudly and Harry awoke to find himself lying in bed with his arm extended upwards.
He sighed miserably. If only Ron had held his snore a few seconds more…
Harry was very hot for some reason. It must've been the vividness of the dream that caused his heart to pound and his head to ache with anticipation. He threw his covers off of himself and swung his legs around. He needed to find his wand. He was thirsty.
All of his roommates were snoring softly; Neville muttering in his sleep, Seamus with his eyes buried in the crook of his arm. Dean had his curtains drawn. Harry found his wand tucked into his back jeans pocket and conjured a glass of cool water. He drank, sitting on the edge of his bed, listening to Neville's faint mutterings and thinking hard about his dream. Was he ever going to reach that door? Was he ever going to open it and see what was inside? And he could not shake the feeling that this corridor existed some place…but where he couldn't guess. It was all very maddening.
There was a faint creak in the floorboards and Harry looked up to see Angelina standing in the doorway.
The dim moonlight only half-illuminated her tall, slender form, but what little light there was rested on her rather ethereally. He sat there for a moment wondering if he was still dreaming. She stood perfectly still during this time, one hand resting on the doorframe and the other hanging loose at her side. She was wearing a sheer white nightgown…watching him watching her. Harry's pulse began to accelerate and the perspiring glass of water he was holding slipped a little in his grip.
"May I come in?" she whispered. He nodded silently and she tiptoed in, closing the door slowly behind her. He watched her weave around the beds and furnace carefully to get to him, taking a pause to raise a disapproving eyebrow at Ron's sleeping in his dirty clothes. When she stood next to him finally, he looked up at her from his sitting position and saw that the moonlight had at last reached her face. She looked very tired, but sweet…so sweet in the pale moonlight wearing that very feminine nightgown, as opposed to the tee shirt and shorts he'd seen her in before. "I had a bad dream…" she explained softly; simply.
Harry found his voice, though his chest was being attacked by his beating heart. "Me too."
The nightgown only came to her knees, where it rustled a bit when being disturbed by his breath. She was very close to him, he realized as he watched the fabric ripple when he exhaled. One of her legs moved and her knee came up slightly, touching the glass still sitting loosely in his hand.
"Do you want some water?"
He was vaguely aware that he had four roommates who could wake at any moment and discover her in their midst, but there was a fine veil of something surrounding the two of them that made it impossible to focus on anything but her lips as she lifted his glass and drank. Her throat moved gracefully as she swallowed…he remained silent until she was finished.
"Thanks…" she set the glass on his nightstand. Harry had been watching the perspiration on its surface run down to the base when he felt her fingers slide into his hair. "Harry can I stay here with you for a little while?"
So all those times she had spoken to him that way, making him feel like such the kid…her tone this time made up for them. She spoke to him now as a girl would her protector, her fingers in his hair causing him to sway to the familiar lull of sleep. He nodded. "Yeah, come on…"
He stood up for her and she let her hand fall away from his hair, smiling at him almost shyly as he allowed her to slide into his bed. He caught the outline of her body through the sheer fabric of the nightgown just before a cloud passed over the moon. The arch of her back and sleek curve of her breasts made his temples pulse with that something.
Harry hesitated before getting in himself. He had never, ever had a girl in his bed before. Seamus' bed, sure, but not his own. And not…like this.
Her body was warm and lithe. She instantly moved closer to him when he was under the covers, resting her arm on his bare chest and burying her face in his neck. She traced her fingers along the jagged scar he'd received from the Hungarian Horntail's horned tail and sighed softly. Harry turned his face so that his mouth was very close to her cheek. "Were you scared?"
She nodded, their skin touching for a millisecond. "Yeah, I was pretty shaken up. You?"
"No, not scared. Disappointed." Perhaps it was that it was the middle of the night and he was still very sleepy, but for some reason he forgot any awkwardness or uncertainty. Nuzzling his mouth against her cheek seemed a perfectly natural thing to do. She pressed herself even closer to him. "Congratulations, by the way."
He felt her frown. "For what?"
"Winning the match."
"Oh, that." Angelina yawned and lifted her shoulders into a shrug. "Just barely. If Ginny hadn't managed to get hold of that Snitch…"
Harry chuckled to himself, the sleepy absurdity of his thoughts creeping up on him again. "Luna Lovegood wore a lion for a hat."
Angelina's body shook with soft laughter. "I know. Damned thing kept roaring at us during the match. Poor Ron didn't know what to do with himself between that and that horrible song those Slytherins were screaming."
His eyes closed and he made himself comfortable, reaching under her warm body to pull her still closer. The lazy hold of arousal was upon him, though he scarcely paid wakeful attention to what this was or meant. He simply followed his instinct to slide his nose and mouth along her cheek until they met the tiny corner where her earlobe touched and he kissed her there. Somewhere in the dark Neville muttered that he might just get a new pet if Trevor didn't want to stick around anymore. Angelina was laughing again but Harry captured her mouth suddenly and she hushed.
He woke up and she did too. They gazed at each other with identical, kinetic desire. The boys were all asleep. Eyes still locked together, Harry and Angelina exchanged several tender kisses—lips pressing and peeling with mounting intensity as they both began to touch on purposeful movement. Harry let the breath he'd been unaware he was holding out through his nostrils and turned to face her fully, pulling her tightly against him. His hands roamed new territory; her body was almost completely exposed to his touch through the nightgown.
Their legs entwined…Harry hesitated for a split second, recognizing finally what 'something' he was feeling. He wanted to feel her hands on him, but as she closed the space between them, he felt himself filling with fear and uncertainty. Despite his effort to ignore it, it lay there underneath his desire for her.
Physical affection. He had not been exposed to it much growing up. Indeed no. When he was touched at all it was usually out of anger or as a dismissive gesture. He had been pushed into the tiny broom cupboard, led around by his tender ear, shoved to the ground by his cousin's heavy hands, etc. His aunt Petunia cut his hair, usually wearing bright yellow scrubbing gloves when she did this, yanking his head all around as roughly as she pleased. Vernon shoved him out of the way and slapped him upside the back of his head roughly. These kinds of things were merely routine in the Dursley household—when Harry was very little he tried his best to make them like him; make them love him or at least want him there. But as he grew older, he stopped trying to please them and resentment began to develop inside. He woke up in the morning, every morning, bracing himself for a violation of his physical space and he stayed like that all day until he closed his eyes at night.
No, there had been no physical affection for Harry growing up.
The act of touch, in a tender or loving manner, had been absent from his life, and it left a deep burning hole within him that was hard to fill. As a child he had always dreamt of his faceless mother—his mother would put her arms around him, tell him "I love you, Harry…" But these were only dreams, and however vivid dreams can be, there is no real physical feeling involved, so whenever Harry woke again he was still just as bruised and cold and unloved as ever.
The deep, burning hole this left in him made it impossible for him to anticipate that he would feel so…utterly…captivated by Angelina's bold gestures of affection towards him. Of course, experiencing gestures of kinship and esteem from the people he called friends and adults alike once he'd left the confines of Privet Drive had prepared him a little; especially the grand, wrap-my-arms-around-you-and-squeeze-you-till-you-can't-breathe hugs that Mrs. Weasley gave him. Moments like these softened him and helped to ease away the resentment and bitterness he felt as he got older, but they had not prepared him for Angelina.
Angelina looked into his eyes, her sullen manner from the past week now gone and a playful, naughty girlishness replacing it.
"Wanna see something?"
Harry's breathing had stalled somewhere between his chest and his throat. He swallowed but could not manage the breath to speak just yet, so he nodded. She bit her lip in her smile and let him go to take hold of the thin strings that tied a little opening at the neck of her nightgown. He watched, beside himself with anticipation, as her slender fingers pulled the string and the knot grew loose, eventually falling apart until the opening was no longer secure. Just beneath lay her breasts, which were only protected by the thin fabric of the nightgown, so it was almost like seeing them naked. Her chest rose and fell splendidly as she poised her hands, gripping the sides of the opening in readiness to expose her flesh to him, her eyes searching his somewhat imploringly.
Harry's heart wanted out of his chest and it was making a great show of it. The two of them were under his covers with the only illumination coming from the moonlight creeping in through whatever crevice it could find above their heads. A thin shaft of light ran down the side of her face, over her left eye, continuing along her neck and fading away just under where she wanted him to look. Harry felt his mouth curve into a smile, and she took this to mean that he wanted to see…
Angelina opened the nightgown further and Harry's new friend the swell of arousal descended upon him instantly, forcing out the fear that was present moments before it.
It was dark under the covers, but the small stream of light provided enough for him to see the dim outline of two rather beautiful curves and two supple, round points. Angelina's chest rose and fell slowly…she was just as nervous as he was, he could tell. There was also the risk they were taking; doing this in a room full of slumbering boys. Should any of Harry's roommates wake up…
"Do you like them?"
Harry lifted his eyes from her breasts and met her gaze. "Yes, very much. I-I mean, er…I'm just uh…" he couldn't help but to grin stupidly and let out a bit of nervous laughter. "Sorry. Yes. They're quite pretty."
Angelina reached out for him and returned his big smile. "It's ok, come here." She was speaking so softly, so gently, and when she took hold of his hand and brought it over to her he let it go without protest. He was tingling all over; their breath was making a warm little bubble that shut out the frost that was developing on his window.
Harry wanted to, oh Merlin, he wanted to…his hand, guided by hers, cupped one of her smooth breasts. He didn't dare look down at it; just into her eyes as his thumb moved across the surface of her warm flesh. He felt the minuscule bumps on her areoles, and then her taut yet springy nipple…
Harry's thoughts as his fingers explored manifested themselves in his pajama bottoms; in seconds he had an erection. He looked down at himself and instantly let go of her. "Oh no…" he breathed, unsure why exactly he was feeling so insecure about it. Angelina laughed softly and he felt his cheeks burn. "Sorry…"
"No, don't be…" she whispered, that usual tone of hers emerging again. He didn't want to look at her, he was horrified; both because he was so inexplicably embarrassed and because she was being so patient and coaxing about it—it suddenly mattered to him that she was two years older. Angelina simply took his blazing cheeks in her cools hands and brought his face to hers. She kissed him a few times on the lips. He felt a beam of heat run down to his crotch as she whispered, "That's kind of what I wanted."
His pants were very tight, and he was straining against them down there, especially with her so close to him. "This is a bit uncomfortable."
She laughed aloud this time, and there were faint grunts from the darkness, accompanied by the sounds of moving bodies. Harry tried to shush her, but found himself giving in and they laughed nervously for several minutes. The covers they were hidden under trembled along with the soft mattress as their laughter grew more intense. Angelina scooted closer to him and he tried to make himself not feel her supple breasts pressing against his arm.
"It's not going away…"
"It's not supposed to yet." He looked to find her staring down at it, a thoughtful frown etching her features. She lifted her fingers.
"No, don't touch it!" he hissed, mortified. Actually, he really wanted her to, but he did not wish to wake the others. He could only imagine what they would do if they woke up to strange noises coming from under Harry's covers…
Angelina trembled again with laughter. "No?"
"No!"
"Scabbers, stop eating my Droobles!" Ron said loudly.
They lay still and silent. Harry reached up and took some of the comforter in his hand, inching it down until the top of his head and eyes were exposed. He peeked around, squinting at the blurry darkness. Nothing stirred. It seemed they were all still asleep. Relieved, Harry ducked back under the covers…only to discover that Angelina was in the middle of reaching down again to pull the string on his pajama bottoms.
"Hey, no, no, no, that is definitely touching! You want to wake my-?" He tried to take her hand away but she used this action to pull him closer to her until he was pressed tightly against her, their legs entwining again and his…middle…finding warm flesh to rub against. He closed his eyes, pushing a soft gasp hotly out of his open mouth before swallowing thickly and uttering: "Angelina…lemme go…"
"No…" She was biting his neck, holding him close. He felt her hands gripping the skin on his back. Her body conformed to his, her breasts rubbing against his chest; a mingling of skin and soft fabric from her nightgown that made the blood pump down through him heavily. He was wide awake, and soon his roommates would be too if she didn't stop. He wanted to…he wanted to…do things…reach under her gown and…take off her panties…kiss her and touch her…feel her fingers on him…against his…
Harry shook his head hard and disentangled himself from her. "I think I heard someone wake up," he lied, relieved when she stopped kissing his neck and looked up at the opening in the covers.
There was silence and she turned her gaze back down to him, releasing him with an understanding smile. It was her turn to apologize. "Sorry…"
"For what?"
"I guess I shouldn't have, uh…" She reached up and began to tie the strings on her gown again. He watched her, realizing that she was ashamed of herself. He touched her hand with his.
"I've never done this before," Harry said honestly. He didn't just mean sex, but all of it. "You make me feel…" he took a deep breath, that hole in him smoldering. "You make me feel so…" A knot formed in his throat and Harry stopped speaking.
Angelina studied his face for a short while before leaning in and kissing him again. "I want you Harry..." she whispered; honesty clear in her eyes and her voice. "I can't help it. But…I don't want to rush you."
Harry tilted his head at her, powerful curiosity poking at him. The words 'I want you' permeated the quiet; burned into him and made him feel…why? Why did she want him; why did she like him so much? He opened his mouth, questions forming in the back of his throat and old self-hatred beginning to writhe around in the hidden corners of his mind. He tried again to speak.
"You're not rushing me. It's just that…um…" Harry's heart thumped; he couldn't get it out properly. "I'm not…n-nobody's ever said…that, I mean…"
His nostrils burned. He didn't want his eyes to well up—she was looking at him intensely. Aunt Petunia hated when he showed the slightest bit of weakness. She would ridicule him mercilessly for crying if he hurt himself, or if anyone else hurt him, or even if he was just upset. He was too young then, and too angry now, to realize that she only hated this because it confronted her with her own cruelty. Harry hated it as well, though. Especially in moments like this, when the person witnessing his vulnerability was someone like Angelina. Harry really cared what she thought of him. He took a deep breath; starting over yet again; fighting off those things he dreaded with all his might—those hot, wet things that desperately wanted release. Not in front of her!
"I mean that I want you to understand why I, uh, pushed you away…I-I'm kind of…not used to people…"
"Touching you?" came her tender reply, and he grimaced—the tears burned hot in a swell of emotion and then broke loose. He closed his eyes to hide them from her as he nodded, and she continued, stroking his neck and jaw with her slender fingers. Damn it, he did not want to cry! "Kissing you? Telling you they care for you?"
"Not really, no," Harry took in a deep, ragged breath and reached up to rub away the tears before shaking his head at her. "But it's not a big deal. I don't even know why I'm…this is…really embarrassing."
"Don't be embarrassed Harry. It's okay…" He was silent for a while, not wishing to manage tears again, before she whispered, "What did those Muggles do to you?"
He laughed but it was more like a choked back sob and he turned his face away from hers, angry that he had thought about these things at precisely the wrong moment. He had been fine earlier; whatever it was that brought this on, Harry resented it. He hadn't known—hadn't realized that so much touch, so much affection would affect him that way. Poor boy didn't know what to do with himself. His disbelief of her fancy for him had been shattered; there was nothing left but for him to accept that Angelina wanted to be close to him for simply being Harry, when for most of his childhood he was rejected because he was who he was. "Nothing…they just don't think much of me, that's all." He kept his voice light.
When he had managed to pull it together, Harry lay on his back, staring at the dark comforter. He felt Angelina snuggle up to him and turned his head to rest against her soft hair.
"Well I like you…" she whispered.
Even if I'm a crybaby, he thought, but muttered: "Thanks."
"Do you like me?" She was touching him at the base of his stomach. It tickled him, but soon after that her hand slid down further and his discomfort from earlier reared up again. Tears forgotten, Harry swallowed but her hand did not explore further.
"Yes…"
They talked for a while. It must have been very late, but it didn't perturb them. He asked her what her dream had been about. Angelina hesitated but sighed and told him that it had been about him and Malfoy.
"You were fighting, and you wouldn't stop hitting him in the face." Harry slanted his mouth into a smile, thankful she couldn't see it, but then she continued: "His face was so bloody and barely recognizable. You just kept hitting him and hitting him. I screamed for you to stop but you wouldn't. And Umbridge was there. She had a whip. She was letting you hit him, because she knew the more you did the more trouble you would be in. And she was going to whip you with that thing for each time you hit Malfoy….she was laughing."
Harry was not smiling anymore. Angelina hugged him tight. There was a long silence and then she asked quietly what his dream was. He considered her, and then told her: "There was a door I couldn't reach. There's something behind it that I want really badly, but…I can never get to it."
"What do you think is behind it?"
"That's the stupid part—I have no idea what it is. But every time I have the dream, I feel myself getting closer and closer…still I always wake up before I reach it. I hate waking up sometimes…"
Angelina told him that maybe he wasn't meant to open that door quite yet, and he got the sense that she was drawing a comparison to their rapidly increasing sexual exploration with each other, but he said nothing in response. They fell asleep a while after that, she tucked into his arms with her cool face resting on his bare chest. It was the first time he'd ever slept with someone so close to him, in his bed, holding him almost as if for protection. It felt really, really, really good to have a girlfriend. Sleep spoke to him in his head: Ron and Hermione should have this. If I have to force that git to talk to her….she'll be sneaking in here all the time…no, no Hermione doesn't like breaking rules and having girls in our beds has got to be grounds for expulsion or at the very least some hard-core detention…
Slumber took hold of him and the thought faded away.