◄✩༄*∗"We'd be best pals if they didn't keep trying to do me in."∗*༄✩►
☼
◄✩༄*∗ You know that I'm obsessed with your body
But it's the way you smile that does it for me
It's so sweet, knowing that you love me
Though we don't need to say it to each other, sweet
Knowing that I love you, and running my fingers through your hair
It's so sweet ∗*༄✩►
— Sweet | Cigarettes After Sex
【 ✧ ☾⋆☼⋆☽ ✧ 】
IT WAS RARE FOR Y/N AND HARRY to spend time alone together, but they had finally gotten the opportunity to one Thursday evening early October, where Hermione was in the library, and Ron was working on Keeping with Ginny at the Pitch. It was also a rare day where the Gryffindor common room was completely empty except for them; everyone was taking advantage of the nice weather outside, where it was completely dry and warm, a stark contrast to the past week's dreary and rainy weather. They had already enjoyed it earlier during their free period, however, and were now confined to the tower to (hopefully) finish their homework before the next day.
Y/N worked on homework, but she could feel Harry's stare on her as she worked. It made her all hot and heavy but she resisted looking up at him, determined to finish her Transfiguration assignment that was set that day.
"You're awful at hiding your arousal, Pix," Harry commented a few moments later, still watching her carefully from the adjacent armchair.
"Mhm," Y/N replied, crossing her legs further as she trained her eyes on her parchment. The words blurred together, scrambling themselves as if her brain were trying to prevent her from completing her work. Godric, she knew what she wanted, but she also knew she had to finish her homework . . .
"Come here," Harry said thickly, his voice rougher than usual as he cleared his lap of his schoolwork.
"I've got work," Y/N muttered, despite the ache between her legs throbbing for him as she tried to subtly adjust herself on the loveseat.
"Work that you're not even doing right now?" Harry mocked, and Y/N's gaze flicked up to his, only to be met with nothing but desire. "Your quill's been hovering over your parchment for five minutes now. Come here."
Y/N hesitated.
"Now, Pix."
"Thought you weren't obsessed with me?" Y/N teased, slowly shutting her textbook close and taking her time in stuffing her things in her bag, making sure her books were stacked just right and her quill was in its respective spot. "Seems to me like you're utterly infatuated with me."
"Yeah, cause I am," Harry said flatly, watching as she rose from the loveseat. "I said that love isn't obsession, but I never said I wasn't both in love and obsessed with you."
"Are you?" Y/N grinned teasingly, crossing the short distance to where Harry was sitting. His legs were spread slightly as he relaxed against the armchair and gazed at her with a calculative look.
Once in arm's distance he tugged her down to his lap, her knees on either side of his thighs and her skirt riding up her hips. Her arms circled his neck and she smiled down at him, her gaze flicking over his handsome face. He breathed through his lips, his adam's apple occasionally bobbing as he studied her. A faint rose colour tinted his cheeks and ears, giving Y/N perfect insight as to what he was thinking about.
"'Course I am," he muttered under his breath, leaning forward to kiss her. She pulled away, damn near smirking as he groaned in discontent. "Let me kiss you, love."
"Always so desperate," Y/N mocked. She shivered despite the fireplace raging as his hands roamed the length of her body, from her ribcage all the way down to her thighs. He was feeling her, groping her in just the right spots, learning her body under his hands and memorizing her skin.
Harry didn't wait a second longer; one hand shot up to the back of her neck to tug her face down to his and their lips collided, their teeth knocking into each other's with the harsh contact. A moan poured into Harry's mouth from Y/N as he ravished her lips with his own, and the faint taste of treacle tart mingled with apple pie between them.
Y/N's chest heaved as she blindly pulled away, only to catch a breath before diving into his lips again. His teeth tugged at her lips and his tongue curved into hers roughly, as if to show her who was in control between them. She didn't fight it, instead allowing him to take the lead as she scarcely took much needed breaths.
Harry's hands stopped roaming, instead slipping under her skirt to trail up her thighs. Goosebumps arose with his contact and he allowed his hands to circle behind her to her arse, squeezing it just enough to make her jump forward against him and moan longingly into his mouth. His lips turned up against hers and his hands squeezed her arse once more before sliding under the hem of her knickers, teasingly trailing his fingers along the seam down to her inner thighs. Y/N bucked against him with need, her hips grinding against his in an effort to pleasure herself on him. He groaned in response, his own hips jumping to meet hers as his hands tugged her skirt above her hips to let him watch.
"Come on, baby," Harry muttered roughly, one hand so close to her cunt that it was almost touching her, the other with the end of her skirt pressed against her waist to give him the view of her damp, white knickers rolling against his black tented trousers. Her robes shielded their actions from behind, giving a perfect disguise had anyone come in at that very moment. "Come on, before everyone comes back."
Y/N whimpered as pleasure shot up her core at the friction, her head tilted to the ceiling in ecstasy. Her pace quickened at his words and her hands used his stiff shoulders as an anchor, squeezing them and letting her nails dig into his clothes. One of Harry's hands stayed at her hip to lift her skirt, but the other flew to the collar of her dress shirt to half-undo her tie and unbutton her shirt down to her bra.
Of course, they had done things like this before. Though they never went further (or seen more), they knew how to get each other off and, of course, they did it well.
"So, so filthy . . ." Harry mumbled, his voice thick with arousal as his eyelids drooped. His swollen lips parted as she rolled her hips harder against his hardness, chasing her release, and his hand lazily parted her shirt to the side so he could properly see her bra and squeeze her tit through it, thumbing the peak of her nipple through the fabric. "Only for me, yeah? You're my filthy little pix, aren't you?"
"Yes, Merlin, yes," Y/N groaned, her head clouded with arousal and her ears ringing as she teetered on the edge. She was just a cloud away . . .
But Harry stopped her movements with one hand, listening closely. She wanted to protest but, as the ringing in her ears faded away with her slowly-dying pleasure, she could hear several pairs of footsteps marching down the corridor towards the portrait. Frustration built up in Y/N as she was denied yet again of long-overdue pleasure.
"Accio." Harry flicked his wand at a blanket across the room as Y/N swiftly buttoned up her shirt and tightened her tie, hoisting herself up to tug her skirt down. The heavy blanket rested over them and the evidence of their actions and Harry looked Y/N over, her doing the same to him, before he tucked her into his side and tugged his Transfigurations textbook over his lap. Y/N Summoned a Defense Against the Dark Arts book from her bag and had just pried it open to her page when the portrait hole opened, and in stepped Hermione, Ron, Ginny, and Neville.
Ron and Ginny waved at Y/N and Harry before disappearing up to the dorms to shower; Hermione briskly walked over, and Neville scurried over to one of the windows and pulled a plant from his bag, setting it on the sill and bringing up a chair next to it.
"I've just completed all my homework so far!" Hermione said cheerfully, dropping into the loveseat and sighing as she relaxed before the fire. "What've you two been doing up here? Not smuggling Weasley's Wizard Wheezes, I hope?"
"Extra studying for Defense Against the Dark Arts," Y/N said gloomily, holding up her book to show Hermione. She was gloomy: she had just been about to finish herself off when everyone had to show up at the wrong time. Couldn't they have waited like, five more minutes?
"Transfiguration," said Harry flatly, though he didn't hold his book up. "So you've completed the Herbology essay?"
"I'm not letting you see my work!"
【 ✧ ☾⋆☼⋆☽ ✧ 】
After yet another rather lonely Care of Magical Creatures lesson the next day, Y/N packed up her bag as Anthony waited for her, his Glumbumble pair buzzing lazily in the beehive-shaped cage that he held. Y/N had her own pair; for the next week or two, they would be studying the mating techniques Glumbumbles used to reproduce, as well as the conditions necessary for them to facilitate their infamous melancholy treacle.
So far in the class, they'd covered Golden Snidgets, Billywigs, Mokes, and now, Glumbumbles. All small creatures, yet very fascinating ones that piqued Y/N and Anthony's interests. Although Hagrid didn't assign any homework, he did expect them to write essays and summaries, and would spring pop quizzes and small tests on them occasionally. It was nothing Y/N couldn't handle, but she did have a stack of Care of Magical Creature textbooks building up in her dorm.
"Are you ready yet?" Anthony sassed as Y/N carefully lowered the cage into her bag.
"Shut up, Anthony."
"Y/N! Anthony! Come 'ere!"
They shared a glance. Anytime Hagrid called them over, it never ended well. Many times did they suffer, the most notable being burns from ashwinders, unexpected levitation from a billywig sting, and being at the wrong end of a knarl's quills. So, Hagrid's chipper tone didn't seem all-that-compelling as Y/N and Anthony begrudgingly made their way over to his cabin.
Hagrid led them over to the wide pen dedicated to the Abraxan they had rescued, who looked ten times better than they had two months ago. Their coats were shinier, their wings fuller, and eyes brighter. Y/N didn't visit the growing family much, but every time she did made her more glad that she and Hagrid had taken the risk to save them.
"Winged horses?" Anthony said in surprise, dropping his bag off to the side and checking his watch. "Professor Hagrid, where did you get winged horses?"
Y/N and Hagrid shared a look.
"Er . . . Fang found 'em in the woods a couple o' months ago . . ."
"Can I ride one?"
Y/N jabbed Anthony with her elbow, giving him a look. He scowled at her.
"I reckon once I get them ter trust me more they'd let yeh ride 'em," Hagrid said, and Anthony deflated. "But in the meanwhile, why don't yeh read up on 'em? Fascinatin' creatures . . . for extra credit, yeh can give me a report on 'em and as soon as the mother gives birth—I'll let yeh race 'em!"
Halfway through October came their first trip of the term to Hogsmeade. Y/N had wondered whether these trips would still be allowed, given the increasingly tight security measures around the school, but was pleased to know that they were going ahead; she rarely left the castle in her free time, only ever going out onto the grounds three times a week for Care of Magical Creatures.
The morning of the trip, Y/N dressed warmly, wearing jeans that she had stolen from her mum, a black turtleneck, and her Quidditch jumper over top. With heeled black boots, she grabbed her wand, a maroon scarf, and her everyday robes, following Hermione out of the dorm and common room to the Great Hall for breakfast.
Ron wasted no time in telling them of his and Harry's morning with a new spell called Levicorpus that dangled the target upside down by the ankles, and how he had woken abruptly from Harry casting it on him.
". . . and then there was another flash of light and I landed on the bed again!" Ron grinned, helping himself to sausages.
Hermione had not cracked a smile during this anecdote, and now turned an expression of wintry disapproval upon Harry.
"Was this spell, by any chance, another one from that potion book of yours?" she asked.
Harry frowned at her.
"Always jump to the worst conclusion, don't you?"
"Was it?" she pushed, and Y/N watched the interaction with failed interest as she marmaladed several pieces of toast.
"Well . . . yeah, it was, but so what?"
"So you just decided to try out an unknown, handwritten incantation and see what would happen?"
"Why does it matter if it's handwritten?"
"Because it's probably not Ministry of Magic-approved," said Hermione. "And also," she added, as Harry and Ron rolled their eyes, "because I'm starting to think this Prince character was a bit dodgy."
Both Harry and Ron shouted her down at once. Y/N, however, agreed with her.
"It was a laugh!" said Ron, upending a ketchup bottle over his sausages. "Just a laugh, Hermione, that's all!"
"Dangling people upside down by the ankle?" said Hermione. "Who puts their time and energy into making up spells like that?"
"And what need would you have for it?" Y/N pondered, biting into her toast. "Other than to hurt people?"
"Fred and George," said Ron, shrugging, "it's their kind of thing—you know, for fun. And, er—"
"My dad," said Harry.
"What?" said Y/N, Ron, and Hermione together.
"My dad used this spell," said Harry. "I—Lupin told me."
Y/N studied him questioningly, her brows furrowed as she piled eggs and bacon onto her plate.
"Maybe your dad did use it, Harry," said Hermione, "but he's not the only one. We've seen a whole bunch of people use it, in case you've forgotten. Dangling people in the air. Making them float along, asleep, helpless."
Y/N remembered the Death Eater's behavior at the Quidditch World Cup and gave Harry and Ron a pointed look, shoveling her eggs onto her fork and dumping them onto her toast.
"That was different," Ron said robustly. "They were abusing it. Harry and his dad were just having a laugh. You don't like the Prince, Hermione," he added, pointing a sausage at her sternly, "because he's better than you at Potions—"
"It's got nothing to do with that!" said Hermione, her cheeks reddening. "I just think it's very irresponsible to start performing spells when you don't even know what they're for, and stop talking about 'the Prince' as if it's his title, I bet it's just a stupid nickname, and it doesn't seem as though he was a very nice person to me!"
"I don't see where you get that from," said Harry heatedly. "If he'd been a budding Death Eater he wouldn't have been boasting about being 'half-blood,' would he?"
"The Death Eaters can't all be pure-blood, there aren't enough pure-blood wizards left," said Hermione stubbornly. "I expect most of them are half-bloods pretending to be pure. It's only Muggle-borns they hate, they'd be quite happy to let you, Ron, and Y/N join up."
"There is no way they'd let me be a Death Eater!" said Ron indignantly, a bit of sausage flying off the fork he was now brandishing at Hermione and hitting Ernie Macmillan on the head. "My whole family are blood traitors! That's as bad as Muggle-borns to Death Eaters!"
"And they'd love to have me," said Harry sarcastically. "We'd be best pals if they didn't keep trying to do me in."
This made Ron laugh; even Hermione gave a grudging smile, and a distraction arrived in the shape of Ginny.
"Hey, Harry, I'm supposed to give you this."
It was a scroll of parchment with Harry's name written upon it in familiar thin, slanting writing.
"Thanks, Ginny . . . It's Dumbledore's next lesson!" Harry told Y/N, Ron, and Hermione, pulling open the parchment and quickly reading its contents. "Monday evening!"
Filch was standing at the oak front doors as usual, checking off the names of people who had permission to go into Hogsmeade. The process took even longer than normal as Filch was triple-checking everybody with his Secrecy Sensor.
"What does it matter if we're smuggling Dark stuff OUT?" demanded Ron, eyeing the long thin Secrecy Sensor with apprehension. "Surely you ought to be checking what we bring back IN?"
His cheek earned him a few extra jabs with the Sensor, and he was still wincing as they stepped out into the wind and sleet.
The walk to Hogsmeade was not enjoyable. Y/N wrapped her scarf over her lower face; the exposed part soon felt both raw and numb. The road to the village was full of students bent double against the bitter wind. When they finally reached Hogsmeade and saw that Zonko's Joke Shop had been boarded up, Y/N took it as confirmation that this trip was not destined to be fun. Ron pointed, with a thickly gloved hand, toward Honeydukes, which was mercifully open, and Y/N, Harry, and Hermione staggered in his wake into the crowded shop.
"Thank Godric," shivered Ron as they were enveloped by warm, toffee-scented air. "Let's stay here all afternoon."
"Harry, m'boy! And Y/N!" said a booming voice from behind them.
"Oh no," muttered Harry. The four of them turned to see Professor Slughorn, who was wearing an enormous furry hat and an overcoat with matching fur collar, clutching a large bag of crystalized pineapple, and occupying at least a quarter of the shop.
"Harry—Y/N, that's three of my little suppers you've missed now!" said Slughorn, pinning them with a stare. "It won't do, I'm determined to have you two! Miss Granger loves them, don't you?"
"Yes," said Hermione helplessly, "they're really—"
"So why don't you come along, Harry—Y/N?" demanded Slughorn.
"Well, we've had Quidditch practice, Professor," said Harry, who had indeed been scheduling practices every time Slughorn had sent them a little, violet ribbon-adorned invitation.
"Well, I certainly expect you to win your first match after all this hard work!" said Slughorn. "But a little recreation never hurt anybody. Now, how about Monday night, you can't possibly want to practice in this weather. . . ."
"I can't, Professor, I've got—er—an appointment with Professor Dumbledore that evening."
"Unlucky again!" cried Slughorn dramatically. "Ah, well . . . you can't evade me forever, Harry! Y/N?"
"Er . . ." Y/N tried to come up with an excuse, like a detention or something, but Slughorn's stare burned through her. "I'll try but I've already promised a few lowerclassmen that I'd tutor them . . ."
"How generous!" Slughorn beamed at her, and she returned it with a tight-lipped smile. "Do tell if you can come, I'd be delighted to have you!"
And with a regal wave, he waddled out of the shop, taking as little notice of Ron as though he had been a display of Cockroach Clusters.
"I can't believe you've wriggled out of another one," said Hermione, shaking her head. "They're not that bad, you know. . . . They're even quite fun sometimes. . . ." But then she caught sight of Ron's expression. "Oh, look—they've got deluxe sugar quills—those would last hours!"
Glad that Hermione had changed the subject, Y/N and Harry showed much more interest in the new extra-large sugar quills than they would normally have done, but Ron continued to look moody and merely shrugged when Hermione asked him where he wanted to go next.
"Let's go to the Three Broomsticks," said Harry. "It'll be warm."
They bundled their scarves back over their faces and left the sweetshop. The bitter wind was like knives on their faces after the sugary warmth of Honeydukes. The street was not very busy; nobody was lingering to chat, just hurrying toward their destinations. The exceptions were two men a little ahead of them, standing just outside the Three Broomsticks. One was very tall and thin; Y/N recognized him as the barman who worked in the other Hogsmeade pub, the Hog's Head.
As Y/N, Harry, Ron, and Hermione drew closer, the barman drew his cloak more tightly around his neck and walked away, leaving the shorter man to fumble with something in his arms. They were barely feet from him when they realized who the man was.
"Mundungus!" said Harry.
The squat, bandy-legged man with long, straggly, ginger hair jumped and dropped an ancient suitcase, which burst open, releasing what looked like the entire contents of a junk shop window.
"Oh, 'ello, 'Arry," said Mundungus Fletcher, with a most unconvincing stab at airiness. "Well, don't let me keep ya."
And he began scrabbling on the ground to retrieve the contents of his suitcase with every appearance of a man eager to be gone.
"Are you selling this stuff?" asked Harry, watching Mundungus grab an assortment of grubby-looking objects from the ground.
"Oh, well, gotta scrape a living," said Mundungus. "Gimme that!"
Ron had stooped down and picked up something silver.
"Hang on," Ron said slowly. "This looks familiar—"
"Thank you!" said Mundungus, snatching the goblet out of Ron's hand and stuffing it back into the case. "Well, I'll see you all—OUCH!"
In an instant, Harry had pinned Mundungus against the wall of the pub by the throat. Holding him fast with one hand, he pulled out his wand.
"Harry!" said Y/N at once, startled.
"You took that from Sirius's house," said Harry angrily. "That had the Black family crest on it."
"I—no—what—?" spluttered Mundungus, who was slowly turning purple.
"What did you do, go back the night he died and strip the place?" snarled Harry.
"I—no—"
"Give it to me!"
"Harry, don't!" Y/N said sharply as Mundungus started to turn blue.
There was a bang, and Harry's hands flew off Mundungus's throat. Gasping and spluttering, Mundungus seized his fallen case, then—CRACK—he Disapparated.
Harry swore at the top of his voice, spinning on the spot to see where Mundungus had gone.
"COME BACK, YOU THIEVING—!"
"There's no point, Harry."
Tonks had appeared out of nowhere, her mousy hair wet with sleet.
"Mundungus will probably be in London by now. There's no point yelling."
"He's nicked Sirius's stuff! Nicked it!"
"Yes, but still," said Tonks, who seemed perfectly untroubled by this piece of information. Y/N hadn't seen her since what happened with the poachers, but Tonks didn't look any better since then. If anything, she seemed even gloomier than ever. "You should get out of the cold."
She watched them go through the door of the Three Broomsticks.
The moment he was inside, Harry burst out, "He was nicking Sirius's stuff!"
"I know, Harry, but please don't shout, people are staring," whispered Hermione. "Go and sit down, I'll get you a drink."
Harry was still fuming when Hermione returned to their table a few minutes later holding four bottles of butterbeer.
"Can't the Order control Mundungus?" Harry demanded of Y/N, Ron, and Hermione in a furious whisper. "Can't they at least stop him stealing everything that's not fixed down when he's at headquarters?"
"Shh!" said Hermione desperately, looking around to make sure nobody was listening; there were a couple of warlocks sitting close by who were staring at Harry with great interest, and Zabini was lolling against a pillar not far away. "Harry, I'd be annoyed too, I know it's your things he's stealing—"
Harry gagged on his butterbeer, as though he suddenly realized something.
"Yeah, it's my stuff!" he said. "No wonder he wasn't pleased to see me! Well, I'm going to tell Dumbledore what's going on, he's the only one who scares Mundungus."
"Good idea," whispered Hermione, clearly pleased that Harry was calming down. "Ron, what are you staring at?"
"Nothing," said Ron, hastily looking away from the bar, but Y/N knew he was trying to catch the eye of the curvy and attractive barmaid, Madam Rosmerta, for whom he had long nursed a soft spot. Which, Y/N thought to herself with a snort, was not reciprocated. Ron glared at her sideways, huffing indignantly as she tried to not choke on her butterbeer.
"I expect 'nothing's' in the back getting more firewhisky," said Hermione waspishly.
Ron ignored this jibe, sipping his drink in what he evidently considered to be a dignified silence. Y/N could tell Mundungus still bothered Harry and comfortingly squeezed his knee under the table, but he took her hand in his instead and laced them together. Hermione drummed her fingers on the table, her eyes flickering between Ron and the bar. The moment they drained the last drops in their bottle she said, "Shall we call it a day and go back to school, then?"
The other three nodded; it had not been a fun trip and the weather was getting worse the longer they stayed. Once again they drew their robes tightly around them, rearranged their scarves, pulled on their gloves, then followed Katie Bell and a friend out of the pub and back up the High Street.
It was a little while before Y/N became aware that the voices of Katie Bell and her friend had become shriller and louder. Y/N squinted at their indistinct figures. The two girls were having an argument about something Katie was holding in her hand. "It's nothing to do with you, Leanne!" Y/N heard Katie say.
They rounded a corner in the lane and Leanne made to grab hold of the package Katie was holding; Katie tugged it back and the package fell to the ground.
At once, Katie rose into the air, suspended comically by the ankle, but gracefully, her arms oustretched, as though she was about to fly. Yet there was something wrong, something eerie. . . . Her hair was whipped around her by the fierce wind, but her eyes were closed and her face was quite empty of expression. Y/N, Harry, Ron, Hermione, and Leanne had all halted in their tracks, watching.
Then, six feet above the ground, Katie let out a terrible scream. Her eyes flew open but whatever she could see, or whatever she was feeling, was clearly causing her terrible anguish. She screamed and screamed; Leanne started to scream too and seized Katie's ankles, trying to tug her back to the ground. Y/N, Harry, Ron, and Hermione rushed forward to help, but even as they grabbed Katie's legs, she fell on top of them; Harry and Ron managed to catch her but she was writhing so much they could hardly hold her. Instead they lowered her to the ground where she thrashed and screamed, apparently unable to recognize any of them.
"Stay there!" Harry shouted at them over the howling wind. "I'm going for help!"
He ran off and Y/N crouched over Katie's writhing and screaming figure, her ears ringing with the screams as she tried to quiet her.