Disclaimer: See Part 1.
Author's Note: Thanks to everyone who read and reviewed Part 1. I hope this part is worth the wait. Enjoy!
Masquerade
Part 2
Hermione spotted Harry almost immediately once she entered the club, in spite of how crowded it was. (It was almost like a sixth sense, how she could find Harry so easily, no matter how crowded the room.) Ron hadn't spared his energies in spreading the word about Harry being present, judging from the number of young people-particularly girls-milling around. There was some music playing but it was easily drowned out by the sound of voices. (Another glance around told her that Meredith Lungren wasn't present-or, at least, not that Hermione could see. Which meant, most importantly, that Meredith wasn't talking to Harry.)
As she walked in, she saw a girl flounce away from Harry with disgruntlement clear in every line of her figure as she left. Clearly, Harry hadn't spared much time or subtlety in dismissing her and Hermione wondered briefly just what Harry had found so disagreeable.
For a fleeting moment, Harry's expression was unguarded, open, and Hermione felt her heart give an almost painful throb of sympathy at the world-weariness of his expression in that one second before he quickly covered it up with his usual, polite mask. That girl who had just left must have really pricked at Harry somehow, to bring that jaded look to his eyes. And for that one moment, Harry looked very alone and very lonely, aloof and solitary, apart from the throng of people.
It was a look he didn't have often, one which she hated to see and usually tried to dispel immediately with a joke or a quip of some kind.
And this was the person Ron had decided should deliberately seek out a one-night stand? There were times Hermione wondered if Ron understood Harry at all, in spite of having known him for so long. Harry didn't do one-night stands, not so much out of any moral or chivalrous considerations (although there was a touch of that, as well) but for the much simpler reason that Harry knew all the girls who threw themselves at him did so only for his fame and his status-and if there was one thing Harry detested, it was being viewed and treated as only the Boy Who Lived.
On the thought, the vague beginnings of a plan stirred in Hermione's mind.
She fought her way through the crowd until she reached the bar where she ordered a cocktail and then made her way, along an indirect route, towards where Harry was.
He was still standing alone, she saw, nursing his Firewhiskey.
Hermione maneuvered her way through the crowd until she was just behind him and deliberately transferred her drink to the hand closest to him. And sure enough, in another moment, someone jostled her from behind and some of her drink splashed Harry's shirt, making him turn to see her.
"Oh, I'm so sorry!" she exclaimed. "Someone bumped into me."
Harry gave her a small, impersonal smile-and Hermione had to tamp down the utterly irrational flicker of mingled surprise and hurt, since she had never, ever been the recipient of one of Harry's coolly polite smiles and somehow hadn't stopped to wonder how it would feel. "Don't worry about it. No harm done." He pulled out his wand and cleaned his shirt with one quick flick before pocketing his wand again. "It is awfully crowded in here tonight."
"Still, I should have been more careful. I really am sorry." Hermione gave Harry a small, embarrassed smile and made as if to turn away.
"It was really nothing," Harry hastened to add and she glanced back to him with another smile.
"I should have known something like this would happen when I saw how crowded it was in here. It makes moving around a positive hazard," Hermione smiled, making something of a show of looking around the room, her eyes finding Ron who was currently smiling flirtatiously down at a blond girl she didn't recognize.
"Yes, that's one way of putting it," Harry agreed. He paused and then, after a slightly awkward moment, added, as he offered his hand, "I'm Harry."
Hermione slipped her hand into Harry's to shake it briskly-and then had to squash down the flare of reaction she felt just at the touch of his palm against hers. Their hands fit with the ease of years-except of course Harry wouldn't know that. Hermione released Harry's hand so quickly it made the handshake seem rather abrupt as she gave him a small, purposely calm smile. "Of course you are. I'm Helena… Watson," she added quickly. She'd always heard that it's easier to remember a lie when it was close to the truth and she didn't dare use her middle name since Harry was perfectly aware of what it was. As for Watson, it was her mother's maiden name but not something Harry would ever associate with her, Hermione. "Nice to meet you." She smiled into Harry's eyes.
"Yes, it's good to meet you, Helena," Harry answered, rather absently-and something like confusion flickered across his face as he stared at her for a moment before he blinked.
Hermione said nothing more and finally Harry asked, a little abruptly, "Sorry, but have we met?"
Hermione blinked, surprised and felt the first flicker of doubt-could Harry possibly have recognized-but no, if he had, he would have simply said so. "No, I'm sure we haven't," she lied.
"No, of course not, silly question," Harry apologized. "But you… er- remind me of someone, I think."
"Oh, who?" Hermione gave Harry a curious, if impersonal, smile.
"I-I can't seem to remember," Harry said with a little, self-deprecating laugh. "I told you it was silly."
"Well, they say everyone has a double somewhere in the world."
"I guess." Harry grinned at her and this time, it was a real smile, open and honest.
One of those smiles of his that always made Hermione want to smile back, one of those smiles that never failed to make her heart give a little, foolish flutter. And for once, Hermione didn't bother to hide her reaction to his slightly crooked grin, let it show in her eyes and in her responding smile.
And she knew he saw it too when something flickered across his face before he asked, with the touch of abruptness that told her, who knew him so well, that he must have just decided he wanted to get to know her, "So, what do you do, Helena?"
Hermione's heart leaped. It seemed her crazy plan was succeeding, at least so far. "I work at St. Mungo's."
Harry's smile softened a little, his expression brightening, warming. "Oh, my best friend Hermione Granger works there too. Do you know Hermione?"
Hermione's heart clenched at the sound of her own name, the realization that the softening of Harry's expression was for her. But she couldn't let it show and quickly answered, as casually as possible, "Yes, I think we've met a couple times but then we're also in different departments so there aren't many chances for interacting."
Harry nodded. "Of course. Do you like the work?"
"Oh, yes. It's nice to feel useful, you know. Nice to do something that we know we're well-suited for. I always wanted to be useful." Hermione paused. "But of course," she added matter-of-factly, "you must feel something of the same with what you do." Hermione stopped abruptly, cutting herself off as she realized she'd forgotten her role but had answered Harry's question with the sincerity and something of the openness with which she would have answered him if he'd ever asked her, as Hermione, the same question.
Harry blinked. "Yes," he said slowly. "Yes, it is nice to be needed." He gifted her with a smile that spoke of shared understanding, a smile that bordered on the intimate, a smile that was almost like the one he gave her, as Hermione, in those moments when he knew she was thinking the same thing as he was. "I never really thought of it in exactly those terms before but you're quite right."
Of course she was; she knew Harry, had spoken with such confidence from her knowledge of him. Had entirely forgotten the role she was playing, Hermione mentally scolded herself. She needed to be more alert. Because if she knew Harry, Harry also knew her very well and she couldn't have him figuring out her identity now. She just hadn't reckoned for how hard it was for her to lie to Harry; aside from concealing her real feelings for him (and there, she rather suspected she failed except that Harry was, fortunately-or not- oblivious), she'd never hidden anything from him. It was as if her trust in him, her habit of telling him the truth, was ingrained into her and anything else was unnatural.
She needed to be more careful. She wasn't Harry's best friend, Hermione, right now. She was Helena Watson, the girl Harry had just met.
"Have you been enjoying yourself, Harry?" She gave Harry a deliberately calm smile to make up for her earlier lapse.
"Not that much, no," Harry admitted bluntly before he softened it with a smile. "Until now, of course. Honestly, I don't generally like coming to places like this," he continued on with a candor that gave Hermione a small thrill of triumph as she realized that she'd gotten past the barriers Harry tended to put up with people he'd just met. "When I go out, I prefer quieter pubs where it's easier to carry on a conversation and it's less crowded."
"Yes, I know what you mean," Hermione agreed. "Places like this are fun every once in a while but as a general rule, I prefer quieter pubs myself."
"Places where it isn't so crowded that people end up spilling their drinks on each other," Harry agreed with a teasing grin.
Hermione laughed. "It's not very nice of you to remind me of that."
"Well, it was too good a response to pass up," Harry said unapologetically.
Hermione returned his smile, trying not to grin like an idiot. The fact that Harry was teasing her revealed a lot about how comfortable he was beginning to feel with her.
Hermione gave Harry a small smile. "Do you know when the Victory Monument will be completed at Hogwarts? I thought I heard that the completion date had been pushed back again."
"It was pushed back because it's not going to be a Victory Monument," Harry corrected.
This time, Hermione didn't need to feign her surprise. "Really? I thought the Ministry was set on this Monument." (This was an understatement as the Ministry and Harry had been butting heads over this issue for the last year without much change.)
"They were set on it," Harry affirmed. "I, er, persuaded them to change their minds."
"I know you're very influential but I wouldn't have thought even you could make the Ministry give way on that; they've been touting this Monument for a year now."
Harry gave a half-sheepish smile. "I, erm, rather blackmailed them. I got fed up and so, today, I told them flatly that if they didn't make the Monument into a Memorial commemorating those who fell rather than honoring me, I would simply not come to the Dedication ceremony. They... saw things my way remarkably quickly after that."
Oh Harry... Harry didn't take advantage of his influence very often but when he did... "That was very good of you." Hermione entirely forgot the role she was playing, forgot to moderate her expression, as she gifted him with a soft, radiant smile that entirely betrayed, had she but known it, all she felt for him-approval and love and, yes, desire as well.
"Not really. I..." Harry blinked and trailed off, staring at her, his eyes suddenly dark.
And Hermione felt a small rush of heat and excitement and joy go through her as she realized that it was desire darkening his eyes. He had just completely lost his train of thought as he looked at her. It was the first time that had ever happened to her-and the fact that it was Harry so affected by her...
His gaze flickered down to focus on her lips.
Hermione swallowed, suddenly feeling flushed and wondering how much longer she needed to wait before she could kiss him. Dear Merlin... Had she thought she wanted him before now? His attraction was ten, no, a hundred times more potent when he wanted her too.
Her mouth was dry and she unthinkingly licked her lips only to hear his very soft, almost imperceptible intake of breath in reaction.
She frantically cast about in her mind for some neutral topic of conversation, something utterly unromantic. Anything, so she wouldn't blurt out something utterly stupid like, "Kiss me, Harry."
"Ah... it looks like the Cannons are having a good season so far," she blurted out.
There, Quidditch should be safe.
Harry blinked again and she could almost see him having to scramble to respond coherently. "You're lucky my best friend, Ron Weasley, isn't around to hear you. He's terrified that someone will say something like that and jinx the rest of their season. He's a die-hard Cannons fan, you see."
"Doesn't he also play for the Cannons?" Hermione asked, relaxing very slightly.
"Yeah, he's the Keeper. I sometimes think he lives, breathes and eats Quidditch while the season is going on." Harry's voice was light and bantering but his expression revealed all his affection and loyalty for Ron.
"I thought I heard that their Seeker, Drakesmith, did a Wronski Feint at a match last week. Is it true?" Hermione mentally thanked Ron for his unceasing efforts to teach her Quidditch appreciation; she still didn't particularly enjoy going to matches or know all that much about the game but she had, at least, learned enough to keep up a fairly basic conversation about it. And in this instance, she, Harry, and the Weasleys had been at that match and Harry had been as enthralled with the Wronski Feint this time around as he had been the first time he'd seen it performed by Viktor five years ago. Hermione herself could still not quite understand the wonder of it but, for Harry's sake, she'd learned to show at least some level of appreciation.
Harry's face promptly lit up with enthusiasm and Hermione hid her smile. Ah, Harry. He was so predictable at times.
"Yes, it was amazing! I've only seen the Wronski Feint done a couple times before and every time, it still takes my breath away! That trick is the most stunning bit of flying I've ever seen."
"I've heard you're pretty good at flying yourself, Harry," Hermione said, unable to keep a touch of dryness out of her tone.
Harry shrugged one shoulder dismissively. "I'm okay but I've never tried to do a Wronski Feint."
"Don't you think you could if you tried?"
Harry shrugged again. "I suppose so, but I'd be afraid of smashing my face into the ground."
Hermione rather doubted that. She may not care much about Quidditch but even she could appreciate how good a flyer Harry was. He always looked as if he'd been born on a broom, was as comfortable in the air as he was with two feet on the ground-and he always had been. She didn't doubt that, if he wanted to, he would master the Wronski Feint as easily as he had mastered flying itself. But she loved his modesty. It was endearing; she couldn't think of another fellow who would admit to being afraid of smashing his face into the ground while talking to a girl. Even Ron had been liable to puffing himself up-even with her, who knew perfectly well the truth of his abilities-and he knew she knew.
But not Harry. She sometimes wondered if it wasn't part of Harry's discomfort with being the most famous boy in the wizarding world, a status that gave people an overly-inflated view of his abilities, but Harry didn't have a boastful bone in his body. And she loved him for it.
Hermione returned from her brief reverie to see Harry eyeing her with a small, crooked smile on his face. "I think that was your cue to assure me that you're sure I could do a Wronski Feint with no problem."
Hermione deliberately widened her eyes in an innocent look. "Well, I'm sure you're a much better judge of your own abilities than I am so if you say you'd smash your face into the ground, who am I to contradict you?"
For a split second, Harry just stared at her and she wondered, uneasily, if she might have just gone a little too far in her role (or acted too much like her true self, more accurately) but then Harry burst out laughing and Hermione relaxed, grinning.
"I can see I'm going to have to be careful around you," Harry said with mock severity.
Hermione feigned innocence again. "I don't have the slightest idea what you mean."
"I'll bet you don't." Harry grinned-and Hermione felt her heart flutter. As usual.
His smiling eyes met and held hers for a long moment and slowly, their smiles faded as, for a moment, all the noise and all the people around them faded away and it was only the two of them, staring at each other, as attraction arced and flashed between them.
Hermione didn't dare to breathe-no, she forgot how to breathe in that moment. Forgot how to breathe, forgot how to blink, forgot that she was playing a role. All she remembered in that moment was that this was Harry, whom she'd wanted for longer than she cared to remember, and... And, finally-finally-he was looking at her with desire in his eyes... He wanted her...
"Ah..." Harry's voice was slightly hoarse and he cleared his throat a little before he blurted out, "Do you want to dance?"
Hermione blinked, a little surprised, and had to lick her lips-Harry's gaze flickered down to her lips and then back again-before she could find her voice to answer. "Sure."
He held out his hand for hers and she slipped her hand into his-and wondered if she was imagining the flare of heat from the one simple touch sizzling through her body. His palm was smooth, his fingers slightly callused, and her hand fit into his with as much ease as if it belonged there.
She tore her gaze from their joined hands and met his eyes again-and saw that he'd had much the same reaction as she'd had from their hands touching. And abruptly, his fingers tightened slightly around hers.
"Come on," he said softly.
He half-led her to the corner of the club that had been deemed the makeshift dance floor, although it was too crowded for people to really dance and so people were moving to the music as much as they could in the limited space.
They reached the dance floor just as a new song started playing, a somewhat slower song. Hermione met Harry's eyes before she stepped closer to him as his other hand found her waist. He wasn't holding her tightly as they swayed to the music and Hermione kept her gaze fixed at some point on his shoulder. She was very aware of the warmth of his hand at her waist, of his breath against her hair, and of the few inches separating their bodies.
She looked up to meet Harry's eyes and something about his expression made her suddenly feel a need to break the tension-perhaps a throwback to the past year of having to constantly hide her real feelings for him that made it almost instinctive-and she found herself giving him a teasing smile. "You're a better dancer than I thought you would be."
"I know it's amazing but I am actually capable of stepping in place without tripping over my own two feet," he responded dryly but his eyes and his expression had softened with humor and something more.
"I'm very impressed," she said in a tone of mock awe.
He laughed and she smiled, as his fingers tightened almost imperceptibly around hers.
The music changed to a slower song, smooth and sensual, a song for lovers.
Her eyes met his and her breath tangled in her throat as, slowly, he tightened his arm around her, bringing her in closer to him, until she could feel the heat of his body against hers. Hermione swallowed, as she slid her arms around his neck, her body fitting against his, moving with his, as if it belonged there.
Hermione closed her eyes, resting her head on Harry's shoulder, and breathed in the familiar scent of him. This was what she'd wanted, dreamed of for so long, being in Harry's arms...
Harry paused for a moment and she opened her eyes to see that Ron had caught sight of them and was giving Harry a thumbs up gesture and an exaggerated leer followed by a wink. Hermione closed her eyes again, hiding a smile. Little did Ron know; if he'd known who she really was, he would really have had reason to stare.
Harry smoothly turned them so their backs were to Ron and then Hermione forgot all about Ron-forgot all about everyone else in the club, to be honest, because Harry had tightened his arms around her to bring her in just that slightest bit closer and now she really could feel every inch of him pressed against her. They were so close she fancied she could feel his heart beating against hers, so close it felt as if their bodies were moving as one.
She felt him swallow and then felt, as well as heard, his husky whisper. "Helena?"
The name jerked her back into reality, to the realization that she was still playing a role. She looked up to meet his eyes, the movement bringing their mouths within inches of each other with how close they were standing. Their breaths mingled-and then didn't because she'd forgotten how to breathe. "Yes?"
He stared at her, swallowed again, and then asked, "Do you-d'you want to go outside, get some fresh air?"
Her heart was suddenly clattering in her chest. What he meant-what he was really telling her, she knew-was that he wanted to kiss her. He wanted to kiss her but there was no way that Harry was going to kiss her while surrounded by other people, many-if not all-of whom would be fascinated by the sight of Harry Potter kissing a woman in a club.
Oh God... This was it. This was exactly what she'd hoped for, what she'd wanted when she'd come up with this insane idea. Her mouth was dry, her mind a blank, and it took every ounce of coherence she had to answer him, just one word slipping from her lips. "Yes."
Heat flared in his eyes, stealing her breath, and before she could even hope to regain some of her composure, they were outside.
It was a warm night but the air still felt cool to her over-heated skin.
Harry stopped, turning to face her, just where the light overhead slanted across his face, illuminating one of his eyes, his nose, and his lips. His lips...
She was suddenly mesmerized by the shape of his lips-ridiculously since it wasn't as if she hadn't seen his lips innumerable times before but now she allowed herself to focus on them. It took a concerted effort to drag her eyes back up to his eyes only to realize that his eyes had been fixed on her lips, in turn.
She had thought she would wait until he kissed her but in that moment, Hermione tossed that idea aside. In one quick motion, she rose up on her toes, cupping his cheeks between her hands, and kissed him.
His reaction was immediate and powerful. One hand slid into her hair to keep her head in place while the other arm wrapped around her waist, bringing her body in snugly against his, as his lips parted. His tongue met and tangled with hers; he tasted faintly of Firewhiskey and something else that she realized with a thrill was just him. Something about the thought and the feel of his body against hers sent a fresh wave of heat and arousal skittering through her body and she would have moaned except any sound was swallowed by his mouth as he kissed her and kissed her and kissed her... She slid her arms around his neck, her body arching into his, pressing herself even closer to him, until she could feel the burgeoning hardness of him pressing against her and she shivered.
Acting on some blind instinct, she shifted slightly, deliberately rubbing against his growing arousal until it was pressed snugly against the apex of her thighs and...
And Harry broke the kiss with a gasp.
She opened her eyes to see him staring at her, his breath coming fast and harsh, his eyes darker than she'd ever seen them. "I- I don't normally..." he began and then stopped and then blurted out, "D'you want to come to my flat?"
He didn't normally have one-night stands-but that was exactly what she'd planned for tonight, wasn't it? And she hastily strangled the tiny corner of her mind that retained some rational thought that warned her that one night would never be enough, would only make it harder for her.
She answered him with another kiss, brief and intense-or at least, she intended for it to be brief but he had other ideas, as did her own body to be honest, and what followed was another minute-or two-or ten-of their lips and tongues tangling.
Hermione tightened her arms around his neck, letting her tongue explore the depths of his mouth, the ridge of his teeth, stroking his tongue with her own. She forgot where they were, who she was, forgot everything except that he was kissing her and wanting her and-dear God, she'd wanted him, wanted this, for so long now...
She was only vaguely aware of feeling a strange sensation go through her but when she finally, reluctantly, ended the kiss because the need for oxygen had become too pressing, she realized that they were no longer outside and the tingling sensation had been from him Apparating them both until they were just outside the familiar door of Harry and Ron's flat.
"I Apparated us to my flat," Harry explained hastily-and unnecessarily, as he finally released her to wave his hand impatiently at the doorknob, opening the door quickly.
He closed the door behind her and as if the click of the door closing was a signal of some kind, she flattened herself against him, her lips finding his again. She felt as if she couldn't possibly live another minute without kissing him, touching him, felt crazed, impatient as she'd never felt before, greedy for more of his lips and his tongue and his hands. She stumbled backwards, blindly, in the direction of his bedroom-utterly forgetting that she was supposed to be pretending she'd never been there before-and he followed willingly, his hands hard and impassioned as he caressed her back and her shoulders and down to her butt, slipping his hand under her tank top to caress the bare skin of her back until she gasped.
It was a minor miracle that they didn't crash into something in their blind stumble across the living room of the flat but they didn't until her back hit the edge of his door frame, making them break off the kiss briefly but only until they were fully inside his room and he'd slammed the door behind them with another impatient wave of his hand that Hermione noted, somewhere in her dazed mind, and knew he'd just cast a Silencing Charm on his room.
She might have wondered if there would be a moment of awkwardness but she was too aroused, impatient with lust, to have any room to be conscious of anything else, let alone to feel awkward. She pulled off her tank top in one quick move, as Harry hastily tore off his own shirt and then his trousers and she froze, in the act of shimmying out of her own trousers to stare at him, to stare at the evidence of his arousal through his boxers and then just at him.
She'd seen Harry without a shirt a handful of times and now... now she was seeing all of him, including the one part of him she'd hardly dared to hope she ever would see.
Hermione felt every thought she'd ever had-and a few she hadn't managed to think yet-drain from her head and flop onto the ground at her feet.
Oh dear God... Yes...
She finished pushing off her trousers and tore off her knickers with hands that were trembling slightly from the force of her own lust.
She straightened and it was his turn to stare at her for a moment and she felt a fresh wave of heat surge up inside her, pool between her thighs, at the look on his face.
And then looking was no longer enough and she could never tell whether he reached for her first or she reached for him but it didn't matter because they were falling backwards onto his bed in a tangle of arms and legs and greedy, caressing hands, as he landed half on top of her.
His hands found her breasts, cupped them, kneaded them, his fingers flicking against her already-hardened nipples that tightened even more at his touch. His lips scattered a trail of kisses down her neck, finding a sensitive hollow on her throat that she hadn't even known she had, until she gasped and then moaned, and he flicked his tongue to the spot before continuing on until his lips closed around her nipple.
The wet tugging of his lips and tongue were sending floods of arousal through her, centering between her thighs, until she cried out, her hands flying into his hair and then down. She explored the muscles of his shoulders, the smooth skin of his back, cupping his butt until he groaned, his hips jerking until she could feel his erection pressed almost exactly where she wanted, needed him to be.
He groaned again, his lips briefly leaving off their ministrations, and on an impulse she couldn't deny, she flattened her hands on his chest, rolling them over until she was on top, straddling him. In some corner of her mind and heart, she knew that if this was the only night she would ever have with him, she wanted to learn everything, experience everything, with him.
It was her turn to take the initiative. She caressed, learned, explored every inch of his chest and stomach-and then lower still-with first her hands and then her lips. Learning what he liked and how he wanted to be touched. Learning that he groaned, his hips twitching, when she flicked her tongue against his flat, male nipples. That the muscles of his stomach tensed at her touch. That there was a spot on his hip that was incredibly sensitive to the touch.
Until finally, she reached the part of his body she was most curious about. She trailed one finger lightly along the length of him and his entire body jerked.
"God!" he choked out.
She felt her lips curve into a smile she knew she'd never smiled before, a seductive smile, a confident smile, the age-old smile of a woman who knows her own power-before she wrapped her hand around him, stroking him once, twice...
He cried out, his hips jerking, as his hands fisted on his sheets.
And then she licked him lightly just before taking him fully in her mouth, a little tentatively, since she'd certainly never done this before and wasn't entirely sure of what she was doing. From the sound of his sharp cry, that was half a groan, whatever she was doing was right.
Experimentally, she curled her tongue around him and then sucked, gently-and his entire body jerked as he choked out, "Enough!"
She just had time to look up at him when his hands closed around her shoulders, gently enough but firmly, and then he was tugging her up to him so he could close his arms around her, his lips finding hers with explosive passion. And she was hardly aware of him turning until she was below him, was only aware of his lips and his hands that seemed to be touching her everywhere at once, leaving fire in their wake.
And then-and then she felt his jutting erection slip between her thighs, sliding against the part of her that was wet and swollen for him and she groaned, her body writhing, arching, in a frantic, desperate attempt to get closer to him, until she felt the length of him push into her, stretch her, fill her.
Her hands clutched him tightly to her as his lips found hers, his tongue thrusting into her mouth in imitation of the movements of his hips. She met and matched his movements with her own, her arms and legs wrapping around him, urging him on, deeper inside her, until she could almost swear he was touching her heart.
His hands found her breasts, fondling them, shaping them, before his fingers tightened on her nipples, and she tore her lips from his with a gasp at the added sensation.
It was too much-surely she would go mad-but it would be worth it...
This was it, this was everything, this was all she'd ever wanted-and so much more... She could never have imagined this.
Her breath was coming in short, harsh gasps, her fingers digging into his shoulders, as the conflagration inside her built, and built...
And then she wasn't sure what he did but the conflagration exploded, her senses disintegrating into pure ecstasy and she was only vaguely aware of the sound of a scream (hers) followed by a guttural groan as he thrust one last time, his body stiffening, and then he collapsed on top of her.
Leaving her to slide into the golden bliss of the aftermath, savoring the stunning pleasure of it, savoring every detail of it, cataloging the moment in a purely sensual, physical way that was entirely divorced from conscious thought. The warm puff of his breath against her ear. His body on top of hers. The warmth and strength of his arms around her. His heartbeat pounding against her breasts. The delicious intimacy of his body still inside her.
Just when she started to become aware of how heavy he was, he stirred, rolling over onto his back with a long sigh of satiation. He kept his arm around her, bringing him with her, until she found herself pressed firmly against his side.
He turned his head a little to brush his lips against her forehead in a light kiss, the motion so small, she almost wondered if he'd been conscious of it at all, but conscious or not, she thrilled at this one evidence of some tenderness for her. And for one fleeting, foolish moment, she let herself imagine that this had meant something to him, that this hadn't just been a one-night stand for him...
It wasn't long before the deep, even sound of his breathing and something in the feel of his body against her told her that he'd fallen asleep. She waited for a few more minutes until she could be sure he was sleeping soundly before she shifted slowly, cautiously, away from him.
And then she paused again, just watching him sleep, letting her gaze wander down the length of his body and then up again. He looked so... utterly relaxed, sated.... his face, as always, looking much younger, somehow, without his glasses on.
She glanced at the clock beside his bed. The glamour would last a few more hours but she knew she had to leave now. If she lingered, she might not be able to make herself leave, might fall asleep without meaning to-and that would mean disaster. No, she needed to leave now.
She slid off the bed, her every movement excruciatingly slow so as not to disturb Harry in any way and then pulling up the sheets and the bed covers that had been pushed to the very foot of the bed, so that they covered him.
She dressed quickly, putting on the clothes she suspected she'd never be able to wear again because of the memories attached to it.
She quickly transfigured a tissue into a piece of paper and thought for a minute before quickly writing a brief note for Harry to find in the morning, not forgetting to cast the spell afterwards to disguise her handwriting.
But at the last moment, she lingered, could not bring herself to leave quite yet. Her gaze flitted over the familiar untidiness of Harry's room (he wasn't nearly as messy as Ron was but he was still not what anyone would call neat) before returning, inexorably, to Harry's sleeping form on his bed.
Moving carefully, she made her way over to his side of the bed and hesitated for just a second before she bent to brush a last, feather-light kiss against his lips, so lightly it was almost more a touch of air than a kiss, but she didn't dare kiss him more fully.
And then she crept back across the room, grasping the door knob in her hand.
And didn't turn it. Couldn't turn it.
She looked back at Harry one last time-looked back at all she would never know again.
She wasn't going to cry. It would be ridiculous and stupid of her to cry. This was how she'd always known the night would end, if she succeeded, with her leaving Harry's room like this. She had gotten what she'd wanted, after all. For this one night, Harry had wanted her.
For this one night, she'd known his kiss and his touch, his passion and his lust. For this one night, he'd been hers...
And that was enough. It would have to be enough.
She lifted her chin, her jaw firming, in an expression that both Harry and Ron would have recognized if they'd seen it (and Ron would have been made nervous by). She would be just fine. She'd had one night with him and that would be enough.
But at the last moment, she found herself whispering, so softly she could hardly hear it herself, "I love you, Harry," saying the words she'd never be able to say aloud to him.
And then she left, slipping out of his room with almost painful care, and then out of the flat, noting, in passing, that Ron had apparently still not returned.
And it wasn't until she was safely back in her own flat that she allowed herself to cry.
~To be continued… (And we find out what Harry was thinking…)~