Just One Night

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Chapter 2: In the Dark

Harry led her down the hallway, towards the third floor. Their footsteps echoed hollowly in the empty corridors, the only light coming from the dim torches lit sparingly on the walls. After all, who were the teachers to encourage students to leave the ball early? There was only one thing hormonal teenagers would do if they left a ball early--and that was precisely what herself and Harry were going to do. The Gryffindor Seeker obviously knew where he was going, as he didn't pause unnecessarily, except when they came to a turn. She honestly didn't know where they were going, but she trusted him to lead the way.

Despite her dismal surroundings, she was extremely excited. In just a few minutes, she would be on her way to having a very nice evening with Harry Potter. She sighed inwardly. Who would have guessed that she would fall for him? Never in a million years would she have guessed it. He wasn't particularly popular with her family. And he was, of course, half-Muggle-born... No matter that he had almost single-handedly defeated the greatest Dark wizard of their times.

It didn't help that her mother had been a supporter of You-Know-Who. She'd never been able to bring herself to say his name. She knew she wasn't strong, that she was weak. She was what everyone believed her to be: A Mudblood-hater and all-around shallow little girl. But another part of her disagreed with that; the part that had listened to her father's stories about "electricity," and "airplanes," and so many other things that Muggles used in place of magic. The part that had believed so fiercely for so long that her father was right, that she was beautiful, and could be anything she wanted to be.

But she knew that was a lie. She was practically a slut. So she'd only done it a few times ... with the same guy. The same ugly, stupid, mean, nasty guy. She'd never really wanted to. But her mother had told her that she had to. Her mother scared her, so she'd never gone against her mother's wishes, never needing to be told twice. But it hadn't meant anything. What was termed 'making love' in the romance novels she read was no more than sex. And in her eyes, that made her a slut. So why was she going for a one-night stand with Harry Potter?

Because she knew that she could never have anything more with him, and, this time at least, she wouldn't be a slut. She wanted to do this with all her heart, and she would always treasure it in there, no matter what happened.

Damn her mother to hell.

***

Harry's heart was pounding fiercely within his chest as he pulled the girl--woman, really--down the dimly-lit corridors. More than once he was certain he heard footsteps, but just as quickly as he heard them, they had disappeared. They had probably never even been there. Gods, Potter. Are you crazy? You don't even know this girl.

The rational part of his brain was right. This was, no doubt, the stupidest thing he had ever done. But something made him continue walking - almost running - to the third floor, only pausing to turn, not wishing to fall over and make a fool of himself. There was something about her... It made him not want to make a fool of himself. Not that he wanted to make a fool of himself the rest of the time of course, but within the last few minutes, he had felt a yearning desire to prove himself to her.

He didn't know who she was. Why should he prove himself to her? He would never meet her again... At least, not in these circumstances. And they probably wouldn't meet anytime else either. He was almost certain that he'd heard her voice before, but he couldn't place it. Because of that, he knew she wasn't in Gryffindor. He knew all the girls' voices extremely well, having listened to them talk for the past six years, and he knew that this girl was not one of them.

He sighed in relief as he reached the door, and pulled out his wand. He whispered "Alohomora," before pushing the door open and pulling the girl through. She glanced around, smiling softly, and walked over to the far side of the room. There was a moth-eaten couch there, which she quickly sat down on. Harry followed slowly, just looking at her.

The soft mauve-color of her robes was exquisite, and they were obviously well-made. But that didn't narrow it down much. Plenty of Wizarding families had money ... although some had lost it after Voldemort's fall, trying to get out of Azkaban. Her honey-blonde hair had been pulled up in a French twist, and she was ... healthily thin, he supposed it would be called. Her face, well-shaped, not pudgy at all, softened as she gazed at him.

He sat down, now feeling extremely nervous. What was he supposed to do? He'd never done this before. He'd never even done ... it ... before.

His thoughts were silenced when a pair of lips descended on his. The first thought that popped into his mind was that she tasted minty. He almost laughed at that, but was too busy just feeling. Truthfully, this was his first real kiss. The girl's arms had come around his neck, and she pushed him down until she was lying on top of him.

He raised his arms hesitantly, wrapping one around her waist while the other delved into her hair. She groaned, her mouth opening slightly, allowing her tongue to slip out and tempt him into opening his mouth. When he consented, and her tongue slipped into his mouth, teaching his to dance with hers... He was certain he had died. The feel of her was almost...heavenly...her soft hair flowing over his fingers and the slight shivering of her body against his. Her kiss was so tender it almost brought tears to his eyes, and in the corner of his brain, he thought dazedly, She's beautiful.

And she was. Her hair was already partially undone by the time Harry pulled away from the kiss, panting softly. He sat up,looking into her eyes, amazed by the feelings he could see swirling in them. She smiled timidly at him, all boldness gone from her features. His eyes rose to her hair, and he smiled softly, reaching up, freeing the last few pins that held it in place.

He paused over her mask, leaving it be when she shook her head slightly, instead gazing at her slightly-longer-than-shoulder-length hair. It flowed down, the ends curling just above her breasts. She leaned back over him, catching his lips in a scorching kiss that left him gasping with need. All rational thought slipped from his brain until all that was left was feeling.

***

Harry lay on the couch with his arms wrapped around the girl. She was sleeping soundly against his chest, her robe draped over her, his beneath them. The small amount of moonlight that escaped the clouds lit the large, barren room, unknowingly tempting him to remove her mask. But she'd asked that he not, and he wanted to respect her wishes. She'd kept it on the entire time they had been... Harry wasn't sure what to call it. He supposed sex would be appropriate. But it seemed so...crude. And what they had done hadn't quite been making love. It was only a one-night-stand, after all.

But at the same time... Dammit! Harry yelled at himself. He felt for her, already. Feelings had blossomed in him as soon as she'd touched her lips to his, feelings which had only grown throughout their... Love-making. He refused to call it sex. They had made love, and so be it if he was a romantic fool. He still wasn't sure what had made him accept her offer. As she'd suspected, he'd never had sex before. So why had he chosen the first time to be with her? Intuition, he supposed. He sensed that she was actually a very nice girl. And nothing had happened to dispute that.

He looked down at her, tracing her features softly in the moonlight. Her hair was beautiful... Definitely one of her best features, that was for certain. He could spend hours looking at it, watching the colors dance upon it... He could only imagine what it looked like in the firelight, and was shocked at his longing to see it that way...

A sudden flash of the two of them cuddled up in front of a merrily burning fire erupted into his mind so quickly he forgot to be shocked. Instead, he watched the flames burning, and smiled as the girl...woman...turned her head towards him. The vision left before he could see her face, however, and he was left with a feeling of deep disappointment.

She stirred, lifting her head and looking at him. "Am I dreaming again?" she mumbled, looking upset... And yet at the same time, utterly desirable. Her hair was still mussed slightly, and her eyes were sleepy.

Harry laughe."Erm...no, I don't think so."

She seemed to be processing slowly this information, as well as some that she didn't share with him. She glanced down, and, taking in their lack of clothing, she flushed.

Harry looked at her nervously. Was she going to regret it? Despite the fact that nearly every fiber of his being knew that this was wrong, he didn't regret it. And even though she had been the one to approach him, he was worried that she would regret it. "Uh..." he trailed off. He really couldn't think of anything that was appropriate to say in this type of situation. "Can I ask you what your name is?"

She smiled. "You can ask, but that doesn't mean I'll answer."

Harry snorted. "You sound like Dumbledore."

The girl laughed, a rich, throaty sound that made Harry's already light mood even lighter. Trailing a finger down his chest, she whispered, "But I don't think Dumbledore would be in this situation..." the finger reached his belly button, and she paused, seeming to contemplate her next words. "Perhaps we might continue this?"

A grin slowly appeared on Harry's face, which he lowered until he could claim her lips with his own. Thus the dance began again, and continued, long into the night.

***

The young woman sat up, every part of her body screaming to lie back down on the couch. But she had to go. Just one night. That was all she had promised herself. It was all she had allowed herself to make any promises for, because there was no future for them. It wasn't as though he returned her feelings... And that was all that mattered, she mused. She'd had her night. Now it was time to leave.

***

Harry felt her leave the couch, and waited a few seconds before opening his eyes. She was putting her robe back on, and trying to make her honey blonde hair presentable. It was tangled around her shoulders, and he doubted that she would be able to put it back up into the complicated French twist it had been in. He smiled. It was his fault it was that way. He lifted himself onto his elbows, and her head snapped up. Their eyes made contact, and a flash of awareness passed between them, as it had before so many times that night.

"Will you never tell me who you are?" he whispered, looking into her soft blue eyes.

"I..." she trailed off, looking uncertain, wishing she could tell him, but knowing she couldn't.

"Please," Harry whispered, feeling desperation cloud his words, knowing that if she left now, he would never know who she was. And right now, it was so important to him... "Just, at some point, I'd like to know."

She sighed, looking sad. "I'll tell you at the Graduation Ball. Save me the last dance."

And then she was gone.

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