A Sin As Any Sin Ever Was One

A Sin As Any Sin Ever Was One

I stand beneath the shower, feeling the cold waves strip away the sweat and grime of a hard-fought Quidditch match. We won again, but barely, and the team is proud of their victory. The Quidditch showers are split into male and female, not the different Houses, and both teams are showering together amicably, chattering about our male teammates; who is the best looking and who will be available at the after-match party later. I am silent, leaning into the water, knowing what is to come and feeling the familiar mix of loathing and excitement rise within me.

Soon the showers are empty, door banging as everyone exits in a laughing, noisy group. Except for me and her. I have not been able to resist sneaking peeks at her; she deliberately chooses the shower opposite me, knowing I am too weak to ignore her. I close my eyes fiercely, refusing to acknowledge her. I do not need to see, she is burned into my memory like a torch, every curve and shadow and gleam. I hear her turn off her own shower; hear the soft splashes made by her footfalls as she comes closer. I can hear her breathing, lightly panting. She stops just out of my body space but I can feel her presence anyway. I lock my eyelids, desperate to hold to my resolution; this time will be different, this time I will say no. I don't want this.

She places gentle hands on my waist. I can feel the calluses from playing so much and so often - Quidditch does not make for milky white skin. She does nothing more, makes no movement, merely stands silently, hands light on my hips. I wish she was more forceful, more aggressive; it would make it easier for me to be able to tell myself that she is the one forcing it, that it is not really me at all. But, as always, she is asking without words. She would not dream of pressing me, of taking from me what she wants. She is good and kind, and if I stay still long enough she will understand and walk away, never to touch me again.

At that thought, my treacherous hands stir of their own accord. I open my eyes in horror, watching my long fingers rise from my side to skim her slim hips and lightly tanned skin. I hate myself for succumbing to the hunger that stirs within me, hate myself for being so weak and for having such little self-control, but I look into her face and her eyes are wide with need and lust and I close the distance between us.

She tastes of the cold water, of fresh air and warm sun. She tastes like flying, as stupid as that sounds, of utter freedom. The lust in both of us is too strong for any long, languid embraces; we kiss furiously, desperately, plundering each others mouths, her hands tightening around my waist, bringing our bodies together. Weak as I am, I moan aloud as we come into full contact, hard nipples rubbing against each other. Greedily, she is already reaching between my legs, our time is short before we are missed and though I hate it, I am ready for her, wet and aching and as I thrust my own fingers between her folds I find that she is too.

She finds my sweetest spot quickly, and begins to rub hard and fast, as she knows I want it, gasping as I mimic her, standing now cheek to cheek, breath coming in sharp pants as the pleasure builds within us, rising stronger and stronger until I can no longer hold on and my muscles lock as I plunge into my climax, her free hand clamped over my mouth as I shriek with ecstasy. Soon, she follows and we remain still, allowing the cool shower to wash away all trace of what we have just done.

As the bliss fades I come back to myself. I pull away sharply, creating much-needed space between us. I close my eyes again and resume showering, as if she had vanished completely. Of course she has not and I know her well enough to see the expression on her face without looking at her. The lazy smile shatters, the stated joy in her eyes fading to anger and confusion. And pain. I cannot see but I know that her eyes are filled with tears and my mental image of the anguish in her face stabs me to the quick. There is a muffled sob and then quick footsteps as she races away, that she might be gone before I return to the changing rooms.

I twist and open my eyes, staring into the torrent as icy needles pound my head. I hate this. It is wrong and sinful and disgusting, and what is worse is that I know what she wants from me and it is even worse. Unlike me, Alicia Spinnet has accepted this disease as part of her and refuses to see it as unnatural. She says she is normal, and that there is no shame in love between women. She has stupid, Muggle ideas about many issues and she is always wrong, what the hell do Muggles know about anything? We know that anything other a man and woman joined in marriage is a sin. I asked my mother about this once and the look she gave me...she made it absolutely clear it was not something that was ever discussed and that it was a terrible, terrible wrong to even think about it...

The rumours about Alicia started in her fifth year and with typically Gryffindor bravery she chose to confront them head on. Stood up in the Great Hall and announced it to the whole school! Part of me wishes that I had that kind of courage, to face it head on, but most of me knows that is foolish to think of such things. This is something dark, to be ruthlessly exterminated from me, and that I must never tell anyone. It is a sin as any sin ever was one. Alicia has made it obvious to me that what we do when no-one can see is not enough for her...I have tried to tell her to leave me alone, that I am not what she is, but I can never get the words out...

It is disgusting and dirty and wrong. They have told me that.

But no-one ever told me it would feel so right.