Sweet Surrender; Angel and Spirits

As Professor Danni Spellfire gazed at the rough black hair, the smooth face, and the bespectacled eyes of the famous boy wizard, she felt a slight twinge of disappointment cross her heart. (His face was bent to the piece of parchment on his desk where he was scribbling something fastly and she couldn't see his eyes directly. But what did it matter? Weren't the brilliant green eyes already emblazoned in her mind?)

Secretly, she traced a path on his pale flesh along the hairline to the angle of his neck and shoulder, seeing it blend into a shirt collar and striped tie. It then disappeared beneath the dark robes that he wore.

Immediately she erased any curiosity of what lay beneath those robes, and instead wondered what he was writing.

Poetry...paraphrased... the Fates told her.

She pulled back and raised an eyebrow. She didn't even think he knew poetry.

Well, he does live with Muggles, doesn't he?

So amused by that thought, Miss Spellfire had to turn her sights away to Ron Weasley, who was sitting tall next to the boy and whispering loudly the Incantation of Daemons. However, no one around him, including his neighbor, paid any heed. Occasionally, Mr. Weasley's freckled hand ran through his own flaming red hair in frustration, yet unlike his friend, he was more successful in writing the calming spell they were supposed to have memorized by today. She shook her head. How glad she was she hadn't mentioned the Incantation could also create visions.

The bell from the distant tower rang, and the students quickly began collecting their belongings. She caught sight of the boy again and noticed how nervously he was peering at his work.

He's not sure if he wants you to look at it...

Ignoring such a thought, she told the dispersing students to leave their work atop their desk, that she'd collect it later.

Suddenly the boy gazed up at her, his eyes wide beneath his spectacles.

He definitely did not want it read.

A big girl behind the boy sniggered, and he twisted back to glare at Miss Millicent Bulstrode, his hands quickly covering his work to guard what he had written.

Miss Spellfire wasted no time. "Harry Potter, I want you to stay after class."

Immediately the room erupted with 'Oohhhs,' 'Aahhs,' and giggles, their names on the exiting students whispers. Miss Spellfire fought a smile as she watched the boy shake his head and cast his eyes downward once more, his face blushing darker and a lump now appearing in his thin throat. Mr. Weasley boxed him on the shoulder as he stood, the red head winking and grinning at him like a Cheshire cat.

"See ya later," he mouthed, before joining the other students.

The boy looked up and nodded weakly. "Yeah, later," he said, rubbing the place where his friend had hit him. Then he turned his eyes down, closed them and groaned.

She didn't know what she waiting for as she rolled a parchment thoughtlessly onto the desk's blotter. The last student had shut the iron door minutes ago, but she had yet to make clear her intentions. She fully expected to correct the work that was before her... but her heartbeats were too distracting, and with much dismay, ran the quill in the opposite direction roughly. It was pointless to avoid him any longer. Gently she placed the writing instrument down and rose.

Moving to the front of her desk slowly, her heels caused sharp cracks with each step she took. In turn, it caused the boy to look up at her as she leaned back on it, raising her chin with an authoritive air. His face became forlorned and worried, his shoulders slumped. But still, his work was protected by his hands, glued it seemed to the very desk.

He reminded her of a lost child...

Clearing her throat, she asked him to approach.

And without a word, Harry Potter reluctantly withdrew the guardianship of his parchment and stood up. Nervously he then started towards her.

**********************************************************************

Harry stopped, his hands hidden in his robes--one wrapped nervously around his wand, while the other gripped a fist. He was trying hard not to show how pleased he was to be summoned by her because if her intention was to punish him for whatever reason, then he was ready for it: caldron washing, chains, toilet scrubbing, whips...

He quickly dropped his gaze to the part of her silvery robe. He could see black nylon knees and her high-heeled feet... Even with them, he observed, he was still taller than she was.

Gulping loudly, he instantly lifted his rounded eyes and fixed them on her face, seeing up close for the first time how her skin was tinged olive and smooth, how her lips full and shimmery in the candle light. There was one mole on her jaw line, brown and tiny, and all her features were surrounded by black hair that hung down the front of her pierced ears in curls, the rest pulled back in a twist. How often had he lain awake at night wondering what it was like loose and down...

He gripped his hands tighter, feeling suddenly queezy.

If he should faint right now...

Harry noticed she was staring right at him, and his stomach began doing flips. He looked away hot with embarrassment and nervously ran a hand through his messy hair, knowing he'd only made it look worse.

Should he look back at her? he wondered bravely. Biting his lip, he decided he would.

He peered up, then frowned as he realized she wasn't staring at him, but through him. What--or who-- was she thinking about? he wondered, shifting his weight from one leg to another.

"M-Miss Spellfire?" he asked timidly, breaking the silence. He realized in the whole of three months since term began, he had never addressed her directly. He hadn't out rightly ignored her--how could he? But there had been no other opportunity such as this.

Her dark eyes narrowed as she awakened and focused on him oddly.

Okay, here it goes, Harry thought.

She cleared her throat and spoke softly. "I see you weren't doing the assignment," she said.

"Er, I-I was, I-I did..." he said, lying.

Don't! Harry imagined Hermoine telling him, You know she knows you weren't!

Too late, he thought back.

Miss Spellfire leaned forward, crossed her arms and looked serious. "What were you writing?"

Without hesitation he uttered another nervous lie, taking the chance that she didn't know. "Nothing... important," he said, his voice low and cracking.

"I see," she said, raising her eyebrow. Then she moved towards him, and he tried to remain still, but his knees were trembling so hard. (And if he'd grip his wand any tighter he might break it in half.)

She whispered close and said, "'There are secrets...and then there are secrets.'"

"What?" he asked surprisingly.

She straightened up, her face void of emotion. "Nothing. Never mind," she quickly said. Their eyes locked for the longest second and Harry had the sudden urge to tell her how he felt. But when she suddenly took another step towards him, and placed the back of her hand on his reddened cheek, he instantly became tongue tied.

"Mr. Potter, is everything alright?" she asked. "You seem...very warm."

His eyes widened. Not only had she moved in so close, but she had touched him!

Her hand continued to move, flicking the hair out of his eyes with her black nails, the swoop of her arm causing the scent of her cinnamon perfume to radiate under his nose. His stomach lurched, feeling the atmosphere around him suddenly grow even more stifling. He started taking big gulps of air, but it didn't ease away his dizziness.

"N-No, I-I'm all right, Professor," he answered in a squawk.

Her face changed back to its rigidness, and she backed away, clasping her hands in front. Her voice betrayed her. "G-Good," she said nervously. "Then without any... further excuses, your classroom behavior should improve from here on."

He tried to hide a grin, but it escaped, feeling confused and relieved at the same time. She wasn't going to punish him, but he also wasn't going to spend anymore time with her...

"Yes, Professor," he said. "I-It will."

She gave a grateful smiled back. "Fine then, Mr. Potter, you may go."

But Harry didn't (couldn't) move.

She stared at him uncomfortably. "Mr. Potter?"

He couldn't...leave...now...

"Harry?" she said, stepping closer, her voice curiously loud. "Is everything...all right?"

Blinking wildly, he came back from his thoughts, noticing with surprise his name on her voice.

He again made contact with her dark eyes.

If only he couldn't smell her damned perfume...

Without another thought or hesitation, Harry let go his wand and reached out to her face, clasping it quickly with both hands. Pulling her towards him, his lips sought a match with hers; only, he missed and instead caught a corner of her teeth. He was inexperienced, he knew. He had never, ever kissed anyone, not even Cho Chang, like this: hard, rough. Desperately. But then again, he had never wanted anyone more.

After a few seconds, his teacher managed to push him away, a stiff look of shock on her face. He expected her to say something; anything but she just stood there, dumbstruck. They looked at one another for a moment: his glasses slightly askew, her face a dark red.

Harry adjusted his glasses as he whispered hoarsely, "I-I'm sorry, Miss Spellfire. I'm...I'm so, so sorry..." He felt like he'd stolen cakes from the kitchen and was caught by one of the house elves.

He began moving backwards blindly, apologizing over and over before he turned and ran, grabbing up his book bag as he flew past his desk. Once at the door, he clumsily pulled it open, slid out and raced down the hall at full speed, robes flying and a sour look on his face. Ignoring the glares from the students--and the calls from Ron--he ran nonstop to the Griffyndor common room, with every intention of hiding there for the rest of the school year.

********************************************************************************

Numb, Miss Spellfire stood, trying to breath in. She wasn't sure how long she'd been standing there, and it wasn't until she looked round, that she noticed shadows where the sun's light had moved inches. Somehow, somewhere, she had lost a small block of time. Gradually the feeling came back into her hands, and she realized they were bracing her body on the edge of her desk.

She slowly unglued herself from her position, and walked pensively to the boy wizard's desk, remembering there was something there she wanted to see. With her fingers pressed to her lips, she placed the other arm tightly around her small waist, feeling the well-known coldness tingle her spine. It were the Fates, playing over and over in her mind, the up close sight of those green eyes, that slim hidden body...

She raised an eyebrow.

And the taste of those warm lips...

Picking up the parchment that lay abandoned, she peered at it distantly. There were only two lines he had written:

"How do I want thee...

Let me count the ways..."

How it glowed brightly with his heart.