Sweet Surrender; Angel and Spirits

An hour and a half had passed, and Harry was still sitting aside the fire in the squishy armchair he had fallen into; his back slumped, his tie undone, and bag thrown against the wall. He wondered over and over, how stupid he could have been? Kissing his Divination teacher. Argh! Just thinking about the embarrassment, made his gut wince in pain. Of all the things he had done in his life--and he had done some pretty brave things: fight dragons, face Voldemort (Let alone say his name), save his friends from the deep, live with the Dursleys--none compared to what he had done a bit ago. He rubbed his forehead roughly, fingering the scar that would forever mark him and gladly accepted the headache coming on. What he had done was... unthinkable. Wrong. Why had he done it? How thoughtless could he have been? He was in worse trouble now, could possibly get detention in the dungeons out of this--or possible expulsion.

But it wasn't that bad... thought his subconscious--which always sounded a little like Draco Malfoy.

Of course it was! Harry thought back, squinting. His glasses had fallen down the bridge of his nose and everything was one big blur. I kissed her!

Yes, a kiss she knew was coming...

"No," Harry whispered to himself, feeling the emotion strong enough to speak out loud. He looked blindly skyward. "She couldn't have known." He didn't even know he was going to do it. His body had just reacted terribly to his desire, rather than his sane mind. His hormones had caused him to kiss her without thinking and nothing, not even those Fates she was always on about, had anything to do with it. It was a longing, pure and simple.

She had asked you to stay after...

Yes, thought Harry. Because I was in trouble...

She stares at you...

She's a teacher, Harry groaned within. It's her job to keep an eye on me--

"Oi, Harry!" he heard a deep voice call from behind. "You okay?"

He didn't turn around but watched above his glasses as a taller boy wizard clad in black topped with bright red, come into view and sat down in the soft sofa beside him.

"What happened? What did Professor Spellfire want?"

Harry pushed his glasses higher and focused in on the face of Ron Weasley. His cheeks were red and his dark freckles stood out darkly. His mouth was hanging open and his hair was feathered back, as if he'd just run a few kilometers.

"Nothing," Harry muttered. "She was just...worried about me." Noticing his lips were a bit sore, he rubbed a hand over them.

"I don't think its anything you haven't heard before," Ron said, undoing his tie.

Harry wanted to disagree, but nodded wordlessly.

Still Ron looked puzzled. He leaned forward and said, "But you ran. Didn't you hear me call you?"

Harry shook his head.

"Ahhh," said Ron, relaxing against the couch. "She laid into you good, then, aye?"

Harry moved anxiously in his seat. What an odd choice of words, Ron, he thought. "No, nothing like that."

"Harry? Are you okay?"

Both boys looked up to see Hermione Granger stride in through the common room door and towards them. "I heard you missed your last class." She was in her prefect robe, her long bushy hair trailing behind. Over the years, her voice had grown soft, dainty, her face long and toned. But to Harry, she was still just... Hermione, the smartest one he knew and one of his best friends. She came and stood next to him, put a gentle hand on his shoulder and squeezed. "Neville said you came running in here right after Divination. Everything alright?"

"Spellfire really let him have it," said Ron excitedly.

Harry closed his eyes. Okay, now he was feeling sick. He couldn't tell them what he had done. It was a foolish act, he knew and he didn't want to be reminded it by Hermione or teased about finally 'getting some,' as Ron often wanted him to. He instantly got up and strode to the stairs without looking at his friends.

"I'll be alright. I just need some rest," he said and took them upwards three at a time.

Ron shrugged at Hermione. "She must've told him off good."

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

It was around midnight.

Harry lay with hands under his head, looking up at the cover of his four-poster bed, the sounds around him of snores from his four best friends in the world; Ron, Neville, Dean, and Seamus. And not one of them knew what he had done today, had avoided all questioning and the rest of his classes by pretending to be sick and sleeping.

(At one point Neville wanted to call Madame Pomfrey, but Ron had discouraged it.)

However, real sleep had eluded him as he had listened instead to the boys coming in and out, doing homework, laughing about what Padma Patil did today--vomited on Snape's shoes in the Advanced Defense Against the Dark Arts class, which despite his humiliation and feigned sleep, created a secret smile--and getting ready for bed. He had heard his name called a couple of times, but he'd give a quick snort, and they'd bother him no more.

And now, having been there for hours, he felt the strong spasm of hunger grip his stomach, though it was all that concerned him; the ache of shame was still there as well. He winced, not sure what he was feeling anymore. What did it matter? Neither equaled what he felt about his teacher, Miss Spellfire. Harry sighed heavily and removed his spectacles. Placing them on his bedside table, he then rolled onto his side. He wanted to rest, but his mind whirling with thoughts, was not about to let his body sleep.

He recalled when he had first saw her, sitting at the high table at Start of Term banquet, shining intensely in her silver and black robes. It was as if he'd been struck by lightning, his whole body feeling a rush of excitement and attraction, seeing that black hair, her pondering face... her dark eyes. He had never seen anyone so beautiful, so... exotic. Danni--he had found out her first name that initial class--was unlike anyone he knew. Certainly not like Cho, who was seemingly sweet and too popular for her own good. Nor was she like Hermione, who was more like a sister than anything. Danni was a woman who wouldn't hurt him; wouldn't stamp on his heart for all of wizard kind to see like Cho had, or point out his mistakes like Hermione so often did. She was considerate, had a gentle touch...

Harry gulped as he instantly recalled the movement of her hand across his face.

Had perfect parts...

He closed his eyes, remembering the part in her robe that revealed her knees.

And a fragrance that drove him wild.

He opened his eyes instantly, feeling a cold sweat breakout on his forehead. He ran a hand through his hair, knowing that wasn't something he'd likely ever forget.

Don't forget how smart she is, said his Malfoy-like conscious. (Harry couldn't tell if it was being sarcastic or not.) Remember what she said; 'There are secrets and then there are secrets.'

Oh, right, Harry agreed. They had sounded intelligent enough, only it disturbed him they also seemed rather familiar. He tried to remember where and when he had heard those words before, but it wouldn't come. What did she mean by saying them anyway? What secrets and whose? He sighed heavily again. But he just couldn't think of it right now.

He gazed blankly at a fuzzy light beyond the window. It was impossible to tell if it was from the moon or something artificial like a lantern or torch, maybe from Hagrid or Filch walking the grounds. The glass itself looked hazy, and he assumed it was because of the condensation, it being very cold and breezy out there and rather warm in here. (Or was it, he was it caused by his warmth?)

He looked down to the floor, and into the seemingly dark. Without his glasses he couldn't judge distance and it was like there was a big black hole beneath him that was waiting to swallow him up... How it would be if they were ever together, he began to wonder. Would he be in charge? (No, he couldn't be: he wouldn't know what to do. But if she wanted be, he'd allow her to do anything to him that her little heart desired...) Did she mind younger men? Did she have a boyfriend? Was she dating anyone in particular? (As much as he hated to think that latter thought, he really wanted to know, just to see where he stood.)

What about Snape? Harry had often seen them talking, and if he was mistaken, they looked very comfortable with one another... but immediately he erased that disgusting idea and turned onto his back, his hands in ready fists though there was no one to fight. He didn't want to think his favorite teacher was involved with his most hated instructor: it would be like sleeping with the enemy.

You must remain realistic, Harry, said his inner Malfoy-like voice. Her life is far different from yours.

Harry bit his lower lip and looked again up at the ceiling of his bed. He knew that. What he thought, felt, or imagined wasn't possible, that there could never be something between them. He was constantly telling himself that it wasn't worth the trouble, and that he shouldn't throw his future away over some girl...

She's a woman, Harry, his inner Malfoy voice sang. A teacher no less...

Harry knitted his eyebrows. But did he ever listen? Thanks.

So you have to dismiss the fact that she closed her eyes just before you kissed her...

He thought curiously, They did?

Nor should you acknowledge she relaxed against you either.

Harry shook his head. No... she didn't!

It took forever before she pulled away...

Harry closed his eyes tight and held his breath. "Stop it!" he uttered to himself. "Stop it now!" It was an impulse remember? She didn't know I was going to do it, didn't do anything of the sort!

But the voice interrupted. Accept it, Harry. She knows. She has always known. And perhaps she wanted it too...

Harry groaned. No, she--

Suddenly, a thought came into his head. He quickly sat up.

His parchment! What had he done with it?

His heart began beating faster as his eyes darted about the dark room. It had been on his desk just before he... ran. Surely by now, someone had found it, maybe a house elf, a student or worse, Draco Malfoy himself had it. Was it among the class work that Miss Spellfire had intended to pick up? He swallowed hard, relieved and petrified at the same time. If she had it, that would be good... but then she would have read it by now and doing what he'd done, would know what he felt... and that wasn't so good. He felt sick and gulped thickly.

Use your invisibility cloak and sneak into her room, the inner voice told him.

I can't do that! thought back Harry, his mouth going dry. She might be half dressed!

What if you went over and asked her for it, tell her Ron had written it and was too embarrassed to get it back. She might just give it.

But Harry dismissed that right away; Miss Spellfire, just by first glance, would know he was lying, and that would be more embarrassing than the kiss had been.

No, Harry told himself. It would be best to wait until morning and see what might come of it. Perhaps nothing, maybe she hadn't read it, maybe she'd be so occupied like the rest of the school tomorrow because of the Quidditch match; Gryffindor against Slytherin. Or maybe if he got up right now, he'd sink into that abyss that was supposedly beneath his bed... He put his hands through his messy hair and squeezed his head, knowing something was bound to happen regardless, they way his luck ran. He threw himself back heavily and cursed again under breath.

Of all the stupid things to do...

He pulled his covers up high, hitting the blanket hard as his hand fell fisted to his sides. He shut his eyes tightly once more, hoping he'd fall asleep soon, but he knew he wouldn't be able to. He rolled onto his side and drew in his legs, trying to muffle the ache that was still in the pit of his stomach. He then turned and faced the other way, twisted onto his belly; then again on his back. But the pain would not stop altogether; aside from the hunger, came yet again the thought of the sweet scent of cinnamon and Danni Spellfire's shimmering lips.

He put a pillow over his face and longed to suffocate as he held it tightly there, wishing Voldemort had killed him outright as a baby, wishing that dragon had taken his life a few years back, wishing all this would just end...

When he did finally drift off an hour later--having dropped the pillow to the floor when he realized he didn't really want to die--his subconscious mind managed to make him dream yet again, just as it had one hundred times before, what it might be like to put his arms around his teacher, Danni Spellfire.