Easy

Easy

"Weasley finally dumped you then?" A sharp voice cuts into Lavender's thoughts. Zacharias Smith has slipped into the chair beside her and follows her gaze to where Ron and Hermione were reading and laughing. He has a smirk on his angular face.

"Screw you, Zacharias," Lavender mutters, rubbing her red-rimmed eyes and trying to force her concentration on her Divination essay. Ron Weasley's shoulder brushes against Hermione, his ears pink-tipped.

"It must be hard on you, always having to face them," he continues. "Poor, poor Lavender."

"Look, if you want me to react violently you'll be sorely disappointed." This is contradicted by the loud slamming of her text book, which startled two first years.

"If I wanted a violent reaction, I'd go ask Ginny Weasley how Harry was going." Lavender had to agree there. Ginny has always reacted most vociferously when Harry Potter is involved.

"Why are you here then?" It's not like they'd ever spoken before really. He'd bought her a butterbeer in third year on their first trip to Hogwarts and told her he'd liked her sweater, which had led to half a year of Zacharias Smith fantasies, until she discovered that Seamus Finnegan was much sweeter and had the most gorgeous deep brown eyes. After that, they'd chatted about the weather and assignments from time to time. But he had his own friends and housemates and so did she. Besides, she reminds herself, he's an utter bastard.

"I thought I could offer some advice."

"And what advice would that be?" she snaps.

"Next time, make it a bit less easy for the guy."

Insufferable bastard, she thinks. But by the time she is capable of formulating coherent speech, he's already left.

*

She sees him everywhere over the next couple of weeks. In the library, where she sits and laughs at Parvati and Padma as they squabble. Down by the lake, where the dappled sunlight illuminates his lazy smile golden. Their eyes meet across the great hall over porridge and pumpkin juice. Lavender finds herself averting her gaze and blushing scarlet.

She doesn't know why.

It's just before the last Gryffindor Quidditch Match that she decides to speak to him. She pulls him aside, into the Hufflepuff changing shed, which won't be used in this match.

"I don't think you're allowed in here, Brown," he says. "Hufflepuff property and all that."

"Shut up," she says fiercely. She's flushed and pink, she can just tell, and the stiffling atmosphere of the changing shed is making her sandy hair stick to her forehead in clumps.

He raises an eyebrow. "I'm not so good at that, apparently. Never know when to shut up."

"I can tell," she murmurs. "What did you mean by what you said the other week? You know, in the library."

He squints. "What did I say?"

He knows, he's just being infuriating on purpose. "You really do have a death wish, don't you?" she snaps.

"Or a thing for tempestuous women," he murmurs. This doesn't register.

"You said something about me being easy. Was it just a subtle way of calling me a slut? Because I'm not, you know."

"We're going to miss the game," he says.

"As if you care," she replies. "Anyway, you're not leaving until I understand."

"We could be here a while then."

"Then explain. In simple terms so that my stupid Gryffindor brain can understand," she responds, flicking her wand towards the door and locking it with a skilled non-verbal spell that negates any impression of her as stupid.

He looks almost bored. "Well, just as an impartial observer, I noticed the way you handled your relationship with Weasley." He moves closer to her. His nose is really very pointy. "You didn't exactly make it hard for him, did you? You made him your first priority, never said no and forgave screeds of indiscretions."His proximity is becoming uncomfortably close and she starts to wonder if locking the door was the most sensible option. She can feel his warm breath against her face.

"And this wasn't a good thing?

"You lost him, didn't you?"

"I gave him up."

"Semantics. You were the one crying in the library, not him."

She shrugs. "So I want smooth relationships?" She tries not to think about how his knuckles are grazing her breasts and concentrates on holding herself back from kissing his smooth, pale neck.

"You should have left him hanging occasionally, left him wanting more," Zacharias replies. His hands have settled on her lower back and there is a warm glow in her stomach. "Maybe ... teased him." He leans forward so that his breath is tickling her ear. "Driven him crazy."

She gives up and they are kissing up against the wall of the shed, passionate, violent kisses. It's true, Zacharias does have a thing for tempestuous women. He bites her bottom lip and starts moving down, kissing her neck, the exposed skin above her sweater. And he is pulling it off. She feels unusually exposed in her thin blouse and he is touching and pinching her nipples, each stroke adding fuel to the fiery glow in her pit of her stomach. And she is using her hands, under his shirt, touching and teasing his back and stomach. Then lower, so that he whimpers involunatarily.

"Right," he mutters, as if ashamed of his outburst, and unbuttons her shirt. A couple of buttons go spinning away. She can feel his erection against her leg, and she grinds against it, just a little, to see if she can make him whimper again.

It works, but now he has shifted slightly away from her, and the loss of his body against hers hurts for a moment. But only for a moment, because his mouth is now on her collar bone, licking and kissing and lower, making her body shiver against his touch. And somehow Lavender's shirt has come off, and Zacharias has lost his tee shirt.

And then she stumbles, sliding onto the ground, pulling him down with her. The weight of his body against hers is intoxicating. She can feel his warm breath against her cheek before he kisses her again, undoing the zip on her jeans and edging his hand down. She pushes her hips up, and feels him against her. Her hands are running over his chest, touching his nipples and drawing circles with her thumb on his lower stomach. He's kissing her violently, like before, and her lips feel bruised and swollen.

"God," he breathes. "Weasley's an idiot for giving you up."

She smiles lazily back at him and brushes a hand through his hair.

Then.

She peers at her watch. "Would you look at the time? I have to dash." She smiles cheerfully, rolling him off her, pulling her sweater back on and doing up her zip. "Thank you for the advice. It was most ... illuminating."

"Merlin," he breathes admiringly.

She bundles her bra and shirt under her arm and unlocks the door. But can't help turn back and smile and say, "That was just too easy."