Something in the Air

Harry was bored in the infirmary. And he really wanted to see Sasha. Unfortunately, Madame Pomfrey didn't want him to have another run-in with Draco, so she was keeping him from dinner.

He thought as hard as he could to Sasha, hoping he would develop telepathic powers. However, to the passing outsider, he looked only as though he was having a rather hard time pooping instead of developing telepathic powers with Sasha Borgen.

Nothing could cure his boredom. It was like a chronic illness. Bored-and-Injured-itis. Yeah, that sounded fatal. It was pathetic. But he did feel someone coming. He could sense it.

His hopes high, Harry looked to the door, just waiting for Sasha to burst through and tell him she loved him, and start.....

The door burst open, and Harry's eyes burnt holes in it, trying to see who was coming before they got there.

"Sasha!" he shouted. The person who entered looked at him accusatorily.

"What the hell?" Oh great. It was Draco.

"I mean," Harry said. "Hi, Draco."

"So now you're going to kiss my ass because you don't want to spend your life in here?" Draco spat. "Not happening, Potter."

Harry was bewildered. He didn't know what to say. Draco was standing here, with no bumps or bruises to show that he'd been in fight earlier that day. Actually, he hadn't been in a fight. He'd sort of walked up to someone and won a fight instantly. And that unfortunate someone just happened to have been Harry.

"What exactly happened today?" Harry asked.

"I don't want to talk about it," Draco replied quietly.

"Why not?" Harry pried. "You won, at least."

"I just don't want to talk about it, okay?" Draco repeated. "It's been a long day."

"What'd you come here for?" Harry asked.

"I don't know. I just wanted to come and see what was going on in here," Draco said. "Wanted to see where you'd gone off to."

"What?!"

"Well, I wanted to know where you were. I'll have my eye on you, Potter. You've lost your chances. Now you will be followed. After your wonderful display today, nothing of yours will be private," Draco hissed. "A gift from me to you."

Any hope Harry had had that Draco was trying to be friendly died instantly. Harry let his head droop back onto the pillow and he stared at the ceiling, begging it to cave in and kill him.

"Is there any chance I might," Harry began, staring at Draco with difficulty. He'd sat down in the chair at the foot of Harry's bed. "Be free at any point in time?"

"No," Draco replied simply. At least he wasn't one to mince words.

"Not even in the bathroom?"

"Don't test my patience," Draco snapped.

"Sorry," Harry said, shrinking back into his bed.

"What would you bargain for freedom?" Draco asked thoughtfully, as if he cared.

"What do you want? My soul?" Harry snapped without thinking about it. Perfect. He'd just blown any chances he might have.

Draco seemed unaffected. "It doesn't matter what I want. What are you willing to give?"

"Money?" Harry offered.

"Don't need it," Draco replied tiredly. "Honestly."

"Food?" Harry tried.

"Do I look like I'm starving, poor and homeless?" Draco said in frustration.

"No," Harry replied honestly.

"Fine," Draco said. "Do you know what I want?"

"What?" Harry asked, afraid that he was going to be asked to sell his soul or something.

"I want real friends," Draco whispered. "Sasha's all I've got."

"So you want to be friends with me?" Harry asked, confused.

"Not necessarily," Draco corrected the other boy. "I just want someone to be friends with. Another boy."

"Blaise Zabini?" Harry thought of the first Slytherin he could.

"Isn't that a girl?" Draco asked.

"I'm pretty sure Blaise is a guy. He looks like one," Harry said. "Ask Sasha."

"She would know," Draco muttered to himself. "I've got to go."

"Bye," Harry grunted, thinking Draco didn't hear him.

"Don't tell anyone I was here," Draco said as he left the infirmary.

"You got it," Harry called. Aside from Hermione, he had no one to tell anyway. Ron wouldn't listen past Draco's name, and the other boys simply wouldn't care. Nothing could pull Harry from the fact that Draco had been civil. It was uncanny. And an oxymoron.

He propped himself up in bed, and looked over to Madame Pomfrey, who was busily organizing and reorganizing the student's medical records. She was almost completely ignoring a rather small, scraggly young girl, probably a first year, who was moaning and writhing in pain on her bed. She was pale, with sweat beading on her forehead.

Harry gave the surrounding area the once-over, and decided that the timing was right for him to make his exit. He slipped out of bed, the cold stone floors shocking the bare soles of his feet.

He made it out the door unnoticed. He hurried down the corridors without being seen. Harry climbed the staircase to Gryffindor tower quickly and silently, slinking along the walls like a cat. He whispered the password to the Fat Lady and slipped in through the portrait hole. The common room sparkled, between the crisp golden firelight and the silver of the milky twilight.

In the armchair that faced him, placed across the room, sat Hermione, reading a book. She looked up at the sound of the portrait door, and smiled briefly at him.

"Hello, Harry," she said briskly.

"Hi," he replied. "Is...Something wrong?"

"Nothing at all," Hermione clipped. "Where have you been?"

"The infirmary," Harry answered honestly. "Why?"

"I find it hard to believe that you've been there that entire time," Hermione said, her eyes darting between her book and his face.

"I snuck out!" Harry protested. "Madame Pomfrey doesn't even know I'm gone!"

"Veritas!" Hermione cried, and Harry gasped as the curse ripped into his soul.

"Where've you been this whole time," Hermione demanded.

"In the infirmary," Harry managed in a strangled voice.

"Oh," Hermione whispered. "Alright then." She lifted the curse from him, and Harry felt as though two rather large fishing hooks had been lifted from him. He exhaled slowly, and looked up at Hermione.

"What?" Hermione asked. For a moment, they locked eyes, her chocolate-colored eyes on his emerald ones. Harry was the first to look away, not because he didn't absolutely adore staring into her eyes, but because it felt wrong. Every time he looked into her eyes, that lovely dark chocolate brown melted away, and in its place was the rich violet that he knew belonged in the face of Sasha Borgen.

"It's just...nothing," Harry said. "Never mind."

"No, please tell me," Hermione begged. "I want to know, Harry. I really do."

"It's nothing," Harry protested. "I forgot what I was about to say, anyway."

"Okay," Hermione said disappointedly. "If you remember, tell me."

"Will do," Harry mumbled, knowing she wasn't listening anymore, as she buried her nose in the binding of a book once again. He stood up and climbed the staircase. Maybe Ron was up to something interesting.

***

When Draco stalked back into the common room, Sasha was sitting there on one of the green velvet couches, reading. Why was she always reading? He wondered. Must've been a girl thing.

"Draco?" Sasha said without looking up. When he grunted in response, she closed the book at looked at him.

"You look a little shaken," she said.

"Shaken. Not stirred," Draco replied. Sasha chuckled to herself.

"What's bothering you?" Sasha asked. "And don't you dare try to tell me nothing, because I know that something's up."

"Is Blaise Zabini a boy or a girl?" Draco inquired. Sasha looked taken aback.

"Blaise? Blaise is a guy. I dated him last year," Sasha replied.

"Oh," Draco replied. "You dated him?"

"Yeah," Sasha said. "All last year, actually."

"You like him?" Draco scoffed.

"I did," Sasha said. "We're still friends."

"Is that so?" Draco whispered to the ceiling.

"He's a close family friend as well," Sasha sighed. "His father and my father are incredibly close. Blaise spends a good deal of time at our house."

"Zabini's father is friends with yours?" Draco asked, surprised.

"Yeah," Sasha answered. "Why?"

"It just seems odd that I've never met Mr. Zabini if he's that close to your father, and our fathers are as close as they are," Draco explained.

"Mhmm," Sasha said. "It really would have sucked if that didn't make sense."

"Oh shut up," Draco snapped.

Sasha stuck out her tongue at Draco in response. He grabbed it between his pointer finger and thumb playfully.

"Thop it!" Sasha yelled. "Met bo of my pung!"

"Come again?" Draco teased, letting go of her tongue.

"I think you ripped off a few taste buds," Sasha growled. "My tongue's all tingly now."
"That's nice," Draco replied snidely. "Thank you for sharing, really."
"Anytime," Sasha sighed. "It's not a chore, really."

Draco rolled his eyes at her before grabbing her hand and pulling her towards him. She fell into his arms like a rag doll before he kissed her full on the lips.

When he released her, his eyes were pleading.

"What was that for?" Sasha asked softly.

Draco shrugged silently before walking off.

"Wait!" Sasha yelled after him.

Draco turned around and nodded at her.

"What's wrong?" she asked, getting up and taking his arm in her long fingers.

"Nothing," he mumbled. "Just tired."

"Sleep on it and get back to me," Sasha ordered gently. "I'll be here waiting."

"Okay," Draco replied softly. He pulled his arm out of her grip and climbed the short staircase to the Prefect hallway slowly. Sasha watched him walk away, and wondered what could be bothering him this much to silence him.

"I'm always here waiting," Sasha whispered to herself as she sat back down in the armchair and reopened her book.

***

Harry climbed the stairs to his and Ron's room. Hoping to find Ron there, Harry prayed that he had done something fairly interesting while Harry was away. Spending the day in the infirmary could do that to a guy.

When he walked into the disastrously messy room, he found that Ron's bed curtains were pulled closed, and he heard some interesting noises coming from within.

"Hey Ron," Harry greeted his friend loudly.

There was a brief pause before Ron stuck his head out from the bed.

"Oh," Ron said. "Hey Harry."

Harry silently jerked his head towards Ron's bed. Ron looked behind himself.

"Themy," Ron mouthed.

"Mmm," Harry said. "Have fun."

"Will do," Ron replied, receding back into the bed. Harry walked over to his own bed and lay down, picking up his History of Quidditch book. He opened it and scanned the pages, knowing almost every word by heart, he'd read it so much since he'd gotten in it the fourth year.

He ignored Ron and Themy for almost forty-five minutes, when things began to get a little loud.

"Can ya keep it down a little?" Harry asked. Ron thrust his hand out and gave him a thumbs-up. Harry rolled his eyes.

For a few minutes, he was able to tune out the awkwardness of this situation. Then he became annoyed. Honestly, why was Ron allowed to have anyone he wanted naked in his bed? It wasn't fair. Harry was a chained dog. Or a lion, or some other powerful animal, though he was having trouble thinking of one at the moment.

Finally, he snapped the book shut, causing a little commotion for the sake, of well, causing a commotion. Harry slid out of bed and walked down the stairs to the common room, where Hermione sat, reading, as usual.

"Hi, Harry," she said softly, looking up from her book.

"Hey," Harry replied, massaging the base of his nose.

"What's wrong?" she asked, getting up. She took his shoulders in her hands.

"Ron and...Ron," Harry replied, catching himself before he told Hermione about Themy. He, personally, thought it was ridiculous how Ron was keeping her a secret from everyone.

"Um...okay," Hermione said unsurely. "Do you want me to talk to him?"

"No," Harry whined. "I think I can take care of myself."

"I know you can," Hermione murmured, her breath tickling his ear. "I trust you, Harry."

That sentence killed him. He knew that seeing Sasha, even though it was only time to time, broke a little bit of that trust, even if Hermione didn't know it. Harry turned away from her, and walked towards the portrait hole.

"Harry, what's the matter?" Hermione called after him.

"Nothing," Harry replied without looking back, "I'll be back later."

He walked around the corridors a little bit, until he heard the clicking of high-heels on stone. Harry pressed himself up against the wall and waited. Soon, Sasha came, stopping in front of him.

"Whacha doin'?" she asked. She was wearing a green satin blouse and black trousers, with sharp stilettos on her feet. She'd obviously been out somewhere.

"Hiding," Harry replied.

"From what?" Sasha laughed. "The Boogeyman?"

"Teachers," Harry corrected. "I thought you were one."

"Oh. Well, I'm not."

"Yeah, I know." Sasha looked rather like a teacher. Her hair was swept into a tight little bun at the back of her head, and her eyes, miraculously, had turned green.

"What happened to your eyes?" Harry asked.

"My dad got arrested," Sasha chirped. "They made him lift all spells he'd cast on the family. So I changed my eyes to match my outfit."

"Where were you?" Harry inquired.

"Out to dinner with Draco and his father," Sasha whined. "Snore."

"It was bad?"

"Brutal," Sasha confirmed. "Draco was quiet and obedient, as always, and his father hit on me like an animal."

Harry couldn't help but laugh. Honestly, he could picture Lucius Malfoy, although he'd only met the man once, hitting on girls the age of his teenage son, in said son's presence. However, Harry was having particular trouble picturing Draco putting up with this situation.

"Do you want to do something?" Sasha asked tiredly, a pleading tone in her voice.

"Sure, why not?" Harry replied, same exhaustion suddenly hinted at in his own voice. "What's in your mind?"

"Well...I don't know," Sasha admitted. "I was hoping you'd have something."

"Sorry," Harry said apologetically, "but I find myself currently plan-deficient."

"Whatever," Sasha chirped. "I suddenly find myself with a plethora of worthy ideas of stuff for you and me to do."

"Care to share any of them?" Harry asked, a little bit annoyed with her perpetual mysteriousness, although in a certain way it was sort of cute...well...not really cute, more like...really hot beyond hot.

"Um...no," Sasha murmured, and Harry dismissed any idea of being annoyed at her, even in the slightest. Now he was just kind of getting horny.

"Alright," Harry said, giving her a look that he hoped suggested that he seriously wanted her in the biggest way possible, in every sense of the term.

"You do know that Draco's not exactly over the whole fighting thing from earlier today, right?"

"I could've figured as much," Harry grumbled. "I mean, I didn't expect him to be happy with me...I knew it was a stupid plan anyway."

"Hey," Sasha rasped dangerously, "my plans are always gonna end up so much better than yours. I mean, come on, and think about it."

"That's not true," Harry protested. "I've had plenty of useful plans in the past."

"Stop living in the past," Sasha whispered airily. "Get into the present."

Harry opened his mouth to speak, and found that he had nothing to say. He didn't have even the slightest inkling what he could say in something like this, given the fact that he'd been completely screwed. By a girl. A hot girl. A Slytherin, no less!

He grimaced, and watched as Sasha tapped herself on the head with her wand, and a shimmering circle formed at the top of her head, releasing her beautiful golden hair from its painfully perfect bun at the nape of her neck, letting it fall loose around the bottom of her shoulders. She was redressed in a black corset tank top, and a light denim mini that was hardly appropriate for the chilly March weather, or, really, any appearance in public. Her legs were covered by fishnet stockings; visible only from lower-thigh up, since she was clad in over-the-knee black leather stiletto boots.

Harry then smirked to himself. He, honestly, couldn't quite imagine what Draco would think when his girlfriend returned to him wearing this outfit. Somehow, he wished that Draco would be angry or suspicious, just to let Harry have a good couple of whacks at him...but quickly decided that Malfoy was more likely to just rip her clothes off anyway...

Shaking the thought out of his mind, Harry looked Sasha up and down. She merely smirked, and grabbed his hand, dragging him down the corridor to the main staircase.

Once they were safely outside the school, Sasha rubbed her hands over her arms, goose bumps rising all along.

"Cold?" Harry asked quietly. In response, she slipped her arm around his waist and edged nearer to him, her head resting lightly on his shoulder as they walked towards Hogsmeade.

***

Hermione sat in the common room, reading a book for Ancient Runes, thinking solely about Harry. The complex symbols and concepts from her homework weren't sinking in at all, and she was readily accepting that she would need to devote even more time to studying in the near future in order to cure this malady.

As she stared, unseeing, into the fire, she felt a hand on her shoulder, and reacted instinctively rather than logically. Hermione turned her head up, closed her eyes, and kissed the person whose hand was resting on her shoulder.

They gently pushed her away quickly.

"Hermione? Are you alright?" asked the worried voice of -sigh- Ron.

"Oh," she replied quickly. "Sorry...I thought...never mind...sorry..."

"It's alright..." Ron sighed, sitting beside her, a lazy grin on his face.

"What're you smiling about?" she inquired in a mousy voice.

"Th...Everything," Ron said, changing his mind before he finished the first word.

"I see," Hermione sighed. "Where do you suppose Harry went?"

"For a walk," Ron answered, knowing it probably was true. Harry had been wont, in the past, to go for random walks about the castle for no apparent reason, or at least not one that either of his friends could comprehend.

Hermione nodded silently, still gazing into the fire intently. Resting her head on her friend's shoulder, she quickly drifted off to sleep.

Ron sat there, aware that Hermione was asleep on his shoulder. Before long, he himself was asleep, dreaming of unmentionable pleasures with someone he'd made Harry swear not to tell about.

***

Sasha led Harry to a small, dimly-lit restaurant in Hogsmeade, and dragged him to an empty table in the corner of the room, in the center of which, there was a barely burning candle that smelled like absolutely nothing at all, and it, apparently, disappointed Sasha.

"So, Harry," she sighed, leaning her head in her hands. She stared at him through once-again violet eyes.

"Yes?" he asked softly, taking one of her delicate, long-fingered hands in his.

"What's new?" she asked. "What's been on your mind?"

"Nothing, really," Harry responded, knowing it wasn't entirely true. Inadvertently, he wondered if Sasha could tell that he was lying through his teeth.

"You and I both know that that's a lie," she murmured. Therein lay his answer.

"I know," Harry admitted.

"So...why don't you tell me what's on your mind?" she whispered, gently caressing his hand with her long, articulate fingers.

"I'm worried...about us," Harry began. "I'm worried that someone's going to find out...Draco, really, or Hermione...I don't know what we should do. I know that all we do doesn't even amount to anything...it's not like we're dating or something....Is it?"

"It is," Sasha confessed to him. It was the words he'd thought he'd dreaded hearing. But upon this event occurring, Harry had found that he would never want it to be any different. He, quite suddenly, realized that he loved Sasha with a burning passion, something he'd never quite felt for poor Hermione.

"So that means..." he started off, not daring to continue. The words he knew would complete the sentence sounded so wrong...so cruel to his innocent ears.

"We're cheating," Sasha finished for him, with no sense of guilt detectable in her silky voice. "Never mind it; my mother's been cheating on my father for years, and he's never realized it."

"But I get the feeling that Draco's somehow different," Harry mumbled, remembering what Draco had said to him about being watched at all times. For safety's sake, he surreptitiously checked the restaurant for anyone he knew. No one, to his relief, was in sight. But that didn't mean that they weren't there. Draco had a tendency to be a bit sneakier than that.

"He is...I know that he and my father have little to nothing in common...besides that fact that they're both men...but still...as long as Draco gets what he wants, he'll never suspect that anything's changed."

Harry looked doubtfully into Sasha's magnificent amethyst eyes, not entirely sure if he could rely on this piecemeal plan. Sasha gave him a look that he knew would have convinced anyone else on the planet to trust her, but was having a hard time working over Harry Potter.

"And God knows that Draco Malfoy gets what Draco Malfoy wants," Sasha assured him, giving Harry a wink. Sasha pulled him up from the table, even though they hadn't ordered any food.

"Where are we going?" Harry asked as they walked back outside. A light snow had started to fall; typical of early March.

"For a walk," Sasha said, Summoning a dark gray wool coat out of, seemingly, nowhere. As they walked through the barely accumulating snow, Sasha once again took his hand in hers.

"So you're not worried about Draco finding out?" Harry asked.

"Worse things could happen than Draco dumping me," Sasha assured him.

"I was under the impression that the world would split in two if he was unhappy," Harry retorted.

"Oh it would," Sasha replied. "But, as usual, it would be up to me to save his pale ass in the apocalypse."

"Do you love him?" Harry asked.

After some hesitation, Sasha answered, "Yes, I do. And Granger? Do you love her?"

"Yes," Harry responded quickly. "Of course I do."

"Do you believe in the ability to love more than one person at once?" Sasha demanded.

"I think some can manage it," Harry answered honestly. "Depends on the way you mean 'love'."

"Love, like, romantic love. Like the way...the way I love Draco; the way you love that Granger girl."

"Yes," Harry replied, unsure of his answer, "yes I do," he added, now more confident.

"Alright then," Sasha sighed. "Do you love me?" Her eyes were blank, nothing but pure violet coloring, dotted in the center with her pupils. No emotion, something he'd rather expect from Draco.

Finding himself without a verbal answer, Harry simply looked at her, hoping that his eyes could say all the words that his voice couldn't manage to find.

Sasha looked deep into his eyes, and Harry then felt as if she were reading his soul. He felt as though he could no longer hide anything from this violet-eyed Slytherin, someone he never thought he'd be able to confide in.

Without warning, Sasha kissed him, a kiss that Harry wanted to savor, but didn't quite know how to keep her there. He kissed her back, gently at first, then fiercely as he let hormones overthrow logic. They kissed for a long time, the snow falling gently into their hair, moonlight thrown delicately over the grounds like silver water.

When they finally broke apart, Harry's lips burned, a pleasant burning, something he wished to remember forever. They walked back to the castle hand-in-hand, watching the snow dance through the air before it finally reached the ground. The moonlight was soon obscured by gray clouds, and a slight wind picked up, playing roughly with the tiny white flakes.

Once they reached the staircase, the place where they'd part ways, Sasha took off her jacket, brushing the snow off of it before Banishing it back to the Slytherin dormitories.

"Won't Draco..." he began, but cut himself off when Sasha began to brush the snow gently from his shoulders and hair.

"He won't notice a thing," she murmured. "Want to walk around the castle a bit?"

"Sure," Harry replied, and they walked up the stairs together. They walked down corridors, and soon they were in front of the Fat Lady's portrait.

"This is my stop," Harry whispered to Sasha.

"Good night," she purred, and he couldn't help but kiss her. Soon, they were enveloped within another burning kiss, whirling through space, spinning in a vortex of elation.

That was soon cut short when Harry felt a sharp pain in his back. Reluctantly, he turned his head, and too his horror, the portrait door had swung open, and looking out from it was none other than Hermione, looking shocked and hurt, something Harry could barely stand to see. Sasha stepped away from him, and looked, indifferent, at the floor. Without a word, Sasha slipped away.

Harry, however, was now trapped, caught by his own girlfriend passionately kissing another girl; not just another girl, a girl whom his girlfriend passionately hated.

"Hermione...it's not how it looks," Harry said, stepping inside the portrait hole. Hermione turned from him, her shoulders shuddering in tears.

"Hermione...don't...don't cry," Harry begged, gently touching her arm. As she began to walk away, that gentle touch turned into a desperate grasp on her thin upper arm.

"It wasn't what it looked like," he said to her as she turned to face him, tears streaming steadily down her pretty cheeks.

"Then tell me what it was," she demanded, choking on the words. Harry then became aware that Ron was sitting on the couch, looking painfully surprised.

"It was...it was...nothing," Harry attempted.

"YOU'RE WRONG!" Hermione yelled, sobbing.

"No, Hermione..." Harry pleaded with his best friend, looking into her crying brown eyes.

"It was a kiss," Hermione hissed angrily, "a kiss from Sasha Borgen."

"It didn't mean anything," Harry said, dropping his voice to a lower pitch. "She doesn't mean anything."

"That's where you're wrong!" Hermione protested, yanking her arm away from his touch. "You wouldn't have kissed her like that if she didn't mean anything."

Harry was lost for words: he knew that Sasha meant everything to him, but he also knew that Hermione meant that, though in exponential proportions.

"You mean something to me," Harry whispered in a last attempt.

"And now I'm not alone," Hermione sobbed. "This is one time where I'd have liked to be. But I guess that will never be. Thank you, Sasha Borgen." She looked out a nearby window as she said Sasha's name, tears still flowing evenly from her mahogany eyes.

"Aw, Hermione, don't cry," Harry murmured to her, "you mean more than she ever will."

"No I don't," Hermione cried, walking away from Harry punctually. At the staircase to the girls' dormitory, she paused, turning around slowly.

"Harry," she addressed him stiffly. He looked up.

"Yes?" he replied expectantly.

"It's over," she finished quietly.