Breathless [Barriers Arc]

Year Seven

I saw him from the corner of my eyes. The confident stride, the swish of his robes and the languid movement of his limbs as he made his way across the Great Hall. His face was serious, unfriendly even, as his eyes flickered briefly at the small assembly of staff and students who have chosen to stay back during the winter break. Then I felt his eyes on me, and a small smile curled his lips. I nodded once and shifted to make room on the bench.

He slid into the seat beside me and turned sideways, an elbow on the table, his head propped on his hand. He took a piece of toast off my plate and chewed it slowly. I suppressed a grin as a few students threw curious looks towards our direction. He reached for a second piece, and I couldn’t resist slapping his hand away. The brief contact made his eyes flash with mischief, and this time I couldn’t help but smile.

“Bad,” I said in mock anger.

He grinned and took another piece, his eyes never leaving mine, as though daring me to chastise him again. I relented, and watched him eat the toast in fascination. And then his hand closed over the stem of my goblet, pulling it slowly towards himself, as if giving me a chance to stop him. I couldn’t move even if I wanted to. He ran a finger on the rim of the goblet, slowly – once, twice. He smirked, as his finger shifted and moved to the stem of the goblet. I was mesmerised, my eyes following the languid movement of his finger and thumb up and down the stem. My mind went blank; I licked my lips involuntarily. His smile widened as he lifted the goblet to his lips.

And then it struck me.

Even as I watched him drink from my goblet, in full view of the student body, I understood.

He was openly staking his claim upon me.

The Great Hall

The next day, between our special classes, he came to me as I sat poring over the latest news on the Dark Forces attack. He slid gracefully onto the table. I looked up and smiled, as he slid closer, his fingers brushing fleetingly on the back of my hand. He placed a small pile of grapes onto a plate. “Watch,” he said softly.

I raised my brow in question, as he intoned a charm under his breath and made a careless motion with his hand.

He pushed the plate towards me. Every single grape was frozen; a thin layer of frost speckling the skin. I looked at him in surprise. No wand, I mouthed silently. He nodded, a smile curling his lips.

I laughed, unable to hide my joy. It’s been something he’d been working on for ages, and it’s a secret we shared. He knew he was capable of doing wandless magic, just like his ability to speak Parseltongue – it was a matter of control and focus. And control and focus had been his obsession for sometime now.

All those evenings and nights we spent together, learning, practising and perfecting our individual skills and talent under the blessing of the Headmaster were finally bearing fruit. We complement each other, that’s what the old man had said more than once. In a way, he encouraged our relationship; little did he know the true extent of said relationship – and if he did, he never did voice any objections.

I couldn’t say the same for the rest of the world though. But it mattered not, for my attention was drawn back to the present, to the seemingly innocent pile of frozen grapes before me, and his low chuckle. I looked up and our eyes met. I felt a warm flush suffusing my cheeks as his eyes bore into mine. I watched, mesmerised even as he picked a grape off the cluster and held it towards me.

“Close your eyes,” he said, his voice low and seductive. The tone sent a thrill up my spine and I shivered.

Rationality told me to take the fruit from his fingers, but obedience won. I closed my eyes and parted my lips, submitting to his command. I could almost see his smile widened as he leaned closer and slowly placed the fruit in my mouth. His fingers brushed against my chin, and his thumb stroked my lower lip albeit fleetingly.

“Gumdrops,” I whispered as I opened my eyes. “Tastes like gumdrops.”

He nodded in amusement and fed me another. The inane chatter of the students faded into the background. He continued feeding me, one chilled globe after another, his fingers brushing against my skin – by design or accident I no longer cared.

Why did I feel so inarticulate and clumsy when he’s around? I have no idea. All I knew was that it took a lot of my self control not to reach out and touch him, especially in public. But I so wanted to; I wanted to be able to touch him in that intimate manner, not the usual backslapping and horseplay that boys were wont to do between friends. I wanted to be able to reach out and claim him as mine and mine alone; I wanted to wrap my arms around him and lay my head on his lap – to hell with what the others might think. But I refrained.

He smiled.

My resolve melted.

My hand crept unbidden to rest on his knee. He shifted, it was almost unnoticeable, and I realised that he was using his body to block the view from curious eyes. Our eyes met and I could see the mischief blazing behind the glasses, and I feel my face flush with the stirrings of desire.

Emboldened, I ran my hand slowly up his thigh, then back down to his knee.

Time melted into insignificance as we got lost in our own private world. My hand moved on its own accord, getting bolder each time. I gazed coyly at him and dodged playfully when he tried to feed me again. He gave a low chuckle and gripped my chin; my heart missed a beat when he leaned close and whispered suggestively, “Grapes makes you taste sweet.”

I laughed, somewhat scandalised.

A mischievous smile tugged at his lips. I felt the blood rushing to my face, I couldn’t help it – not when he looked at me that way. I averted my eyes and pretended to be absorbed by the pattern of his jumper. He laughed lightly, and I felt my blush deepened.

A loud cough shattered our idyllic exchange. I looked up and scowled. His hand closed over mine, stilling it on his knee even as he turned slowly to face the newcomer. His expression became closed, and his eyes glinted coldly.

Red hair, bad teeth. She delivered her message tersely, and left. I thought I saw a flicker of rage on her face, but I couldn’t be sure. I kept my peace as I studied his face. A chill crawled up my spine, foreshadowing the future.

He hopped off the table and held out his hand. I let myself be hauled up and made a show of straightening my clothes. He chuckled and adjusted my collar, his hands brushing lightly on my chest. I smiled, and took a step closer. I linked my fingers through his and leaned close. He turned his face, his breath moist and warm on my lips. I shivered as his free hand skimmed over my back, and rested on my waist.

I stood as if frozen, acutely aware of the dozens of eyes watching us. Slowly, deliberately he planted a kiss on my temple. My eyes slid shut, my face suffused with pleasure as his breath warmed my skin. Then I kissed him back. It was chaste, but it was clear.

He had publicly staked his claim on me. And I him.

And I know that I would never give him up.

~ FIN ~

© Zed Adams March 2003 ~ Barriers Arc

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