Dinner-Date To Breakfast (Harry/Astoria, M)
Title: Dinner-Date To Breakfast
Author/Artist:
Characters: Harry Potter, Astoria Greengrass
Prompt number: 205
Word Count: 5,780
Rating: M
Warnings: None.
Summary: When Harry is set up on a blind date he doesn’t expect the location never mind the girl with a taste for Vodka.
Disclaimer: All character, spells, magical equipment and locations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling.
Author’s Notes: I’d like to thank PD for beta’ing for me, and TWF for being an excellent alpha.
Astoria pulled at her dress. The worst mistake had been allowing her controlling sister to dress her, and then permitting her cousin, Pansy, to apply her face with make-up. She had little choice, though, having zero knowledge on the sort of thing to wear for a date. A blind one at that. Even with her short-comings, the amount of wand pointing and muttering coming from Pansy’s lips did little to reassure her she’d be as natural as possible like she’d requested.
Eventually, when she had finished being a mannequin, Astoria rose from her chair and her sister, eyes moist with pride, hurried out of the room. It could have been their annoying presence, but her nerves hadn’t appeared until the door clicked in the frame, leaving Astoria alone with her thoughts.
Her hand smoothed down the fabric of the tight dress she had been instructed to wear. The one that highlighted her frame, one she didn't recognise if she was truthful, and made her eyes seem a deeper shade of blue than she had thought they were. Her gaze in the mirror moved down her frame, one that had been covered in robes for seven years and large day-dresses when she wasn’t at the castle. What stared back at her was a woman she didn't know at all; someone she hadn't quite gotten the chance to know. She may have been someone who was intelligent far beyond her years, but she hadn't been smart enough to learn anything about herself. Maybe tonight could be that night; maybe tonight she’d learn that she was more than someone’s last choice - or only choice, as Pansy muttered when she didn’t think Astoria was listening.
Astoria Greengrass, the girl who lived in her sister's shadow; the girl who preferred potion making to dress shopping, ancient runes to gossip. She was nothing like women in her family, or the friends her parents preferred her to keep.
She sighed as her fingers bounced a brunette curl and found it didn’t move in its usual wayward way, scared within an inch of its life of moving. Her eyes noticed features she hadn't known needed emphasising, now practically bolded against her skin, screaming for someone, anyone, to notice how arched her cheekbones were. As Astoria smiled at her lashes that stood perfectly around her eyes, making them sparkle and shine, she had begun to wonder if she had always been this pretty, or was she setting up someone for a lie?
“Asti?” Her sister’s voice called out, barging through the door and irritating her immensely. She had always hated that nickname. She suspected Daphne knew that, using it to remind her that she was the oldest. “I’m going to come in, Pans has gone.”
Her hands smoothed over her waist once more, feeling the flatness of her stomach and the ridges of the dress as it passed over her bones. She heard the door creak open, and her eyes met the matching blue ones her older sister had, Daphne’s lips smiling proudly.
“You look gorgeous…beautiful in fact.”
Astoria blushed lightly, the thick layer of foundation covering any more redness she had willed to hide. “Don’t lie, Daphne.”
“I’m not!” Daphne said shrilly. “You do, I wish you could see how you looked through my eyes, little sister. I adore you, and I hope tonight is your night. You truly deserve it.”
She turned on her heels, facing Daphne and wondering where the flash of a smirk was. They were close, but they were still sisters. They bickered about nothing, fought about everything - but they hadn’t talked like this in a long time, not since the war.
“Don’t overthink this. Just… enjoy yourself.” Daphne’s hands guided her to the fireplace. “You’re going to be late. Smile, shoulders square, and be you. Always, always be you.”
Before she had a chance to respond, to tell her that she just wasn’t that interesting, Astoria found she had been shoved into the Floo in her room, near knocking her over in the heels that felt too large for her nimble ankles.
“You deserve this. Alright? Now, do not fuck this up.” Daphne’s sharp nail stabbed into her skin. “Do not get a stain on this dress. It is couture, and I think Pans will have your skin.”
Astoria pressed her hand against her ribs, taking a deep breath as she banished the thoughts that had begun to weave around her confidence and silence woes that rose with each second she waited. Even if she was plainer than sand, tonight she was as beautiful as her sister; a thought she had never been able to process before, but at least she could pretend for one night.
Harry had been sat precisely where Terry had told him to be, at the corner table at a small bistro in Buxton - a town that was so hidden it had taken Hermione three minutes to find on a map. He could hear her now, “Many hills seemed to hide it. Oh, Harry, it has a Cornish Pasty shop and, oh my gosh-”
He had stopped listening at that point. The very sound of hills and pastries made him feel nauseous; this date was in a place he had no idea about - and somehow London seemed a far better choice, even if he had been the one to take it off the table.
When he’d arrived, Harry realised he had very little to worry about. The village was quaint, and no one had stared at him upon his arrival or once he had walked down the street with his head held high, without the threat of people taking his photo or asking for autographs. The war had ended years ago, but in many people's minds, it was only yesterday.
The pub was in the corner of the place, slate walls outside and a creaking sign that swung in the gentle breeze. As soon as he stepped through the door, he was showered in character. An old-timey, place, covered in rustic ornaments and artefacts from yesteryear, small wooden tables huddled around a wooden bar with ale’s he hadn’t heard of and a barman cleaning glasses without any use of magic.
For a second he drank it in, not caring if he seemed odd or a little backwards. He was finally somewhere where he could be anyone - and the date didn’t seem all that scary because of it. Once he had spoken to the lady waiting patiently for him, he was taken through a small archway - Hagrid would have never gotten through - and seated by a warm fire that crackled welcomingly beside him.
But now, Harry had been sat here for fifteen minutes, worrying that he was about to be stood up, and wondering if he got drunk here, would it be all that scandalous. He had memorised the menu; he had been able to recall ten of the fifteen ale’s that this place was known for, and yet, he was still alone.
The time hadn’t been a complete misery, since for once he had been able to clear his mind of the waffle he carried around with him. His mind drifting freely from thought to thought easily, and without interruption. The main thought that he always came back to was all the character of the place, and how warm it felt being here, and Harry hoped it described the woman he was about to meet - he didn’t have very much to go on at all, except that she was late.
The breakup with Ginny had been a phenomenal whirlwind of photos and speculations, though none of it was even close to the truth. The reality was that they had grown apart, both becoming the people they were always meant to be, and their personalities weren't the same as what they had fallen in love with. Harry suspected that if he had met Ginny now, he would love her - but time was a fickle thing, and he couldn't forget the girl who’d written him poetry at eleven.
He knew it was time to bury the past, find a new life and create a new chapter. He couldn't be sure that the girl he was about to meet would be the person to do that with, but Harry would at least keep his options open.
The bell at the door chimed, and his heart catapulted from his chest to his throat. It beat thrice, vibrating his voice box and creating a loss of speech, breath, and movement. If the girl he was supposed to meet walked through that door, what would he even say? Would he know her? Would they have common interests? Harry felt like he was in the middle of a stormy sea, his raft not able to deal with the water coming aboard, and drowning seemed more probable as time passed. Dating again made him feel like that, and it only made him realise that he wasn't as ready as he liked to think.
“Hi…” His eyes looked up, and they widened at the sight of a woman he knew - a woman he had seen, but never spoken to. “I'm,” her hand thrusting out as though this was a business meeting. “Astoria. Astoria Greengrass, and my - well my sister and…” their hands met, and her voice trailed off as she took a breath. Her nervous nature made him feel calmer; as though seeing her struggling made it easier for him. “I'm your date for tonight. If you want me, that is?”
As he let her hand go, he stumbled to his feet colliding his hips into the table. Harry forced a mask to be thrown up, wishing to hide the pain the thick wood of the furniture had caused as he skirted around her to pull out her chair. Chivalry, in Harry’s eyes, was a thing all women deserved. He did this for Hermione, for Ginny, and even Molly Weasley.
“I'm Harry,” he said, before sighing at his own failings. Of course she would know who he was, his face was nearly as recognisable as a Chocolate Frog.
Astoria smiled as she sat, her head looking over her shoulder at him. “It's lovely to meet you, Harry.”
Her fake indifference at who he was bubbled inside of him. The excitement of being around someone for a few hours, or however long the date lasted, who didn't fawn over him and remind him of the man he once was, thrilled him. Harry couldn't remember the last time he has been allowed to be an ordinary man - even without the wand and the magic.
“My sister. Um. You may know her -”
“Daphne? She was in Slytherin, wasn’t she?” Harry asked as he sat opposite her, sliding his chair under the table and allowed his fingers to play with the edge of a napkin.
He had no idea why her sister's house came into his head, nor why he said it, but it was out there now, and he hoped he hadn’t insulted her before he had a real chance to ruin the date.
She blushed. Not deep red, or even a subtle pink, but she blushed all the same. It was barely anything, but enough for him to notice. “She's different now. Nice. Well, she was always nice to me. I'm her sister. But she's nicer to more people now. Daph says I do that to her. That I'm kind, and I rub off on her - and I'm rambling, and I'm so sorry because you must get people rambling all the time and. Well. I'm going to be quiet,” Astoria finished, her cheeks a rosier pink.
Harry felt his shoulder relax, a playful smile spread over his cheeks and any tension he had felt at meeting someone under blind pretence, faded. “You have a nice voice,” he said. “I mean. It's nice to hear and, I quite liked your rambling. It was coherent, which makes a change to the men I'm usually around.”
He had never thought of himself as funny or having any wit in him. Humour came easily to Ron, and that was always his role in their group of three; the one who would keep their spirits up, no matter what. If laughter sounded it would be because of Ron, or Hermione informing both of them how wrong they were; it was never him.
Astoria, however, laughed. It was sweet, innocent and somewhat musical, but it was also filled with honey and laced in icing that made him feel like he had just taken a bite out of a cake. Harry felt full, and light all at once. He felt like he was someone entirely different, and he had been here for all of five minutes in her company - if that.
“You're funny,” she giggled, raising her napkin to cover her mouth as her eyes narrowed in joy. “I never expected that. Not for any reason, but -”
He sighed, suddenly feeling empty. “The war?”
Her eyes flashed with what looked like an apology, her laughter lines fading into her perfect skin and her smile dropped. “No. Oh, Merlin no. Oh, I’ve buggered this up already. I was going to say because you always look… well, serious. Your face, I mean. Like this.”
Astoria scrunched her face up, her eyebrows knitting together and her eyes sparkling like a pool of diamonds, and he should have been a little offended at her poor impression. He wasn’t. He was baffled, enticed even, that this woman before him was pulling this ridiculous face, and so he laughed. The weight of the world, the worry of a bad date and another front-page newspaper about his love life, it all faded from his shoulders. His laughter growing , deeper, his body shaking as hers began to weave into his; joy dancing around the two of them, separating them from the walls and casting the rest of the people in shadow.
Harry wanted to add something, anything. He was desperate to hear her laugh again, for another slice of the happiness he hadn’t realised he was missing. The waiter, for the evening, had other ideas, and he stood over them, casting them in a shadow that reminded Harry of Snape standing over him in potions. He swallowed thickly, and met brown eyes instead of black, a comfort of sorts, but his hair remained stood on end on the back of his neck.
Astoria looked to him, and Harry realised with doom that he had been warned about customs in the wizarding world. His eyes began to scan the open menu in front of him, hoping any drink would jump out, and he could speak it - but all his mind thought of was water; his throat craving something that would battle his dryness.
“Do you like Vodka?
Harry looked up; his lips parted in shock as he stared at the innocent face of one Astoria Greengrass. “Um… sure?”
“Two Vodka’s and…” her head tilted to the side, looking to pull the answer from him. “Cranberry for me, Coke for him.”
The waiter bowed, hurrying off from them as Astoria looked at the rest of her menu. Harry was, in all the ways, blindsided; the woman had ordered for him, without games or question.
“I'm sorry,” she muttered, and Harry still was unable to swallow. “I know this place. It's nice, quaint, peaceful. Which is up my street, so thank you to whoever picked it.” He noticed a twinkle in her eye as she turned the page, leaving a pause to let her words sink in. “I know the part my sister appeared on, and her friends,” Astoria said with a sigh, “but I'm not a hateful person. Just so you know. Places like this -”
“Muggle?” Harry managed to choke out, and he watched her flinch as though his tone was full of accusation - when in fact he meant the opposite. He had seen Astoria countless times, especially on the arm of Draco Malfoy, but she looked nothing like the company she kept.
Astoria, however, just sighed. “Quaint. Country-esque. Muggles are less aware of my difference than wizards. I was a Ravenclaw you know,” she whispered and he watched her smile at his confusion because of course he knew, he remembered the blue and bronze on her, even if it was briefly. “I like places like this. I have always, liked places like this. For you, I assume that all of this, it's more comfortable because no one knows your face - or the scars you bear.”
He looked down as he attempted to hide his bemused smile. However this evening had come to be, and however much protesting he had done before turning up, Harry felt somewhat lucky that he had an evening before him with Astoria. She was delicate, her skin paler than he usually remembered, but she was intelligent and witty - something that seemed to melt from others in his company.
“I should state, just because my house is known for its intelligence and possible seriousness, even a Ravenclaw likes to let their hair down.” Her lips spreading into a smile as her eyes glinted.
After he had been dating Ginny for five years, no ring, and their dreams wilting away at the side of their fraying relationship, Harry had written of love. He had suspected he wasn't meant to love or that he hadn't been doing it right, especially with the state of his current love life. Assuming, incorrectly, of course, he had was riddled with darkness from the losses that eventually drove everyone away from him. What he realised, as he sat here with twinkling blue eyes on him, was that since the time of death of his and Ginny’s relationship, they had become closer than ever before. Harry who begun to smile instead of a frown, that it was due to them needing to be friends, and not lovers - or anything more.
“Sickle for your thoughts?” Astoria asked, a playful smile over her lips.
Harry bit the skin on his lip before resting his elbows on the table, his fingers felt the wood before him - felt the richness and the age of it. “I was thinking how -”
“Ya’ll ready to order?” the waiter said, coming out of nowhere and nearly causing Harry to fall from his chair.
The bravado he had managed to find from deep within, slid back to the depths and as he listened to Astoria order her meal - in her sweet and kind voice - all he could do was reiterate in his head what he was about to say. You’re way too pretty to be sat here with me. Her eyes connected with him, surging energy into his dull spirit and lit him like a firework in Autumn. The corners of her lips curled, and he watched in slow motion as her mouth parted and Harry assumed words began to fall out.
Could you fall in love with someone, that you don’t even know? Can you even fall head over heels for a girl like her?
Astoria’s hand found his, and all the sound suddenly came back to Harry - even though he hadn’t noticed that it had silenced, and the music that once hummed as background noise became clearer for him to hear the lyrics too.
“You ready to order?” She asked, her dimples deepening as she grinned, and Harry suspected that the girl knew he had zoned out.
Astoria stared at him. She had stared at him before: when he played Quidditch at school, when he stood in the Great Hall with a price tag on his head, when the battle had been won, and he had chosen to sit in the grass near the courtyard. His eyes were greener now, his hair looking silkier than her mother’s scarf, a far cry away from the man in the rubble of the castle she remembered from the end of her fifth year.
Her sister had been her only focus and while she had blindly ran around the castle, after spending most of the battle holed up in a classroom, she had found only burnt Slytherin ties, her heart sinking with fear that Daphne had gone. For the moments it had taken her sister to find her, Astoria had clutched her blue and bronze tie, and been thankful that no one had known her surname - otherwise the safety the other housemates had provided, might not have been welcome to her.
It made her wonder, blind date or not, what on earth she had done to deserve such a privilege. How Harry Potter, the most selfless man, sat before her looking as charming and smart as ever. She was a second-year Potion Apprentice; she had never done anything heroic. Not once.
The waiter hurried away, leaving the two of them to blush under the other ones stare. She wanted to say so many things. A need to impress or be witty, because she sure as hell didn’t have the same beauty as Ginny Weasley, or her own beloved sister.
“You’re stunning,” he blurted out, and all the air in her lungs seemed to vanish - and she had to wonder if it was ever there.
Her mouth had gone dry, her words had become lost, and all of the room seemed to zoom out of view - leaving just them two, on a blind date that felt like destiny. Astoria could feel her neck getting warmer from embarrassment, and her heart had began to race, increased to an incredible speed she hadn't known before.
“You’re very kind,” Astoria managed to say.
Harry placed his forearm on the table, moving closer and she was sure she caught a whiff of his aftershave, and her knees fell apart. “So, what have you been doing with yourself, Astoria?”
She licked her dry lips, hoping it gave her an extra second to whirl her brain into gear. It did. Her eyes fell on her napkin, her fingers folding and unfolding it as she tried to block out the nerves building at him watching her. “I’ve been studying Potion etiquette in Diagon Alley. I’ve always loved creating and experimenting. Keeps me out of the way of others too.” Her eyes shot up, realising her slip-up. “I’m -”
“He was a bit of a dick.”
Astoria slowly smiled, folding the napkin for finality. “The papers, as I’m sure is the case with you, lied. He was a good man, is a good man. We are a bit like Angel’s Trumpet and Baneberry, utterly pointless together yet poisonous. He’ll find happiness with someone else, and I much prefer being here with you.”
“Ummm,” he smiled, beginning to blush profusely, “I seem to have forgotten how to word.”
She shrugged as she winked. “Vodka is here anyways. Plus, I think you need a drink before you tell me what you’ve been up too.”
Astoria tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach at the way he smiled at her. It was genuine, pure and stunning, and she just hoped; he enjoyed being with her tonight as she did with him.
Harry became even more enthralled with Astoria throughout dinner. Her morals, heart and soul, were filling the air and combining with the vodka to make him merry. There was something comfortable about the witch, something he would never have noticed if he hadn’t of listened to Terry.
The two of them spent several seconds arguing about the bill, which they in turn split between them. He helped her put her coat on, feeling the softness of her arm, just for a brief second. It was enough to fill him with adrenaline and butterflies.
He remembered the first time he had gone to kiss Cho, and his stomach flooded with wings and excitement; then the time he had held Ginny in the common room when they first kissed, the way his nerves lit up at her touch. He had all of that, combined and ten times louder, just from a brief brush of his thumb against her skin.
“I’ll walk you home.”
Harry cursed himself stupid for half an hour for that comment. They were wizards, they didn’t need to walk anywhere, and yet, here they were, shoulder to shoulder down the village streets. If she minded, Astoria didn't show it. At first, there had been distance between them, until she grabbed him by the jacket and Apparated them into the cool London air, their bodies so close, eyes tracing the other.
“We were going to miss the spot,” she smirked, flattening his jacket and moving beside him, thick, tense air flowing between them.
For a second neither walked, both waiting for the other, and then he following his instinct as he wrapped his arm around her. She grinned, her face flushed pink from the evening and laughter. Just like the restaurant, they warmed to one another, and Harry felt her head brush against his.
It was second nature to place his fingers in hers, but he hadn't expected to feel the goosebumps along her skin. The wizard within him wanted to brandish his wand, to place a warming charm over the two of them; the man, the one that had been dominant in the entire evening, removed his jacket as he pulled her to the side of the pavement.
Her eyes were like something out of artwork, unreal and glimmering like calm water; Harry was sure he saw something explode in them when his fingers grazed her cold skin, allowing the silk of his inner jacket stroke her skin.
“Thank you,” she whispered delicately, almost nervously.
Harry smiled, a blush appearing on his cheeks that he thanked the night sky for providing. He hesitated, over thinking on whether or not to place his hand on her again, when suddenly, her fingers took his and wrapped his arm back around her.
She talked a little before she silenced herself, not knowing how much he was enjoying the sound of her voice. He smiled like he had done when he first saw Hogwarts; he laughed comfortably, almost unreserved - he couldn't recall the last time he had done that.
Astoria had a London penthouse, something Harry couldn't help but mock her over. All evening, she had played down her richness; whenever it cropped up, she would always panic that she sounded like a brat, he could tell from her wide eyes and panicked stare. It wasn't a long walk to her home, but he could have done another lap of it if it had meant talking to her. Harry desperately wanted to ask where she had been all his life. Where her smile had been, and where her wit had been hiding, needing more hours of her around.
“What?” She smirked playfully, her fingers clutching the lapel of his jacket as she widened her eyes innocently. “What is burning inside of you, Mr Potter?”
Fucking hell. She wasn't the first, although he secretly hoped she'd be the last, to use his name in that way. He had her permission to ask, but still, he felt hesitant. Harry truthfully didn't want to bugger this up; he didn't need another public fallout that spread over pages of newspapers and magazines.
“This is my place,” Astoria said, her head cocking up at the white building behind her as she moved to stand opposite him. The black railings in contrast to the place, and the lit up windows showing occupants who had settled in front of the television for the night. “I… I had a really nice evening. Truthfully. It's very nice to know the man, not the boy.”
Harry nodded, his hands darting into the pockets of his trousers, fondling his wallet, wand and keys. He wondered if she had keys, or if magic was all she used. “Me too…”
He heard a clinking of keys, and watched her pull out a set from her bag. “Yes, the rich girl has keys. I'm not all magic and no normal,” her cheeks glowing as she smiled. “I like keys. They feel…”
“Safe?” Harry offered, and he watched her nod.
A silence fell between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It gave him a chance to look at her for who she was, a woman that smiled and gleamed at him, but not for who he had been or the world expected him to be. She may never get on a broom or thrash him in a Muggle PlayStation game he had only just got. But, Astoria was smart, witty and pretty. She was a woman he liked, and that, after everything, was all he truthfully wanted.
She shimmied her shoulders out of his jacket, handing it back to him as he swept his eyes over her; admiring the slight curve of her hip and the V of her dress.
“Do you want to walk me to my door?” She offered, and Harry thanked the heavens she didn't want to say goodbye just yet either.
He followed her up the stairs. Her hands slightly trembling as she placed the key in the lock. Harry placed his hands on her sides, needing to touch her, but also to steady her. The heat of her body against his palm, the knowledge that he was a layer away from touching her skin made a twitch occur in his trousers.
Astoria looked over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his as the sound of the lock clicked. Her eyes screamed thanks, but the roll of her lips told him she never wanted him to let go. Her hand pressed against his, taking his fingers as she led him through the door to the flats.
“Ground,” she said, and the word caused him to frown. “I live here, ground floor. Bottom of the deck.” She laughed, but it was awkward - nervous.
Harry saw a glint of insecurity, and he wanted to banish it. He didn't know enough of her to know the reference exactly, but he knew the feeling of being second best - of being pushed to the side.
“You are not the bottom of the pile, Astoria.”
Astoria smiled. Innocent. Playful. Fuck, he didn't know anymore. All Harry did know was how intoxicating she was, how free and unreserved she was compared to others of her background. Her fingers played with the chain on her bag, her eyelashes battering her cheeks, and he wasn't sure how he only noticed their length, now, with the lighting dim and his focus erratic.
Harry wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do far more than kiss her, but he ignored those urges - or attempted too. He felt young with her; Harry felt like the weight of the world had never rested on his shoulder. There didn't feel an element of Chosen-ness with her. He was Harry; she was Astoria.
Two people. A man and a woman.
She rolled the tip of her tongue over her lips, and her head tilted to the side as his mind screamed, fuck it.
He was a step away from her, and he closed it without a second needing to pass. His lips pressed to hers, not innocently - not like he had ever kissed anyone for the first time. He kissed her passionately, not teasingly, but hot and desperate. Tingles and lust swirling around him, a desire and want growing within him that had been dormant for so long.
The softness of her gasp from his touch, her fingernails scratching his hairline as her wrists placed themselves on his neck. Harry, losing himself in the inferno of passion, stumbled her into the door of her London penthouse, her moan vibrating his lips.
His hands spread up her back, clutching at the lace of her dress and the softness of her skin. His mouth danced over hers, the two of them sharing a gasp before Astoria pushed off the door to melt into his arms, allowing him to pull her flush against him. His hand ran up her back, up past her neck until he had her tresses between his fingers. Her lips parted, and the two moaned at the feel of their tongues meeting, and her back arched against him.
Harry’s mind had turned to liquid, but his body knew exactly what it wanted. Breaking the kiss, her eyes opening and dazzling him in diamonds that hadn't even been found. He urged himself to speak, to say slow down, I like you. Instead, he grunted, and she laughed at the not-so-innocent voice.
“I like you,” they both said in unison. The two of them blushing like teenagers as they met one another's gaze.
Astoria placed her hand on his chest. “I know it all seems fast, but, I don’t think I’ve had an evening like this… ever. I'm also not one for… displays in hallways, but I just… I don't know I feel like I'm -”
“Different with you,” Harry finished, and he took the smile growing on her face to say she felt the same. His fingers brushed a strand of her hair from her face. “I could talk to you for hours.”
She bit down on her lip, and he was sure she had never had any words spoken to her like that - not from the sprinkle of tears in her eyes.
“I'd like you to come in… if you'd like,” Astoria said.
Harry swept his finger against his bottom lip, staring into her lustful eyes and the smile that grew behind his hand. “Only if you promise to make me breakfast.”
It was the most confident he had ever been, not sure whether to blame the vodka or her. Not that he’d blame either. He’d thank either; finding the alcohol section in his local Muggle supermarket and praying to the clear liquid for getting the girl.
Astoria rose onto her tiptoes, her lips pressing ever so softly to his, and driving him crazy all over again. “Some rumours are true.” He arched his brow as she turned her back to him, unlocking her door before looking over her shoulder. “You won’t be up for breakfast.”
Fuck. Me. Is all Harry thought as he watched her door opened, his heart resuming its beating after the pause it had needed to take from her words. Something took over him, something foreign and dominant, lifting her from the ground as he wrapped his arms around her back, kissing her with all he had - she had stolen him.
Author/Artist:
Characters: Harry Potter, Astoria Greengrass
Prompt number: 205
Word Count: 5,780
Rating: M
Warnings: None.
Summary: When Harry is set up on a blind date he doesn’t expect the location never mind the girl with a taste for Vodka.
Disclaimer: All character, spells, magical equipment and locations from the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling.
Author’s Notes: I’d like to thank PD for beta’ing for me, and TWF for being an excellent alpha.
Astoria pulled at her dress. The worst mistake had been allowing her controlling sister to dress her, and then permitting her cousin, Pansy, to apply her face with make-up. She had little choice, though, having zero knowledge on the sort of thing to wear for a date. A blind one at that. Even with her short-comings, the amount of wand pointing and muttering coming from Pansy’s lips did little to reassure her she’d be as natural as possible like she’d requested.
Eventually, when she had finished being a mannequin, Astoria rose from her chair and her sister, eyes moist with pride, hurried out of the room. It could have been their annoying presence, but her nerves hadn’t appeared until the door clicked in the frame, leaving Astoria alone with her thoughts.
Her hand smoothed down the fabric of the tight dress she had been instructed to wear. The one that highlighted her frame, one she didn't recognise if she was truthful, and made her eyes seem a deeper shade of blue than she had thought they were. Her gaze in the mirror moved down her frame, one that had been covered in robes for seven years and large day-dresses when she wasn’t at the castle. What stared back at her was a woman she didn't know at all; someone she hadn't quite gotten the chance to know. She may have been someone who was intelligent far beyond her years, but she hadn't been smart enough to learn anything about herself. Maybe tonight could be that night; maybe tonight she’d learn that she was more than someone’s last choice - or only choice, as Pansy muttered when she didn’t think Astoria was listening.
Astoria Greengrass, the girl who lived in her sister's shadow; the girl who preferred potion making to dress shopping, ancient runes to gossip. She was nothing like women in her family, or the friends her parents preferred her to keep.
She sighed as her fingers bounced a brunette curl and found it didn’t move in its usual wayward way, scared within an inch of its life of moving. Her eyes noticed features she hadn't known needed emphasising, now practically bolded against her skin, screaming for someone, anyone, to notice how arched her cheekbones were. As Astoria smiled at her lashes that stood perfectly around her eyes, making them sparkle and shine, she had begun to wonder if she had always been this pretty, or was she setting up someone for a lie?
“Asti?” Her sister’s voice called out, barging through the door and irritating her immensely. She had always hated that nickname. She suspected Daphne knew that, using it to remind her that she was the oldest. “I’m going to come in, Pans has gone.”
Her hands smoothed over her waist once more, feeling the flatness of her stomach and the ridges of the dress as it passed over her bones. She heard the door creak open, and her eyes met the matching blue ones her older sister had, Daphne’s lips smiling proudly.
“You look gorgeous…beautiful in fact.”
Astoria blushed lightly, the thick layer of foundation covering any more redness she had willed to hide. “Don’t lie, Daphne.”
“I’m not!” Daphne said shrilly. “You do, I wish you could see how you looked through my eyes, little sister. I adore you, and I hope tonight is your night. You truly deserve it.”
She turned on her heels, facing Daphne and wondering where the flash of a smirk was. They were close, but they were still sisters. They bickered about nothing, fought about everything - but they hadn’t talked like this in a long time, not since the war.
“Don’t overthink this. Just… enjoy yourself.” Daphne’s hands guided her to the fireplace. “You’re going to be late. Smile, shoulders square, and be you. Always, always be you.”
Before she had a chance to respond, to tell her that she just wasn’t that interesting, Astoria found she had been shoved into the Floo in her room, near knocking her over in the heels that felt too large for her nimble ankles.
“You deserve this. Alright? Now, do not fuck this up.” Daphne’s sharp nail stabbed into her skin. “Do not get a stain on this dress. It is couture, and I think Pans will have your skin.”
Astoria pressed her hand against her ribs, taking a deep breath as she banished the thoughts that had begun to weave around her confidence and silence woes that rose with each second she waited. Even if she was plainer than sand, tonight she was as beautiful as her sister; a thought she had never been able to process before, but at least she could pretend for one night.
Harry had been sat precisely where Terry had told him to be, at the corner table at a small bistro in Buxton - a town that was so hidden it had taken Hermione three minutes to find on a map. He could hear her now, “Many hills seemed to hide it. Oh, Harry, it has a Cornish Pasty shop and, oh my gosh-”
He had stopped listening at that point. The very sound of hills and pastries made him feel nauseous; this date was in a place he had no idea about - and somehow London seemed a far better choice, even if he had been the one to take it off the table.
When he’d arrived, Harry realised he had very little to worry about. The village was quaint, and no one had stared at him upon his arrival or once he had walked down the street with his head held high, without the threat of people taking his photo or asking for autographs. The war had ended years ago, but in many people's minds, it was only yesterday.
The pub was in the corner of the place, slate walls outside and a creaking sign that swung in the gentle breeze. As soon as he stepped through the door, he was showered in character. An old-timey, place, covered in rustic ornaments and artefacts from yesteryear, small wooden tables huddled around a wooden bar with ale’s he hadn’t heard of and a barman cleaning glasses without any use of magic.
For a second he drank it in, not caring if he seemed odd or a little backwards. He was finally somewhere where he could be anyone - and the date didn’t seem all that scary because of it. Once he had spoken to the lady waiting patiently for him, he was taken through a small archway - Hagrid would have never gotten through - and seated by a warm fire that crackled welcomingly beside him.
But now, Harry had been sat here for fifteen minutes, worrying that he was about to be stood up, and wondering if he got drunk here, would it be all that scandalous. He had memorised the menu; he had been able to recall ten of the fifteen ale’s that this place was known for, and yet, he was still alone.
The time hadn’t been a complete misery, since for once he had been able to clear his mind of the waffle he carried around with him. His mind drifting freely from thought to thought easily, and without interruption. The main thought that he always came back to was all the character of the place, and how warm it felt being here, and Harry hoped it described the woman he was about to meet - he didn’t have very much to go on at all, except that she was late.
The breakup with Ginny had been a phenomenal whirlwind of photos and speculations, though none of it was even close to the truth. The reality was that they had grown apart, both becoming the people they were always meant to be, and their personalities weren't the same as what they had fallen in love with. Harry suspected that if he had met Ginny now, he would love her - but time was a fickle thing, and he couldn't forget the girl who’d written him poetry at eleven.
He knew it was time to bury the past, find a new life and create a new chapter. He couldn't be sure that the girl he was about to meet would be the person to do that with, but Harry would at least keep his options open.
The bell at the door chimed, and his heart catapulted from his chest to his throat. It beat thrice, vibrating his voice box and creating a loss of speech, breath, and movement. If the girl he was supposed to meet walked through that door, what would he even say? Would he know her? Would they have common interests? Harry felt like he was in the middle of a stormy sea, his raft not able to deal with the water coming aboard, and drowning seemed more probable as time passed. Dating again made him feel like that, and it only made him realise that he wasn't as ready as he liked to think.
“Hi…” His eyes looked up, and they widened at the sight of a woman he knew - a woman he had seen, but never spoken to. “I'm,” her hand thrusting out as though this was a business meeting. “Astoria. Astoria Greengrass, and my - well my sister and…” their hands met, and her voice trailed off as she took a breath. Her nervous nature made him feel calmer; as though seeing her struggling made it easier for him. “I'm your date for tonight. If you want me, that is?”
As he let her hand go, he stumbled to his feet colliding his hips into the table. Harry forced a mask to be thrown up, wishing to hide the pain the thick wood of the furniture had caused as he skirted around her to pull out her chair. Chivalry, in Harry’s eyes, was a thing all women deserved. He did this for Hermione, for Ginny, and even Molly Weasley.
“I'm Harry,” he said, before sighing at his own failings. Of course she would know who he was, his face was nearly as recognisable as a Chocolate Frog.
Astoria smiled as she sat, her head looking over her shoulder at him. “It's lovely to meet you, Harry.”
Her fake indifference at who he was bubbled inside of him. The excitement of being around someone for a few hours, or however long the date lasted, who didn't fawn over him and remind him of the man he once was, thrilled him. Harry couldn't remember the last time he has been allowed to be an ordinary man - even without the wand and the magic.
“My sister. Um. You may know her -”
“Daphne? She was in Slytherin, wasn’t she?” Harry asked as he sat opposite her, sliding his chair under the table and allowed his fingers to play with the edge of a napkin.
He had no idea why her sister's house came into his head, nor why he said it, but it was out there now, and he hoped he hadn’t insulted her before he had a real chance to ruin the date.
She blushed. Not deep red, or even a subtle pink, but she blushed all the same. It was barely anything, but enough for him to notice. “She's different now. Nice. Well, she was always nice to me. I'm her sister. But she's nicer to more people now. Daph says I do that to her. That I'm kind, and I rub off on her - and I'm rambling, and I'm so sorry because you must get people rambling all the time and. Well. I'm going to be quiet,” Astoria finished, her cheeks a rosier pink.
Harry felt his shoulder relax, a playful smile spread over his cheeks and any tension he had felt at meeting someone under blind pretence, faded. “You have a nice voice,” he said. “I mean. It's nice to hear and, I quite liked your rambling. It was coherent, which makes a change to the men I'm usually around.”
He had never thought of himself as funny or having any wit in him. Humour came easily to Ron, and that was always his role in their group of three; the one who would keep their spirits up, no matter what. If laughter sounded it would be because of Ron, or Hermione informing both of them how wrong they were; it was never him.
Astoria, however, laughed. It was sweet, innocent and somewhat musical, but it was also filled with honey and laced in icing that made him feel like he had just taken a bite out of a cake. Harry felt full, and light all at once. He felt like he was someone entirely different, and he had been here for all of five minutes in her company - if that.
“You're funny,” she giggled, raising her napkin to cover her mouth as her eyes narrowed in joy. “I never expected that. Not for any reason, but -”
He sighed, suddenly feeling empty. “The war?”
Her eyes flashed with what looked like an apology, her laughter lines fading into her perfect skin and her smile dropped. “No. Oh, Merlin no. Oh, I’ve buggered this up already. I was going to say because you always look… well, serious. Your face, I mean. Like this.”
Astoria scrunched her face up, her eyebrows knitting together and her eyes sparkling like a pool of diamonds, and he should have been a little offended at her poor impression. He wasn’t. He was baffled, enticed even, that this woman before him was pulling this ridiculous face, and so he laughed. The weight of the world, the worry of a bad date and another front-page newspaper about his love life, it all faded from his shoulders. His laughter growing , deeper, his body shaking as hers began to weave into his; joy dancing around the two of them, separating them from the walls and casting the rest of the people in shadow.
Harry wanted to add something, anything. He was desperate to hear her laugh again, for another slice of the happiness he hadn’t realised he was missing. The waiter, for the evening, had other ideas, and he stood over them, casting them in a shadow that reminded Harry of Snape standing over him in potions. He swallowed thickly, and met brown eyes instead of black, a comfort of sorts, but his hair remained stood on end on the back of his neck.
Astoria looked to him, and Harry realised with doom that he had been warned about customs in the wizarding world. His eyes began to scan the open menu in front of him, hoping any drink would jump out, and he could speak it - but all his mind thought of was water; his throat craving something that would battle his dryness.
“Do you like Vodka?
Harry looked up; his lips parted in shock as he stared at the innocent face of one Astoria Greengrass. “Um… sure?”
“Two Vodka’s and…” her head tilted to the side, looking to pull the answer from him. “Cranberry for me, Coke for him.”
The waiter bowed, hurrying off from them as Astoria looked at the rest of her menu. Harry was, in all the ways, blindsided; the woman had ordered for him, without games or question.
“I'm sorry,” she muttered, and Harry still was unable to swallow. “I know this place. It's nice, quaint, peaceful. Which is up my street, so thank you to whoever picked it.” He noticed a twinkle in her eye as she turned the page, leaving a pause to let her words sink in. “I know the part my sister appeared on, and her friends,” Astoria said with a sigh, “but I'm not a hateful person. Just so you know. Places like this -”
“Muggle?” Harry managed to choke out, and he watched her flinch as though his tone was full of accusation - when in fact he meant the opposite. He had seen Astoria countless times, especially on the arm of Draco Malfoy, but she looked nothing like the company she kept.
Astoria, however, just sighed. “Quaint. Country-esque. Muggles are less aware of my difference than wizards. I was a Ravenclaw you know,” she whispered and he watched her smile at his confusion because of course he knew, he remembered the blue and bronze on her, even if it was briefly. “I like places like this. I have always, liked places like this. For you, I assume that all of this, it's more comfortable because no one knows your face - or the scars you bear.”
He looked down as he attempted to hide his bemused smile. However this evening had come to be, and however much protesting he had done before turning up, Harry felt somewhat lucky that he had an evening before him with Astoria. She was delicate, her skin paler than he usually remembered, but she was intelligent and witty - something that seemed to melt from others in his company.
“I should state, just because my house is known for its intelligence and possible seriousness, even a Ravenclaw likes to let their hair down.” Her lips spreading into a smile as her eyes glinted.
After he had been dating Ginny for five years, no ring, and their dreams wilting away at the side of their fraying relationship, Harry had written of love. He had suspected he wasn't meant to love or that he hadn't been doing it right, especially with the state of his current love life. Assuming, incorrectly, of course, he had was riddled with darkness from the losses that eventually drove everyone away from him. What he realised, as he sat here with twinkling blue eyes on him, was that since the time of death of his and Ginny’s relationship, they had become closer than ever before. Harry who begun to smile instead of a frown, that it was due to them needing to be friends, and not lovers - or anything more.
“Sickle for your thoughts?” Astoria asked, a playful smile over her lips.
Harry bit the skin on his lip before resting his elbows on the table, his fingers felt the wood before him - felt the richness and the age of it. “I was thinking how -”
“Ya’ll ready to order?” the waiter said, coming out of nowhere and nearly causing Harry to fall from his chair.
The bravado he had managed to find from deep within, slid back to the depths and as he listened to Astoria order her meal - in her sweet and kind voice - all he could do was reiterate in his head what he was about to say. You’re way too pretty to be sat here with me. Her eyes connected with him, surging energy into his dull spirit and lit him like a firework in Autumn. The corners of her lips curled, and he watched in slow motion as her mouth parted and Harry assumed words began to fall out.
Could you fall in love with someone, that you don’t even know? Can you even fall head over heels for a girl like her?
Astoria’s hand found his, and all the sound suddenly came back to Harry - even though he hadn’t noticed that it had silenced, and the music that once hummed as background noise became clearer for him to hear the lyrics too.
“You ready to order?” She asked, her dimples deepening as she grinned, and Harry suspected that the girl knew he had zoned out.
Astoria stared at him. She had stared at him before: when he played Quidditch at school, when he stood in the Great Hall with a price tag on his head, when the battle had been won, and he had chosen to sit in the grass near the courtyard. His eyes were greener now, his hair looking silkier than her mother’s scarf, a far cry away from the man in the rubble of the castle she remembered from the end of her fifth year.
Her sister had been her only focus and while she had blindly ran around the castle, after spending most of the battle holed up in a classroom, she had found only burnt Slytherin ties, her heart sinking with fear that Daphne had gone. For the moments it had taken her sister to find her, Astoria had clutched her blue and bronze tie, and been thankful that no one had known her surname - otherwise the safety the other housemates had provided, might not have been welcome to her.
It made her wonder, blind date or not, what on earth she had done to deserve such a privilege. How Harry Potter, the most selfless man, sat before her looking as charming and smart as ever. She was a second-year Potion Apprentice; she had never done anything heroic. Not once.
The waiter hurried away, leaving the two of them to blush under the other ones stare. She wanted to say so many things. A need to impress or be witty, because she sure as hell didn’t have the same beauty as Ginny Weasley, or her own beloved sister.
“You’re stunning,” he blurted out, and all the air in her lungs seemed to vanish - and she had to wonder if it was ever there.
Her mouth had gone dry, her words had become lost, and all of the room seemed to zoom out of view - leaving just them two, on a blind date that felt like destiny. Astoria could feel her neck getting warmer from embarrassment, and her heart had began to race, increased to an incredible speed she hadn't known before.
“You’re very kind,” Astoria managed to say.
Harry placed his forearm on the table, moving closer and she was sure she caught a whiff of his aftershave, and her knees fell apart. “So, what have you been doing with yourself, Astoria?”
She licked her dry lips, hoping it gave her an extra second to whirl her brain into gear. It did. Her eyes fell on her napkin, her fingers folding and unfolding it as she tried to block out the nerves building at him watching her. “I’ve been studying Potion etiquette in Diagon Alley. I’ve always loved creating and experimenting. Keeps me out of the way of others too.” Her eyes shot up, realising her slip-up. “I’m -”
“He was a bit of a dick.”
Astoria slowly smiled, folding the napkin for finality. “The papers, as I’m sure is the case with you, lied. He was a good man, is a good man. We are a bit like Angel’s Trumpet and Baneberry, utterly pointless together yet poisonous. He’ll find happiness with someone else, and I much prefer being here with you.”
“Ummm,” he smiled, beginning to blush profusely, “I seem to have forgotten how to word.”
She shrugged as she winked. “Vodka is here anyways. Plus, I think you need a drink before you tell me what you’ve been up too.”
Astoria tried to ignore the flutter in her stomach at the way he smiled at her. It was genuine, pure and stunning, and she just hoped; he enjoyed being with her tonight as she did with him.
Harry became even more enthralled with Astoria throughout dinner. Her morals, heart and soul, were filling the air and combining with the vodka to make him merry. There was something comfortable about the witch, something he would never have noticed if he hadn’t of listened to Terry.
The two of them spent several seconds arguing about the bill, which they in turn split between them. He helped her put her coat on, feeling the softness of her arm, just for a brief second. It was enough to fill him with adrenaline and butterflies.
He remembered the first time he had gone to kiss Cho, and his stomach flooded with wings and excitement; then the time he had held Ginny in the common room when they first kissed, the way his nerves lit up at her touch. He had all of that, combined and ten times louder, just from a brief brush of his thumb against her skin.
“I’ll walk you home.”
Harry cursed himself stupid for half an hour for that comment. They were wizards, they didn’t need to walk anywhere, and yet, here they were, shoulder to shoulder down the village streets. If she minded, Astoria didn't show it. At first, there had been distance between them, until she grabbed him by the jacket and Apparated them into the cool London air, their bodies so close, eyes tracing the other.
“We were going to miss the spot,” she smirked, flattening his jacket and moving beside him, thick, tense air flowing between them.
For a second neither walked, both waiting for the other, and then he following his instinct as he wrapped his arm around her. She grinned, her face flushed pink from the evening and laughter. Just like the restaurant, they warmed to one another, and Harry felt her head brush against his.
It was second nature to place his fingers in hers, but he hadn't expected to feel the goosebumps along her skin. The wizard within him wanted to brandish his wand, to place a warming charm over the two of them; the man, the one that had been dominant in the entire evening, removed his jacket as he pulled her to the side of the pavement.
Her eyes were like something out of artwork, unreal and glimmering like calm water; Harry was sure he saw something explode in them when his fingers grazed her cold skin, allowing the silk of his inner jacket stroke her skin.
“Thank you,” she whispered delicately, almost nervously.
Harry smiled, a blush appearing on his cheeks that he thanked the night sky for providing. He hesitated, over thinking on whether or not to place his hand on her again, when suddenly, her fingers took his and wrapped his arm back around her.
She talked a little before she silenced herself, not knowing how much he was enjoying the sound of her voice. He smiled like he had done when he first saw Hogwarts; he laughed comfortably, almost unreserved - he couldn't recall the last time he had done that.
Astoria had a London penthouse, something Harry couldn't help but mock her over. All evening, she had played down her richness; whenever it cropped up, she would always panic that she sounded like a brat, he could tell from her wide eyes and panicked stare. It wasn't a long walk to her home, but he could have done another lap of it if it had meant talking to her. Harry desperately wanted to ask where she had been all his life. Where her smile had been, and where her wit had been hiding, needing more hours of her around.
“What?” She smirked playfully, her fingers clutching the lapel of his jacket as she widened her eyes innocently. “What is burning inside of you, Mr Potter?”
Fucking hell. She wasn't the first, although he secretly hoped she'd be the last, to use his name in that way. He had her permission to ask, but still, he felt hesitant. Harry truthfully didn't want to bugger this up; he didn't need another public fallout that spread over pages of newspapers and magazines.
“This is my place,” Astoria said, her head cocking up at the white building behind her as she moved to stand opposite him. The black railings in contrast to the place, and the lit up windows showing occupants who had settled in front of the television for the night. “I… I had a really nice evening. Truthfully. It's very nice to know the man, not the boy.”
Harry nodded, his hands darting into the pockets of his trousers, fondling his wallet, wand and keys. He wondered if she had keys, or if magic was all she used. “Me too…”
He heard a clinking of keys, and watched her pull out a set from her bag. “Yes, the rich girl has keys. I'm not all magic and no normal,” her cheeks glowing as she smiled. “I like keys. They feel…”
“Safe?” Harry offered, and he watched her nod.
A silence fell between them, but it wasn't uncomfortable. It gave him a chance to look at her for who she was, a woman that smiled and gleamed at him, but not for who he had been or the world expected him to be. She may never get on a broom or thrash him in a Muggle PlayStation game he had only just got. But, Astoria was smart, witty and pretty. She was a woman he liked, and that, after everything, was all he truthfully wanted.
She shimmied her shoulders out of his jacket, handing it back to him as he swept his eyes over her; admiring the slight curve of her hip and the V of her dress.
“Do you want to walk me to my door?” She offered, and Harry thanked the heavens she didn't want to say goodbye just yet either.
He followed her up the stairs. Her hands slightly trembling as she placed the key in the lock. Harry placed his hands on her sides, needing to touch her, but also to steady her. The heat of her body against his palm, the knowledge that he was a layer away from touching her skin made a twitch occur in his trousers.
Astoria looked over her shoulder, her eyes meeting his as the sound of the lock clicked. Her eyes screamed thanks, but the roll of her lips told him she never wanted him to let go. Her hand pressed against his, taking his fingers as she led him through the door to the flats.
“Ground,” she said, and the word caused him to frown. “I live here, ground floor. Bottom of the deck.” She laughed, but it was awkward - nervous.
Harry saw a glint of insecurity, and he wanted to banish it. He didn't know enough of her to know the reference exactly, but he knew the feeling of being second best - of being pushed to the side.
“You are not the bottom of the pile, Astoria.”
Astoria smiled. Innocent. Playful. Fuck, he didn't know anymore. All Harry did know was how intoxicating she was, how free and unreserved she was compared to others of her background. Her fingers played with the chain on her bag, her eyelashes battering her cheeks, and he wasn't sure how he only noticed their length, now, with the lighting dim and his focus erratic.
Harry wanted to kiss her. He wanted to do far more than kiss her, but he ignored those urges - or attempted too. He felt young with her; Harry felt like the weight of the world had never rested on his shoulder. There didn't feel an element of Chosen-ness with her. He was Harry; she was Astoria.
Two people. A man and a woman.
She rolled the tip of her tongue over her lips, and her head tilted to the side as his mind screamed, fuck it.
He was a step away from her, and he closed it without a second needing to pass. His lips pressed to hers, not innocently - not like he had ever kissed anyone for the first time. He kissed her passionately, not teasingly, but hot and desperate. Tingles and lust swirling around him, a desire and want growing within him that had been dormant for so long.
The softness of her gasp from his touch, her fingernails scratching his hairline as her wrists placed themselves on his neck. Harry, losing himself in the inferno of passion, stumbled her into the door of her London penthouse, her moan vibrating his lips.
His hands spread up her back, clutching at the lace of her dress and the softness of her skin. His mouth danced over hers, the two of them sharing a gasp before Astoria pushed off the door to melt into his arms, allowing him to pull her flush against him. His hand ran up her back, up past her neck until he had her tresses between his fingers. Her lips parted, and the two moaned at the feel of their tongues meeting, and her back arched against him.
Harry’s mind had turned to liquid, but his body knew exactly what it wanted. Breaking the kiss, her eyes opening and dazzling him in diamonds that hadn't even been found. He urged himself to speak, to say slow down, I like you. Instead, he grunted, and she laughed at the not-so-innocent voice.
“I like you,” they both said in unison. The two of them blushing like teenagers as they met one another's gaze.
Astoria placed her hand on his chest. “I know it all seems fast, but, I don’t think I’ve had an evening like this… ever. I'm also not one for… displays in hallways, but I just… I don't know I feel like I'm -”
“Different with you,” Harry finished, and he took the smile growing on her face to say she felt the same. His fingers brushed a strand of her hair from her face. “I could talk to you for hours.”
She bit down on her lip, and he was sure she had never had any words spoken to her like that - not from the sprinkle of tears in her eyes.
“I'd like you to come in… if you'd like,” Astoria said.
Harry swept his finger against his bottom lip, staring into her lustful eyes and the smile that grew behind his hand. “Only if you promise to make me breakfast.”
It was the most confident he had ever been, not sure whether to blame the vodka or her. Not that he’d blame either. He’d thank either; finding the alcohol section in his local Muggle supermarket and praying to the clear liquid for getting the girl.
Astoria rose onto her tiptoes, her lips pressing ever so softly to his, and driving him crazy all over again. “Some rumours are true.” He arched his brow as she turned her back to him, unlocking her door before looking over her shoulder. “You won’t be up for breakfast.”
Fuck. Me. Is all Harry thought as he watched her door opened, his heart resuming its beating after the pause it had needed to take from her words. Something took over him, something foreign and dominant, lifting her from the ground as he wrapped his arms around her back, kissing her with all he had - she had stolen him.