Anitra's Dance

style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>Disclaimers: style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>All Rowling’s. Except Anitra, who is mine.

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style='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>A/Nstyle='mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>: More smut! Aren’t you lucky. ;-)

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style='font-size:14.0pt;mso-ansi-language:EN-GB'>Passion

It was back
in the dormitory she had got the third attack of migraine. The pain shot
through her with a vengeance and her muffled cry of agony woke up Hermione, who
instantly came to her side.

“Anitra?
What is it? Your head hurts again? Wait... why are you wearing a bathing
suit... with the straps down?”

Anitra had
no air left to answer those questions. She was fighting for her sane life. “I
will get Madam Pomfrey,” Hermione said, fear in her voice. But Anitra’s shaking
hand held her back. In fact, the girl’s hand clutched her arm so that the
pressure marks would remain on the young witch’s arm for many days to come.
Then Anitra, her handsome face contorted in speechless pain, drew herself up
from the floor, pinning Hermione with her disconcertingly golden eyes.

“I-will-not-....
I
WILL NOT....”

And then
all of a sudden, she fell back with the release of a sigh. When she opened her
eyes again, she saw Hermione sit by her with a very concerned expression in her
face. Anitra blinked placidly at her. “This time I’m sure I saw eyes,” she said
silently. Hermione widened her eyes. “Are you sure?”Anitra nodded slowly.
“Burning eyes.”

*

Anitra had
promised Hermione to tell Harry about the development of her migraine the next
day, but she never got that far. Drunk with the lasting sensations of their
first lovemaking, Harry cornered her in the library in one of the farthest
corners, bearing a wicked grin.

“Harry....
what...>mmmm<”

Busy lips
were swallowing hers, and a fervent tongue was already roaming the inside of
her mouth. Oh boy, but she tasted so good.

“Harry,”
she finally managed to huff, “we need to talk – I have something to tell you!”

“No talk –
talk later,” he said, disposing of her school uniform shirt rather carelessly.
He immediately started caressing both her young, round breasts with almost a
feverish touch.

“Aren’t you
afraid the librarian will come?”

“If she
does, we’ll send her off to look for the Agostino’s Black Book.”

“Is that
bad?”

“Wicked,”
he grinned into her mouth. There should be a law against such lips. He eagerly
suckled on her luscious lower lip. Did she have strawberries this morning? A
firm hand located her knickers. They (the knickers) joined the shirt on the
floor. Now she had joined the game and was shakingly tearing Harry’s tie and
shirt off. She shouldn’t. She really shouldn’t. She very much felt like she was
taking advantage of him... but..... but he was so ....mmmmm. She moaned as she
bent her head to lick his collar bone. It was so very clearly defined; his
entire thorasic chest was honed and shaped by years of running from his cousin
and Voldie and Quiddich practice. Mmmm – she liked muscles. Nibbling the young
skin gently and moulding his nipples had the desired effect. He groaned
intensely and slipped his hands underneath her buttocks. With one fluent
movement he lifted her sit on a low antique shelf full of leather bound books.
They rustled faintly when he tore off her panties. Spirits, she was already
wet.

A sound by
the third shelf of the Science of Spells made them pause, frantically trying to
abate their huffing breathing. But the sound passed and Harry didn’t waste any
time listening for more. He immediately made his way between her legs, and she
helped by bending them to rest on his shoulders. With a sigh of pleasure he
penetrated her.

“You – feel
– so – good,” he whispered, his mouth to her ear. His breath on her ear lobe
sent delightful shivers down her spine. He thrust. Oh, god! But it was good. He
thrust again. A sharp intake of air; her clit was going berserk. “Yeah?” he
hissed at her, “you like that?”. “I like everything about you,” she hissed
back. Another thrust – harder than the others. This time the soft skin right
above his genitals was rubbing against her clit. Oh, god, not fair.

His mouth
found hers again. She had had
strawberries, hadn’t she? The shelf rustled rhythmically. Harry felt a wave of
pleasure wash over him and had just enough brain left to realise what that
would mean to the shelf. And in one strong heave he lifted her from the shelf, pinned
her to the wall, rammed into her and came, shaking and trembling.

They fou for for their breath for a while.

Then her
lips connected with his ear and told him: “You have unfinished business.” He
nodded, still breathing hard. And knelt down with closed eyes, his olfactory
sense leading him to through the treasure hunt.

Goodness,
she tasted like strawberries down there too!

Harry
licked eagerly, labbing her juice up as if it had been honey paste from
Hogsmeade. Perhaps it was.

Anitra came
so violently that her trembling almost threw him off of her. But he held fast
and continued to lick her a little while after her climax – simply becaise he
so enjoyed the taste of her.

When the
young couple later left the library, the perceptive passer-by might have
noticed that Harry’s glasses dangled from one ear, that half his shirt was
outside his pants. That Anitra’s shirt was buttoned all wrong, that her tie was
stuck in her pocket and her pants only buttoned, but not zipped.

Of course,
you had to be perceptive.

*

Apart from
a vengeful Snape releasing the Gryffindor House of yet another portion of
points on account of Anitra’s dreamy expression and Harry’s goofy grin, the
classes were rather uneventful.

It was not
until lunch that Hermione, by leaning forward and pinning Anitra with her sharp
eyes, reminded the newcomer of her promise of the very same morning. Anitra
blushed fiercely.

“Oh, fuck!
I mean... sorry – oh, shoo! I forgot!”

“How can
you forget?” the upset Miss Granger wanted to know.

“Errrm,”
said Anitra, her self confident demeanour replaced by something very
uncharacteristic, “I guess it just slipped my mind.”

“What
slipped your mind?” Harry demanded to know.

“Oh, - erm
– remember that I said we had to talk this morning:p><:p>

“Um... no,”
Harry said, in accordance with the unpleasant truth. Quite frankly his mind had
been elsewhere. Anitra could easily have announced the violent death of
Voldemort and his Deatheaters and Harry wouldn’t have noticed.

“Well...
the thing is... yester night I got a really bad attack of migraine.”

“Oh no. Are
you all right?”

Harry
grabbed her hand under the table and squeezed it in concern.

“Yeah. I am
now... but Harry – this time I am almost positive I saw... burning eyes.”

His hand
let go of hers faster than he would have thought possible.

Burning
eyes. She had seen burning eyes.

When Harry
stood from the table, he nearly knocked it over. He held out his hand and his
face had completely lost that goofy expression he had favoured all morning.

“We have to
see Dumbledore!” he declared.

“But
Harry...”

“Now!”

“Harry –
he’s sitting right there, having lunch!” Hermione said firmly, pointing at the
head table.

“Oh,” Harry
mumbled, feeling slightly silly. Of course, he did, didn’t he? This was lunch
time after all.

Anitra
turned her head and very quickly caught the Headmaster’s eyes. She looked
intently at him and then mouthed ‘we have to talk’. Dumbledore nodded
imperceptably.

As soon as
they left the great hall, Harry and Anitra headed for the Headmaster’s lair.
Harry was due at Transfiguration right after lunch, så he had planned to take
Anitra to Dumbledore, stay long enough to introduce the problem and then leave
for McGonagall.

But plans
have been known to be overthrown. They ran into Draco Malfoy, who hadn’t forgotten
about Anitra’s unfortunate mistake about his name.

“So,” he
drawled, blocking their wayf itf it isn’t the snitch and Potty.”

“Snitch?”
Anitra asked Harry through the side of her mouth. “I think he means when you
told Dumbledore about Snape’s behaviour.” Harry side-mouthed back.

“Oh, you’re
kidding me,” Anitra said, looking at Malfoy with her most tired expression.
“What is this? Kindergarten? If a teacher is a jerk, it should be reported.
This is about the education of our next generation.”

Draco
looked somewhat confused at her words, but quickly got a grip.

“There is
no place for snitches at Hogwarts. Only cowards would turn in Professor Snape.
A jealous coward.”

“Whatever...”
Anitra said and tried to bypass the young Malfoy. But Harry was not nearly as unshakable.

“Shut your
mouth, Malfoy,” he yelled, red-faced with fury.

The hissing
sound of slim sticks going through the air and suddenly two wands were pointed
at each other. Anitra stepped back.

“Oh, boys –
that’s just stupid.”

“I’ll show
you who’s stupid,” Malfoy snarled.

“Anitra, stand
back,” Harry said, his voice cold and hard.

“I don’t
believe this... okay, stop this, you young fools – before someone gets hurt.”

Without
really thinking, she stepped between them – and got hit right in the chest by
one of Malfoy’s spells.

Anitra was thrown
back at the wall where her body connected with the hard stone with a hollow
thud. Harry had just had time to yell Expelliarmus,
which sent Malfoy flying through the hallways, before he threw himself at her
fallen shape.

“Oh my
god,” he said breathlessly, “are you all right?”

“I.. I...,”
she said groggily. For some reason his voice sounded like it was booming in her
ears. Then she saw Harry gasp. “What?” she said.

The next
second it wasn’t just Harry gasping. Several students on their way to their
classes had stopped, halted by the absurd image of a girl with donkey’s ears.
Not only that, they were continuously growing.

Next, the
crowd was spreading as Snape was ploughing his way through the mass of young
children.

“What is
going on here?” Then he gasped. “Miss
Anitra. Who did this to you?”

Anitra
opened her mouth, about to tell him, when she thought better of it and clamped
her mouth shut again.

“Well?”

Harry
opened his mouth, but was stopped by Anitra’s hand finding his. He looked at
her. For some reason she didn’t want Snape to know about Malfoy.

“I... I ..
got in the way of somebody practising,” she lied shamelessly.

“And who
was that?” Severus Snape asked, his eyes invariably drifting towards Harry.
Anitra winced at the loud speech.

“I don’t know.
He took off, frightened.”

“Indeed?”’

“Indeed.”

The crowd
spread out again. This time to allow McGonagall through.

“What is
going on here? Goodness!”

She
immediately pulled out her wand and murmured a counterspell, which instantly
returned Anitra’s ears to normal size and shape, as did her hearing.

“Who did
that to you, Miss Anitra?” she asked with her modulated voice.

“I don’t
know his name,” Anitra lied again, this time with sincerity, “it was an
accident. I got in the way of someone practising.”

“Hmmm,” the
professor of Transfiguration turned slowly to look at Harry.

“Is this
true, Harry?”

“Erm...
yes,” he said, perhaps a bit too eagerly.

“You both
understand that it is very, very important that Anitra is not subjected to
magic?”

“Yes,” they
said in one tongue.

“And that
it must be avoided of all costs?”

“Yes,” they
agreed again.

“Very well.
Of you go. Harry, you’re coming with me to class.”

“And I must
see the Headmaster,” Anitra said silently as McGonagall helped her to stand.
The professor nodded, and the girl proceeded to Dumbledore’s office on her own.

At the
farther wall, a young man with white gold hair lay, still a bit dizzy from
connecting with the hard surface. He was rubbing his scalp, not because it
hurt, but because there was something he didn’t quite understand.

*

“She’s
coming to see you,” the portrait said silently. Dumbledore nodded quietly. Good
news and bad news. Bad news what she was about to tell him, and good news that
she came to tell him.

Hermione
had been right. Albus Dumbledore was keeping a tight track of Anitra’s
whereabouts. A very tight track. He
knew everything there was to know about her headaches, and he knew about her
decision almost before she knew herself. Her close relationship with Harry
worried him a bit. He had no doubt that that was the purpose of her presence.
And he was infinitely sure he knew who was behind it. What he had not been sure
a was was Anitra’s own voluntary involvement in it, but he was getting surer by
the minute.

*

Harry was
confused. He didn’t understand why Anitra had been so eager to report Snape,
but so unwilling to report Malfoy. No matter how he looked at the matter, he
just didn’t grasp it.

Why would
she protect him after what he did to her? Admittedly, it was an accident – the
spell had been meant for Harry. But, then if she loved him, she would still
hate Malfoy’s guts and wish for him a thousand detentions, wouldn’t she?

Wouldn’t
she?

An ancient
green monster moved within him. What if .. f.. fancied Malfoy? Harry Potter
immediately thrust that thought aside. No, she couldn’t. She wouldn’t. The very
thought was absurd.

Wasn’t
it....?

*

After
seeing Dumbledore, Anitra found a young blonde boy outside the walls, quite
alone and in his own thought. The morning was still a clear one with dew on
cobwebs like pearls on a string. Dead leaves on grouground as a reminder of the
death of summer and the sharpness of the air as a reminder of a hastily
approaching winter. The girl with the tawny hair and the golden eyes cocked her
head to assess the individuel in front of her.

So young.
So hurting. She stepped forward.

“Stay away,
muggle!”

She knew
‘muggle’ was a derogative in his mouth. Lashing out to hide his pain.
Illogically biting the hand that helped him like a wounded animal in a frantic
attempt of self defense.

“I’m so
very sorry about your father.”

He jumped
up from his stone, his handsome face distorted in disgust, wrath and fright.

“Don’t you
say anything about my father. You’re
not worthy.”

Anitra
shook her head. So much damage a parent could do, and so little choice a young
one had. Completely dependent on its parent, a cob would always follow, always
defend, no matter the conduct of its caretaker.

Unless, the
cob had the fierce courage like Harry had. Harry had been completely dependent
on the Dursleys to survive, and yet he hated and despised every inch of them,
knowing, clinging to the belief that his real parents had loved him and that
they had been decent people.

But Lucius
Malfoy was all Draco had got. His only role model. Anitra took another step.

“Your
father’s mistake does not reflect on you.”

“Shut up!
You don’t know what you’re talking about, muggle!”

No, she
shouldn’t, should she? At her young age. Then why was it that she did?

“So far you
have been mimicking your father. Despite the fact that it so evidently pains
you. You are a young man now. You don’t have to keep pretending.” She was still
approaching. Draco was shaking now, whispering, “Keep away from me.”

She had
caught him in a vulnerable moment, it was now or never.

“Is it he
who taught how to block out everybody else? Is it he who told you that only
pure blood deserve to live? Is it he whose viewpoints defied every logical
sense in you? Is it he who betrayed you?”

He
screamed. Anitra winced and almost had to cover hear ears with her hands. The
scream of an animal so mortally afraid that it was ready to kill. When she
opened her eyes again, she saw he was crying openly, probably not even aware of
it.

“Release
yourself. That’s why I didn’t report you. I wanted you to have a chance of
releasing yourself. You deserve it.”

And with
those words she left him, a raw and open wound, bleeding profusely. Hoping to
God that he would be able to recover and pick up the pieces. She had seen it so
often (had she?), these youngsters in agony, fighting for a tolerable
existence. Hatred being passed on from generation to generation.

*

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TBC. Next:
A mirror reappears. R&R, please. :-)