After Quidditch Blues

Angelina stepped into the showers in the Gryffindor locker room after her team's latest practice ended with Andrew Kirke and Jack Sloper, in an astounding act reminiscent of Fred and George Weasley (had Kirke and Sloper actually intended it to happen, that is), managing to get knocked off their brooms from each others' bludgers. She still cringed as she remembered how Kirke had collided with the Hufflepuff spectator's box, and Sloper with the Ravenclaw's, after taking the bludgers to their stomachs. It figured that something like this would happen; as though losing Fred, George and Harry all in one go hadn't been enough, their replacements were definitely not up to task, to say the least—well, not so much Ginny Weasley, but then she had some clown-sized shoes to fill replacing Harry.

She sighed as she slipped her quidditch robes from her shoulders, then sat on a bench and knelt to untie her shoes. She was lost in thoughts of such a promising year going down the tubes; when Angelina had accepted the role of captain, she had such high hopes of a repeat. Not since the glorious days of Charlie Weasley had Gryffindor won the Quidditch Cup for more than a season at a time. She had wanted it so badly she could taste it, and now all she could taste was the bitter sting of defeat.

With her shoes off, she started rolling down her knee socks, over he well-toned calves and slender ankles. She looked at her bare feet, rubbing them to get the ache out—she had had to make a tough landing when Ginny Weasley almost blindsided her diving for the Snitch—and sighing again. The stress was getting to her. She needed a shower—a nice, long, quiet shower where she could just relax into the steaming spray and wash her troubles away. With that thought in mind, she pulled off her shirt, quidditch trousers and underwear, grabbed a towel and walked into the girls' shower room.

When she reached the first stall, she pulled the curtain shut and turned the water on, jumping as the initial coldness shocked her. She grumbled as she rubbed her arms, brushing her stiffening nipples. The water quickly drenched her long, silky hair and caused goosebumps to rise on her skin. As the water quickly turned hot and the showers got steamy, she relaxed into the spray, shutting her eyes to the world and letting the spray cover her body, flow over her toned shoulders and lean stomach, flowing in rivulets down her ample breasts. She grabbed them, smiling for the first time since practice started, satisfied at least that she could say that she was proud of her body. While tall in comparison to the other girls at Hogwarts at 5'8”, she was still shorter than most of the guys. Her otherwise slender body had curves in all the right places, and her skin was smooth and umarred save for a slim scar that ran down her left side, the result of a nasty accident involving a collision and a broken broom. It was barely noticeable, going at an angle towards her butt—which, she noted, was just big enough without being too big.

As she was admiring herself, the door to the showers opened quiet, and Angelina started lathering herself up, unaware of the intruder. He crept towards her stall while she washed her face, and yanked the curtain open—as she turned in shock towards whoever it was, she cried out as the soap ran into her eyes and burned, making her slip and fall to the floor, hitting her head on the tile wall and knocking her unconscious.


Harry stared hungrily at the body of his former captain. He was used to Quidditch as a way of releasing pent-up stress, and without it, without even his broom to fly, he was increasingly on edge. He felt constantly angry, and despite his friends' attempts to cheer him up, he couldn't help but grumble to himself about the unfairness of it all. So, he had come to clean out his locker—he still had a pair of his better robes in their from before the first quidditch game—and, much to his surprise, he had heard the shower. He didn't know what he was thinking at the time, or even really at this very moment; he only knew desire, at this point, as he stared down at the nude, wet body of one of the sexiest women he had ever seen. He knew, right then, that he had to have her.

He took out his wand and stunned her; Harry wasn't sure if she would wake up, but he definitely didn't want to chance it. He knelt down, the shower soaking his shirt pretty quickly, and picked up Angelina and carried her back out into the locker room. It was still devoid of any other people, so he lay her down on the bench next to her bag, took his wand and locked the door. He doubted anyone would come in, but it was better safe than sorry, right?

He turned back to the unconscious Angelina. Her skin glistened in the light from the candles and the water still running down her chocolate skin. It was enough to make his mouth water, and his dick harden in desire. Harry bent down to her face, memorizing the details, her slender nose, high cheekbones, those pouting lips—he bent over, kissing those lips, feeling the shock of pleasure through his own. He wanted her. He wanted her so badly it hurt. And he'd have her—all of her, as his own.

Harry picked her up again and lay her down on the floor, then grabbed her breasts and squeezed them. He was amazed at how big and firm they were; he bent down and suck one of her nipples into his mouth, biting softly. He nearly jumped when he heard a moan escape her lips, but as his pale face shot up, expecting to meet her big, almond-colored eyes, he saw that she was still unconscious. He blew out a breath he hadn't known he was holding, and moved one, down her stomach, planting kisses past her navel and to her thighs.

Harry spread her thighs, resting her right leg on his shoulder as he gazed in wonder at her pussy. The hair was trimmed short, letting him see the slightly-pink lips. He reached out a hand, tentatively, and brushed it over, glancing up to see her face, then stuck a finger slightly into her pussy. He groaned out loud at the tightness, and pulled it out, noting the glistening on his finger. She was wet! He chuckled, smelling his finger and grinning at the musky smell. He reached down to his own jeans and unzipped them, letting his dick free and pulling his pants and underwear down to his knees. He placed himself at her opening, rubbing the head up and down her pussy lips, grabbing hold of her thighs and shoving himself in completely, all eight inches all at once into her tight warmth.

Harry looked up as a light gasp escaped her lips, but Angelina was still out, so he gazed in wonder at the site of her snatch gripping him tighter than he ever imagined as he pulled himself almost all the way out before slamming himself home again. He pumped in and out, over and over as he marveled at the velvety tightness that encompassed his shaft. Harry paused, pulling her legs up so that her ankles rested on his shoulders, then bent down and roughly grabbed her dark globes and pounded himself in and out of her again and again.

A surge went through his body as he felt his balls tense, and he pulled himself out, dropping her legs to his sides and repositioning himself so that his dick rested between her tits. He grabbed each and pressed them around himself, and began thrusting again. A few moments later, he groaned out loud as he came, spraying his seed all over her face and hair. For the last shot, he leaned forward and shoved his cock down her throat, gagging her.

He breathed deeply, in and out, his dick still in Angelina's mouth. He pumped it in and out a bit, reveling in the tingling feeling he got from her soft tongue. He pulled himself out, kneeling down next to her, rubbing his dick over her face and spreading the cum all over. He still wanted more, and he had an idea from a movie he had seen at the Dursley's—one that Dudley had been watching late, while his parents slept.

He turned her over onto her back, bearing her ass for him to see. It was a thing of beauty to Harry; the firmness, the softness. He grabbed her bag and slid it under her stomach, grabbed his wand from his pocket and, sliding off his pants, conjured up a bit of goop—nothing he could identify, just something to make it easier. He lathered it onto his cock, then took some more and spread it over her asshole. He poked his finger through, just to make sure he got enough, and put his dick into the crack of her ass. He rubbed it up and down, gazing at the perfection of womanhood at his disposal. Repositioning himself, he pushed forward, squeezing his dick through her ass with a small pop.

He was in. He stayed like that, memorizing the image of his dick in Angelina's ass, then began slowly pumping himself in a few inches at a time. He went slowly, and after about a half minute he was in all the way. He gasped at the feeling of ecstasy of being sheathed inside her, then slowly began thrusting back and forth, gaining speed until he was pounding her as fast as he had before.

He reached forward, grabbing her tits again and squeezing them. He wanted to bite into her so much, to mark her as his, but he knew that a hickey would give away what happened. So, he kept pummeling her, again and again, and again. The tightness almost overwhelmed his mind, and soon he felt himself coming deep in her ass.


Angelina woke, sputtering in the stall as the water beat down on her face. What happened? She winced as her head throbbed, and she could feel a bump growing on the back of her head. She must have slipped and fell. She shook her hair out, rubbing her eyes and winced again. She got flashes of the curtain being whipped open—she must have grabbed it when she fell...but then, why was it closed?