Birthday Shopping

Amelia’s rationale about the window seemed to convince Marcus to abandon that plan, because he didn’t push the issue further. Instead, his fingers went up to his hair as he sighed, Amelia’s eyes following his fingers as they moved deftly through the boy’s dark hair. Amelia was watching his fingers move, idly wondering what Marcus’ thick hair would feel like to her own nimble fingers, when Marcus’s question cut off that line of thinking.

In the few seconds between Marcus’ original question and his elaboration, Amelia blushed deeply, thinking Marcus had caught the change in her demeanor since her body had begun mass producing the hormones that were making her feel the heat of the room more strongly. She dropped her eyes from his hair as her cheeks flared with color, not wanting to have to explain the traitorous thoughts of a teenage body, but when Marcus went on, Amelia realized that she had jumped to the wrong conclusion. Marcus wasn’t asking about her body’s sudden interest in him – he was still thinking about what had changed since his werewolf revelation.

Amelia’s eyes darted up to Marcus’s, though it was hard to hold his gaze once she saw the hurt they held. It was as though Marcus viewed her silence as betrayal, and in a way, it was. Raoul wouldn’t have cared if Marcus was a werewolf; in fact, it might have made the Gryffindor boy more interesting in Raoul’s eyes. But Amelia hadn’t escaped her parents the way Raoul had. He must have been building up immunity to them for a few years in order to have the strength of character to leave when he did. So how much more had Amelia been affected? Enough to hold the same prejudices her mother did, to condemn someone because of their blood?

No, Amelia told herself, unable to look away from Marcus as these thoughts turned over in her mind, caught on his trailing words, No. You don’t hold it against Ariel that his father is Fenrir Greyback. You don’t like that the headmaster torments him for it.

But you don’t say anything in his defense, either.

I want to.

Wanting to and actually doing it are two completely different things, Amelia, the Ravenclaw’s subconscious reminded her, flooding her with renewed guilt. She didn’t want to feel afraid of Marcus. Rationality told her he wasn’t any more dangerous to her than any other boy her age – at least not while the full moon was still weeks away – but she couldn’t deny that something in her mind had shifted with this knowledge. For once, logic wasn’t winning out, and it wasn’t just her hormones that were in competition with it. It was something wizarding society had buried in the back of her mind without her knowing it, and now she was finding it was hard to fight an invisible enemy.

“I don’t-“ Amelia sputtered out, prompted to speak when Marcus looked away from her, breaking their eye contact. He slid to the floor until he was laying on his back, staring at the ceiling and asking a question that was really no more than small talk. And it was tempting to take Marcus’ offer. To just skip the first question and latch on to the easier, safer question.

But it was as if Amelia’s subconscious had brought her to words to prevent her from losing Marcus, which was ridiculous, because she didn’t really have him. So why did she feel so compelled to let him know he shouldn’t give up on her?

“I don’t want to be afraid,” Amelia said slowly, trying to articulate her muddled feelings, “And I am not sure why that isn’t enough to stop my fear. Maybe you’re right – maybe it’s a lack of information. I have spent my whole life listening to the prejudice and horror stories the wizarding community spreads about werewolves, and maybe the lack of evidence from the opposing side would… I don’t know…”

Amelia trailed off, even though she knew what words she wanted to say next. It was just a matter of getting herself to say them. She wrung the middle finger of one hand between the index finger and thumb of her other hand, unsure what to do. But after a few seconds of silence, Amelia leaned forward off the bench to sit on the ground next to Marcus, her legs tucked underneath her and her eyes still on her hands as she spoke.

“…maybe getting to know you better could calm my fears,” Amelia managed, not looking at Marcus. She wasn’t insinuating anything sexually here – her mind had quelled her body’s demands as Marcus reverted back to the more serious subject. She hoped he would interpret her coming down to his level as a kind of peace offering – very little else could have brought her to sit on the dusty floor – and maybe he would give her a chance to be someone better than her parents and their social climbing friends. Or if not better, then at least more accepting in one sense. She was willing to try.

Fear. What a feeling to possess. Yet, for some reason, it was a perfectly understandable human emotion. As much as Marcus wanted to scoff and tell Amelia that she was foolish for being afraid, he knew that she had good reason to be. Propaganda against Werewolves didn’t work the same way anti-Muggle and anti-Muggleborn propaganda worked. With Werewolf propaganda, nearly everyone who was sensible believed it. With anti-Muggle and Muggleborn propaganda, only those who were truly racist and, usually, of Pureblooded origins, believed the spiel. Marcus found that where Werewolf propaganda was concerned, if you were sensible then you would do well to believe it. If you were an idiot and went in search of the creatures then there was no way you were going to make it back alive.

So really, Amelia was just being sensible - practical, even. Still, that didn’t make Marcus feel any better. In fact, it made him feel all the more rotten. She was always sensible and always practical so -

“-What would it take for you to take a risk?” Marcus spoke his thoughts. “You’re Raoul’s sister after all said and done so there must be even a single flare of adventure in you. Something in you that’s desperate to cut the puppet strings and make your own way. What would your parents say if they knew you were in a room with a Werewolf, eh? I’m not trying to be accusatory but I doubt they’d be happy about. I know my parents wouldn’t have been while I was still...” Marcus trailed off for a moment and pursed his lips before continuing. “Have you ever just wanted to do something forbidden? Something out of character for you? You’re under so much self-control, Amelia. Have you ever thought that maybe just living in the moment, instead of dwelling on the pros and cons and then on the what-ifs...maybe that would be better? Have you ever thought about taking a risk on someone...or, even, yourself? Have you ever just wanted to escape it?”

Marcus sat up and turned his eyes on Amelia, the swirling blue orbs darkening with intensity as he stared at her, imploring with her to agree with him. He was desperate for her to admit that she’d thought of it. He wanted her to do it. He wanted her to be able to smile without it being forced. He’d watched her from afar for years. He knew what she was like - he’d known ever since he’d been friends with Raoul. He’d known how different they were but at the same time, he’d seen the potential for them to be similar. He’d seen Amelia’s potential. He’d seen her unconscious attempts to flourish dampened by what was ‘expected’ of her. What he was telling her, in his own way, was that it was alright to shrug off those expectations and that maybe, it was time she started living for herself instead of everyone else.

“You don’t have to get to know me just to stop being afraid of Werewolves, Amelia.” Marcus shrugged his shoulders. “That’s impossible. It’s fine to be afraid of them. What you’re looking at is a human. I’m just like you. Look-”

Deciding to bite the bullet, Marcus reached out for her hand. He curled his fingers around her wrist and carefully lifted it, his movements oddly gentle for such a masculine-looking young man.

Marcus turned her hand over in his larger ones, his fingers gently caressing the skin and he carefully pressed his palm against hers before touching each of his finger’s to hers. His other hand came to rest on his leg as he brought her hand upwards, between them. Marcus met Amelia’s gaze once more and smiled a little before dropping his eyes back to their hands. Carefully, Marcus began to move their hands, creating patterns in the air between them.

“A little bit bigger, admittedly, your hands are awfully dainty. But...we’re the same Amelia. This isn’t a paw. I’m not covered in thick, matted hair. I’m just...I’m just me.” Marcus murmured before setting her hand back down. “I’ll never hurt you like this, Amelia. Being afraid of Werewolves isn’t a bad thing. Merlin knows it’s understandable. It’s human nature isn’t it - fear? Right now, like this, there is nothing about me worth fearing. Except...except maybe the hormones are too overpowering; maybe I’ll just give into my desires and kiss you while I’ve still got the chance.”

If Amelia had known what response to expect out of Marcus when she went out on the limb – and onto the floor – for him, she might have been surprised at the boy’s response. As it was, however, Amelia had never been in this position before. She had never said something so far out of her comfort zone, so she didn’t have an anticipated reaction in mind when Marcus opened his mouth to speak. But even with her relatively limited experience in this particular social situation, Amelia was surprised by Marcus’s visceral reaction that seemed to come relatively out of nowhere.

Taken aback by his sudden question, Amelia found her back straightening uncomfortably, even as her shoulders closed in on her chest as if to defend her against his accusations. The Ravenclaw girl didn’t even get a chance to respond to Marcus’ question before he launched into an explanation of it. He seemed to be spouting all the thoughts he must have been thinking for the past hour – if not the past few years – about her carefully controlled demeanor. Amelia kept opening her mouth to protest, to try to cut him off before he got rolling, but she couldn’t find any place to interrupt.

Although she would have just liked to spend the duration of Marcus’ rant thinking of rebuttals to his claims – ‘I’m not a puppet’, or ‘Raoul and I are different people’ – Amelia found that the boy’s words were raising uncomfortable thoughts in the back of her mind. His questions may not have been carefully chosen – he was rattling them off so quickly! – but they seemed to be eliciting exactly the kind of reaction Marcus was hoping to provoke. Amelia found herself considering the answers to Marcus’ (hopefully rhetorical) questions, and the more her subconscious spun with those answers, the less of a firm grip she had on all her rebuttals.

The flare of adventure… of course I have that. It just doesn’t present itself. Just because I don’t act on every impulse doesn’t mean I don’t have any thoughts outside of the respectable realm. After all, I was fantasizing about a werewolf just a few minutes ago…

…back on topic please.

I don’t want to be on this topic anyway. I like the way I am. I like the control, and fulfilling expectations, and not having to wonder what comes next.

Do you?

Of course. I’m a control freak.

Well for a control freak, you’ve certainly handed a good portion of the reigns over to your parents, your professors, your-

-okay, I get the point.

Amelia was still trying to come to her own conclusions, sort out the disconcerting thoughts that never would have risen if Marcus hadn’t probed them, when the boy sat up and turned his blue eyes on her. If she was having trouble thinking rationally a few seconds ago, this was not an improvement. Amelia’s mouth fell open as she tried to force words out of it, but she only ended up stumbling over syllables as her eyes widened under his gaze.

“I don’t- I mean, I don’t always- I sometimes think about doing… things… but I can’t just...” But this wasn’t the answer Marcus was looking for (it wasn’t the one Amelia was hoping she would give, either), and he didn’t allow her to continue. Instead, he seemed to skip back to the conversation they had been having before, causing her already jumbled mind to try to make sense of his werewolf fear rationalization again. Amelia wanted desperately to look away, to get out of his stare that was holding her to the spot, but Marcus’s gaze froze her where she sat. It was a testament to just how frozen her confusion had rendered her when Amelia wasn’t quick enough to pull away her hand when Marcus reached for it.

She felt his fingers close around her wrist before she saw him move, and his touch was so warm against her cold skin that she felt a chill run up her arm at the temperature difference. Amelia’s eyes dropped to their connection, almost aghast that her reflexes hadn’t already jerked her arm away. Realizing she was late with this reaction, Amelia’s conscious mind tightened her arm and attempted to pull it away from Marcus, but he kept a gentle grip and didn’t let her go. After a few seconds, Amelia stopped resisting, whether in defeat or in response to Marcus’ touch on her hand, she couldn’t be sure. She was still scared – no one ever touched her, and with good reason – but she was also feeling something else that she couldn’t identify, but it felt warm and tingly and it was extending from where Marcus’s hand was resting on hers. As he raised their hands between them, Amelia’s eyes followed, and from between their mirrored fingers she could see Marcus looking at her, and Amelia raised her eyes to him with a silent question, willing him to explain that which she could not.

In yet another surprise of the evening, Amelia found her lips twitching up in a nervous smile as Marcus joked about the size of her hands, which were dwarfed in comparison to Marcus’. Amelia’s senses took in the callouses on his hands as he continued to speak, explaining the purpose of the hand exercise. And beyond all expectation, Amelia followed his train of thought. Usually, abstract demonstrations like this would have left her with a cocked head and a raised eyebrow, but as Marcus spoke, his tone smooth and his words sincere, Amelia found herself nodding to herself. Even after Marcus let their hands fall away, Amelia still followed what he was saying, though the hand that had been connected to his – now in her lap – still tingled distractedly.

What the hell is happening? Amelia’s consciousness tried to interrupt, to pull Amelia out of this touchy-feeling conversation and back into reality where she belonged. But Amelia’s mind was swirling with too many other thoughts to be tempted by reality, though Marcus’ next comment was plenty distracting enough to pull her out of her temporary reverie.

“You desire- I mean… you want to…want to… oh,” Amelia stuttered, looking up at Marcus with disbelief as something in her lower abdomen squirmed in reaction to the sudden heat in that area. Amelia was by no means accustomed to getting the type of attention Marcus was giving her; being known as ‘the ice queen’ didn’t exactly encourage male attention. She was blushing furiously, her entire face and chest absorbed in the blotchy redness that reflected her embarrassment at having absolutely no idea how to respond to what Marcus had just said. Of course, her body had a few ideas…

“I suppose that would fall right into the adventurous category you were talking about earlier…” Amelia mumbled with a nervous smile, her gaze falling down to her lap as she blushed deeper and watched her fidgeting hands, no longer the main source of sensation in her body. Not by a long shot.

This is where you kiss him.

No.

You know you want to kiss him. Think about those lips.

NO. He’s right, it’s just hormones. I am smarter than my hormones

If you were kissing him you could touch his hair… and other things.

Oh god.

There was something within Amelia that was tugging Marcus to her, there had to be. He knew better than to delve into danger like he was. The irony was that Raoul’s absence would most likely come to a climax the second and Marcus would find himself in more trouble than he already was. Yet, something in the back of his mind was telling him to take that risk; telling him that it was a good idea. He believed that voice, Merlin knew he did, but he just wasn’t brave enough. He wasn’t the brave Gryffindor he’d spent his entire school career pretending to be. He wasn’t the brave Gryffindor who stole the bats from the beaters and sent oncoming Bludgers towards the Slytherin Seeker. No, he was a far cry from that now. There was very little he could do that would redeem himself. He was bruised and battered individual with little to no control over himself. What little control he did have though, was preventing him from tending to his desires.

“Can’t,” He finished her sentence. “Or is it ‘won’t’?” Marcus took Amelia’s hands back within his own and he carefully began to rub circles into her palms. “You’re a brave girl. I don’t care what anyone says. You know how to keep yourself safe. You know what it means to have a sense of self-preservation. But I am asking you these things, Amelia, because I wonder whether there is something you desire more than to just do your duty? I don’t really think you’re happy, Amelia. You need to spread your wings and be free. You need to take control of your life...you need to be who you want to be. I know I sound like a motivational speaker trying to make a fast buck but I’m telling you now, you will be much happier if you just let yourself breath, if you unhinge those shoulders and relax then you’ll feel better. We all have dreams...we all have wants and desires...follow yours. Merlin knows your mind will be wasted with whatever your parents have planned for you. Perhaps moulding the minds of the younger generation would suit you?”

Marcus lifted his gaze and watched Amelia as she reacted to his words. He chuckled at her responses, her shock, and he continued to rub the circles into her palms. He wetted his lips with his tongue and rolled them against each other. Her stuttered reply, the acknowledgement of his admission, was not one that Marcus had wanted but it was to be expected from Amelia. She, to his knowledge, had had little experience with the gents of Hogwarts though that was mainly because she seemed to carry around the ‘Ice Queen’ label. Marcus had never properly understood that, neither had he really expressed a desire to. He had, however, more often than not shut down all flippant referrals to her as the ‘Ice Queen of Hogwarts School’. He couldn’t stand there knowing that that was his friend’s sister they were badmouthing. They had no right. And they still had no right, though Marcus sadly could not be there to begrudge them of their ignorance of their poor manners.

“Mmhmm,” He agreed with a small smile. “And did I not say that it would be good for you?” Marcus released her hands and put his finger underneath her chin. He was biting the bullet here, deciding to go on instinct. Out of the few girls he had kissed, none of them were particularly fabulous but his inexperience gave him no room to boast about his so called ‘kissing abilities’. No, he just went with what felt right and right now, on the floor of the store room of Quality Quidditch Supplies in Hogsmeade, Scotland, Marcus could think of nothing more appropriate. It was nothing that Amelia did not deserve. Giving into himself, giving into her and more importantly, imploring with her to give in to him.

And so, he moved just that little bit closer and dipped his head towards hers. Marcus’ heart sped up in his chest, pumping more and more blood around his body as the anticipation and the adrenaline built within him. He cupped her face in his hands and continued to shorten the distance between them. “Please don’t slap me,” He murmured, before gently brushing his lips against hers. Something went off in the back of Marcus’ mind - whether it was fireworks or something of the like he did not know but something was telling him that he’d done right. He’d made a choice and he’d made the right one. Kissing Amelia. Right there. Right that second. That was all he’d wanted and so he’d done it. He’d just done it. Without another thought to spare. He kissed her.

Maybe they were running out of oxygen in that tiny little display room. That would explain Amelia’s inability to think straight. Or maybe there was some remnant of some little-known dragon pheromone on all this dragon hide equipment that was leaking into the air and poisoning Amelia’s thought process. Any of these reasons seemed more plausible to the Ravenclaw girl than the idea that some part of her own mind was responsible for the way she was behaving.

Or if not more plausible, then at least more palatable.

Because Amelia had no explanation for why, when Marcus reached for her hand a second time, Amelia wasn’t more prepared to pull it close to her chest and tell him to keep his paws to himself (no pun intended). She even saw him coming this time, cued into his intention by the fact that he was using that same prying tone he had used earlier when he wanted her to admit that she occasionally thought about wanting to do something that wasn’t encouraged or allowed. Logically, she had known he would send his hand toward hers again, and that she ought to pull it back when he did, but instead, as his fingers wrapped around her wrist and his thumbs began to draw circles on her palms, Amelia let him do it. She didn’t even flinch. In fact, she didn’t move at all, because she was frozen to the spot both by Marcus’ words and the tingling sensation that was creeping up from the spots of pressure Marcus was creating…

The word brave bounced around the inside of Amelia’s skull after Marcus said it, refusing to settle anywhere. Brave was not a word anyone had ever associated with Amelia. She was afraid of heights and flying (related fears, naturally), but more so of failure. She was afraid of letting people down, and not living up to her potential. These fears had been ingrained in her from such a young age, that she no longer recognized them as something she had learned, rather than been born with.

But what did Marcus know? He said she was brave, but he couldn’t possibly know that. Yes, he was saying some other things that made sense, like that she knew how to protect herself, and that maybe she wasn’t really as happy as she claimed to be, but why should she take anything he was saying seriously? He barely knew her. He was just guessing, really, and just because he was guessing right didn’t make him the all-knowing prophet of life improvement.

But try as she might to get defensive enough to ignore what Marcus was saying, she couldn’t. His thumbs working in slow circles on her hands seemed to be pressing the words physically into her, and once inside, they were incapable of escape. And then he was talking about wants and desires, and although he meant it metaphorically, Amelia’s body took the chance to distract her mind from the uncomfortable thoughts of whether or not Marcus really was right about her, and started her down the path to certain other wants and desires, which made his question about her perhaps moulding young minds flit in one ear and out the other (which is really just ironic, considering…).

At least for the time being, her mind and body were on the same side. Her body wanted the distraction of being able to think about Marcus without his clothes on, and her mind didn’t want to have to think about what Marcus was saying, or what she was going to do about it. It was perhaps the only time her mind had allowed her body to take over (because for once it had a good reason to), and definitely the reason why Amelia allowed Marcus to continue to hold her hand, focusing on the movement of his thumbs, and finding that the circles he traced on her hands could be felt in certain other places, especially when Marcus licked his lips like that…

Stop that? Amelia’s subconscious tried to butt in, but it was so weak it ended up coming to her like a question, which Amelia easily flitted away. She might not be capable of rebelling in action, but her thoughts were doing quite a bit of whatever they wanted just at the moment. Amelia nodded with a coy smile (since when did she know how to be coy?) when Marcus replied that he knew that being adventurous would be good for her. He was smiling, and looking at her with the full force of those blue eyes, and then his hand was rising, and before Amelia could fully comprehend what he was doing, her mental fantasizing started to look a whole lot like reality.

The redhead felt his fingers leave her hand and was momentarily struck by a surprising feeling of being distraught at the action. It was fleeting, however, because a moment later Amelia felt one of Marcus’ calloused fingers beneath her chin, and she tilted her head obligingly to look up at him as he dipped his head closer to hers. As she looked at him, Amelia’s eyes were wide with surprise and the smile that had been there a moment earlier had given way to lips slightly parted in a mixture of shock and something that felt very much like fear, but might have been anticipation. Amelia had never been very good at identifying her emotions, and under the present circumstances, she wasn’t likely to suddenly acquire lexical skills.

This isn’t - - you shouldn’t - - Amelia’s subconscious attempted, trying to push through the haze of sexually charged tingling that had risen from her body to her brain. Although Amelia’s mind didn’t recognize this situation – she didn’t exactly find herself in such close proximity to attractive men who were staring so intently at her every day – her body did, and it was taking advantage of the fact that Amelia’s subconscious was thrown off by the new situation. Somewhere in the back of her mind, the logical half of her brain was banging against the headrest of the driver’s seat, trying to take back the control it had rescinded earlier to protect itself from the thoughts it didn’t want to think. But it was too late.

Marcus’ hands rose to fold themselves around the planes of her cheeks, and Amelia felt the heat of them matched by an unconscious flush that was rising to her cheeks, brought on by the heat of the moment rather than the embarrassment that usually caused the color. When Marcus parted his lips to implore her not to slap him, some part of her brain registered that as a suggestion for what she ought to be doing. She really ought to be pushing him away, running out of the room like she had the time Elijah had tried almost this exact same move in the owlery so many years ago now.

But before Amelia could raise a hand against him, Marcus lowered his face those last few inches and his lips brushed against hers, and suddenly, she wasn’t thinking anything at all. Not about how dirty her dress was getting on the floor, not that the last boy she kissed was Elijah, over a year ago now, and not about the fact that she was kissing Raoul’s friend. Even though all of those things were more than true, she didn’t think about them.

For once, instead of thinking, Amelia was feeling. Feeling the pressure of Marcus’ lips on hers, how warm his mouth was against hers. Her mouth had still been open in surprise when Marcus closed the gap between their lips, and she hadn’t had enough kissing experience to know whether or not she ought to close it after he made the first contact. Usually, this would be the point where she started analyzing the situation, trying to figure out the exact angle or speed with which her mouth ought to be moving, what she should be doing with her arms, how often to breathe… even pleasures as simple as kissing had never been free of Amelia’s logical reigns.

But since she had been kissed in a state so contrary to her usual self, she was responding differently too. Instead of attempting to predict where Marcus’ lips were going to move, she gave up the reigns and merely followed where he led, letting her lips move with his. At some point, she had closed her eyes, and even without having to see him, Amelia knew she was being attracted to this boy. He was close enough that she could feel the heat rolling in waves off his body, making a shiver run all the way up her spine. He smelled like leather and sweat and outdoors, an intoxicating scent from where she was sitting, and Amelia felt her body arch closer to Marcus to be closer to that scent. Without her direction, her palm rose to rest against Marcus’ chest, feeling his heartbeat through the fabric of his shirt and failing to resist the urge to curl her fingers into the cottony material, pulling herself closer.

Somewhere in the back of Amelia’s mind, her logical self was panicking, throwing every object it could get its hands on in order to try to break out of the prison it had been confined to since Marcus had mentioned kissing her. That had to be true. But now that he actually had, Amelia was more relaxed than she could remember being in the last year. She’d probably pay for it later when her mind was back in control, but for now, Amelia couldn’t bring herself to look any further than the moment.

So in this moment, she let her lips fulfill her earlier fantasy of kissing Marcus Pattinson. And you know what? Those lips were even better up close.

Smart little girls knew that werewolves were a danger to society. Even smarter little girls knew to stay away from them for fear of being infected with the disease. Disease though it was, there was enough stigma there to make people sure that to maim and to kill was something repressed in the human side, allowed to run free within the werewolf. Perhaps they were right but they did not recoil from Dragon Pox patients as they did those with Lycanthropy.

Smart parents made sure to inform their sons and daughters that those with the poison that was Lycanthropy running through their veins were not to be trusted. Only the silliest of girls and boys saw fit to approach a werewolf and the silliest of them all got close enough for the werewolf to kill; as close as Amelia was to Marcus now. And perhaps she was the silliest of all, beyond the idiocy of the girls and boys that got near enough for the wolf to swipe his paw at them. By drawing as near to him as she was, she was trusting him, foolish though that was. He had promised though, that he would not hurt her. That promise could not account for the wolf’s actions, repressed though they were at that moment.

It was rare for Marcus to be able to predict the desires of the wolf but it seemed as if he wanted to hurt Amelia as much as the human did. Perhaps the way the wolf lashed out was out of fear, out of desperation for people to understand. He went the wrong way about it, for sure, but Marcus could not begrudge him for trying. What he could begrudge the dog of was what it cost him. With the blood of others on his hands and a wound on his back to reinforce that point, Marcus was the foolish one for kissing Amelia. Not because she was undesirable - far from it - but because it was selfish to want to do so. Those thoughts did little to stop him though; it did little to quell the need.

But as Marcus grasped Amelia closer, one of his hands having fallen to her waist, he could not spare a thought to the guilt he should have felt. He knew Amelia’s place just as well as he knew his own and though he knew that for her to kiss a werewolf would be enough to ruin her; he could not bring himself to pull away from her. He did not know whether it was the heavy smell of dragon hide that clung to the air, whether it was the dust or whether it was the gentle ebb and flow of footsteps and voices beyond the door. Perhaps it was all of it, with the addition of his own intensity, that made up the atmosphere that had brought them to these few precious and fleeting moments. Marcus didn’t care about what would happen after the event and he certainly did not care how it had occurred; all he wanted was for it to continue and so with every glide of his lips, he implored with Amelia to continue.

Marcus’ fingers continued to gently caress her face as his lips moved in time with hers. Soon though, his lungs began to protest. The few breaths of air he had stolen before he’d captured her lips with his were failing him. Marcus slowly pulled his lips from Amelia’s and he sat back a little to take her in. After a moment or two, a small smile spread across his mouth and he leaned forward, brushing his lips against hers once more in a chaste kiss. His smile persisted and he brushed his thumb across her bottom lip.

“Come on then,” He murmured gently to her. Marcus slowly rose to his feet and took Amelia’s hands in his. He helped her back up and brushed his hand across her cheek, idly wondering when she’d tell him to stop the little touches that he persisted with. Marcus leaned down again and picked the boots up from the floor. “It isn’t that I want to leave,” he told her carefully, “and it certainly isn’t because I want to stop kissing you. It’s because I’m sick of this sodding cupboard.” And with that said, Marcus took his wand from his pocket and pointed it at the door. “Confringo!” A jet of purple light left Marcus’ wand and the door flew off of the hinges. The people in the shop froze and the words on their lips disappeared as they stared with trepidation at Marcus and Amelia. “After you,” Marcus broke the silence and smirked at Amelia.

Amelia could feel her heart racing, except the vital organ that she knew to reside in her chest cavity seemed to be darting around her body to whatever place Marcus was touching. She felt her pulse in her lips, her cheeks, her bare arm as Marcus’s hand slid over it, and then beating heavily somewhere near her waist where his hand had come to rest on the curve just above her hip bone. She couldn’t tell if Marcus was pulling her closer or if she was still dragging herself nearer to him through the grip she had on the front of his shirt, but with every passing moment, their two bodies came closer together, making Amelia’s body run haywire with the unfamiliar surge of hormones.

These chemicals were always in her body, of course. She was a teenage girl, after all, not a robot. But Amelia was always so careful to keep her distance from other human beings that she usually wasn’t close enough to any one male to make those hormones run as rampant as they were currently. This previously dormant volcano was turning hot quicker than Amelia’s subconscious could have ever predicted, and her tongue was starting to get more and more daring as Marcus’ fingers moved across her face, sending chills racing down her back to collide with the heat of his hand, his lips moving across hers as she closed her free hand around his upper arm…

..But then then his lips were gone. It took Amelia an embarrassingly long few seconds to become aware of this fact, but when she did, she opened her eyes to find Marcus looking at her. The redhead had a bit of a dazed look to her, as though she had just woken up from a trance and was still figuring out what was dream and what was reality. And in a way, that is exactly what was happening. She blinked a few times to try to get her bearings, but her mind kept running the same path, her logic still clawing its way back to the surface through the fog that sounded a lot like this: He kissed me. I kissed him back. We were kissing. There was kissing. There isn’t kissing anymore. Why isn’t there anymore kissi-

And then there was kissing, but even Amelia’s hormone-addled brain could tell that this kiss was different than the previous ones. It was over too quickly for her to get sucked under again, and in noticing the contrast, Amelia’s logical mind was able to finally able to get a small bit of ground back in Amelia’s consciousness.

That means stop, her logic said as Marcus pressed a thumb to her lips, sounding far away to Amelia. Stop doing this. Stop thinking- thinking about-

So even her logic had a recovery period. Interesting. While Amelia’s sense of reason and purpose was returning to her, Marcus rose to his feet and encouraged her physically and verbally to follow him. Amelia was tentative now, not knowing what Marcus’ sudden stop had meant, and although she followed his suggestion to stand, she was starting to get the nagging feeling returning to her whenever her subconscious thought she had done something she oughtn’t. It hadn’t arrived full force yet – evidenced by the fact that she was not in full panic mode – but she was starting to doubt her actions only moments before. But Marcus was still smiling kindly at her, his hand on her cheek – what do those gestures mean? Was he being patronizing? Had he decided that he never should have started this in the first place? Was he regretting this? Should she be regretting this?

Yeap. This was getting to be closer to baseline levels of panic for Amelia. Any moment now her full reason would return, and panic would ensue. She was essentially a ticking time bomb.

When they were both standing, Marcus leaned to pick up the boots and answered Amelia’s unasked questions, as though he could read the words behind the doubt that was starting to show at the corners of her mouth. He assured her that he didn’t want to stop kissing her, which for reasons inexplicable was immensely comforting to Amelia, and she managed a shaky smile in return. Her two consciousnesses were still fighting for control of the situation, and she might have gone on letting that internal debate rage if Marcus hadn’t startled her by blowing the door off its hinges with a blasting spell, leaving a gaping, singled hole where the exit had been previously locked.

So much for not paying for damages… Amelia’s subconscious intoned, sounding as surprised as Amelia felt. Her eyes had widened at this unsuspected action, and she was taken so aback by his sudden desire to get out of the cupboard that when Marcus gestured for her to leave first, Amelia did so without asking questions, though she ducked her head to avoid the stares of the few people still milling about the shop. Without ever looking up, Amelia pulled 55 galleons from her pocket (she had taken out extra to go on this shopping expedition) and put them on the counter as she passed it, hoping that would be enough to cover the cost of the boots Marcus was carrying. She didn’t wait to find out, though, and kept her head down and tried to clear her mind of the mental debate that was threatening to break out any moment now and managed to make it out the door of the shop without spontaneously combusting.

“Wh- so where- um… where exactly are we going?” Amelia stuttered, looking up for the first time since getting out of the cupboard and finding she wasn’t nearly so bold out in the open. Although she had embraced the spontaneity in the protected, quasi-private world of the storage closet, now that there were other people around (and another voice in her head), Amelia was having trouble being quite so bold.