Haven .|. H. J. POTTER✔

Chapter seventeen

Harry's lips were as soft as a pillow. As soft as a feather, weightlessly floating on the wind. Kissing Harry was like placing your lips on a cloud, endlessly chasing until you get surprised by a sudden force.

His lips were in heavy contrast to the way he kissed. It was rough and desperate. It was as if you were his last meal, savouring each kiss as a bite in his favourite food - probably treacle tart. Every time he caught your bottom lip you would feel his teeth brush against it, sending a tingle down your spine, making you press further against him.

A kiss from Harry was intoxicating, it left you longing for more. More of the delicious tension, more of the low grunts, more of the sight of his flushed cheeks when you finally parted. More of the way he tried to catch his breath, more of the satisfied, crooked smile he'd sent you, more of the aware look in his eyes when he scanned over your body, knowing exactly what he caused.

Haven could write poems about that one kiss with Harry in the broom cupboard - well, it was more of a snog than an innocent kiss. Because the last thing that snog was, was innocent.

Haven saw the way Harry walked when they decided to finally go back to the common room. She saw the way he was almost shy to meet her eyes, yet didn't bother hiding the smug smile that played around his lips.

And in the week after, Haven had noticed the lingering glances increased tremendously. More than once, Ron had to jab Harry in the ribs to get him to pay attention to their project in Herbology as Haven clearly spotted. And even when it was just the two of them there was a kind of tension that was left unspoken. Their sessions in the Room of Requirement were cut short due to a lack of eagerness to throw around glass. It felt odd. 

When the two finally decided it was enough - when they knew that if they continued any longer there would be no stopping themselves - they made their way back to the common room and separated ways to each their dormitories. Haven had laid in her bed, staring up at the ceiling, for a long time, just thinking back at it with a warm feeling low in her belly. She knew exactly what that caused and meant.

Harry had locked the door of the Gryffindor boys' dormitories, just to be sure no one would accidentally walk in. Ever since then he almost couldn't look Haven in the eyes without thinking back to how her tongue had glided over his upper lip and how her slender fingers had tugged on his hair. Those little flashbacks caused him to temporarily feel like he was on a heavy cloud, making him want to roll his eyes back and roughly grip onto something.

It was odd to him that he didn't find the same release of anger in smashing up cups and plates in the Room of Requirement as he did before the kiss. It almost seemed as if that snog was a new way of popping the pent-up bubble of fury - another coping mechanism, as Haven had said. Harry used Quidditch practise as an excuse.

Nearly every afternoon, Harry had the Gryffindor Quidditch team train on the Quidditch pitch for the upcoming match against Slytherin. It was, as usual, the match of the season - especially when the known rivals Harry Potter and Draco Malfoy were each captain of their house teams. Everyone in Hogwarts knew this was going to be a match they wouldn't soon forget.

On the Saturday morning, the entire Great Hall was bustling with excitement. Nearly everyone was dressed in either red or green, even the Hufflepuffs and Ravenclaws. When the players of the teams walked in for breakfast, loud cheers erupted from their house table and everyone else who supported them. It was quite a sight. 

And Haven surely didn't mind the Quidditch sweaters that they always wore. She realised she might be developing a thing for Harry's shoulders and couldn't help but remember how her hands slid over them and her nails dug into the jumper he was wearing that day.