Harry woke suddenly when the curtains of his four-poster were thrown violently aside.
"Harry, it's late, you're. . ."
Ron stopped mid-sentence.
There was a long moment of silence during which Harry gathered his bearings.
He found he was still naked and had the also still naked Gabrielle Delacour spooned up against him.
His arm was wrapped around her, though, sometime during the night, his cock had slipped out of her arse.
Harry realized that there was going to be no way that he could ever explain his predicament; he was caught and he was just sure that he was going to be expelled--barring Ron being able to keep his mouth shut about it.
Ron was his friend.
Ron might understand; he might not say anything about it.
He. . .
He was going to be expelled.
"Harry," Ron said with an exasperated tone, pulling Harry from his worried musings, "if you're going to sleep starkers, then at least have the decency to cover up. I don't want to see that first thing in the morning."
"Erm, Ron," he began, lamely.
"I, er, know this-- I can explain."
"That's OK. I'd rather not hear it," Ron said wryly.
But Harry wasn't listening and continued rambling.
"It's, er, you see, uh, I was sleeping last night and, er, she, um-- When I woke up she was. . ."
He trailed off.
There was simply nothing he could say to Ron that would explain his bed partner in any way that wasn't, well, criminal.
Ron had blinked the first time that Harry had said the word "she" and looked at Gabrielle as though seeing her for the first time.
"Oh," he said, with a note of surprise and confusion.
"Um, hello."
Gabrielle just smiled up at him as though she hadn't a care in the world.
Of course, Harry thought, there's no way in the world that she's going to be in trouble for this.
"Good morning," she said sweetly.
Ron gave her a brief smile, then looked back to Harry.
"Better get a move on," he said as though he hadn't just found his best mate in bed with a very naked eight-year-old girl.
"Class starts in half an hour."
Then he was gone.
And that was it.
No comments.
No accusations.
No "what the hell were you thinking?"
No "why the fuck is there a naked child in your bed?"
The deafening silence stretched out in the wake of Ron's departure before Harry exhaled the breath that he hadn't realized he'd been holding; Gabrielle's hair fluttered in front of him and she giggled.
She turned over and looked at him with a sly smile on her pixyish face.
She seemed to be waiting for him to ask a question so he obliged.
"What," he said carefully, "was that?"
She didn't answer but adopted a look of complete and obviously feigned innocence.
Harry pressed on.
"Why didn't he go spare when he saw us? He didn't even seem to care."
She smiled, leaned forward and kissed him.
"We're bonded," she said simply.
Then she sprang to her feet and stood beside the bed as though waiting for him.
"Come Master, we must shower. We smell of our exertions."
She said the last word as though it were incredibly naughty and, Harry supposed, in this context, it really was.
He found and slipped on his shorts, then, as he sat on the edge of the bed, reached for Gabrielle's discarded nightgown which she apparently had no inclination to pick up herself.
As soon as he touched it, however, there was a brief flare of magic and the nightgown was gone.
In its place there was a thin strip of black leather with a clasp at each end and a highly polished medallion in the middle.
There was a sudden intake of breath from Gabrielle and when Harry's attention shifted from the leather strap to her, he found a look of surprise and delight on her face.
She practically ripped it out of his hands and, before he could think to ask her what she was doing, had fastened it around her neck like a collar, the medallion shining brightly in the very centre of her throat.
She was beaming.
"Oh, Master!" she squealed.
"Thank you, thank you, thank you!"
He suddenly found himself with an armful of very pleased girl as she launched herself at him.
"I'll do everything I possibly can to show you my gratitude for this."
He instinctively hugged her to him as she fingered the medallion with pride.
He noticed that the medallion was simple, silver, round and embossed with the letter "P".
She seemed to notice that he was studying it and she kissed him on the cheek.
"I am yours," she said simply.
Suddenly, she seemed to come to herself and she leapt from his lap and grabbed his hand, pulling him to his feet.
"Please, Master," she said.
"You mustn't be late for class."
In a flash, she'd let go of his hand and had gathered the items he needed for his shower, including an extra towel and a clean pair of boxers, and had handed him his dressing gown; she barely allowed him to put it on before dragging him to the showers, still naked as the day she was born barring her new collar.
He was, at first, reticent to have her in the boy's showers, but, as all the others seemed to be already down breakfasting, he soon relaxed since she seemed to be determined to stay with him.
Soon enough, they were sharing a shower and to his surprise--though in retrospect it should have been expected--he was happy that they were.
He was coming to realize that he wanted her around just as much as she wanted to stay around him.
She took the soap and began lathering his body with care.
It felt natural to him as though she'd washed him every day of his life.
Under the intense scrutiny that she paid him as she began gently scrubbing every square inch of his skin, he expected to feel self-conscious--even after what they'd shared last night in his bed--but he wasn't.
He couldn't help but watch her as she bent to soap his legs and feet.
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