Adult-FanFiction.org : Harry Potter

Leave A Tender Moment Alone	By : Spurge_Laurel Category: Harry Potter > Het - Male/Female Views: 5908 -:- Recommendations : 0 -:- Currently Reading : 0
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter and I make no money from this hobby.

Chapter List
- 8
- 9
- 10
Of all the words that could be used to describe a person, none fit better than cheerful when it came to one Astoria Greengrass. If you had asked any of her teachers, or any of her classmates, they would all say she’s chipper and enthusiastic, never seen without a bright smile. But her friends would not say the same thing. Astoria herself wasn’t sure if that was due to her having no friends, or if it simply wasn’t her faith to smile.

Perhaps if she had a friend, the smile she always wore wouldn’t feel so fake. Maybe then she would smile for real. But her sister has a friend, a good one at that, and yet Daphne still never smiled. Astoria was both grateful and deeply envious of Tracey Davis and how she somehow appeared immune to her sister’s cold dismissals.

Perhaps. . . perhaps happiness simply wasn’t for her. Wasn’t for her family.

Astoria smacked her cheeks. There was no point thinking like that. Self-pity wasn’t going to help her write a twenty inch essay on the incendio charm. She was one of the few to still not manage it in class, and Professor Flitwick’s repeated instructions of the incantation and wand motion weren’t helping.

She just couldn’t seem to get it right, but who else could she ask? She had no friends, and she definitely wasn’t going to go to Daphne, but everyone else would either think she’s up to something because she’s in Slytherin or would try to exploit her weakness for their own gain being in Slytherin themselves. Astoria let out a sigh. Sometimes she wished she had let the Hat put her in Hufflepuff as it had wanted, but there were certain expectations that came with being the daughter of a pure House.

So studying alone in the library it was, desperately combing through tomes for some every scrap that might allow her to successfully cast the charm or, barring that, fill twenty inches. Flitwick was supposed to be one of the fun professors, Astoria thought with a huff.

Unfortunately, it seemed all of the books she had access to as a First-Year had little more to say than the Professor. Diagrams of the wand motions and history of known uses were all well and good for the essay, but she’d much rather demonstrate the ability to cast the damn spell then write an essay about it. The Head of Ravenclaw hinted quite strongly that it would be on their exam at the end of the year, so she really needed to get this done.

Astoria gave her wand a soulful look. Fourteen inches of beech with a dragon heartstring core. Not what anybody had expected from the petite girl who gazed at everything around her with eyes wide in wonder. She knew her father was expecting her to get a small wand with a unicorn hair core like her mother, and he couldn’t quite hide his disappointment fast enough when Ollivander said her wand had chosen her. Sometimes Astoria wondered if the old man had been wrong after all. When she held her wand, she felt a sensation of dissatisfaction towards her. But that was just her imagination, surely? After all, wands weren’t truly alive, they couldn’t think their owner was a let down.

She gagged, having nibbled on the nib of her quill out of habit but this time it was already inked. She shot the feather a disgruntled look at its betrayal, only to blush to her roots at the sound of someone chuckling nearby. A slow turn to the side revealed an older student standing by her table, watching her. He chuckled again, making her duck her head out of embarrasment.

“Sorry, sorry,” he said between laughter, “you just looked like you were having a hard time so I had to come over and see if you needed any help.”

“Thank you, but I’m perfectly fine—” she composed herself and began to reject his offer, but drifted off when she took another look at him. It wasn’t just any older student. It was Harry Potter! The Boy-Who-Lived! What should she say? Could she really refuse the Harry Potter? Why did he even approach her? He was a Gryffindor and she was a Slytherin!

Harry on his part noticed her staring with her jaw open and decided to take pity on the young girl. “Hey, there,” he said, sitting down in the chair next to her and holding out his hand, “I’m Harry Potter. Pleasure to meet you.”

“Astoria Greengrass,” she responded in a small voice, putting her hand in his. But he didn’t shake it like she had expected, instead turning it over and pressing a chaste kiss to the back of her palm. Her blush returned with a vengeance.

“Charmed,” he shot her a wink as he released her hand, causing her to overheat and quickly turn away. Harry chuckled as he leaned in closer, “So, what are we working on?”

“Oh, um, I, ah, I have to write an essay about incendio.”

“The fire-making charm, classic spell. Although, I don’t remember Filius making us write an essay about it.”

She skipped straight past him referring to their professor by his first name. “Well, I—I haven’t managed to cast it yet.”

Harry hmmed. “And if you can cast it, you won’t need to write the essay?”

She nodded.

He went quiet for a few seconds, scrutinizing her. There was something in his eyes that made her want to shrink back and hide, an intensity she couldn’t recall anybody else ever directing towards her. But she also felt warm, safe. Yes, Harry was intimidating, but that was because he was the Harry Potter! He wasn’t actually frightening.

“Do you want to write the essay?” he finally asked.

Her first instinct was to yell, why would I want to write a twenty inch essay, but she couldn’t raise her voice at the Boy-Who-Lived! Something about her face must have conveyed her inner struggle, though, as Harry simply grabbed her hand and stood, pulling her with him. With a quick wave of his wand, her books and parchment flew into her bag, but she wasn’t given time to marvel at the feat as she was immediately dragged away.

“Hey! Where are we going?”

“Somewhere we can practice incendio without the looming threat of Madam Pince hanging over our head,” he grinned back at her over his shoulder making her heart race, “have you any idea what Irma would do to me if she caught me teaching a firstie to set fire to her books? That’s not even mentioning Hermione!”

But Astoria wasn’t really paying attention. She was focusing so hard on not sweating. How mortifying would it be if Harry felt her sweaty palms. He’d probably jump away from her in disgust, and refuse to help a slimy snake, and then tell everybody. The thought alone was enough to nearly bring her to tears.

She couldn’t remember anything of the journey. It felt both instantaneous and like an eternity. But when Harry finally released her hand she wished he held on a little longer.

“This is as good a spot as any,” he said, twirling around to look about the empty classroom he’d taken them too, “Go on then, give it your best shot.”

“What? Right here? Just like that?”

“Well, of course! I can’t help you without seeing where you’re going wrong. Just, try to aim for the wall. Don’t want you burning down all these chairs with us still in the room.”

Astoria gulped but nodded and turned to face the wall. She psyched herself up. She performed the wand motions perfectly, exactly as Professor Flitwick repeatedly showed her. She intoned the incantation with the perfect pronunciation, putting stress on the correct syllables. Her wand pointed at the wall, and yet, nothing. Just a lingering sense of frustration. Dejectedly she turned towards Harry.

“That’s it?”

Ouch, right in the heart. “I’m sorry,” she whispered, “I don’t know what’s wrong. I’m trying so hard but—”

“Oh, no, no, no!” He waved his arms emphatically, “You misunderstand! I’m just surprised it’s that simple, that’s all.”

“You mean,” a small flicker of hope grew in her heart, “you know what's wrong with me?”

Faster than she could see, Harry had wrapped her up in a hug, pressing her firmly against his surprisingly muscular chest. “Don’t say that,” he said, and she was glad her face was hidden from his view, “There is nothing wrong with you.”

“B—but,” she started, close to tears, “I can’t do the spell! And it’s not just this one either! I have trouble with all the spells, and my wand hates me, and the other Slytherins whisper that I’m a squib—”

“Shh, shh. It’s okay. You’re not a squib.” One of his hands rubbed circles in her back while the other pet her hair. “You know,” he continued, “back in my first year people would call my friend Neville a squib.”

“Longbottom?” she said with a gasp, looking up to make sure he wasn’t toying with her, “But isn’t he one of the top in your year?” Astoria remembered Daphne once making an offhand comment about the Longbottom heir winning a dueling tournament the previous year, and her father gaining a speculative glint in his eye.

“Yep. And he had a very similar problem to you.”

“Really?”

“Really really.”

“Then. . . how did he. . . stop being useless.”

He bonked her on the head, causing her to pout at him. He just smiled back. “Why, I taught him of course. Now let’s try this again, but this time we’ll do it slightly differently.”

That’s how Astoria found herself in an abandoned classroom with Harry Potter standing behind her, her hand in his as she held her wand.

“Do everything as you did it before, but I’ll be supplying the magic. I want you to focus on how it feels, ok?”

She just nodded, not trusting herself to speak with his breath tickling her ears. She began to wave her wand, but a stream of what felt like liquid fire flowing into her arm and down her wand made her jump.

“Focus. Keep going.”

Deep breath. She continued, focusing on how Harry’s magic felt flowing into her, and when she finally spoke the incantation “Incendio!” a gout of flame shot out of the tip of her wand, sorching the stone walls of the castle with heat enough to leave a black mark.

Harry let her go, but Astoria was too busy staring in shock at her wand to notice. That had felt exhilarating. And for the first time since she had gotten it, her wand didn’t feel like it was fighting against her. In fact, it felt like it was singing.

“Neville had the exact same expression,” Harry laughed, “except he was so surprised he tripped over himself and fell flat on his arse!”

Astoria giggled along. But she couldn’t get over what she had felt. “What was that?”

“That was magic.”

Seeing that she didn’t understand, he explained further.

“It’s something I find quite commonly with those raised in the wizarding world. You’re so used to magic, you start seeing it as something routine. Something to learn, do, and repeat. There’s a whole Ministry for managing magic, with bureaucrats and secretaries and Lords.

“A whole society has been built around magic, but ask yourself this, how much magic is really done in your world? How magical are your leaders and lawmakers and governors? And why are they in charge? Is it because of magic? Or is it because of money and connections?”

Astoria didn’t really know what to say, but Harry wasn’t expecting her to say anything. “You don’t have to answer these questions. Just keep them in mind, and remember that magic is more than simply a means to quickly tailor clothing or change the colour of stuff. Right now, your magic is burning, it’s excited, and it wants out. Manifest your will, let your heart ring true, and your wand will echo you.”

She nodded in determination and turned back to the scorched wall. Her grin tightened around her wand. The motions came naturally to her after so many repetitions, but this time instead of just going through the motions, she pushed. And her wand pushed back, the two becoming one. And a blast of fire exploded forth.

“You felt it, didn’t you? That rush of power?”

“Yes,” the response was breathy, the girl still reeling from what she had experienced. Power, that was a good word for it. For the first time, she appreciated what it meant to have a dragon’s heartstring as her wand core. It really did feel like she was holding a dragon in her palm.

“That is the true meaning of magic—power. You have it, like all witches and wizards. But power is inert without action and choice. It is our choices that define us, Astoria. It is our intent that guides our power. Think about that when you feel power flow down your wand. What will you burn? What will you spare?”
- 8
- 9
- 10
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Leave A Tender Moment Alone