Harry and I were back in Dumbledore's office. 

"You will remember, I am sure, that we left the tale of Lord Voldemort's beginnings at the point where the handsome Muggle, Tom Riddle, had abandoned his witch wife, Merope, and returned to his family home in Little Hangleton." Dumbledore said. "Merope was left alone in London, expecting the baby who would one day become Lord Voldemort."

"How do you know she was in London, sir?" Harry said. 

"Because of the evidence of one Caractacus Burke." Dumbledore said. He swilled the contents of the Pensieve as I had seen him swill them before, much as a gold prospector sifts for gold. Up out of the swirling, silvery mass rose a little old man revolving slowly in the Pensieve, silver as a ghost but much more solid, with a thatch of hair that completely covered his eyes.

"Yes, we acquired it in curious circumstances. It was brought in by a young witch just before Christmas, oh, many years ago now. She said she needed the gold badly, well, that much was obvious. Covered in rags and pretty far along... going to have a baby, see. She said the locket had been Slytherin's. Well, we hear that sort of story all the time, 'Oh, this was Merlin's, this was his favourite teapot,' but when I looked at it, it had his mark all right, and a few simple spells were enough to tell me the truth. Of course, that made it near enough priceless. She didn't seem to have any idea how much it was worth. Happy to get ten Galleons for it. Best bargain we ever made!"

Dumbledore gave the Pensieve an extra-vigorous shake and Caractacus Burke descended back into the swirling mass of memory from whence he had come.

"He only gave her ten Galleons?" Harry said indignantly.

"Caractacus Burke was not famed for his generosity." Dumbledore said. "So we know that, near the end of her pregnancy, Merope was alone in London and in desperate need of gold, desperate enough to sell her one and only valuable possession, the locket that was one of Marvolo's treasured family heirlooms."

"But she could do magic!" I said impatiently. "She could have got food and everything for herself by magic, couldn't she?"

"Ah," said Dumbledore, "perhaps she could. But it is my belief - I am guessing again, but I am sure I am right - that when her husband abandoned her, Merope stopped using magic. I do not think that she wanted to be a witch any longer. Of course, it is also possible that her unrequited love and the attendant despair sapped her of her powers; that can happen. In any case, as you are about to see, Merope refused to raise her wand even to save her own life."

"She wouldn't even stay alive for her son?" I said. 

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows.

"Could you possibly be feeling sorry for Lord Voldemort, Daisy?"

"No." I said quickly. "But she had a choice, didn't she, not like our mother -" 

"Your mother had a choice too." Dumbledore said gently. "Yes, Merope Riddle chose death in spite of a son who needed her, but do not judge her too harshly, Daisy. She was greatly weakened by long suffering and she never had your mother's courage. And now, if you will stand..."

"Where are we going?" Harry asked, as Dumbledore joined us at the front of the desk.

"This time," said Dumbledore, "we are going to enter my memory. I think you will find it both rich in detail and satisfyingly accurate. After you, twins..."

I bent over the Pensieve; my face broke the cool surface of the memory and then I was falling through darkness again... Seconds later, my feet hit firm ground; I opened my eyes and found that me, Harry, and Dumbledore were standing in a bustling, old-fashioned London street.

"There I am." Dumbledore said brightly, pointing ahead of us to a tall figure crossing the road in front of a horse-drawn milk cart.

This younger Albus Dumbledore's long hair and beard were auburn. Having reached our side of the street, he strode off along the pavement, drawing many curious glances due to the flamboyantly cut suit of plum velvet that he was wearing.

"Nice suit, sir." I said, before I could stop myself, and Dumbledore merely chuckled as we followed his younger self a short distance, finally passing through a set of iron gates into a bare courtyard that fronted a rather grim, square building surrounded by high railings. He mounted the few steps leading to the front door and knocked once. After a moment or two, the door was opened by a scruffy girl wearing an apron.

"Good afternoon. I have an appointment with a Mrs Cole, who, I believe, is the matron here?"

We all stepped into the orphanage and Mrs Cole came out to take Dumbledore into her office. Dumbledore informed her that he wanted a boy called Tom Riddle who lived there to enrol in his school. 

"He's a funny boy." Mrs Cole said. 

"Yes." Dumbledore said. "I thought he might be."

"He was a funny baby too. He hardly ever cried, you know. And then, when he got a little older, he was... odd."

"Odd in what way?" Dumbledore asked gently.

"Well, he -" 

But Mrs Cole pulled up short, and she shot an inquisitorial glance at Dumbledore over her gin glass.

"He's definitely got a place at your school, you say?"

"Definitely." Dumbledore said.

"And nothing I say can change that?"

"Nothing." Dumbledore said.

"You'll be taking him away, whatever?"

"Whatever." Dumbledore repeated gravely.

She squinted at him as though deciding whether or not to trust him. Apparently she decided she could, because she said in a sudden rush, "He scares the other children."

"You mean he is a bully?" Dumbledore asked.

"I think he must be." Mrs Cole said, frowning slightly. "But it's very hard to catch him at it. There have been incidents... nasty things..."

Dumbledore did not press her, though I could tell that he was interested. Harry and I exchanged a glance. 

"Billy Stubbs's rabbit... well, Tom said he didn't do it and I don't see how he could have done, but even so, it didn't hang itself from the rafters, did it?"

"I shouldn't think so, no." Dumbledore said quietly.

"But I'm jiggered if I know how he got up there to do it. All I know is he and Billy had argued the day before. And then on the summer outing - we take them out, you know, once a year, to the countryside or to the seaside - well, Amy Benson and Dennis Bishop were never quite right afterwards, and all we ever got out of them was that they'd gone into a cave with Tom Riddle. He swore they'd just gone exploring, but something happened in there, I'm sure of it. And, well, there have been a lot of things, funny things..."

She looked around at Dumbledore again, and her gaze was steady.

"I don't think many people will be sorry to see the back of him."

"You understand, I'm sure, that we will not be keeping him permanently?" Dumbledore said. "He will have to return here, at the very least, every summer."

"Oh, well, that's better than a whack on the nose with a rusty poker." Mrs Cole said, getting to her feet. "I suppose you'd like to see him?"

"Very much." Dumbledore said, rising too.

She led him out of her office and up the stone stairs, calling out instructions and admonitions to helpers and children as she passed. The orphans, I saw, were all wearing the same kind of grayish tunic. They looked reasonably well-cared for, but there was no denying that this was a grim place in which to grow up.

"Here we are." Mrs Cole said, as we turned off the second landing and stopped outside the first door in a long corridor. She knocked twice and entered.

"Tom? You've got a visitor. This is Mr Dumberton - sorry, Dunderbore. He's come to tell you - well, I'll let him do it." 

Me, Harry, and the two Dumbledores entered the room, and Mrs Cole closed the door on us. It was a small bare room with nothing in it except an old wardrobe and an iron bedstead. A boy was sitting on top of the gray blankets, his legs stretched out in front of him, holding a book.

There was no trace of the Gaunts in Tom Riddle's face; he was his handsome father in miniature, tall for eleven years old, dark-haired, and pale. Indeed, as I remembered his sixteen-year-old persona he had on to this day, I didn't see any likeness to his unattractive maternal relatives. His eyes narrowed slightly as he took in Dumbledore's eccentric appearance. There was a moment's silence.

"How do you do, Tom?" Dumbledore said, walking forward and holding out his hand.

The boy hesitated, then took it, and they shook hands. Dumbledore drew up the hard wooden chair beside Riddle, so that the pair of them looked rather like a hospital patient and visitor.

"I am Professor Dumbledore."

"'Professor'?" Riddle repeated. He looked wary. "Is that like 'doctor'? What are you here for? Did she get you in to have a look at me?"

He was pointing at the door through which Mrs Cole had just left.

"No, no." Dumbledore said, smiling.

"I don't believe you." Riddle said. "She wants me looked at, doesn't she? Tell the truth!"

He spoke the last three words with a ringing force that was almost shocking. It was a command, and it sounded as though he had given it many times before. His eyes had widened and he was glaring at Dumbledore, who made no response except to continue smiling pleasantly. After a few seconds Riddle stopped glaring, though he looked, if anything, warier still.

"Who are you?"

"I have told you. My name is Professor Dumbledore and I work at a school called Hogwarts. I have come to offer you a place at my school - your new school, if you would like to come."

Riddle's reaction to this was most surprising. He leapt from the bed and backed away from Dumbledore, looking furious.

"You can't kid me! The asylum, that's where you're from, isn't it? 'Professor,' yes, of course - well, I'm not going, see? That old cat's the one who should be in the asylum. I never did anything to little Amy Benson or Dennis Bishop, and you can ask them, they'll tell you!" 

"I am not from the asylum." Dumbledore said patiently. "I am a teacher and, if you will sit down calmly, I shall tell you about Hogwarts. Of course, if you would rather not come to the school, nobody will force you -" 

"I'd like to see them try." Riddle sneered.

"Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, as though he had not heard Riddle's last words, "is a school for people with special abilities -" 

"I'm not mad!"

"I know that you are not mad. Hogwarts is not a school for mad people. It is a school of magic."

There was silence. Riddle had frozen, his face expressionless, but his eyes were flickering back and forth between each of Dumbledore's, as though trying to catch one of them lying.

"Magic?" He repeated in a whisper.

"That's right." Dumbledore said.

"It's... it's magic, what I can do?"

"What is it that you can do?"

"All sorts." Riddle breathed. A flush of excitement was rising up his neck into his hollow cheeks; he looked fevered. "I can make things move without touching them. I can make animals do what I want them to do, without training them. I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to."

His legs were trembling. He stumbled forward and sat down on the bed again, staring at his hands, his head bowed as though in prayer.

"I knew I was different." He whispered to his own quivering fingers. "I knew I was special. Always, I knew there was something."

"Well, you were quite right." Dumbledore said, who was no longer smiling, but watching Riddle intently. "You are a wizard."

Riddle lifted his head. His face was transfigured: there was a wild happiness upon it, yet for some reason it did not make him better looking; on the contrary, his finely carved features seemed somehow rougher, his expression almost bestial.

"Are you a wizard too?"

"Yes, I am."

"Prove it." Riddle said at once, in the same commanding tone he had used when he had said, "Tell the truth."

Dumbledore raised his eyebrows. "If, as I take it, you are accepting your place at Hogwarts -" 

"Of course I am!"

"Then you will address me as 'Professor' or 'sir.'"

Riddle's expression hardened for the most fleeting moment before he said, in an unrecognizably polite voice, "I'm sorry, sir. I meant - please, Professor, could you show me -?" 

I was sure that Dumbledore was going to refuse, that he would tell Riddle there would be plenty of time for practical demonstrations at Hogwarts, that they were currently in a building full of Muggles and must therefore be cautious. To my great surprise, however, Dumbledore drew his wand from an inside pocket of his suit jacket, pointed it at the shabby wardrobe in the corner, and gave the wand a casual flick.

The wardrobe burst into flames.

Riddle jumped to his feet; I could hardly blame him for howling in shock and rage; all his worldly possessions must be in there. But even as Riddle rounded on Dumbledore, the flames vanished, leaving the wardrobe completely undamaged.

Riddle stared from the wardrobe to Dumbledore; then, his expression greedy, he pointed at the wand. "Where can I get one of them?"

"All in good time." Dumbledore said. "I think there is something trying to get out of your wardrobe."

And sure enough, a faint rattling could be heard from inside it. For the first time, Riddle looked frightened.

"Open the door." Dumbledore said.

Riddle hesitated, then crossed the room and threw open the wardrobe door. On the topmost shelf, above a rail of threadbare clothes, a small cardboard box was shaking and rattling as though there were several frantic mice trapped inside it.

"Take it out." Dumbledore said.

Riddle took down the quaking box. He looked unnerved.

"Is there anything in that box that you ought not to have?" Dumbledore asked.

Riddle threw Dumbledore a long, clear, calculating look. "Yes, I suppose so, sir." He said finally, in an expressionless voice.

"Open it." Dumbledore said.

Riddle took off the lid and tipped the contents onto his bed without looking at them. I, who had expected something much more exciting, saw a mess of small, everyday objects: a yo-yo, a silver thimble, and a tarnished mouth organ among them. Once free of the box, they stopped quivering and lay quite still upon the thin blankets.

"You will return them to their owners with your apologies." Dumbledore said calmly, putting his wand back into his jacket. "I shall know whether it has been done. And be warned: thieving is not tolerated at Hogwarts."

Riddle did not look remotely abashed; he was still staring coldly and appraisingly at Dumbledore. At last he said in a colourless voice, "Yes, sir."

"At Hogwarts," Dumbledore went on, "we teach you not only to use magic, but to control it. You have - inadvertently, I am sure - been using your powers in a way that is neither taught nor tolerated at our school. You are not the first, nor will you be the last, to allow your magic to run away with you. But you should know that Hogwarts can expel students, and the Ministry of Magic - yes, there is a Ministry - will punish lawbreakers still more severely. All new wizards must accept that, in entering our world, they abide by our laws."

"Yes, sir." Riddle said again.

It was impossible to tell what he was thinking; his face remained quite blank as he put the little cache of stolen objects back into the cardboard box. When he had finished, he turned to Dumbledore and said baldly, "I haven't got any money."

"That is easily remedied." Dumbledore said, drawing a leather money-pouch from his pocket. "There is a fund at Hogwarts for those who require assistance to buy books and robes. You might have to buy some of your spellbooks and so on secondhand, but -" 

"Where do you buy spellbooks?" Riddle interrupted, who had taken the heavy money bag without thanking Dumbledore, and was now examining a fat gold Galleon.

"In Diagon Alley." Dumbledore said. "I have your list of books and school equipment with me. I can help you find everything -" 

"You're coming with me?" Riddle asked, looking up.

"Certainly, if you -" 

"I don't need you." Riddle said. "I'm used to doing things for myself, I go round London on my own all the time. How do you get to this Diagon Alley - sir?" He added, catching Dumbledore's eye.

I thought that Dumbledore would insist upon accompanying the little shit, but once again I was surprised. Dumbledore handed Riddle the envelope containing his list of equipment, and after telling Riddle exactly how to get to the Leaky Cauldron from the orphanage, he said, "You will be able to see it, although Muggles around you - non-magical people, that is - will not. Ask for Tom the barman - easy enough to remember, as he shares your name -" 

Riddle gave an irritable twitch, as though trying to displace an irksome fly.

"You dislike the name 'Tom'?"

"There are a lot of Toms." Riddle muttered. Then, as though he could not suppress the question, as though it burst from him in spite of himself, he asked, "Was my father a wizard? He was called Tom Riddle too, they've told me."

"I'm afraid I don't know." Dumbledore said, his voice gentle.

"My mother can't have been magic, or she wouldn't have died." Riddle said, more to himself than Dumbledore. "It must've been him. So - when I've got all my stuff - when do I come to this Hogwarts?"

"All the details are on the second piece of parchment in your envelope." Dumbledore said. "You will leave from King's Cross Station on the first of September. There is a train ticket in there too."

Riddle nodded. Dumbledore got to his feet and held out his hand again. Taking it, Riddle said, "I can speak to snakes. I found out when we've been to the country on trips - they find me, they whisper to me. Is that normal for a wizard?"

I could tell that he had withheld mention of this strangest power until that moment, determined to impress.

"It is unusual," said Dumbledore, after a moment's hesitation, "but not unheard of."

His tone was casual but his eyes moved curiously over Riddle's face. They stood for a moment, man and boy, staring at each other. Then the handshake was broken; Dumbledore was at the door.

"Goodbye, Tom. I shall see you at Hogwarts."

"I think that will do." The white-haired Dumbledore at my side said, and seconds later, we were soaring weightlessly through darkness once more, before landing squarely in the present-day office.

"He believed it much quicker than I did - I mean, when you told him he was a wizard." Harry said. "I didn't believe Hagrid at first, when he told us."

I remained quiet. I wasn't that surprised when Hagrid had told me. And those words that Riddle had spoken sounded familiar. 'I can make bad things happen to people who annoy me. I can make them hurt if I want to...' Yeah, that definitely sounds familiar. It's almost word-for-word what I'd said when Hagrid told us. I sat there awkwardly. 

"Yes, Riddle was perfectly ready to believe that he was - to use his word - 'special.'" Dumbledore said.

"Did you know - then?" Harry asked.

"Did I know that I had just met the most dangerous Dark wizard of all time?" Dumbledore said. "No, I had no idea that he was to grow up to be what he is. However, I was certainly intrigued by him. I returned to Hogwarts intending to keep an eye upon him, something I should have done in any case, given that he was alone and friendless, but which, already, I felt I ought to do for others' sake as much as his.

"His powers, as you heard, were surprisingly well-developed for such a young wizard and - most interestingly and ominously of all - he had already discovered that he had some measure of control over them, and begun to use them consciously. And as you both saw, they were not the random experiments typical of young wizards: he was already using magic against other people, to frighten, to punish, to control. The little stories of the strangled rabbit and the young boy and girl he lured into a cave were most suggestive... 'I can make them hurt if I want to...'" 

"And he was a Parselmouth." I interjected.

"Yes, indeed; a rare ability, and one supposedly connected with the Dark Arts, although as we know, there are Parselmouths among the great and the good too. In fact, his ability to speak to serpents did not make me nearly as uneasy as his obvious instincts for cruelty, secrecy, and domination.

"Time is making fools of us again." Dumbledore said, indicating the dark sky beyond the windows. "But before we part, I want to draw your attention to certain features of the scene we have just witnessed, for they have a great bearing on the matters we shall be discussing in future meetings.

"Firstly, I hope you noticed Riddle's reaction when I mentioned that another shared his first name, 'Tom'?"

"Indeed." I said. 

"Naturally." Harry and I chorused. 

"There he showed his contempt for anything that tied him to other people, anything that made him ordinary. Even then, he wished to be different, separate, notorious. He shed his name, as you know, within a few short years of that conversation and created the mask of 'Lord Voldemort' behind which he has been hidden for so long.

"I trust that you also noticed that Tom Riddle was already highly self-sufficient, secretive, and, apparently, friendless? He did not want help or companionship on his trip to Diagon Alley. He preferred to operate alone. The adult Voldemort is the same. You will hear many of his Death Eaters claiming that they are in his confidence, that they alone are close to him, even understand him. They are deluded. Lord Voldemort has never had a friend, nor do I believe that he has ever wanted one.

"And lastly... I hope you are not too sleepy to pay attention to this, Daisy, Harry - the young Tom Riddle liked to collect trophies. You saw the box of stolen articles he had hidden in his room. These were taken from victims of his bullying behavior, souvenirs, if you will, of particularly unpleasant bits of magic. Bear in mind this magpie-like tendency, for this, particularly, will be important later.

"And now, it really is time for bed."

Harry and I got to our feet. As we walked together across the room, my eyes fell upon the little table on which Marvolo Gaunt's ring had rested last time, but the ring was no longer there.

"Yes, Daisy?" Dumbledore said, for I had come to a halt.

"The ring's gone." I said, looking around. "But I thought you might have the mouth organ or something."

Dumbledore beamed at me, peering over the top of his half-moon spectacles.

"Very astute, Daisy, but the mouth organ was only ever a mouth organ." 

~~~ 

The morning of Hogsmeade was soon upon us, and I felt like it was going to be a good day. Filch was standing at the oak front doors as usual, checking off the names of people who had permission to go into Hogsmeade. The process took even longer than normal as Filch was triple-checking everybody with his Secrecy Sensor.

"What the fuck does it matter if we're smuggling Dark stuff OUT?" I demanded, eyeing the long thin Secrecy Sensor with apprehension. "Surely, Mr Filth, you ought to be checking what we bring back IN?"

My cheek earned me a few extra jabs with the Sensor, and I was still wincing as we stepped out into the wind and sleet. We hurried down the road into the village, bracing against the harsh weather. Terry pointed, with a thickly gloved hand, toward Honeydukes, and the twins and I staggered in his wake into the crowded shop.

"Thank Godric." Fred shivered as we were enveloped by warm, toffee-scented air. "Let's stay here all afternoon."

"Daisy, m'girl!" A booming voice from behind us said.

"Fuck." I muttered. The four of us turned to see Professor Slughorn, who was wearing an enormous furry hat and an overcoat with matching fur collar, clutching a large bag of crystalized pineapple, and occupying at least a quarter of the shop.

"Daisy, that's three of my little suppers you've missed now!" Slughorn said, poking me genially in the chest. "It won't do, m'girl, I'm determined to have you! And you four as well! So why don't you come along?" He demanded. 

Fred stared at the place I was poked with an incredulous expression on his face, then slid his eyes to Slughorn's face, his eyebrows raised. 

"Well, I've had Quidditch practice, Professor." I said. I had indeed been scheduling practices every time Slughorn had sent me and the twins a little, violet ribbon-adorned invitation. 

"And I can't miss those either, I need to observe their strategies to beat them in the Gryffindor versus Ravenclaw match." Terry said quickly. 

"Well, I certainly expect the Gryffindors to win their first match after all the hard work!" Slughorn said. "But a little recreation never hurt anybody. Now, how about Monday night, you can't possibly want to practice in this weather..." 

"I can't, Professor, I've got - er - an appointment with Professor Dumbledore that evening. Oh, and the boys, too." 

"Unlucky again!" Slughorn cried dramatically. "Ah, well... you can't evade me forever, Daisy!"

And with a regal wave, he waddled out of the shop. Terry, Fred, and George clapped me on the back. 

"Thanks, Softpaw!" George said, delighted. 

"What kind of clan member would I be if I didn't have my mates' backs?" I grinned. 

"Oh, look - they've got Deluxe Sugar Quills - those would last hours!" Terry said eagerly. 

The Insurgents spent the afternoon going round the shops, joking and messing around, and we ended up in the Three Broomsticks, drinking our Butterbeers until it got dark. Terry and George excused themselves while Fred and I flirted heavily in the little corner booth, Fred's arm around my shoulders. 

"They've been gone quite a while." I said, craning my neck over the top of the booth. "Where -?" 

"Let's not worry about them right now, Daze." Fred said in a low voice, and I blinked. He used my real name. 

"Are you...?" 

"I'm not under the Imperius Curse, don't worry." Fred grinned at me. "Trust me. Come on, let's go somewhere more private, huh?" 

He stood up, reaching a hand out. His chocolate eyes twinkled down at me, his lips quirked in a cheeky smirk. 

I took his hand. And I let him lead me out of the pub, up a set of stairs, along a corridor, and into one of the inn's rooms. There, Fred descended upon me, his lips moving with mine passionately. His hands cupped my face, and I rested my hands on his chest, not fully pushing him away, but holding him back as I felt the pure passion rush through me. I was out of breath, gasping for air, as Fred's tongue swept through my mouth. My heart was pounding, my legs were shaking, my knees were weak. 

Fred's hands slid down my body to my ass, lifting me up with his strong Beater arms, and depositing me on the bed. He attacked my mouth again, letting his hands move over my body, unzipping my jacket, as I tugged his denim jacket off his shoulders, letting it drop on the floor. 

"You're so sexy, Daisy." Fred panted into my mouth as he helped me shrug off my jacket. 

"Shut up and kiss me." I panted right back, tugging my top over my head and tossing it on top of Fred's jacket. 

Fred's lips enveloped mine, his teeth tugging at my bottom lip. I moaned softly into his mouth as his hands found my bra, fingers moving over the lace. I tugged at his shirt, unbuttoning and pushing it off his shoulders, feeling up his strong arms and toned body, gasping as his bare skin made contact with mine. 

Fred's mouth moved down to my neck as his hands continued to feel up my breasts. I moaned, arching my neck into his mouth as he sucked hickey after hickey into my skin, teeth grazing me. I relished in the pleasure he was giving me for a moment, before reaching down and wrestling with his belt, tugging at his jeans. Fred kicked them off impatiently, turning his focus onto my skirt and woollen tights, leaving us both in only our underwear. 

"Why don't I take this off?" Fred said seductively, fingers twisting in my bra straps. 

I batted my eyelashes up at him, biting my lip, and he swore, swiftly unclasping my bra and tossing it over the edge of the bed. He couldn't look away from my breasts, his eyes darkened. His fingers started teasing at my panty line, and he finally looked up into my eyes. 

"Do you want me, Daisy?" Fred purred. The tension in the room was heavy. I couldn't help but let my eyes drift down to his toned stomach and chest, then back up to his dark eyes, gleaming with lust. 

"Yes..." I breathed, and Fred immediately lowered himself onto me, tugging off his boxers. My panties were also whipped off, and Fred's tongue entered my mouth as he rubbed himself between my legs. I gasped into his mouth at the contact, squirming as he positioned himself. 

"Are you sure -" 

"Yes!" 

I moaned as Fred lined himself up and pushed. He slid in all the way, and I took several quick, deep breaths, wrapping my legs around him and trapping him close to me, not letting him move. But it didn't look as if Fred wanted to move; his eyes were shut and his bottom lip was in between his teeth; a moment later his lip was released and a deep groan burst forth from him. 

"D-Daisy... can I -?" 

"You can move." I breathed. I felt so stretched out, so full - but surprisingly it didn't hurt as much as I thought it would. Maybe all the fingers that had previously entered me had prepared me. Oops. 

Fred didn't need to be told twice. He rocked his hips into me, hissing every time he sank in fully, soon setting a steady rhythm in and out of me as I trembled underneath him, scratching down his muscular back. Fred's low groans and breaths into my ear were turning me on so much, the way he moaned my name when my pussy squeezed tight around him was so hot that I was soon on the edge. 

He hit places inside me that made my toes curl. He grabbed my legs, hoisting them around his hips, changing the angle so that he could sink in deeper. He palmed my breasts as I felt him up, feeling his muscles flexing under my hands as he moved in me. Fred was close too, I could tell; his thrusts were getting sloppier and his eyes were crossing ever so slightly. 

A particularly delicious thrust later, and I was falling apart around him. I arched my back, moaning loudly, Fred's name falling from my lips over and over again as I soaked his thighs, my core lighting up like an intensely pleasurable lightning strike. Fred collapsed on top of me as he came, and I flinched slightly as I felt him shooting inside me. He buried his face in my neck, biting down hard as he groaned loudly, still rocking his hips slightly even though he was as deep as he could go. 

"Freddie... baby..." 

We lay there panting as we recovered. Fred didn't move from me for a while. When he finally rolled off me, he looked incredibly satisfied, a small smile on his face as he glanced over at me. 

"Daisy..." 

I reached for my wand, pointing it between my legs. "Tergeo." I said. Instantly, I felt a little less like I was drenched. I bent over, pulling on my tights and skirt, while Fred watched with a frown, not moving. 

"Daisy... I want us to be together." 

"Not this again." I sighed, quickly pulling my top and jacket on. "Fred, I can't do this. I'll see you back at school." 

I unlocked the door, slipping through it and shutting it behind me. I leaned back against it for a moment, shutting my eyes and breathing out slowly. I didn't know why I couldn't just let myself be with Fred. But something deep in me was telling me not to. 

It wasn't like I didn't have feelings for him. I guess I can't ignore it anymore. There's a reason I didn't make eye contact with him once his tone turned serious. 

Because deep down, I knew what I wanted. And I didn't know why I couldn't just let myself be happy.