Chapter Text
Sneaking Into Locker Rooms: Slytherin vs. Ravenclaw
The 1995-1996 school year was one of those strange Quidditch seasons where it was anyone's guess who would win the blasted cup, and the thing about Quidditch was... it never quite went the way anyone expected. Ever.
All four teams had superb Chasers. Spinnet, Johnson, and Bell were in their best season yet, having played alongside each other for several years, and Merlin's arse, but they looked fit as fuck on the pitch. Adrian was positive he wasn't the only bloke in the stands whose blood was pounding while watching those three in the air.
As for the Slytherin team, he, Montague, and Warrington knew how to read each other well since they were in the same class, and heaven knew Montague and Warrington would foul anyone if they thought it would change the psychology of the match.
Ravenclaw boasted three older Chasers as well: seventh-year Roger Davies, seventh-year Donovan Chambers, and sixth-year prefect Trystan Bradley. They were also a force to be reckoned with, though only Davies had been on the team the year before the Triwizard Tournament.
Hufflepuff's Chasers were the most wide-ranging in age: their snobbish fifth-year captain was Zacharias Smith, but Dylan Cadwallader was a third year, and the ever-good-natured Gilbert Royle was a seventh-year. Despite their age differences, they still worked well together.
What it meant was that the outcome of each match really came down to each team's Keeper and Seeker, and Adrian felt it was a bit of a toss-up as to how those players would react from match to match.
Gryffindor's problem was that, after their first game, they suddenly had not only an awful Keeper, but two ridiculous Beaters as well. Despite that, rumors soon abounded that Ginny Weasley was a damn good substitute for Potter; she at least knew what she was doing and loved to play the game.
In Slytherin's case, things came down to Malfoy. Bletchley was a good Keeper even if Adrian detested him, but Malfoy was withering under Montague's pressure, and Malfoy did not do well under pressure. If Montague had just backed off, Malfoy might have played better, but Adrian wasn't captain, so he kept his damn mouth shut.
Hufflepuff's Keeper was also their only female player, and Sloane Gahan was damned good at Keeping for her age. Adrian wouldn't be surprised if the fourth-year made a professional team one day; she had a lot of potential and she was fierce as fire when it came to guarding her posts. But Hufflepuff's Seeker, Shaun Summerby, was hit or miss — he certainly didn't have Cedric's skill, though Adrian suspected it was tough trying to follow the popular young man who had been needlessly killed by the Dark Lord the year before.
Ravenclaw's Keeper was John Hall, a sixth-year student who was fairly decent at his position, but Ravenclaw's Seeker, Cho Chang, was the only girl on their team and she also had issues under pressure.
In late November, Hufflepuff lost heavily to Ravenclaw, because Summerby was sick in the hospital wing and couldn't play; otherwise, Hufflepuff would have likely won the match and probably the house cup to boot. Their loss certainly rearranged the stats.
As for the Slytherin-Ravenclaw game... It was scheduled for late February that year, and Adrian had a feeling it was going to be a very close call. All of the Chasers, Keepers, and Beaters were evenly matched on both sides, which meant it was going to come down to the Snitch. Montague instructed Crabbe and Goyle to do whatever they could to keep Chang from getting the little golden ball before Malfoy did, while Malfoy angrily insisted he was better than that "jumped-up half-blood chit who had dated pretty-boy Diggory and precious Potter back-to-back". His rant fell on deaf ears; Montague had not forgiven him for losing the Snitch to Potter in early November.
Adrian wasn't fond of any of the Ravenclaw Chasers. They were all arseholes, but none worse than Davies, who was a complete ponce and attention-hog. For fuck's sake, he was practically preening as he walked onto the field to stand opposite Montague, even going so far as to wave to the damn crowds.
It was a bitterly cold morning; the balmy weather just before Valentine's had taken an unexpected turn. And unfortunately, the game lasted over an hour, with the Snitch effectively staying well out of sight the entire time — so all of them froze their bollocks off.
As much as Crabbe and Goyle tried to put Chang out of action, they weren't able to do so; she was petite and could change direction more easily than a Bludger. To make matters worse, the Ravenclaw Beaters were soon matching Slytherin's tactics. It wasn't unheard of for Ravenclaw to play dirty, but Adrian wished the match had ended sooner. He took five fucking Bludgers before Chang got the Snitch, three in his right shoulder alone, and he knew he was going to be sore as hell the next day. Montague and Warrington took several Bludgers as well — it was clearly payback for Crabbe and Goyle honing in on Chang.
Adrian also wasn't terribly surprised when Chang got the Snitch, but it was a lucky catch. It flitted right in front of her and she nabbed it before Malfoy even saw it. Still, Slytherin only lost by 30 points, thanks to Bletchley's skills at Keeping and all three Slytherin Chasers having scored multiple goals each against Hall. That didn't stop Montague from lashing out at Malfoy, though.
Much as he had after the Gryffindor game, Adrian stayed in the shower far longer than usual, but this time, it wasn't because of the loss or even necessarily the desire to be alone. His shoulder was killing him and he hoped the hot water would relax his muscles so he could avoid the hospital wing. Getting injured in a match was common, but his idiot teammates often sucked it up and acted like it was no big deal. That meant going to the hospital wing was frowned upon. Malfoy was the only one who went there regularly (especially if he thought it would benefit him in some way, such as getting a match postponed). This had often prompted Montague to sneer that Malfoy was a fucking pansy, and Adrian had no desire to catch hell from Montague by going to see the matron himself.
Still, he grimaced as he stood under the water. He wondered if the last Bludger had dislocated his shoulder. Salazar's arse, it hurt like hell.
It was at least ten minutes after the locker room door banged shut that he finally turned off the shower and dried off, wincing in pain as he wrapped the towel around his waist and headed back for the main locker room. But when he entered the space, it was to unexpectedly find someone waiting on him, sitting cross-legged on a bench and reading an old Defense book she'd clearly pulled out of his locker. He froze in the doorway as it abruptly occurred to him that he was only wearing a towel. And how the fuck had she even gotten in their locker room? Alarm arose within him faster than he thought possible.
The most he could say for this scene was that she was mercifully wearing jeans and a jumper instead of her school uniform or a short skirt (or, Salazar forbid, his Quidditch jersey, he thought in panic), and at least her hair was in a pretty braid down her back instead of hanging loose, but her presence caught him completely off guard and all of his blood rushed south. How many of his fantasies had started out like this? He'd lost count, damn it, and this was apparently real. For one wild moment, he desperately hoped it was another fantasy and maybe he'd blacked out in the shower from pain and he was just dreaming. But no. She was actually in the Slytherin locker room and they were alone and he was naked except for a towel.
Merlin help him.
Without looking up, she said, "Don't worry, I was Disillusioned when I snuck in."
There was a cute blush across her cheeks, as though it had taken every ounce of her courage to actually do what she'd done. It probably had, he thought frantically.
She went on, "Warrington was the last one out. I slipped in behind him and locked it in case anyone decided to come back. And I waited a few minutes before I removed the Disillusionment Charm, too." She sat up a bit straighter, looked towards the lockers, wrinkled her nose, and said in a disgusted voice, "Why is it that all the guys' locker rooms smell so bad? The Gryffindor boys are the same. It's gross."
He finally found his voice and sputtered, "What the hell are you doing in here?"
His imagination was seriously trying to get the better of him and his body was reacting. He couldn't count the number of fantasies he'd had about shagging her in this locker room. This could be a dream come true, and yet, it couldn't be. His only other consolation (besides her attire not being overly sexual) was that this would not be the first time she'd seen him shirtless, though it was only infinitesimally less embarrassing than the first time. Which, actually, had been a mere week earlier, when Hayden had tricked them into going to the prefects' bath at the same time. That memory was very fresh and embarrassing in his mind. They had almost kissed in the prefects' bath. Actually, he had kissed her. He'd kissed her forehead.
She needed to get out of here. Now.
Seemingly unaware of his internal war, Alicia closed the book and stood up, finally meeting his eyes despite the pink flush over her face. And then, as though unable to stop herself, her gaze flickered to his body: her mouth parted just slightly and her eyes glazed over a bit as she got a damned good look. And he was completely pinned by it. He couldn't move if he wanted to. It was as though someone had stunned him but he was still coherent, and he liked the way she looked at him. It made him feel more confident. Not that he ever thought he was ugly, but the fact that she liked the way he looked...
After a moment, she breathed, "Um... you got hit several times out there by Bludgers. I just... wanted to make sure you were okay, since I know they hurt like hell."
He looked away quickly, feeling his own blush rise up through his face. Shite, this was not what he needed. The girl he had a hopeless crush on, checking up on him because he'd taken a few Bludgers in a match, and admiring his body at the same time? He was sure he'd had specific fantasies about this very scenario. His breathing was getting shallower by the second, and his heart rate was way faster than it had been at any point on the pitch. It really, really didn't help that she was looking at him like she wanted to run her hands all over him. He gripped the towel tighter so it wouldn't slip off and forced himself to speak, not even bothering to strive for politeness, because they were way past that point.
"Spinnet, seriously, get out of here."
She ignored him and said patiently, "Listen. Chrysanthe and I were studying basic healing charms last week to prepare for our N.E.W.T.s. I can heal your shoulder if you want, and you won't have to go to the hospital wing. I suspect you're the type who hates going to the hospital wing."
His flush deepened and he stormed past her to his locker, grabbed the book from the bench, and shoved it back in with the rest of his things. "Spinnet, you are beyond pushing it. Please get out of here."
"I thought we were friends." She sounded a little hurt.
He exhaled and leaned his head on the lockers, his free fist clenching tightly in an effort to control his emotions because his other fist was still tight on the towel. "We are friends, but... damn it, you know I fancy you! And you still came in here and... I'm not even dressed! Can you please just leave before I do something I'll regret?"
"No." Cool steel crept into her voice. "I'll turn around so you can at least get your trousers on, but please let me heal your shoulder. I promise I'll leave as soon as I do that."
He glanced behind him. She had turned around and was facing the other way, her long braid thick against her back, and her hands clasped behind her as she rocked on her feet. Her stance was one of nervousness, and he knew it had truly taken all of her courage to come here. Was she hoping he would snog her? Bloody hell, he was naked except for the fucking towel; at this rate, she'd be lucky if he didn't shag her. It was very tempting to turn her around and kiss her...
"Don't you dare turn around," he warned, as he reached in his locker for his pants.
He kept his eyes on her as he quickly pulled them on and then yanked his jeans up. He was already getting hard; this was going to be next to impossible. If he didn't shag her outright, he'd have to at least wank before he went back to the castle. Keeping the towel wadded up on his lap to hide his erection, he sat down on the bench facing away from her and finally muttered, "Okay. Just hurry up, would you?"
A moment later, he felt her soft, cool fingers brush his right shoulder and he hissed at the contact. Bloody fucking hell, did she have any idea what she was doing to him? He wasn't sure which was worse: the pain of the bruise, or how gentle she was treating him, or how much he wanted her to run her hands over his shoulders down his chest...
"Just heal it," he grit out, fingers digging in his arm to distract himself. "And please get out of here."
She winced. "You really took a beating out there. Ravenclaw wasn't holding back, were they? Another one hit you here." She touched another part of his back, further down, and he arched away from her touch.
"No, they weren't! It was Montague's fault, damn it. He told Crabbe and Goyle to go after Chang, so Gupta and Reed came after us. Just heal both if you must, but do it fast and get out of here!"
"Where did the other one hit you?"
"What other one?"
"There were five, Pucey."
Merlin's fucking balls, had she really been watching him so closely that she'd counted how many times he gotten hit by Bludgers...?
And yet, he knew logically that he couldn't get upset about that. When she played, he focused solely on her, too. What was the difference?
He swallowed. "My left thigh, but you definitely aren't healing that one."
If he pulled his jeans down to let her heal his thigh, he would absolutely shag her.
He could hear the teasing in her voice when she leaned close to his ear.
"You sure?"
"Spinnet!"
"Alright, alright." She straightened up and a moment later, he felt the pain in his shoulder ease slightly before lessening even more and then vanishing completely.
Against his will, he let out a breath of relief. Merlin, that felt so much better. He hadn't realized how much it had actually hurt until she healed it.
She brushed her fingers gently over the spot again and he bit his lip to keep from moaning aloud. Her touching him was seriously going to be his downfall, he just knew it.
"Is that better?" she whispered.
He nodded, not trusting his voice.
A moment later, the same sensation happened in his lower left back. He rolled his neck and shoulders to loosen his muscles even more. Fuck, she was good at healing him. This wasn't a fantasy, this was real...
He managed to mutter, "You're going to be a great Healer some day. I mean... you already are. That's... loads better."
She sat down on his left. "I can actually do the one on your thigh, too. You don't even have to take your jeans off. Where did it hit?"
He couldn't look at her. He moved his left hand over the bruised spot on his thigh, wincing as he realized how much it hurt, too. Reed had nearly knocked him off his broom with that particular Bludger; it had come late in the game when the Ravenclaw Beaters were really pissed and becoming more dangerous. He'd been lucky he hadn't dropped the Quaffle; as a matter of fact, he'd scored off Hall just moments later, which made the Ravenclaw Beaters even angrier and prompted them to hit him in the shoulder for the third time on his next pass across the pitch.
Alicia pointed her wand at his leg. The throbbing ache disappeared and he sagged forward with his eyes closed. It took longer than he wished to find his voice, but he finally murmured, "Thanks, Spinnet. I owe you one."
The next thing that happened caught him off guard completely.
She leaned forward, pressed her soft, damp lips against his shoulder, and said quietly, "You're welcome, but you don't owe me. That's what friends are for, right?"
His eyes opened to stare at the floor, but she had already stood and hurried back to the locker room door, faster than he expected her to. Almost as though her courage ran out at that exact moment, and she suddenly realized she was in a locker room, alone with him, and literally playing with fire. This wasn't the first time she'd pressed his buttons to see if she could get a reaction. It was best if he let her leave, but something inside him snapped.
He pushed himself to his feet and grabbed her just before she reached the door, wrapping his arms around her body and crushing her back against his chest. His head dropped towards her shoulder and he muttered, "Wait."
"Shouldn't I go?" she whispered. "You said you wanted me to go."
He shook his head. "It's best if you do, but that doesn't mean I want you to."
"What do you want?"
"Honestly?" He half-laughed at the absurdity of the situation. "I want to shag your brains out, but I'm not. I'm going to let you go in just a moment, and you're going to go back to the castle before I do anything I shouldn't. Do you understand?"
She sighed, but instead of his honesty scaring her, she merely leaned her temple against the side of his cheek as her fingers curled around his wrist. In a small voice, she asked, "Are you sure this wouldn't work? Us? I feel like we could make it work. If we tried hard enough — we're both brilliant —"
"We probably could figure something out," he said bitterly, "but it's too dangerous and you know it. That doesn't make it easier, but it does make it imperative that we don't let it go any further right now."
He could tell the boundaries were starting to bother her. They were starting to bother him, too. But all she said was, "Thank you for letting me heal you."
He pressed his lips to her temple, then her ear. "Get out of here," he rasped. "Please."
She nodded, squeezed his hand, and bolted.
He staggered back to the bench and laid down on his back, pressing his palms to his eyes. He was so fucked. He desperately reminded himself that his classmates would never accept her if they dated openly, and it would put her in far too much danger. He'd catch hell, too. You respect her, he reminded himself. It wouldn't be fair to her if you snuck around with her more than you already are because of those stupid patrols Umbridge forces you to do.
Adrian groaned as he suddenly remembered. They had to patrol together in just two days, damn it. He had no idea how he was going to survive that.
Bonus Scene:
He'd forgotten one thing.
Before he had to get through the next patrol, he had to get through an Ancient Runes class with her.
He was completely distracted throughout the entire period. It wasn't the first class he'd had with her since the match, but it was the first one where he was sitting right next to her. So close he could smell that soft floral perfume she wore. It was maddening.
For her part, Alicia seemed to be studiously listening as Professor Babbling. She certainly wasn't looking in his direction.
But Adrian? He was utterly useless. All he could think about was how she'd looked at him, like she wanted to run her hands all over his body... and then how her hand had gently brushed his shoulder, how she'd healed his bruises... her lips pressing his skin, damp and warm and...
"Miss Spinnet!"
He jolted and looked over at her in surprise. The rest of their small class had turned to look at her, too.
Alicia's face turned pink. It seemed as though Professor Babbling had caught her off guard, though Adrian couldn't figure why. How many times had Babbling called Alicia's name? He honestly wasn't sure.
"I'm sorry," she stammered. "What was that, Professor?"
Professor Babbling frowned at her. "It's not like you to not pay attention in my class, Miss Spinnet. Are you well?"
Alicia's blush deepened. "I... didn't sleep well last night," she muttered.
"Very well. Mr. Pucey? The translation, please?"
Adrian jerked to look at the blackboard. He realized he had absolutely no idea what was going on, any more than Alicia did.
"I... uh..."
Professor Babbling exhaled through her nostrils. "Really? It isn't like you not to pay attention, either! The match was three days ago, Mr. Pucey! I'm sorry Slytherin lost, but get over it already! Mr. Chambers! Were you paying attention? I certainly hope so, since Ravenclaw won," she snapped.
There were some soft snickers from the few other students in their class at her sarcasm, though Towler was looking back at Adrian and Alicia both with a slight frown. Donovan, meanwhile, smirked and promptly gave the right answer, and Professor Babbling turned back to the board to continue diagramming the complex verb tenses of Ancient Runes.
Adrian could feel his ears burning. He couldn't believe he'd been caught off guard like that, but why hadn't Alicia been paying attention? He glanced at her, only to find she was looking at him from the corner of her eye. When she caught him watching her, she quickly looked away and her blush deepened.
And suddenly, it made sense. He carefully tore off a corner of his parchment, scribbled a note, and used his wand to flick it to Alicia's desk. He was quite grateful they sat in the very back of the small classroom, because it meant no one noticed him passing the note to her.
She jumped slightly when it fell against her hand and she looked down at it as though she'd never had anyone pass her a note in a class before. Surreptitiously, she eased it open while keeping her eyes on Professor Babbling. When the woman turned back to the board to point out how to break down the sentence structure of the text they were working on, Alicia glanced down to read the note instead.
Maybe if you stopped daydreaming about me naked in the showers, it read, you could give the right answers in class, Alicia.
Her face turned pink again and a furious look flashed in her eyes. Without looking at him, she grabbed her quill — that beautiful blackbird quill — and scribbled a quick response, refolded the note, waited for Professor Babbling to turn to the board again after Royle gave the next correct answer, and levitated it back to his desk.
He opened it carefully, keeping his eyes on the board for a moment in case Babbling turned back around, but she was busy writing a new translation, so he glanced down.
Maybe if you stopped daydreaming about the color of my bra and whether I would suck you off in those same showers, Adrian, you could answer properly when she calls on you, too.
As soon as Towler gave Babbling the next correct answer and their professor turned back to the blackboard to write the translation out, Adrian set the little note on fire to destroy the evidence, hoping to every dead ancestor he possessed that no one noticed the smoke.
But he knew there was no way to stop his face from burning.
Alicia, damn her, just smirked despite her blush and started taking notes like she should have been doing from the start.
He was absolutely going to fail the next test, damn it. And he needed a wank.