She’d gotten up after that and cast the Contraceptive and Disease Charm on her belly, as taught by Madam Pomfrey in her Health and Healing Class.
The stinging pain between her legs and the heavy throbbing in her hips had been sheer torture to endure all the way back to her dorm, but it had been a toss-up to say whether it was physical or emotional pain that hurt worse then.
It had been especially difficult not to feel so wounded by the feel of Sea’s sperm, deposited so casually and indifferently into her just minutes before, finally dripping down her thighs as she’d done the ‘walk of shame’ back to her bed.
As she’d lain down to sleep in her room later that night, she’d berated herself for having had sex for the first time on the spur of the moment – and all because she’d been hot for Finnigan, and he’d been able to talk her into taking such a big step with a few lush kisses.
An even bigger blow was when she’d had to admit the fact that in walking out on her as he had, Seamus had let her know that she’d meant nothing more to him than a hole to fill.
As she’d feared, she’d been only a bet for him to win with Dean Thomas.
The crush she’d had for the Irish literally did as the name suggested then, and she’d cried to sleep that night.
Her sorrow over the one-off affair didn’t abate for quite a long time for her, either.
The painful lead weight of regret and the major blow to her pride at being so thoroughly used had continued to press down on her ribcage and linger over her shoulders for months after.
Finally, time did its usual favour and abated the worst of it, but it had taken almost two years.
After that, she’d vowed never to be used by another man.
If there was to be sexual servicing going on, it would be on her terms.
Yes, sir, Lavender Brown had decided to become a take-charge kind of girl when it came to her sexuality, and there was no way in the seven layers of Hell that she’d let a man overwhelm her in that arena ever again–especially the likes of Seamus whore-mongering Finnigan!
Hogwarts School of Witchcraft & Wizardry, Scotland Dining Hall Thursday, June 11, 1998 (evening)
Daphne was squeezed between her best girlfriend, Pansy, on one side of the dining table, and her younger sister, Astoria, on the other, pretending to be engrossed in eating her cheese, onion, and leek quiche while drowning out the gossip and prattle amongst her female Housemates.
She was, instead, fine-tuning her ability to eavesdrop on the conversation happening a little further down the table, where her Theo sat next to Mister Zabini and Mister Malfoy.
Shutting out extraneous noise and focusing on a specific voice or series of voices while surrounded by others was a trick she’d learned over the years to survive living in Slytherin House, for the more secrets you knew, the more you were left alone by others who feared your knowledge against them.
Daphne had never had cause to use such a weapon to date, as it wasn’t in her nature to want to abuse such things, but one never knew what the future might bring, so she kept these confidences locked in her brain for a rainy day.
She rarely had much to contribute to idle chit-chat anyway, preferring to be an active listener instead.
As she chewed, she picked up wisps of conversation floating on the air, capturing the essence by filling in the blanks.
Theo had just intimated that everyone should dress-up for their game night, and the other two wizards in his accompaniment had readily agreed.
Oh dear, she could just envision what that meant.
It was no small stretch to assume that if Theo had his way, all six of the women would be pasted into either tight leather corsets and lacy, barely-there bits of lingerie.
Six-inch heels and some sort of restraining device around the neck, wrists, or waist would also, no doubt, be in fashion.
She may love the charming, silly Slytherin, but she was also well aware of Nott’s sexual depravities from having observed him in secret for years.
He was a visual sensualist, stimulated by colours and shapes, more than any other sense.
Physically monitoring the reactions he purposefully elicited from others–seeing their eyes flare and their cheeks pink with panic or anger or desire–aroused him more than touching them.
Consequently, that also made him a natural voyeur, and a daring and uninhibited exhibitionist.
It would be best to warn her friends of their male Housemate’s intentions, so the women would have input into their wardrobe choices.
“It sounds as if our male teammates have determined that we three ladies are to embellish our clothing options this weekend for their amusement,” she leaned over and whispered in Pansy’s ear. Enjoying the story? Read on at novelping.com.
Immediately, her friend curtailed her unflattering comparison of Professor Snape to Sanguini, the world’s most famous ‘outed’ Vampire with Millicent, turning rounded, surprised eyes on Daphne.
“What?” the witch hissed in anger.
Clearly, she understood the situation.
“We’ll have to talk about that after dinner. I don’t like things sprung at me at the last minute–especially costuming.”
Daphne did not look up; she merely continued to cut into her meal with genteel precision.
“Agreed,” she murmured.
“What is?” her little sister chimed in next to her.
“You need not be concerned with our discussion,” Daphne coolly replied.
She loved Tori, truly, but the girl’s curiosity was simply too rambunctious for long-term exposure.
She should never have been sorted into Slytherin House; Hufflepuff would have been a far better match for her sister’s temperament.
Daphne suspected that the only reason her sister had been selected to join her in the Silver and Green was because the girl had wished not to be parted from her older sibling, and everyone knew the Sorting Hat took a person’s private wishes into account when making its final decision.
Tori pouted.
“You always say that. I’m not a baby anymore, Daph.”