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Kiss

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He tastes like pumpkin juice and strawberry jam, and his hands are surprisingly rough against her skin, calloused from broom handling and schoolwork. They catch on her hair when he tilts her head to a different angle so that he can kiss her more fully.

She's kissed a lot of boys, although her brothers don't know it, but this isn't like that. It's a once-in-a-lifetime kiss, for it surely won't happen again. He won't grab her outside the Great Hall after breakfast and pull her against his lean body again, won't lower his head, neck bent at what must be an uncomfortable angle to press his lips to hers. Won't sweep her lips apart with his tongue and delve into her mouth, won't explore her long and slow, won't groan in his throat almost inaudibly before tearing his lips from hers and pushing her away.

He stares at her and draws the back of his hand across his mouth, as though he's disgusted at what he's just done. Then he tosses his white-blond hair, spins around, and stalks away through the Entrance Hall as though he hasn't done anything at all. She can only stare, speechless, and silently wish he'd come back and do it again.