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Clearly, he already knew what a flawed, unfinished thing she was, but he didn't need to know where the tender spots were. It was bad enough the sound of his call left her with this odd sensation inside of crumpling and blossoming all at once while a sweetly tortuous ache fired deep in the pit of her soul."Coming, Mister," she finally called back, setting her empty glass on the counter.But she didn't go right away. She stood a moment longer in the dark kitchen with pale shafts of moonlight streaming in the window and wavering across her body. The tile floor was cool on her bare feet, a relief from the brushfire gathering just below the surface of her skin.She lifted the bottom of his shirt and slipped the other hand underneath, letting her fingers graze the soft-rough bumps of her nipples. The pressure of her hand felt good, urging her to rub harder, until she indulged brief, agonizing twists of her stiffening nubs."Mina?"She nearly jumped out of her skin, and almost expected to find. He supposed there were two ways to go about it now that he knew the foremost expert on wands in England had no idea about the Deathstick he needed to go to its former master. He had to get in touch with either Dumbledores portrait, or someone who knew Dumbledore back when he was alive. In the meantime, though, Harry supposed he could get some actual shopping done. *** An hour later Just as Harry stepped out of Flourish and Blotts, armed with textbooks for his seventh year, a voice drew him out of his reverie. Harry! He looked around and spotted a tall, dark-skinned girl in a cotton tee and track pants walking straight towards him. Angelina, he greeted with a grin, Whatre you doing wandering around the Alley? I could ask you the same question, she said, flashing her pearly whites at him. Then she looked down at the text books in his arms. Going back to Hogwarts, eh? Harry nodded and shrunk the books. Got to complete my education, he said. Pish-posh, Angelina said mischievously, The.
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