Harry had managed to stop Gabby's blatant semi-public masturbation by threatening her with refusing to do anything she asked of him for the rest of the day.
She managed to look contrite.
"I can't help it, Master," she said plaintively. "The thought of you naked under that robe has me so aroused."
Harry looked down as she pulled her hand away, and to his chagrin, saw that the evidence of her arousal was dripping from her cleft and running down her legs. She had in fact left a little trail of it back along their path.
Filch would be furious; Harry just hoped that it could never be traced back to him. He briefly wondered if the whole no-one-notices-Gabrielle thing would prevent him from seeing it; he was probably worrying over nothing.
Lost in his thoughts as he was, he failed to notice the smirk on her face as she brought her wet hand up and wafted it under his nose.
"Would my Master like a taste?" she teased with overacted innocence.
Impulsively, he grabbed her wrist and latched on to her fingers with his mouth, gently sucking her clean. The taste was indescribable; slightly sweet, slightly salty, very clean and pure.
He found her delicious and remembered his promise he'd made to her in the shower that morning. He wondered if all girls tasted as good as she did.
"You, my dear," he said, "are. . ." He pretended to search for a word.
"Sexy?" she offered. "Randy? Insatiable? Tasty? Fuckable?"
"Yes you are."
He stepped up to the portrait of the fat lady and was about to give the password when the portrait opened from the inside.
"There you are," said Ron as he climbed out. "Just in time for lunch."
Hermione followed him out. Her eyes raked Harry up and down once appraisingly before she seemed to gather herself.
"Harry," she said, her voice a bit breathier than normal. "Are you all right? Did you take care of whatever it was you needed to do?"
Harry was unsure just what to do about the way Hermione was looking at him.
"Er, yeah," he said uncomfortably. There was an awkward silence for a moment.
"Well," said Ron. "Let's head to lunch."
Harry glanced at Gabby but didn't call attention to her. The inside of her legs were still shiny with her secretions. He should probably get her to dry herself off. He also wanted to put his boxers back on.
"I, er--" Harry fumbled for an excuse. "I just need to run up to the dorm for a minute. I need to get my book for Defense."
"OK," Ron said. "We'll wait for you, but hurry up."
Harry climbed through the hole, pulling Gabby along with him.
Up in the dorm, he grabbed the towel that she hadn't used that morning and quickly tossed it to her.
"Here," he said, hurriedly. "Clean yourself up a bit."
He opened his bag and pulled his boxers out. He opened his robe so that he could more easily put them on.
"Are you always going to be that messy?" he asked offhandedly. "You got that stuff all over the hall."
He pulled his boxers on and, hearing no answer, looked over at her. She was standing there, the towel dangling from one hand, not moving. She looked on the verge of tears. He froze, unsure of what to do.
"The bond is still new," she said tremulously, clearly fighting not to cry. Her eyes seemed fixed on the floor a few feet in front of him as though she were afraid to look up. "I don't know if I'll always--"
"Gabby," he interrupted gently. She stopped speaking immediately and looked up at him. He saw fear in her beautiful eyes. "What's the matter?"
She seemed to take a moment to decide what to say. When she spoke, her voice hitched. "Are you disappointed in me, Master?" she asked quietly.
That brought him up short. It felt to Harry as though all the air had just been violently sucked out of the room.
"What? No!" he said vehemently. "What made you think that?"
"I--" she said, but it was clearly difficult for her. She shook her head and tried to look away.
"Gabby, please tell me."
She stood there, with her fluids air drying on her legs and tears clinging to her eyelashes. She took a deep breath as though to steady herself and Harry's heart went out to her.
"Your voice," she began carefully; fearfully, "when you threw the towel at me and told me to clean myself off, it was harsh. You said I was too messy. You sounded angry about what I did in the hall. . ." She trailed off, tears now silently falling down her cheeks.
He sat down on the edge of his bed and thought back to what he'd done and said since they'd entered the room.
For a moment he was confused, he didn't know why she thought he was angry at her, then it occurred to him that he had been a bit curt with her, and he had tossed the towel rather harder than he'd meant to do.
Replaying the events in his mind, with perhaps a little help from the bond, he realized exactly what he'd done and how she took it. He opened his arms to her as his expression changed from confusion to one of sadness, sympathy and regret.
She hesitated only a moment before dashing across the room, leaping into his lap and straddling him, wrapping her arms around his neck. He pulled her tightly into a hug and gave her a kiss on the side of her head as that was all he could reach.
"No, sweetie," he said soothingly and she shivered a bit at the term of endearment. "I wasn't disappointed with you or angry. This bond is new to me too, and having this attraction that it gave me. . . Well, let's just say it'll take some getting used to."
She pulled back a bit and looked him in the eye as though asking him what he meant.
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