They meet in secret every night, in the Room of Requirement. They meet in secret, because they know it's completely wrong, a Slytherin and a Gryffindor, but they can't help but love each other anyway.

"Meet me at Midnight." The letter that her owl, a Great Horned Owl named Prince, gave her was clenched in her hand as she beamed. Her eyes scanned for the familiar mop of redish-blackish hair and found him grinning at her.

He winked, and turned around, talking to his friend, Fred Weasley II, and eating his breakfast.

"Eb? Are you listening?" The voice of her best friend, Albus Potter, asked her as he straightened his green and silver tie.

"'Course I'm listening, Al." She told him.

"Right, well. C'mon then, time for Charms." He said, and stood up, waiting for her to finish shoving the rest of her cereal down her throat.

"That's so lady like." He told her sarcastically.

She wondered down the corridors, not really thinking about where she was going, she didn't need to, though, he feet knew the path she had traveled so many times before.

It wasn't long before she was in front of the wall, she walked past three times.

I need a place to meet him in secret.

I need a place to meet him in secret.

I need a place to meet him in secret.

On the last pass, she opened her eyes as the door appeared which she walked through quickly, shutting it behind her.

And he there. Sitting on the bed, strumming away on his guitar.

She grinned, he hadn't noticed her yet, as she listen to him play.

Merlin, she loved it when he played his guitar.

She waited until he finished, still grinning when he told her, "It isn't polite to stare, you know."

"Well, I think we have both known for a long time I'm not polite."

"No," He replies, setting his guitar and walking over to here.

He's smirking, and she loves when he smirks at her like that.

When he reaches her, he pulls her close and her senses are on overdrive.

She's hit with his smell, woodsy, Quidditch, man, leather, pure him, and she loves it.

He bends over, because he's at least 6 feet tall and she's only 5'4. She stands on her tip toes, wraps her arms around his neck, her fingers running through his mess of hair.

She knows they shouldn't be doing this- because people so different don't do things like this. She's neat and organized (even though she lacks elegance); she hands in her homework the day after its assigned like a good student. She knows where she's gonna go and what's she gonna do. He's a mess and he's fine with it; he's okay with failing exams and he lives for now and never the future.

He isn't perfect and she loves him for it.

Their lips meet and the world gets smaller, till it's just them.

He pulls her closer, till nothing could pass between them, and her hands grab fistfuls of his reddish blackish hair and she tugs.

His hands, large and calloused from many years of Quidditch move from her waist to cup her butt. He stops just before he reaches it, and without breaking the kiss, she reaches down and pushes his hands down a little more, and she jumps up, her legs wrapping around his waist, hands going back to his hair.

He stumbles back until his knees hit the bed, his guitar laying on the floor next to it, his knees buckles and the pair fall back.

Their clothes come off, and the air is filled with soft moan and grunts and sighs of the others' name.

And then utter pleasure wrapped itself around them, drawing a long moan and a soft cry.

He pulled himself away carefully, wrapping his toned arms around her waist and tugging her close.

He nuzzles into her sweaty neck; both are breathing hard and panting slightly.

"Why not?" She asked suddenly, turning to face him.

Her grey eyes find his, orange brown and bright, and he honestly doesn't know.

"Becauseā€¦" He murmured, "Because I'm a Gryffindor and you're a Slytherin. Because I'm James Potter and you're Ebony Malfoy."

She looks at him, "But you love me, don't you?"

He nods, because he does.

Her white blonde hair, her striking silver eyes, and her dimpled grin, oh that grin, that is what he lived for.

"Then why not?"

He shrugged and closed his eyes.

When he's awake, he's alone, and with a start as he looks at his watch, he's glad it's a Saturday and he doesn't have classes because it's already 12 O'clock.

He stands up, seeing the new, freshly folded clothes, not his ones from last night, the ones the Room gave him, and tugged them on, blue boxers, jeans, and a white button down shirt.

He grabs he close from last night, also folded, courtesy of Ebony, grabs his guitar, and with a glance around the room, he's gone.

He's at lunch when his owl, a snowy owl given to him by his father, graced Hedwig II (so many seconds in the generation) and opens the folded note.

"I can't do this anymore."


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