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Disclaimer: I don’t own anything by my plot and OC’s. My name, as my luck would have it, is not J.K. Rowling, so I suppose that you could assume that I didn’t write the Harry Potter Books and am only borrowing them for the purposes of my plot. You assumed right :P

A/N: Sorry for the long wait. It’s short, but ‘steamy’ and I think you’ll like it. It’s a very contradictory chapter, but I really think you all will like it! Enjoy! And don’t forget to review? And here’s what I listened to when I wrote this chappie: Song to listen to for this chapter: Decode by Paramore. Anyway, Enjoy!


Chapter 22: Challenge 
He shoved her against the shelf, not caring if he got caught. He kept snogging her senseless. Why can’t it feel right? He asked himself, as he kissed the brunette again. He couldn’t remember her name. He simply didn’t care. He kept kissing the girl, hoping, wishing that the tide would turn, and he’d be Sirius the playboy again.

Some moments later, he had given up, and created a fantasy. This nameless girl was her to him. All he had to do was close his eyes and pretend. He could just fabricate the fire, create the passion in his mind. All he wanted was her in his arms. He bit the girl’s neck, smiling at his idiocy. It wasn’t the way it was with her. Regardless, he could still try.

The girl took off his shirt; he didn’t argue. Ayra Woods taking off his shirt.. That was a big step. He kissed the girl hungrily, kneading her to his body, wishing with every molecule that made up his being that she was her.

Confusing, he knew, but still… that’s the way he wanted it. The sense of wrongness took over him all of the sudden. The fact remained that this wasn’t Ayra, that this wasn’t the love of his life, she didn’t have black hair and blue eyes, she wasn’t a daredevil, and didn’t infuriate him till he thought he would explode.

Just as he pulled away, he heard a floorboard creak. His head shot away from the girl’s, expecting the Librarian to be there, berating him.

What he saw chilled his blood cold. He could recognize that hair anywhere. The figure was even more recognizable.

He couldn’t believe his idiocy. He was snogging some random extra in a library, when the real girl had been there.. Quite possibly the whole time. He was an idiot. He could almost see the parade coming around the corner to give him a first place medal. He just screwed himself at every angle. He couldn’t get out of this mess now.

“Ayra?” he rasped, unable to believe it was her. He was so messed up. He could only imagine how this looked to her.

She almost turned around, she really almost did, but something kept her. She didn’t realize it at that moment, but it was something that would try to keep her away forever.
She ran from the library, hearing his muffled excuses to the girl as she bolted through the door, attracting several glances as she ran.

Instantly, she realized that she was being a diversion for him and cursed herself under her breath. She was helping him get to her. She started to sprint, dodging the first and second years that were exploring the castle. Her feet carried her up the Gryffindor tower.

“WOODS!”

She heard his voice from the stairwell, but still, still she didn’t stop. She couldn’t do it. Her legs were screaming at her in pain, pleading with her, asking her to stop; she didn’t. She gasped the password to the Fat Lady, who opened, taking in her disheveled appearance. She asked Ayra a question, but Ayra just ignored it and ran into the common room, Sirius now close on her heels. The porthole had just closed: she could hear him giving the password on the other side.

Ayra didn’t waste time. She bolted up the stairs, and opened the door. “WOODS!”
She slammed his voice out of her life, sagging against the doorway. She heaved in air, her muscles quivering from her spontaneous sprint. She sobbed once, but she quelled it. Why would she want to cry? Of all things… Cry? She shut her eyes and banged her head on the door, as if the action would knock some sense into her apparently stupid and confused brain.

A responding knock hit the door. Well, he got up here quick. “Woods, let me in.”

Ayra didn’t respond. She took in deep breaths, trying to calm herself for the inevitable storm to come.

“Woods, I know you’re in there.”

Ayra got up from the doorway, and grabbed her broom that was in the corner. She ignored his repeated knocks, and opened the window ever so quietly. She proceeded to get onto her broom, and hovered, waiting for him to say something.

“Woods, stop being stubborn and let me--”

And she shot through the open pane. The cold wind hit her face, freezing any tears before they could fall. Not that there were any tears.

Ayra flew fiercely into the sun. Moving the same speed as her thoughts gave her some sort of balance, a freedom that she couldn’t indulge in all the time.

Everything was closing around her. It was her last year of Hogwarts, after that… it was the world. This was her last chance to be free, without a burden, to throw everything into the wind and take risks!

….So why wasn’t she taking them?

Ayra flew faster, over to the Great Lake. She flew above it, over it long ways, sideways, around it, trailed her fingers on the water, flying until the sun set from the sky and darkness had settled over the world of witchcraft and wizardry.

In all honestly, she didn’t understand what was so different between muggles and wizards, except for the magic stuff. They were still people, they had the same feelings, the same thoughts, the same wants and needs.

The wizards had it easy. With a flick of a wrist, the world was saved, and whala! Here’s your happily ever after in a potion bottle.

So why am I not happy? Ayra mused, flying back to the castle. She realized that all the lights had gone out in the Great Hall. She had missed dinner. Her stomach rumbled at that exact moment. Her organs clearly didn‘t have manners. They spoke their needs loudly, clearly, and bluntly. Nothing=content, Rumble=hungry, pain=feed me, scraping-inside-till-you-think-your-stomach-is-eating-itself= starving, eating itself=feed me NOW, or you will die … and so on.

She just wished that sometimes she could speak out like her stomach did. Instantly, realizing her stupidity, she rolled her eyes. She was comparing herself to her stomach. That was a bright flashing neon sign that she needed mental therapy.

The only lights that were shining in the castle were the ones in the Gryffindor Tower, Dumbledore’s office, and (unsurprisingly) the Ravenclaw tower. The nerds would stay up to ungodly hours of the morning studying their precious books. Ayra hated books right now. In fact, she hated everything to do with books, which included the Library. I’m never going to the Library again, Ayra promised to herself. She’d make Lily get the books she needed or something. Bad things tended to happen in Libraries.

Ayra flew up to the Gryffindor girl’s tower window, which remained open. She flew in slowly, savoring the warmth that radiated on her cheeks. Merlin, she was cold.

“Oh, Merlin. She’s back!” Lily’s voice reached my ears, relieved, anxious, and tired. “I’ll go tell James.”

Ayra simply put her broom back, as if nothing had happened. All she did was go out for a fly. Really, nothing happened. Kalahan stalked up to Ayra, face tear streaked. “Where were you?” She asked, demanding. She ranted on, not letting Ayra reply. “Do you have any idea how worried we were? No note, no word of where you were, you didn’t show up at dinner--”

For some reason, a giddiness took over Ayra, a giggle bubbling up her throat and rippled off her lips. Kalahan stopped talking immediately. “Geez, Kal. It wasn’t such a big deal. I went flying. That’s all. Relax.”

Kalahan shook her head, anger sparking in her eyes. “It’s not funny.”

Ayra smiled, even though it was the last thing she wanted to do. In reality, she wanted to curl up in her bed and die. “I know it’s not. I just… snapped I guess. I needed some alone time,”

Kalahan opened her mouth to say something, when the door burst open, revealing a flaming Lily. “Where were you! You little--”

Ayra held up her hands in a form a surrender. “I was out flying, and didn’t notice the passing of the time--”

“You could have come back--”

“You know what, Lily?” Ayra asked, suddenly wanting to be alone again. Too many people, too many people… She didn’t give Lily chance to respond, “It doesn’t matter. I’m back, so stop stressing about it.” With unexpected anger, she swept by the red-haired girl and swept into the shower: shutting the door firmly behind her.

Tomorrow, she would face tomorrow. Today, she just wanted a shower. 





Beep Beep Beep.

Ayra groaned and put her pillow on her head, trying to muffle the sound.

Beep. Beep. Beep.

Ayra reached out with a blind hand and hit the alarm button, silencing it. She pushed back the pillow and sat up in bed. The dawn hadn’t even come yet. There could only be one reason why she was up this early.

Quidditch Practice.

Ayra narrowed her eyes, instantly awake. She didn’t have a choice if she wanted to stay on the team. Her pride didn’t give her a choice. She was going to go. She shoved her covers back with force, and stepped out of the bed, throwing on some trainers. She took a stop at the shower and rinsed off her face, and threw up her black hair.

The drama lately didn’t give her a chance to use her special power. There really wasn’t any reason to do it. She liked it the way it was no. There was no reason to go back to the way she used to be. It wasn’t like everything would just rewind to the way it was way back then.

She grabbed her broom and flew out the window, streaking across the dark grey sky to the Quidditch pitch.

He was there, waiting for her, hovering in the middle of the field. She streaked over and stopped right in front of him, not saying a word. She glared him in the eyes, straight on: blue clashing with grey.

“Listen, Woods-”

“You don’t have to explain yourself to me.” She had already decided that it didn’t matter. He liked someone else, big deal. It wasn’t like Ayra and Sirius were married. Shoot, it wasn’t like they were even friends. She didn’t even know what they were, but now she knew that they would never find out. He had made the first move, and that was final.

“You don’t understand--”

“Really, Black. I don’t care. It’s your business--”

“Shut up.” His tone made her mouth want to shut forever. For a moment, he was a pureblood Black, above all, she was dirt.

She didn’t like the feeling. “No. I don’t care what you and your little whores do in the Library. I’m sorry that I interrupted on your… your… time-”

“Could you just--”

“Can we just play some Quidditch? That’s what I’m here for.” Then she added with an afterthought, “That’s all I’m here for.”

It was almost a challenge. Like she was challenging him to make it something other than that. His grey eyes narrowed, knowing that she was avoiding the subject, trying to forget it. In that moment, he knew that he hurt her, more than he thought. He would talk to her about it later. Right now… he just couldn’t deal with it. It was best to let them both fly off their stress, and then continue this conversation later. “Wronski Feint. Do it.”

He veered off to his usual watch spot, looking cold and distant. His hands pulled out the small Quidditch goggles from his pocked, ones that recorded moves and such. He filmed and watched her do the Feint effortlessly: the sign that she had been practicing out of their morning torture sessions. Still, he couldn’t praise her. His pride wouldn’t let him. So, he did the one thing that he could do: compromise.

He waited until she came back over and held out the goggles, but didn’t let them go. She was on her broom, parallel to him, as he brought the goggles to her eyes, letting her see. “I want you to watch yourself right before you dive. You do this weird thing with your shoulder,” he said, leaning dangerously close to her ear.

Ayra struggled not to move away as his warm breath ticked her ear. It smelled like Christmas cinnamon. She watched herself, noticing that she did twitch her shoulder before she dropped, but it wasn’t anything that would take more than two runs to fix. He told her to watch it one more time. About halfway, she thought she felt something touch her hand. She wanted to look away from her goggles, but she couldn’t. He was holding them to her eyes.

Suddenly, right before the end of her move again, something definitely brushed against her finger, slowly, almost sensually. She looked up from the goggles, but he was already several feet away from her.

He looked over at her, grey eyes dark and unreadable. “Let’s see if you can fix that, shall we?”

It was an undeniable challenge. Ayra narrowed her eyes and sped off, then dived into the maneuver, focusing on her shoulder, making sure it didn’t jerk up. It didn’t. She rose up in the resolution, successfully completing the dive. She flew over to him, holding out her hand for the goggles. He handed them to her, fingers ever so casually brushing against hers. They remained for a second to long. Ayra’s eyes flew up to meet his. He simply raised an eyebrow then looked back at the goggles. “It’s not your shoulder. It’s your waist. Take a look.”

He held up the goggles to her eyes, this time slightly behind her, almost like he was going to cover her eyes with his hands and say “Guess who?” She watched her waist as she went, disconsolately agreeing that he was right. Her waist dipped in too much to the right when she diving, making her veer off a few degrees off course. He whispered into her ear, and rested his hand on her leg, ever so lightly tracing circles on the fabric of her trainers. “Let’s see if you can fix that, shall we?”

By the time Ayra had gotten to her senses, he was off again. That was definitely purposeful. Her gaze flew over to his face, trying to find signs of whatever he was doing: there was nothing. It was like trying to read Braille. She didn’t know how. So, she did the only thing that she could do, and tried to fix it.

This time, he flew over to her, and shook his head. “You didn’t get it right.” He said, ignoring her outstretched hand. He flew up parallel to her and grasped her waist with one hand, and kneaded the muscle there. It almost tickled.

Ayra didn’t know what to do. She was so confused! He continued kneading the muscle, and talked into her ear again. “You have to move it like this,” his voice said into her ear, liquid as chocolate, as he used his hand to gently mold her into position. She craned her neck to look at his hand, to watch what he was doing (other than distracting her).

Just as she was getting used to the position, she felt something inescapably warm on her neck. She froze- so did his hand. She gasped as she felt his nip the nape of her neck. His lips lingered there for a moment. “Fix it.”

His lips left her neck, and he flew off again, releasing her. She felt slightly detached when he left.

She didn’t like this game. In this game, she was bound to loose. She didn’t know what he would do next. Quidditch. Focus. Quidditch. Focus.

It was her mantra: the only thing that could possibly keep her on her broom. She shivered, and pulled the move, this time doing it perfectly. She went to fly for him, but as her eyes darted to his usual spot, but he wasn’t there.

She opened her mouth to call out, but then something bit her ear. Her breath caught in her throat, and heartbeat sped up in an instant. A pair of hands settled on her waist, gripping tightly. “Good job,” he said into her ear, voice professional and detached, as if he wasn’t doing anything to make her blood churn at all.

“Thanks,” Ayra said as coolly as she could, looking straight ahead. Those lips were kissing some brunette less than twenty-four hours ago. But for some reason, his lips didn’t repulse her.

He pulled away from her, blowing on the spot that he just kissed and flew off. They continued this for the better part of thirty minutes, him touching her, she ignoring him. But he knew she was paying attention. He could feel her confusion coming off from her in waves. It was better than hate.

By the end of thirty minutes, Ayra was burning up- and not just from practice. She had a bite marks on her neck. Just a few minutes ago, he had nibbled the tips of her fingers while she was watching a move that she had done perfectly: he had muttered some obscenity about going to low or something that she just couldn’t remember. It hadn’t made sense. His lips had touched her wherever her skin was showing. Everywhere but her lips.

She tried to push the thought of his lush, skilled, pink lips away, and flew forward, out of his grasp, and turned around, pretending that nothing happened. He did the same, face still unreadable. She kept hers void of emotion. “So, what’s next?”

Sirius looked her dead on, letting his mask crumble for just a second. He flew back up to her, so close that his nose was almost touching hers, their breath mingled in puffs of crystallizing air. Their eyes clashed, blue eyes with flecks of silver, grey eyes flecked with the very elements of a lightning storm. He touched his forehead to her, looking her intently in the eyes. She saw a flicker of indecision for a moment, but then it fled, as he opened his mouth to speak. “Fix me,” he said, voice quiet and desperate.

“Fix me.”

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