A/N: This story is for toomanycurls’ Inspired By a Song (that your parents probably listened to) Challenge. The song is You Don’t Own Me by Lesley Gore. If you search the title of this story on youtube, you will find a playlist of the songs that inspired each chapter (possible spoilers depending on how similar our interpretations of the songs are).

Lyrics for this chapter are from "Fools Rush In" by Lesley Gore.

The concept for this story was given to me by FireOpalQueen. To her I give my enthusiastic thanks and the dedication of this story.

Fools rush in
Where wise men never go
But wise men never fall in love
So how are they to know?



The words fall from our lips like petals from flowers that have gone untouched for too long.

It’s been five years since Hogwarts, five years since I’ve seen Susan Bones. As we stand transfixed among the constant movement of Diagon Alley my thoughts run in every direction. I remember fighting at her side against monsters and villains. I remember late nights studying together with peppermint cocoa. I remember the way she curls her toes when she giggles.

We embrace, and our touch is filled with the sentimental warmth of sisters and friends. But as we pull apart my skin quivers under the touch of her lingering fingers, filling me with a completely new sensation.

I automatically avert my blushing face, but a moment later my eyes are drawn back in to hers, entranced by her gaze. My doubts fall away as I see my eager fascination echoed in her face. There is a light in her eyes that keeps me searching – it is buried deep inside, beyond twists and turns, but it is there and it is glowing for me.

My lips tremble as I search for the right words to say. I know in my blood that she is feeling the same electric energy as me, but I have no idea what to do with that knowledge. Inside me there is a silent battle between what I believe is proper and what I feel is real.

“Susan, I don’t…”

She smiles, her lips parted just wide enough for a shadow of breath to steadily seep through. Even with a foot between us, I can almost imagine the way that gentle breath would feel on my own skin.

The rest of the world seems to have melted away. In a distant part of my mind I know that we are still in that familiar street of our childhoods, and that all around us the calls of vendors and children must reverberate. But now none of that can reach us.

“Come on,” Susan whispers. Her voice is so soft that I know I should not be able to hear it, yet somehow it resonates through every cell in my body.

Susan turns and leads me into the Leaky Cauldron. She does not take my hand, but I find myself automatically pulled along behind her as strongly as if she had. As we pass into the pub my eyes wander towards the stairs up to the inn. Susan, however, simply leads me to a battered old table at the edge of the room.

I sit down across from her, my ankles flexing in uncertainty.

Here in the dim indoors the small light hidden in Susan’s eyes shines even brighter than before. My breath is shallow, taken away both by the allure of my friend and surprise at my own feelings.

With a slow, steady movement Susan reaches both arms across the table and takes my hands in hers, fulfilling the earnest desire that has been building in my skin since it lost contact with hers.

Nothing else matters in this moment.

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