Something made a funny sort of buzzing noise in her ear. Oh, right, words. Things that involved lips, but weren't as nice as that other thing that required lips, and which this Charlie was doing a very good job of. But he was talking and that meant the kissing stopped (well, just a bit—) and Penelope didn't want it to stop. She didn't want it to stop at all.
That, of course, stopped the blood that just a moment ago was pumping so hot and fiercely cold.
She should stop. She shouldn't do this. Particularly not at a party hosted by her brother as she hid in a closet with a man whose name she had learned only after attacking his face with her mouth whom she knew absolutely nothing else about! Aside from being a Quidditch player. And that he had somewhat of a delicate ego. And that Phineas McLaggen did not care for his behavior at times. Well, perhaps she knew more about him than she'd thought, but that did not excuse her behavior! Absolutely not!
Penelope, with a great amount of regret but a greater amount of terror still, pulled back from the intruder with the very nice mouth and, averting her gaze from his entire being and a great deal of the space around him, seized whatever material hanging on the wall was closest to her and all but bolted for the door.
"I—sorry, I have to—," Penelope grasped the handle and turned in a most graceless exist, "—go!"
And darted quick as she could to the back terrace so she could make a proper escape, from her house, clutching a cloak that was not hers.
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