erm, hello. bit of a flash-fic (as always) today. no disclaimer; i want to remain an enigma.
am i jkr? or am i just a crazed adolescent riding the tides of hormones? i'll leave that decision up to you, lovely reader.
You're leaving the common room rather early in the morning, pondering that essay Moody assigned you the week before, concerned (the way you always are with schoolwork) that perhaps it's still not enough, and just when you're thinking that maybe you'll pop into the library for some last minute revisions, you find yourself being pulled into the shadows of a corner so suddenly you don't have the time to think about what's going on.
"'Ermione…"
The gorgeous half-Veela beauty whispers your name into your ear, and you can scarcely believe how utterly perfect your name sounds in her throaty voice (a tone that has, to you, come to mean 'meet me later tonight? I want you'), and cold electricity shoots through your veins as her slender fingers weave themselves intricately through locks of your bushy hair.
"Mmm?"
She's gently tugging your face up to hers, allowing her forehead to rest against yours, and you seize the opportunity for a kiss, relishing in the feeling of her soft lips against your own. It's heaven, kissing Fleur always is, and you've got one hand at her back and the other on her cheek, and cold milk was never as smooth as her skin, and a mixture of feelings stir in your heart, arousal easily among them. So your tongue finds its way to her lips, traces their outline, and then she pulls away.
And she lets her forehead rest against yours again, and she smiles the most dazzling smile you've ever seen on another human.
"Eight o'clock, same place as ze last time?"
You nod, trying to remember how to catch your breath. The corridors aren't quite as deserted as they once were, and she's not quite as close as she was a few moments ago.
If anyone asks, Fleur's teaching you French. Not snogging.