There were no stars in the sky that night, and Knockturn Alley was buried deep under velvety shadows. An insistent drip fell from a piece of twisted guttering; a small brown mouse chased along the cobbles before it lost its confidence and dived for cover. The click of heels, at first, were no more than a distant suggestion; but, as they neared, they grew in volume, the sound became rounder, sharper, as it bounced off the cobbles and the walls. But she was about as aware of the noise she made in the womb of the dark night as she was about who was waiting for her: she was a long way from Diagon Alley now, we knew.
"She's coming," Kit murmured beside me, his voice rising at the end to an excited yip. I thrust out my arm to cover the mouth that threatened to give us away and, after muffled protestations, he fell silent. I closed my eyes and concentrated on the rhythm of our breathing. The soft rubato of my heartbeat calmed me. And the harmony of her scent as it reached my nostrils- of honeysuckle, something sickly-sweet- was the only indication I needed to act, and fast.
It was over in a moment. There was just the skid of her boots on the damp stones, the rustle of clothing, the sound of a surprised breath as I smothered it. I saw her eyes go wide and they strained in their sockets to look at me. I felt the usual jolt of euphoria, knowing that as she stared into my eyes she was realising what was happening, and that when she looked away she'd already realised resistance was futile.
We dissaparated with a sharp clack. I held onto her tightly, with her head pressed back against my shoulder and my hand over her lips (which barely moved; only a silver sliver of saliva was left across my palm). We landed on a crisp bed of dried orange leaves in the centre of the wood and I rolled on top of her, disarmed her in one brief motion and then pulled my hand from her mouth. She gazed back at me with wide blue eyes but didn't say a word; her hair was spread out in a wild gold mane behind her, her arms pinned above her head. I wiped a splatter of mud from her cheek, smirked, and leaned closer. But then there was a sharp scream, and things changed.
So, I've been told by some writers that they always intended to write something like this but never did. Well, I've gone and done it…A Scabior fic. Admittedly it's more film-based than book-based (because the books are a nightmare to do fics around unless you know them completely: I do not) and more my-imagination based than that. But I hope you enjoy, and reviews are so welcome!