Andromeda didn't move.
Any sort of shift or transfer of weight or evasive maneuver would bring her just a little bit closer to that –that mudblood! She held her ground as if she had been carved out of the castle's stone walls by the founders themselves. Her impeccable black pumps seemed to sink into the floor's impenetrable surface.
Andromeda could feel his breath on her neck.
The soft, heated fog rose up to travel over her lips. She could taste the smell of him on the air: bright mint and a hint of citrus. She tilted her head back just a touch and watched as his breath met the chilly air entering from the tower's windows, forcing it into visible existence. The wind quickly diffused it over the entire tower, and Andromeda had the sudden vision of it enveloping her, surrounding her, smothering her.
Andromeda couldn't breathe.
He was everywhere around her and she was Not Allowed. If Bella had known –she couldn't even consider it. But his hands were on her waist and in her hair and running down her sides and then she needed the oxygen. It rushed into her lungs along with the familiar scent of mint, citrus, and Quidditch pitch.
Andromeda kissed him.
And finally her lips were on his and her hands were on his waist and in his hair and running down his sides and in her mouth was mint and citrus and she was pushed even farther in that stone wall. There was no Bella or muddy blood, only hands and lips and tongues and a torso she hadn't allowed herself to notice before.
Andromeda pulled back.
And then there was skin and she should have been cold, the night air rushing through the open windows, intent on conjuring goose bumps from her, but she was only warm, warm, warm, all the way to her core. She was kissing his neck, she was touching his face, but there was so much skin, too much pale, English skin to explore and she could hardly stand it. Her arm was next to his and she was stuck by the similarity in them, mudblood be damned.
Andromeda smiled.