Everything about tonight is as it should be. These halls are silent, save for my footsteps on the stone floor and the occasional murmur from a sleeping portrait. I step from the common room, taking my usual route. Through the dungeon's dark, dank halls, darting through labyrinthine passageways, scurrying up flights of stairs until I am nicely lost in one of those hallways no one visits. I relax, leaning against a tapestry, breathing a sigh of relief. I am, as usual, successful in my little jaunts about Hogwarts. I perform a small, celebratory dance that would never be seen by anyone other than myself (unless I've had a glass of firewhiskey). Which is when I distinctly hear Snape's drawl echoing off the walls.
"…of all the students, Creevey, I least expected to find you sneaking about at this hour. Suppose you've been mooning over Potter too much lately, picking up his habits…"
Oh fuck.
As silently as possible, I dash to the corner of the hall and peer cautiously around. Snape was holding Creevey by the robes, threatening the usual detention/ninth circle of hell as the kid cowered in fear. I turn back into the hall, thinking madly. Snape will murder me if he finds me-Pansy Parkinson, Slytherin at its best-lurking the castle.
I dash to the opposite corner, desperate to find the staircase-only to find Peeves prowling with dungbomb in hand. Fuck, fuck, fuck! My mind suddenly recalls Daphne rattling on about some strange thing called "karma", but I quickly push the thought of that prat from my mind. I have more important things to focus on. Not being caught and expelled, for one. Frantically, I search for somewhere, anywhere to escape-and that was when I notice the suit of armor standing proudly across the hall. It would be perfectly normal, save for the waving hand.
I've gone to Hogwarts long enough to know when opportunity knocks (or, in this case, waves) you really should snap it up.
I run to my knight in squeaking armor, and the suit jumps aside, revealing a small door, arm outstretched in welcome. I fling open the door, and to my horror, hear the swish of Snape's robes.
"STOP!" he roars, rushing towards me, but my back is to him as I rush through the door, slamming it behind me.
Thank Merlin, a staircase! Ancient and crumbling, but nevertheless, a staircase. Climbing the stairs two at a time, I faintly can hear Snape pounding on the door, which apparently locked itself behind me. I finally manage to reach another doorway after what seemed like endless stairs. Pulling it open, I find myself on one of the many towers of the castle. I step out into cool night air, closing the door firmly behind me. Breathing a sigh of relief, I take in the view. The entire grounds are visible from this high up. I lean against the stone balcony, rather mesmerized by the sight. From beyond the stone, the lake glistens inky black in the moonlight. The forest looms ominously, perhaps even more frightening in the darkness. Smiling, I envision Snape scouring the school for me, while I wait up here until sunrise. About damn time he gets his, the slimy git, that's what you get when you fuck with Pansy Parkinson…
Suddenly, I hear footsteps nearing, tearing me from lovely vengeful thoughts. I whip around, only to find Hermione Granger, the Gryffindor mudblood, closing the door behind her. Breathing heavily, she rests against the door, and finally notices me.
"What are you doing here?" she snaps angrily, as if I've intruded on her territory. Still gawking incredulously at her, I make a small noise of disbelief.
"What am I doing here? What the bloody hell are you doing here?" I retort, pointing at her accusingly.
"I was avoiding Snape," she replies, haughtily. She turns her face, trying to avoid my gaze. Damn, she was so easy to read. She should try subtlety every once and a while. "I was studying late, if you must know."
I raise an eyebrow artfully, a move I practiced for an entire summer before it was perfected. "Studying late?" I scoff, settling into my usual harsh banter with the Gryffindor easily. I rest my elbows upon the stone ledge, eyeing her carefully for any sign of weakness. "God, what a pathetic excuse. At least come up with something interesting, Granger. Sneaking into the dungeons maybe, perhaps a threesome with Crabbe and Goyle-"
"If you honestly think that's going to bother me, Pansy, you greatly underestimate me," she cuts in calmly, now returning my gaze confidently. Slightly taken aback, I'm silenced by her. For someone who was rather one dimensional, she could be interesting from time to time. It was true her hair was too unruly, and that her voice was too domineering, but there was something…compelling about her eyes, intriguing about her. I study her carefully, wondering what it is that is different about her. She diverts her eyes from me; apparently now not up to a staring match.
"So, how's Ronald? Were you two just together?" I ask conversationally, smirking. She rolls her eyes, but doesn't reply, stubbornly refusing to look at me. "Oh, c'mon, Granger, tell me, just between us girls. How well is he in the sack?"
"I am not interested in a chat, Pansy!" she growls, eyes focused willfully on the far distance. She seats herself on the stone ground. "Especially in the Weasley department. Now, I'm going to sit here, and we are going to wait until I am certain that Snape is back in his office, and then we will both go our separate ways and never speak again."
"Oh, but I so want a chat, 'Mione," I continue, in a sing song voice. "I want to hear all about you. You must lead such a rich life, I would just die to hear about the books you read, or about your muggle parents, or summers all locked up with the Weasley girl, I'm sure you two have such intimate adventures-"
"Shut it!" she cries, jumping to her feet, and finally meeting my eyes. Her own were burning, an anger lighting up her whole atmosphere. I quite like this heated version of her.
"Hit a nerve, didn't I?" I say triumphantly. "I knew something was up between you two. Weasleys always did love filth, but for Ginny to be the one to actually get in your skirt! Ooh, I cannot wait to tell the whole school about this."
"I don't care you think you know," Granger hisses furiously, striding up to me. "Go ahead and tell everyone! I don't care what you think, what you say, or what you do. At least I'll still have my dignity, which you lost ages ago."
We stood very close now, so close I could see flecks of gold in those brown eyes. I'd never really noticed how nicely her brown curls brushed her neck, either.
"So, you wouldn't care, then, if I did this?" I ask quietly. I ran my finger from her cheek, down to her neck, stopping at her shoulders.
"No," she replies, her voice rather unsteady.
"And you wouldn't care, of course, if I did this?" I ask again, now tracing the hollows of her collarbone softly, feeling her shiver.
"No," she attempts, but it is a whisper.
"And you wouldn't mind if I did this?" I murmur one last time, putting my hands on her shoulders, loosening her tie, and then pull her close and kiss her. At first, she is stiff, trying to resist, but soon I feel her relax, and she kisses me back with much softer lips than I expected.
She pulls away momentarily, and with one last, "No," we collapse, together, to the ground.