A lot of the dialogue in this scene is based off of a scene in the movie "French Kiss." Hope you enjoy!


A thrilling week of classes and a weekend spent holed up in the library, studying and preparing for yet another History of Magic project—sans supposed partner Black—passed without much incident beyond the usual frustrations. Whatever the hell had happened between them during that first detention, apparently it had been enough to get him to stay on his side of life and leave her to hers.

He had made no attempt to contact her in classes, had definitely NOT shown up to the library to work on the project together—she hadn't told him to come anyway—and he pretty much continued to prance about the school as dandy-ish as ever. When they did pass in the halls, when he was sure no one was paying attention, he had made some effort to make eye contact, though she couldn't read the emotion or purpose behind his efforts. That was perhaps the only odd thing he'd done since their detention. Aside from that, however, they were still virtual strangers, but ones who seemed well aware of the inner workings of each other.

She'd heard through Peggy that he was currently attempting to get into the knickers of some virginal, Hufflepuff bookworm with the body of a goddess and that he and Potter and Co. were suspected of putting dye in the Slytherine locker showers. Good riddance and have at it. She was too busy with trying to forget how he'd made her feel connected to him, how warm she'd felt, almost in his arms, and how freakishly close they'd been to kissing after she'd confessed—and confused herself—to caring.

If it hadn't been for the sudden return of the snarling potions professor, they might've kissed, she was certain of that. After she'd breathed out, "I care," his eyes had grown heavy lidded and his face had drawn closer to hers, so close, in fact, that if she closed her eyes now and thought about it long enough, she could still feel the warmth of his breath against her cheeks. Full knowledge of his womanizing and impulsive nature had kept her from leaning forward in return; how could she be certain that this was not yet another ruse, another way of pranking—though in reality he'd never actually pranked her, only her house mates.

Despite her curiosity about the feel of his skin beneath hers, the contours of his body, the silkiness of his lips, she'd kept still and so had no reason to stiffen or spring apart when the professor suddenly popped back in. Black did though; he'd leapt away from her as if she'd suddenly turned into fire itself, shock and wariness in his eyes. He'd looked at her as if she'd put a spell on him, and in reality she almost felt that they had perhaps been under some sort of spell, what else could explain just how close and forthright they'd been, once their hostilities had somewhat ceased.

Now it was time for their next detention and Black was late, no surprise there. They were assigned to the flying master this afternoon, apparently with the task of polishing the training brooms and after that, rearranging their storage. She was not a fan of flying—a fact that many teased her mercilessly over, Black one of them—in any sense of the word, but didn't mind the task of cleaning and storing them all that much. They would be working on the edge of the flying field and it was a beautiful afternoon.

"Oi there Pervs!" His voice made her stomach do a strange flip but she refused to look up when she heard his feet draw closer to her side.

"My name is Persephone." She mumbled, not really caring if he heard her or not. She'd already started polishing, having hauled out all of the brooms and piled them in stacks according to size and level. "Choose whatever pile you like and finish it. This one is mine."

She felt his eyes on her but again fought the desire to look up. He seemed to contemplate something before he reached out and took a broom from HER pile. She stopped polishing and finally looked up at his face, nearly growling when she saw a look of triumph flash in his eyes. She bit the inside of her cheek and looked back down. She didn't know if she wanted a repeat of last time; part of her was curious if it could actually repeat but the other part of her desperately didn't want to find out for fear of coming to expect it more and more.

"How come I never see you flying at practice?"

She nearly dropped the broom in surprise. Not even ten minutes of silence had passed and here Black was, attempting to make small talk with her? He was either desperate for more fodder to tease her with, something was up his sleeve, or he actually felt like conversing relatively normal with her—the last option was highly unlikely.

"Because." She finished her broom and gently put it back in its place before reaching for another.

"Because…why?" When asking questions his tone of voice was not much different from that of a toddler, she decided.

"Because that's my business and not yours."

He sighed, "A healthy person is someone who expresses their feelings. Express, not repress."

"In that case, you must be one of the healthiest people in the world." She breathed out, curious if he even heard her.

"You know what happens to people who shut everybody out?" It appeared that he either hadn't heard her or wasn't about to rise to her challenge.

She shrugged, "They lead quiet, peaceful lives?"

"No. They fester." He finished his broom with a flourish and tossed it towards the storage, making her frown.

"Fester?" She turned her frowning gaze from the fallen broom to Black's mock-sympathetic stare. "You think I am festering?"

"Inside." He nodded fervently. "Fester and rot." He paused, probably waiting for her to deny or argue—neither of which she was about to do, because again she didn't exactly what a repeat performance of last detention; that'd been confusing as hell. "I've seen it happen." He continued then, not waiting any longer for her response. "You'll become one of those hunchbacked, lonely old women sitting in the corner of a crowded cafe, mumbling to yourself, 'My ass is twitching. You people make my ass twitch.'" He'd hunched over at the last part and scrunched up his eyes as he did his best Old Lady Pervs impression.

She felt something tug at the corner of her mouth and she realized she'd felt the urge to smile in response to his—was it teasing?—statement. To keep him from seeing this new development, she ducked her head down and retrieved another broom. She let silence fall over them again. He kept pulling brooms from her pile, and she let him. However, it wasn't ten minutes later that he was at it again.

"You know, I am feeling some very strange emotions for me." She did look up then, curious if he was being serious or mocking. Both expressions appeared on his face, most likely at war with each other in his mind, as perhaps he too hadn't figured out if he was being sincere or not.

Against better judgment she prompted him further, "And those would be?"

"Guilt. Remorse. My self-esteem is rock bottom. I'm trying to think, what can I do to show I'm sincere?" Again, both seriousness and mischief were apparent in his gaze and she could not for the life of her figure out if his words were genuine.

"Shut up."

He let out what sounded like a snort at her comment and went back to polishing, appearing to be satisfied—for the moment—with her reply. She too went back to work, trying to keep from trying to understand just what in the heck he was trying to do—even her mind was confusing her now!

"Did you ever think maybe it's not the broom?"

She looked up in genuine confusion. What the hell was he talking about now? He hadn't looked up from his polishing but it was apparent that his question had indeed been directed to her and not just the air around them.

She watched his slender fingers rub the cloth up and down the broom stick—trying to keep her mind off of dirty things—as she asked, "What's not the broom?"

He gestured up into the air, "Maybe it is something else you fear?" He looked up at her then, the mischief still in his eyes but this time coupled with something deeper, something akin to awareness.

"What do you mean?"

"Do I have to say it?" He sounded condescending, his complete focus on her and no longer the broom, his fingers having stilled against the wood.

She scoffed, "Will I be able to stop you?"

"It's obvious it's not the broom you fear." He stood and walked over to the storage and this time properly placed the broom in it, also picking up the one he'd tossed earlier. When he turned to face her again a smirk was gracing his lips, "I know your type."

She folded her arms across her chest and glared at him, "What type is that?"

"You're afraid to live." He stepped into her personal space so suddenly she nearly gave in to the impulse to retreat. She didn't though, and so stared up at his still smirking face. "Really live." He gave a flirtatious wink and she felt her stomach clench.

"Oh Zeus, I don't think I can do this." She rolled her eyes and turned her back on him as she went over to the furthest pile of brooms and focused entirely on choosing the next one to clean.

"Yes!" He followed her, his body just shy touching hers as he too bent down to retrieve a broom—from her pile again. "You are afraid of life. You are afraid of love." He suddenly leaned his head closer and his voice wrapped around her senses, "You are afraid of sex."

The broom dropped from her hands and she whirled on him, fire in her eyes, "That is ridiculous."

"I can tell from your face. The way you dress, with your little white buttons all the way," he dropped a finger down to lightly rest over her sternum before it traced up the row of buttons on her chest to where they stopped at her collar bone. "To here."

"Get away!" She swatted his hand away in annoyance.

"You're the kind of chick in bed who waits under the covers, the light goes off, then, like a rabbit," he held his hands up as if they were clutching sheets, his whole body quivering, his face scrunched up in an ugly grimace.

"What?" She was too shocked by his audacity to do much more than question,"What is the matter with you?"

He dropped his hands, his knowing smirk returning, "You are afraid."

She growled her reply, "You don't know me or anything about me." She'd found her voice, and fire, again.

"Oh I know." He raised an eyebrow at her. "I know that you're afraid of flying. I've seen you. Your every muscle in your body is tense, even the lids of your eyes. Your nostrils are closed up. How do you do that anyway?" He surprised her with his rather accurate description—apparently he paid much more attention to her than she realized. "Me, I love to fly. Especially the moment right before takeoff. The broom between my legs," his voice dropped a bit and his gaze turned warmer, "getting ready to launch. My mind screaming as the pressure is building." He stepped closer again and she found herself rooted to the spot. "Then the force of it slams you flat against the wood." She fought her mind as it began picturing things far from flying, thanks in part to double entendres. "And then... you are in the air. Everything else is behind you. There's only one other place in life where I feel this kind of exhilaration." He seemed to know exactly where he mind had gone, if his smirk was any indication.

She closed her mouth, ashamed to find that at some point in time it'd fallen open slightly. She mentally backpedaled, trying to find something to retaliate with, but failing miserably.

"Look." His hands taking hold of her shoulders and turning her to face the opposite direction brought her outs of her musings. "What a fantastic view." He pointed over her shoulder to the sunset—apparently arguing with him passed the time easily enough, though not very productive in regards to actually achieving stuff.

She didn't feel him step away from where he stood behind her. His hands had dropped from her shoulders but he still stood closer than what she expected, especially from him. She turned her attention to the sunset, inwardly agreeing that it was a fantastic view.

"When you said all that stuff before," her voice was much softer and more vulnerable sounding than she would've like but she spoke anyway, "did you mean it or were you trying to make me angry like usual?" She glanced at him over her shoulder, "Do I look like someone who doesn't know how to have a good time?"

A moment passed during which neither of them spoke and neither really had much emotion on display other than tentative curiosity. She felt that coiling in her stomach again and wondered if he felt it to. Her body wanted to lean back against him, and it wouldn't take much to do so. His eyes traveled down to her lips then back up again and she realized that he was thinking about kissing her. She wondered, if he tried to again, would she stop him?

The moment was broken when the flying master yelled at them to hurry up. They both jerked at the sound of his voice and quickly got back to work, neither one of them really wanting to be late to supper. Neither of them, it appeared, wanted to address whatever the hell had happened, again.

"Express." He suddenly spoke softly from next to her and she glanced up at him, surprised when she saw what looked like the first almost fully genuine smile on his face. "Not repress."