This scene is based off of a scene from the movie "Taking Lives" with Angelina Jolie.
The knock startled her out of her stupor. She stood, the newspaper with the headlines "Potter Family Murdered!" falling to the floor. She walked as if in a daze to the door. Her wand was lying on the bed behind her. She was still in such a state of shock that it hadn't occurred to her to summon it before opening the door. These were dangerous times and yet she found herself opening the door without checking to see who it was first.
There HE stood, damp from the rain outside, looking like death himself. Her heart tore in two as she stared at him in silence. He was leaning heavily against her doorpost with his head bowed, a veil of hair blocking her view of his face. Even though she couldn't see it clearly she knew his face was twisted into a painful grimace. How could it not be? The love of his youth, the very woman he'd betrayed in a moment of weakness, the woman he'd watched marry another man, the woman who had been torn from his life without his reconciling old wounds, had been destroyed. Now he was left with his heart bleeding inwardly, his soul snapped in two.
She didn't say anything, in fact she didn't move. Why was he HERE of all places? They hadn't spoken to each other since the horrible argument over his joining the Deatheaters and that had been some time ago. But in reality, if she took the time to think about it, where else did he have to go? He couldn't go to his family…what family actually? He had no friends to speak of; Deatheaters were not friends after all. So truthfully she was all he had left. The truth of that fact shook her to the core. What should she do with this new found position in his life? He was so vulnerable right now. In so much pain and so lost. One wrong move, one wrong word…it could easily send him into a place of no return—a dark place that she'd very nearly fallen into more than once.
She carefully reached forward, gently touching her fingertips to the skin on his wrist. He hissed and drew his arm away as if stung. It was the wrist he was branded with, she knew this from his reaction. He cradled it against his chest, his chest rising and falling with heavy breaths. She dropped her arm but pushed the door further open, backing away in a silent invitation for him to follow. She was surprised when he did more than just follow.
Instead of merely stumbling inside and shutting the door he suddenly peered at her through the veil of hair in his face. His gaze was bright and almost feverish and she suddenly wondered if he was altogether there. His gaze caused her heart to jerk in awareness, her belly clenching. He dropped his hand and strode forward with a confidence she rarely saw in him. She naturally backed away from this invasion of personal space. He nudged the door shut with his foot as he pushed past it. She raised her eyebrows but still said nothing, almost afraid to break the silent spell that hung over them.
He continued to advance and she continued to retreat until she was surprised to find her back against the wall. A sudden memory of their first kiss flashed before her eyes unbidden. Her heart sped up at the memory but she did her best to wipe it away. Then again the encounter at their last argument came to haunt her. She knew he could read minds; he'd practiced on her a few times when he'd first trained, and she knew she was oh so vulnerable to him. It didn't take a lot for him to push past her barriers and she didn't want to get caught fantasizing about their history.
Her heart ignored her best wishes, however, when instead of stopping a good distance away, he continued forward until the tips of his boots were touching her bare toes. If she took a REALLY deep breath, their chests would brush. If she leaned forward only a hair their noses would touch. What in the world was going on inside that head of his? Did he think she was Lily? Was he drunk or in a stupor? She didn't smell alcohol so he wasn't drunk and though his eyes were bright they weren't dilated like they would've been if he had been under a trance. So what was he doing?
He suddenly reached forward and she stiffened, unsure of what she was supposed to do and what he was doing. She wore only a bathrobe, having taken a nice, hot bath at least an hour before—she just hadn't gotten around to changing as the newspaper had distracted her. His finger tips traced along her collar bone and she had to physically catch at the wall behind her to keep from falling over in shock. He hadn't touched her in years. His fingers were cold but that didn't stop her skin from flushing and rippling with goose bumps. She stood up straighter and tipped her head back to stare at him more fully.
His other hand came forward to grab hold of the belt of her bathrobe. The fierceness of this move made her gasp. She looked from his grip on the cloth to his face, confusion and, unfortunately, hope clearly written on her face. His face was nearly blank, except for the pain and passion that roared behind his eyes. Should she stop him? Surely this was going nowhere good, and fast.
He leaned forward and her breath caught in her throat as he moved down to brush the tip of his nose against the junction of her neck and shoulder, audibly breathing in her scent. Shivers, delicious shivers, ran up and down her spine. She dug her fingers into the wall to keep from reaching for him. His hand at her collar bone curled around until it rested at the nape of her neck, turning her head sideways. She was putty in his hands at the moment and sadly that didn't bother her as much as it should've.
She closed her eyes against reality as she felt his lips lightly brush over her pulse as he traveled up her neck to her ear, his lips and nose never leaving contact from her skin. Her kneels nearly buckled when she suddenly felt his hand latch onto her hip and tug her closer, or him closer she didn't know which one because she was still against the wall. His chest leaned against hers and she felt his breath mingling with hers when his face turned so that his cheek rested against hers, his lips parallel with hers, though not touching…yet.
Her eyes opened as one of her hands traveled, against her will, up to his shoulder where it lightly rested. Her fingers splayed out, only the tip of her thumb brushing against the skin of his neck. This seemed to make something inside him snap because suddenly his lips were crushing against hers, his tongue driving deep inside her mouth, as he pressed his body fully against hers. His arms snaked around her waist and back and she felt herself melting into his grasp, her arms coming to rest on his shoulders for support as he turned and slightly dipped her over his arm. All she could do was keep up with him as he kissed her as if his life depended on it. She didn't know why he was kissing her, or what he hoped to gain from it, but she knew that she was only allowing it because the sadist in her still wanted him for herself, despite the many rejections.
His arms branded her and her body felt like fire and ice as she quivered like a simpering fool in his arms. She both loved and hated what he managed to do to her with a few caresses and well placed kisses. Damn him! One of his hands came up to cup her breast. His hand weighed the weight of it, his fingers splaying out and squeezing, before his hand moved on to her neck to cup her head. His hips maintained pressure against hers and she felt the fire of passion radiating out of his chest and body, its intensity igniting her own. She clung to him, her nails most likely leaving marks on his neck. She felt more than heard him growl in response and that only served to incite her more.
She didn't know how long he kissed her, she actually didn't know if this was even real or a dream, they had clung to one another kissing and caressing for some time, but he stopped kissing her almost as quickly as he'd started. Thankfully, he didn't push her away and leave immediately. Instead he pulled back and stared down at her for a silent moment or two, a kaleidoscope of emotions dancing in his eyes and face: passion, fear, pain, hope, desire, hatred, confusion. She clung to him, afraid to let go, and yet also afraid to hold on. Then, a bit reluctantly, he let go of her and waited until she dropped her arms from his shoulders. He reached out and brushed the back of his knuckles against her cheek. She barely kept herself from leaning into the brief caress.
He straightened then, his face growing harder with each passing second, the light in his eyes dying away. She watched as the man she'd come to love slowly disappeared behind this…cold statue before her. Once the mask was in place he let her take it in for a few moments and then he nodded to her once before turning and walking stiffly to the door. He didn't even look back before he closed the door behind him, leaving the room as if he'd never been there.
She had the dignity to NOT crumple to the floor but that didn't stop her from walking, on shaky legs, to the bed and sitting down. She supposed that was a sort of goodbye, a sort of showing her the "new him." She doubted if she'd ever see him again, at least alive. He would go after Lily's murderers and she knew him well enough to know that he would do ANYTHING to succeed. He'd broken her heart and tossed her aside when he'd thought the Deatheaters would bring him success. This would be no different. Except this time…this time he'd shown her a piece of his heart, allowed her a blissful moment of affection, before he buried his heart behind his mission of vengeance. His mission would kill him; she knew that as clearly as she knew she loved him.