A randy ant

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My legs jolt into defiance but his hand has already slipped under my shirt. His icy touch sends paralyzing ripples through my body. My limbs are subdued.

"Stop it," I mumble pathetically.

"Say it like you mean it," he teases. His fingertips outline the organic line of my chest. He's arrested by slight confusion as he comes across a peculiar bulge.

"It's my money bag," I insist, blushing a deep shade of humiliation.

"You're telling me," he laughs softly.

"Sirius, stop it," I say with a smidge more force but still not enough to deter a randy ant. His curious fingers have changed direction. They're now heading southward at a tantalizing pace. He reaches the border of my skirt. Undaunted, his fingers trace along the band. I gasp as one finger digs under the rim and flicks the elastic.

"Stop it now," I try once more. I'm still lacking conviction. Sirius' fickle fingers once again change route. With a swift movement they plunge into my pocket, mimicking my own hand that's still stationed in his.

I'm quite surprised I haven't moved it yet. I'm quite surprised I haven't moved my whole body yet. My toe wiggles in an attempt to follow my mind's screaming order of retreat. His hand caresses my thigh through the pocket's thin lining.

"Please stop?" Sirius chuckles softly at the feeble thread of my voice. But then he does stop. I don't know if I approve of his sudden obedience. Scattered sounds request my attention. Someone's outside. Horrified of being caught in this position I try to jump off him but he holds my legs down fast.

I mouth desperately at him to let me go, trying to not let a scrap of sound escape from the cubicle. Sirius senses my mortification at the thought of being caught in here with him. He gains great pleasure from it. I struggle silently as he pulls my body closer to his. His mouth is on mine. He predicts every jerk of my head. His lips follow mine in an inescapable kiss.

All I want to do is yell at him to let me go. But he knows I won't because I don't want to draw attention to our whereabouts. While anger is roaring in my head in reality not a peep of sound is being made, except the barely audible collision of lips on lips. Finally the intruder leaves the deceptively empty bathroom.

A growl burgeons from me as I wrench out of his grip. I rip down the shelf above his head so that his triumphant smirk is lost in an avalanche of books. I'll never get tired of that painful sight.

"You've gone too far this time Sirius," I pant, drawing out my wand defensively.

"There's no such thing as too far," he replies, calmly picking the contraband books off of his lap.

"Are you completely mental? Of course there is! That was indecent assault!"

"That's rich, coming from the girl who tried to fondle me while I was asleep," he scoffs. My mouth flaps lamely. I can't think of a reasonable excuse as to why else I was exploring his pocket.

"You're just angry because you were enjoying it," he plows on.

"I was not. I was shell shocked, that's all." Yes, shell shocked. There are clearly many parallels between me and a soldier trapped in the claustrophobic trenches, driven to insanity due to the constant onslaught of bombs. Except mine are kissing bombs.

"I'm just trying to get you to lighten up a bit, Florence. There's nothing wrong with messing around. As much as you don't like to admit it, you are a teenager. Get on the harmless fun bandwagon already."

"You can't just do things because they're fun," I scowl, yanking my jumper as far down to modesty as it can go. I wipe my mouth on my sleeve, trying to wipe any trace of him off of me.

"Yes you can. That's the entire point of being young. You're failing miserably."

"Oh what, so if I found delight in dancing naked in the pale moonlight with a toad should I do that?"

"Yes!" He roars with exasperation. His gaze slips down to my body as he envisions the sight. "For Merlin's sake, it's just not right that you spend your spare time in a dirty bathroom plotting ridiculous schemes to make money. I think you're better than this. I want to help you. I want to introduce you to the concept of fun."

"Why do you even care? We wouldn't be friends if it wasn't for your newfound habit of giving me money." For a fragile moment he looks wounded. Then his expression hardens, banishing all evidence of weakness. He pulls on his detached air of superiority, his standard wall of defense.

"I don't know, I guess I feel sorry for you."

I flinch under the pressure of his bruising words. His arms rise uncomfortably, emitting a slight air of regret.

"Get out," I demand harshly. All pretenses of regret quickly dissipate.

"Fine but you owe me a galleon," he thrusts his hand out, changing his tune swiftly back to aggressive. "You didn't stop me soon enough," he explains. I shove my hand down my collar and draw out a warm coin. I drop it into his hand, sharply avoiding contact. He seems shocked that I gave it up so easily.

I push the cubicle door open. It feels like a decade has passed before he finally shuffles out of the thick tension in the cubicle. I collapse onto the toilet seat. I yank my shoelaces out of their firm knot and tie them so tightly that they're cutting into my skin.

I'm not weak. I certainly don't need anyone feeling sorry for me. He's just stripped me of all qualms I had about stealing his precious watch. Only thing is, that pocket was empty. There's still three more to search.