The regular disclaimer still stays in place, I owe nothing but the AU and OC. The rest belongs to JKR.(np)


Chapter 12

Pinned there on an ordinary wall. Her hands held above her head. In one firm grip. Her face nestled within the warm, solid, calloused large palm. Her breath hitched. Her eyes remained locked with his, unblinking. Her tears falling free. Pansy Parkinson nee Longbottom felt both the dawn of relief and fear.

Relief that someone knew. Fear that will he like all other Slytherins, use that information to his benefit. She had noticed, he had grown taller, noticed, his voice breaking, noticed, those burning embers hidden behind his droopy eyes when she with a couple of her fellow housemates had tried to make a joke drag too long. She had seen Crabbe and Goyle torture him. And knew Alecto Carrow harbored a dark fascination for him. She had called him her personal whipping whelp. But she never bothered to know what happened behind those barred doors in those special dungeon segments.

But the man studying her from just a couple of millimeters away was indeed a man who has seen too much. He had seen death and had killed with his very own hands. Swung a bloody huge sword. And had beheaded that blood-curdling snake. And that very hand was cradling her face. Firmly yet soft enough not to bruise her. And she remembered she had wanted that for a long time. This was new, not an act. Real, and not a pretense. But her eyes had already adjusted the shades of grey of existence. And, her understanding of the world as either saint or a sinner had thoroughly refurbished. It was a kaleidoscope. Turn a saintly looking face upside down, you can see the sins it is capable of committing. And the trick was to know the capacity of the opponent in committing the crime against you. She could not decide right at that captivated moment, whether those burning flint stone eyes belonged to a devil-possessed man or a heaven's angel banished down to earth.

She had read those banned books of Muggle religion and sects and cults. She had truly marveled at their art and architecture. But had hidden her fascination well. Now all that glory, luxury and sense of belonging were lost. Parents dead. Friends either killed, or imprisoned for life, or they didn't care enough to check on her. She cracked like that huge glass ceiling of the Slytherin common room. Her copious tears fell like the lake's waters swelling in through huge fissures expanding over the glass surface. The barrier finally broke free.

Neville held on to the hysteric witch. His resolve to treat her clinically cracking at the seams. He was unsure to deal with feelings. Having lived life through borrowed affection and relayed reassurance, He knew he did have too much love to give to someone. But he could not trust. He could not bear his heart open. He could not breathe free without checking behind if any sinister ploy would ruin his peace of mind. If anyone understood Professor Snape's paranoia, it was one caldron melting Neville Longbottom. Funny Granger had proven if he could remove the notion of Snape lurking around, forget about his robes brushing past his desk, he too was an exceptional potion maker.

But this was more than potion. This was mixing his heart with that of his reasoning, mixing his brain into a dark sea of imagination. And Pansy's two pools of dark chocolate eyes were openly inviting him. Like a sailor lost in the sea, gravitating towards the song of a siren singing somewhere within the mist rolling over the sinister waves.

He had to break free, and he saw the only way out. He must close his eyes. And ironic enough reprieve as short-lived as the distance between two seconds of a timekeeper. She had whispered back, the bite in her voice prominent, "You are delusional Longbottom."

He could no longer help it. He never imagined relishing such power over a woman. Meek and submissive through his growing years, this was like new-found freedom. And he was tasting this exotic flavor with all his five senses. His eyes were drinking hers. His lips were tasting her breath. His eyes were listening to the rapid inhalation and exhalation and he thought this was calming. Her hair was brushing against his arm. Leaving goosebumps. And he could feel her racing pulse. The hands trapped under his large palm were tinkering like a watch. And the one drumming right below his palm that was still gripping her jaw had started making his heart dance to its erotic rhythm. He was too close to thinking about how would her lips taste. Many men had already tasted the nectar trapped within those petals. And for the sake of that slowly developing illusion he had risked his own entity and had taken a blind leap of faith. He had said in husky low murmurs, "Then Mrs. Longbottom, let me be for first and last lover."