A/N So FFn has been having a bit of a clear out of 'M' rated stories. If this disappears, it might be down to this chapter. If your Mother would ground you for reading this material, I can't stop you, but in the same way that you are responsible for what goes in your mouth, you are also responsible for what goes in your brain – directly – via your eyeballs. 'Nuff said.
JK Rowling made Hermione too young in Cedrics time. Personally, I think it was deliberate, gawd I love fanfiction. You know that Meg Ryan film where one of her co-stars says, "I'll have what she's having" – if you feel the same way after reading this chapter, put it behind the big blue button at the bottom. For the record, a tongue stud can really mess up your orthodontics… j/s
0.0
"I require a short leave of absence," Snape requested quietly
Dumbledore paused in his inspection of the swirling contents of his pensieve.
"I have urgent business to attend to," Snape pressed. "It will not take long, but it is important…"
Dumbledore gestured to a note on his desk. "You are aware that I will not allow any harm to come to a student under my care," he said mildly before turning his back. "My dear friend, do not allow anothers ambitions to cloud your own."
Snape unfolded the note clearly delivered by owl. If there had been an addressee other than Dumbledore, it had been artfully removed. I shall arrive in good time…
"Give him my best won't you," Dumbledore called, not bothering to look up, "and be back in time for lights out. I'll ask the kitchens to save you some Supper – it's roasties."
0.0
Snape trod surely across the slick cobbles of Diagon Alley and reached for the knob of a wooden door inset between two bay windows. The windows contained slim boxes, lids artfully askew on a black backdrop, their interiors plush with cream silk, red velvet or black damask. They resembled nothing so much as miniature coffins. The contents they conceal are not directly malevolent, they are merely the tools of their occasionally malevolent masters. Deep within the building, a bell sounded tinnily. A metal sign with the sigil of an open hand and a lightening bolt boasting over 100 years of bespoke service creaked in a gusty breeze that caused leaves in the crease of alley and building to dance briefly into what could have been the shape of a hare scenting the air.
Olivander hurried into the shop from the workshop beyond, looking vaguely at odds with his surroundings both richly carpeted and impeccably clean. A sticking plaster stetched and wrinkled in turns on the back of one hand.
"Professor, I sent an owl. I did not expect you…" Olivanders words shrivelled under Snapes beady stare. "You are welcome," he croaked and gestured the way he had come. "Please…" Olivander darted past his visitor and switched the sign in the window of the door from OPEN to CLOSED. Anothers magic turned the key and shot the bolt home before his nervous fingers could reach them and he snatched his hands away when the shutter dropped with a snap and a clatter.
"Come through, please, this way, this way," Olivander bowed obsequiously before his visitor and led the way through a narrow corridor to the back room.
"A seat?" Olivander nervously smoothed his thinning grey hair, "and perhaps some tea? The owl did not arrive I presume?"
Snape did not deign to answer, but swept a hand over the offered seat and inspected his fingers before sitting. He spared a glance for his surroundings whilst the master craftsman bustled with a copper kettle and small stove.
There are no drapes or adornments here, it is a practical space fit only for its purpose. Workbenches lined almost every wall, dotted with an orderly assortment of partially made products. Tools hung neatly pegged to boards above the benches, the only grating discordant note in a march of regular rectangles below, a cleaning cloth trapping a drawer slightly open peeked out like a yellow tongue. Piles of canes in varying hues, seasoning over time made an artistic statement on the diversity of native and exotic woods against the remaining wall. The all pervasive smell of sawdust and ungent was underwritten with a trace of cordite and something that makes the air taste blue. A stove pumping dry heat competed against a cauldron with no visible heatsource belching steam in a corner.
The Wandmaker approached, two steaming cups in hand. Snape allowed his fingers to enfold the proffered beverage and a pair of sugar tongs swiftly shuttled in mid air, plopping two cubes dead centre at their discrete gesture.
"I see you received my message," Snape twitched a finger at Olivanders sticking plaster. "I require your assistance," a slight pause, "and your absolute discretion."
"That will not be a problem," the shopkeeper assured his taciturn visitor. "We of the Wandmakers Circle are automatically bound by more than our word. What exactly is the nature of the err assistance you require. Something new perhaps? Or a repair…?"
The visitor sipped his tea calmly and stares directly ahead. "Let us not play games," Snape replied sourly. There should be a third offer in the list, but Snape was not surprised that it remained unspoken.
"Your wand is still functioning correctly? The bridge is still active? Some of my best work if I do say so myself…" Olivanders voice tailed off.
Snape continued, interrupting, "I will need something a little more tangible that your standard bond." Olivander narrowed his eyes at the response.
"Perhaps if you could be a little more specific?" the Wandmaker coaxed, then tensed as his guest reached deep into his robes.
The drawl comes again. "Something has come into my possession which I believe, with your help, would be of great value to me." He withdrew a box from its place, tucked reverently against his body and placed it between them on the worktop.
Olivanders fingers twitched involuntarily and he masked it, reaching for a handkerchief and elaborately wiped his nose. "There are services that, on occasion, I perform for the Ministry…" he stated dubiously. "They are not widely publicised, but may be necessary for the greater good."
"Quite so." His guest interrupted.
"These tasks are very rare and extremely difficult…." Olivanders voice became flustered, the conversation was taking a turn away from his expectations.
"I would expect nothing less," came the smooth reply
"Time consuming, dangerous…." He stuttered on.
"Indeed." Snapes tone was unctuous.
"Costly…." A nervously tic forced Olivander to dry wash his hands and he grasped his own thumb to prevent himself from continuing the embarrassing action.
"Ah yes. My sources tell me that, in certain circumstances, your remuneration typically includes ownership of a denuded artefact passing to yourself….to add to your …. collection."
"It is common knowledge that I have an archive of spent wands," Olivander blustered. "I guarantee a safe housing for wands which I myself have crafted that have become damaged beyond repair or where the owner has….irrevocably parted company with the device."
The word 'dead' is not spoken but bounced off the four walls like a squash ball.
Silence fell heavily, not least because some of his collection had made their way to him through somewhat unorthodox means, including the Ministrys unofficial sweetener of ownership after the job was completed. There was an international treaty on returning artefacts to their country of origin which Olivander upheld in public and flagrantly ignored in private. He shrugged uncomfortably, wrestling momentarily with his conscience. Some of his prize possessions have been with him so long, the countries didn't even exist anymore.
"The assistance you could provide….would guarantee a most unique addition to your archive. I can assure you that you would be rewarded mostly handsomely for your undivided attention"
Curiosity rippled across the Wandmakers face. Olivander ran a finger around his collar, his visitor was not a Wandmaker and these things were rarely discussed outside a select circle.
"May I see it?"
"I will require a guarantee of your professional integrity."
The Wandmaker hunched at the implied insult.
"Of course." He bustled away and returned with a wand as ancient as his own bones, yellowed and knotted, not unlike his own fingers and bowing his head he answered gravely, "I do so swear." A ghostly binding passed between the wrists of both figures. It settled a chill on both parties, stiffening the posture of one and marginally relaxing the other.
Snape leaned back, a languid gesture invited Olivander to open the box and he lifted the edge of the cloth with a bony finger, folding the cloth all the way back and exposing its precious cargo. Olivander couldn't help the stillness of his response and did his best to mask his disappointment. Still an acquisitive gleam lit his eye.
"May I?"
"By all means,"
Olivander lifted the blackened wand, placing it in a cupped hand and reached for an eyeglass.
"One of mine. One of a kind." He nods, muttering to himself, closely inspecting its gently tapering length. "It was a good year for reaping as I recall."
He weighed it in his hand, rolling it over his curling gnarled fingers. "First year waterspout willow, bark left on, a common wood, but not all that popular. Good for charms, anything involving liquids." His voice turned wistful, "herbology I suppose." Fingertips turned the wand end on to the Wandmakers eye as he sighed and nodded sagely. The single bristle of unicorn hair that was once white was as black as charcoal and probably just as fragile. He tipped and tilted the wand, tugging over a harsh spotlight and posed his head at an angle to see better down the core. His posture relaxed immeasurably. Part of him had been considering a prize much darker than this, one that could have only resulted from the premature death of a young lady of his acquaintance.
"A great loss. Such a pity. Poor Lily." He tried to hold his visitors stare, too soon he found himself blinking away, "and how is it that it has come into your possession?"
His visitor airily waves a hand, "these things….happen."
"It had been thought to be lost."
"So it seems." Silence fell that was not at all comfortable.
"I would be very interested in studying this particular example." Olivander queried hopefully, wondering whether to push his luck and ask for the wand to be left here. A glance at his companions face answered the unspoken question for him.
Olivander couldn't help himself from asking, or the break in his tone. "Hermiones wand…? She sent me an egg, she has managed to unlock the Vine, it's sentient isn't it? Olivander babbled.
"Is with Hermione," Snape inserted smoothly. "It is quite safe. Consider your task here, with this, an act of good faith. Now, tell me more about your Ministry work." Snapes gaze pinned Olivander like a butterfly to a board.
0.0
McGonagall passed amongst the fallen students, muttering 'enervate' to encourage them back into this world and tripping neatly through the carpet of fallen insects. The net covering the sky wisped away and a stiff breeze blew the moths into a pile. A low murmuring amongst the students dusting each other off caught Hermiones attention. She was getting more sidelong looks than usual and she looked to Cedric for explanation. She had enough of it from her own year group, without having to deal with at a level that was a whole lot more stressful already.
He offered a grim smile, "you're a plausible opponent. They didn't expect you to be able to keep up, let alone still be standing." He pulled at his ear lobe, weighing her gaze, weighing how much to tell her about life as a sixth former.
"But you protected…"
"Yes, and so did they and you are still standing," he emphasised.
"Does that mean…" she started and didn't know how to finish the question that she really wanted an answer to, "what does that really mean?"
"Well, what it really means..." he said with excruciating slowness, closing the distance between then and taking both her hands in his, "…is that you are good, for real. And for the record, it's important to remember" he rubbed both thumbs maddeningly softly over the insides of her wrists before continuing, "what's real." He leaned closer in and whispered, "the little stunt with the centaur didn't hurt your reputation any either…"
He dropped her hands and turned back to look at his classmates, leaving her gaping at his audacity. Tomas nodded in their direction. "Forget Tomas," he instructed, "he made himself collateral damage when he should have cut the girl loose. You need someone stronger than that." His shining grey eyes bored into hers. "We have to join the others."
Hermione trailed him, trying to shrug off her confusion over his actions and the irritation over his assumption that it was now somehow his task to be her matchmaker, or something. What the hell was the wrist thing, real? Not real? She couldn't decide without further input. Maybe she could just ignore him. Sudoku was easier to figure out, even the really hard ones with only one clue in the back of the Muggle Sunday papers.
Professor McGonagall rallied the students around the heaped moths on the ground. "For completing the task conscious, 10 points each to Gryffindor and Hufflepuff." She gestured to Cedric and Hermione, he looped an arm around her waist and she snagged a fist in the centre back of his robes when his thumb slipped sneakily under her waistband. She bit her tongue to dowse her squeak of surprise, it would be easier to ignore if the thumb was still, but it rubbed a steady arc back and forth against her skin where her shirt was pulled out of place. Each time it passed, it tickled just enough to make her tense and release the muscles beneath. McGonagall probably thought she was having half a fit.
"For misguided, but outstanding chivalry Tomas, 10 points to Hufflepuff. A further 10 points to you Cedric, for relieving him of his burden. You and Hermione may go, the rest of the class will collect the remaining wing scales and complete the messy business of extracting the eggs." There was a chorus of groans. "Homework," McGonagalls voice rose over the affray, "is to practise tandem pairing, swap amongst yourselves," she encouraged. Possibly only Hermione heard her finish, "I'm sure most of you already are…"
Cedric guided her away, "not bloody likely."
Hermione jerked to a halt, "why not?" The skin where his thumb had so recently passed cooled rapidly in its absence. She paused to straighten her clothing with economic movements that his eyes followed meticulously. "Well?" Curiosity as to whether he would voice his interest again peaked in her.
Cedric crammed both fists into his hair and screwed up his face, working out which truth told his story best. "Your wand doesn't like any of the others"
"It didn't not like Tomas.." she protested, "it just didn't…"
"Exactly," Cedric interrupted. "It just didn't. Look." He tugged at her wand hand sleeve, slipping the button in her shirt cuff open with one hand in a move that was as smooth as it was fast. He crooked a finger at the opening. She slapped a hand over her wrist, trapping a questing vine leaf against her skin.
"Let it come," he demanded, pulling her hand away. "I'm not going to do anything." The leaf and stem wound about his thumb. "You don't realise how unusual this is?"
"As a wand?" she replied, "of course. I spent the Summer with Olivander. Fewer than one in ten thousand wands has vine as a source wood." She watched as he flexed his thumb under the twining braids, how they uncoiled and recoiled about his crooked digit. He rubbed the vine covered pad over her wrist, setting the leaves quaking. Goosebumps slipped down her back and she half lifted a shoulder in aggravation.
His eyes crinkled at her pulling her hand away," besides," he started lazily, a devious expression taking over. "I make a good team."
"There is no 'I' in team," she reminded him of the obvious as the vine retracted up her sleeve. He grinned back, his eyes alight.
"No, but there are five in individual brilliance," he quipped, backing away. "Don't forget your bag." His eyebrows lifted in amusement as he paused in the stone doorway. "Meet me in the restricted section tonight of the library tonight at Eight?"
"Cedric!" she called after him, when a ghastly thought accosted her. "The moths won't be able to fly without the scales and how are they going to get the eggs out." A rueful smile flitted briefly across his face.
"You could go back and watch if you like, isn't it great how humane the school is in not allowing us to use magic to kill stuff?"
He winked at her horrified expression and ducked out of the stone enclosure. Hermione swallowed down acid as she suddenly thought back to Nevilles activity in Snapes study and wondered if he had known the toads might have been alive. There was no way she could ask him without turning her own stomach, leave alone have him eaten up by the guilt of the possibility.
0.0
The breeze outside whipped his robes around his legs and Cedric repeatedly brushed his hair out of his eyes until he found a quiet nook out of the wind. He wasn't surprised when McGonagall found him, but he did allow an eyebrow to lift when she bummed a cigarette off him.
"From what I see, it seems the pairing is working well?"
Cedric nodded slowly.
"You have to tell her about the history of the orb, Cedric."
Cedric coloured in spite of himself. He wasn't surprised that she knew he had it, just that he wasn't quite sure how to present it to Hermione in a way a light that made him look good. McGonagalls face approximated as a smile, almost as if she could read his thoughts.
"Trelawney said you knew how it came about, that it was a token of sorts. A way of expressing feelings between individuals too foolish to declare themselves." Silence thickened.
"I thought you were telling me to wait…"
"Don't take me for a fool, Cedric."
"You mean in class?" he said indignantly. "That was her…"
"So much the better. I'm saying time is against us all, the time for subtlety may be past on all our parts. I'm sure you'll think of something." The Professor glanced at him, "she stayed right to the end - Hermione. Even filleted one or two."
Cedric imagined Hermione with determination written all over her face. It was surprising how easily he could bring her features to mind.
Both of them shrank back as a pod of students passed them by. McGonagall stubbed her cigarette out on the wall behind her before pacing a few steps away.
"No smoking on school premises Mr Diggory," McGonagall called, too loud for the volume to be accidental. "Don't let me catch you again." Her disapproving tone was at odds with the wink she left him with.
Hermione passed into view and glanced his way. Her hair, not tamed in her usual braid, obscured most of face from his view, but it was clear that she had been looking disbelievingly at her hands. Cedric stepped on his cigarette butt and peeled himself away from the wall, falling into step with her downwind.
He jogged her shoulder, offering gum. She showed him her hands filthy with moth gobbets.
"Open?" He offered the gum again and popped it into her mouth when her lips parted. He wasn't sure whose fault it was that his thumb brushed her lower lip. Only that he couldn't look away when her tongue traced the spot, or that he heated under her gaze while it happened.
"You stink of cigarettes." She wrinkled her nose in disgust.
"Which is so much better than moth guts," he grinned, he jogged her again, trying to break her out of her mood. He knew it was working when she elbowed him back in the ribs.
"Here," he said offering his handkerchief, "clean yourself up. If it helps any, they were bred for slaughter, just like tonights roast chicken."
She took the black cotton square and took the worst of the stickiness off, then frowned at the memory of Cedric first taking the orb from her without touching it directly himself, using a handkerchief just like this one. She smoothed over the embroidery of his initials and a small smile broke through. C.A.D. How appropriate, his middle name must be after his father.
"How much do you know about the orb, Cedric? I was reading 'Howarts, A History' last night and I think it's in there. It's not mentioned directly, but something happened up by the Whomping Willow and I saw….it doesn't matter, but…."
Cedric took a sharp breath and Hermione rounded on him, eyes narrowing. "You know something don't you?"
"Trelawney told me some things, but you know how she is…she couldn't really say for sure"
"Well, It looks like something I was studying with Viktor," Hermione started pacing and gesticulating. Cedric watched her as if poleaxed.
"His broomstick?"
Hermione rolled her eyes at his sarcasm, "Olivander gave me a book in Bavarian, Viktor was helping me to translate some of it and there was a pictures of some tools that I also have, but don't know what they are for. I mean, Olivander gave them to me and he is a Wandmaker obviously, but I didn't think that they were for Wandmaking and Viktor said that's right."
Cedrics head spun, "wait, so you want to be a Wandmaker?"
"You already know that, well if you bothered looking, it's on my keystone, but that's not the point"
"On your...Hermione you are…Wandmakers live like monks, do you have any idea what you would be giving up?" He caught at her bag strap, shying away from a future where she might be beyond his reach, wanting only to keep her close while he tried to argue her out of it.
"Don't even think about it." She stared at him hard. "Anyway, Viktor said the tools were for carving semi-precious stones and that the orb looked like a replica of an ancient head-piece for a staff. You're staring…"
"There's a Guild, Kit, of guys. You're a girl," he said gently.
Her mouth flattened into a thin line. "Olivander said I could do it," she said mulishly.
"Olivander gave you a wand that has been banned for forty years. I'd trust him as far as I could throw him."
"It's a moratorium, it's still under discussion so they're not actually banned-banned and anyway, the wand chose me."
"And if I was up to something a little shady and wanted a smart, good looking front, I'd choose you too." Cedric used the bag strap to tug her closer, cupping his hand to her face and brushing her cheek with his thumb.
Hermiones eyes fluttered shut for an instant, then flew open. The crack that followed echoed over the grass as far as the walls of the school and back.
"For a girl," Cedric said ruefully, "you have a hell of a right hand." He stepped out of reach of a follow up, rubbing his cheek and grinning sheepishly. At least his mission of changing her mood was accomplished and the new information was…interesting…
"You should enter for the Forest games next year, I never even saw that coming…you have Potions next right? If Flitwick kicks you out, we're in Dungeon 12 making Poisoned Pens.
He walked backwards a few steps, watching her watch him before turning and slouching away, the only sign he was anything other than collected was his hand repeatedly rumpling his hair. A fat drop of rain caught her on the cheek and still she waited. Turning up to a class looking like a drowned rat was somehow preferable to looking like she was running after him – for anything.
0.0
True to form, Flitwick invited Hermione to attend Year 6 Potions. No-one was more surprised than Neville, when she declined and spent her entire class teaching him how to control the flame under his cauldron with painstaking patience.
It didn't work for him until she snapped, "Neville!" so vehemently that Flitwick paused in his instruction to the rest of the class. Neville passed the rest of the time in class trying desperately to hide a semi, but by the time every one was packing up, he could ignite, power up and snuff out a flame without melting anything at all.
Hermione however, could melt his underwear for him with an arch of her perfectly shaped brow. If she told him to, he would probably come in his pants and be thankful for the opportunity to please her.
There was something nagging at him about last night too – he had been aware that multiple Cedrics were part and parcel of the toad venom experience, but that the second McGonagall had seemed a good deal more substantial. He didn't know who to tell, but Hermione was probably a good start.
As it happened, she didn't even need to tell him to make him come undone, just the eyebrow was enough and he had to excuse himself to change before Supper before he could get the information out.
0.0
Silence reigned in the library and Hermione sighed happily and turned to the glossary of the book she was reading, still somewhat mystified about why this one should have been in the restricted section. There was that bit about sharing the same patronus that she might have considered a bit racy, had she not been exposed to Molly Weasley in her formative years, but the whole 'conjugal' thing just sounded outdated now..
"Urgghhh," sounded from across the desk and Hermione looked up in annoyance. Cedric dropped his forehead to the page that he had been staring at for 20 minutes and banged it repeatedly. Hermione tutted, she had almost finished Burstows Anthology of Patronii, Etymology and Meaning.
"Shhhh," she hissed and frowned at him, although they were the only ones in occupation this late. She was safe enough, she thought, with four feet of oak heartwood between them. There was just the authors note, glossary and references to go through and she would be done. He stuck his tongue out at her. She raised her eyebrows and mouthed, "very mature" at him. He grinned and she fought not to return the merriment in his eyes. Despite their contretemps in the school grounds, she still valued his company and he didn't have to invite her up here. She let her smile drop, when she found it hard to look away. Authors note, she told herself and bent her gaze back to the book.
A paper ball, leapt onto her page, rolled across to the dip where the spine opened. She pointedly ignored it. The ball proceeded to roll down the margin to the bottom edge where it teetered, clearly waiting, for her attention. She swatted at it and it zigzagged out the way rolling a little to and fro. The minute she glared up at Cedric his hands shot under the table.
"What?" he said innocently. Not wanting to grace his antics with recognition she huffed and bent again to her task, it would only encourage him, she thought. His chin thumped back on the page and she felt the cool breath he used to propel the ball over the edge of the book where it fell off the table and into her lap, her thighs automatically snapping shut to catch it.
"Cedric!"
"Nothing to see here," he grinned disarmingly. She eyed him warily. It was clear he was bored and she knew from hanging around with Ron how destructive boredom can be in the wrong brain.
"Tell me about what you were reading," she demanded, trying to engage his attention in a more positive direction.
He searched her face intently for a moment before starting, "Wandlore states that the instrument is comprised of three parts..."
The instant he started she turned her gaze back to her own page. Everyone multitasked right? And he was altogether too distracting to stare at for any length of time, especially the way his jaw moved when he talked. Her red hand print was gone anyway and she wondered how he had explained it away before rebuking herself. He probably wore them like a badge of honour, there was probably a points system with his mates if Ron and Harry were anything to go by. She looked up from her musings frowning, when he stopped.
"You're not listening," he said in amused wonderment.
"Oh course I was," she said crossly. She couldn't stop her eyes sliding away from his, flashing silver in the lamplight.
"But I don't have your full attention," he argued, mock hurt
"I don't need my full attention on you," she retaliated, then clicked her tongue harshly. Bad idea, that sounded like a challenge and you never challenged a bored boy because there were no brakes and since they were alone, no obstacles either. She flashed her gaze back to his face. His whole face that said, 'Oh really?'
Oh crap.
"Ok," he drawled out. "So there's the core.."
Her eyes flicked down to the book, to the top line of text that was collapsing onto the line below and the line below that like some bizarre game of Tetris. She put a hand to the parchment and pushed at the disastrous jumble of words, snapping them back into line.
"Are you done...?" when she looked over to him he had his head laid on his forearms, devilment etched in every angle, his top teeth had swallowed his lower lip while he studied her reaction. She stared at him coolly, fixated for a moment by his eye-teeth. He cocked an eyebrow and carried on rubbing his thumb pad over the prickly core bristles that stuck out from the tip of his wand.
"It's here, you can feel it just a tiny bit. Wanna touch it?" he teased
Under the desk Crookshanks awoke with a start, giving an entire body shake that started at his nose and travelled all the way to his tail. He yawned widely in that flip-top-head way that cats can when he realised they were at it again.
"No," she said shortly. It wasn't just the teeth, it was just really hard to look away. He had a face that Picasso would have put together – it shouldn't work, but it just did – on all the squirmy giddy parts of her imagination. Lamplight was just making it worse, throwing hollows into his cheeks to underline his cheekbones and shadowing under his eyes so that he looked sleepily dishevelled.
"Try it, it feels...nice. It won't bite." He offered his wand tip.
"Cedric," she said severely, daring herself to have enough control to meet his eyes
"Just a tiny touch," he coaxed. "For me. You'll like it."
"I don't want to."
"You're scared," he declared, sitting up straight and wielding his wand like a foil. "Kit..." he taunted
"I am not. And don't call me that. I'm not a child." She said mutinously, looking away to prevent the part of her that wanted to inspect the juxtaposition of his features incredibly closely to see how they fit together. The more sensible part of her wanted to beat him bloody with the required reading.
"Scarrrrrredy Kit," he crowed, waving it under her nose.
She grabbed at the wand tip flicking out of the corner of her eye. "Miss!" he gloated. "The crowd goes wild!" He flung both arms back above his head and tipped the chair onto its back legs. All of his abs stood out in relief against the material of his T-shirt pulled tight between his shoulders and his waistband as he arched over the back of the chair.
Enough was enough, she scrambled up and across the desk without really considering the consequences of her actions and launched herself at the raised arm holding the wand. Perhaps he would be less irritating if she just took it off him for the time that it took her to finish the book.
"Hermione!" He cried, grabbing for the edge of the table whilst still keeping the wand out of her reach as she landed in his lap. She grabbed two fistfuls of his shirt.
"What is your problem?" She whisper-yelled at him, letting go the frustration from the afternoon not expended earlier, against his face.
His eyebrows climbed into his hair and he poked her in the ribs with his wand tip. "My problem is that you are space invading and I am trying to study," he said smugly, staring pointedly at her chest which conveniently happened to be at his eye-level.
"Give me that," she spat, reaching for his wand.
"You can't just ask for it," he said as if speaking to an idiot, waggling it out of reach. "You have to win it," he cajoled."
"Win it? What?"
"Like a contest, a wand won't work for someone else unless it is won"
"I don't want to use it." She said disbelieving
"You don't want to play with my wand?" he said suggestively
"No, I don't even like your wand." She scrunched up her face.
"Your wand likes my wand," he said reproachfully
"It does not!"
"Does too..." he goaded
"Does not," this is ridiculous she thought – you should never argue with an idiot, they just drag you down to their level and then beat you with their experience.
"Wanna bet?"
"Huh?" Where the hell was this going and wherever it was wasn't getting the book finished.
"What's it worth - a kiss maybe? You could manage a kiss right? Since you are so sure you are right?" He pursed his lips in thought.
"You'll pull something," she couldn't believe that he was entwining her in this thing, his words winding around her like a bindweeds embrace
"Kissing you?" He scoffed, "I don't think you're that good..."
"No," she said hotly, trying to extricate herself from his lap whilst juggling with the awful concept that she might be both wrong and in addition bad at something. "It wouldn't be a fair bet, you'll cheat"
"Are you calling me out?" he said in glee, spanning her hips with his large hands and holding her in place. "I demand the opportunity to defend my honour," his voice all pompous and his eyes shiny with anticipation. She pushed at his wrists feebly, for someone who looked like he never worked out he seemed freakishly strong. It might have something to do with the blood vacating her brain and rushing to the parts of her that were in contact with warm comfortable parts of him. Leggings so not a good choice she berated herself.
Seeing her chance she made a grab for his wand.
"Ahahah-aa," he chided tossing it on the desk and grabbing for her wrists.
"You. Are. Infuriating," she ranted, breaking his hold again and again by twisting her fist only to have him catch at her once more, laughing delightedly before they dissolved into a game of slapsies.
"You're really easy to tease," he panted victoriously, now he had her complete attention. She windmilled her hands at him trying to get a blow in on his chest or head which he defended vigorously.
It was times like these she thought, that he behaved more like the boys in her year. She thought back to memories of fights like these with Ron and sought the same route that had served her well in the past. When eventually she got a hand to the top of his head, she grasped a handful of hair and pulled it backwards, hard.
She was expecting Rons whiney 'Ow.' Cedrics deeper shocked gasp stopped her dead. That and the sight of his exposed neck, the sharp definition of his adams apple and altogether too much jaw. His eyes slid to the side so that he could see the desktop from his awkward angle. He raised his eyebrows and sucked in his cheeks so his lips became an inviting pout.
"I win," he whispered hoarsely
The electric silence was broken by the sound of him swallowing thickly
"You so do not win," she said growled, giving his hair one last tug that made his eyes squint and she felt the air leave his chest in a rush. The low "uh" sound he made her insides flip into her throat, leaving a warm knot in her belly. Something in his pants doing a double tap under her inner thigh had her thinking a million miles an hour.
Not Ron, not Ron, not Ron.
"See?" he said huskily, planted his palms under her ribs and squeezed. She thought he was going to tickle her and fought the urge to give in and squirm because it would only make him worse if he knew that little tidbit. Instead he used it to turn her upper body so that she could see the desktop. Goosebumps rippled up her spine as she witnessed the vine on her wand reaching out to align her wand with his, much as he moved under her to align his body with hers.
"You owe me," he crooned, breathing into the hair behind her ear. "Kit." He enunciated, popping the 't' sound. She whipped her head back to face him, eyes narrowed.
She thought of Viktor down on one knee asking to escort her to the Gala and how there might be the expectation of a kiss at the end of the night. Never mind what the soft hair on his top lip had felt like against the palm of her hand and how that might translate against other skin. And how little experience she could bring to the table so to speak whereas Cedrics table 'runneth over.' This might be opportune after all, especially if she could prove that she would not miss what Cedric had been referring to should she choose to follow the Wandmakers apprenticeship. There were requirements after all, to be able to approach Unicorns – unless the donors were dead. She couldn't imagine dragon heartstring was easily come by and the unwelcome realisation made her antsy.
"I don't know what I'm doing," she said bluntly.
He shrugged easily, "just do what you feel."
She thought seriously about smacking the smug curl of his lips off his face, but they were at odds with the expectant light in his eyes. She licked her lips nervously and snarled when his grip tightened under her ribs, both at the way his grip made her bra feel too tight and how unabsorbent a thong was. "Put your hands where I can see them."
He reluctantly laced his fingers behind his head, thinking that if she wriggled much more that his hands were going to be the least of her worries.
"Better?" he grinned.
Not really, she thought, but couldn't decide why – maybe it made him look bigger or maybe because she now had to hold herself over him as he was leaning back. He looked nonchalant, but his body was vibrating with tension. Everytime she moved a fraction his whole stomach tensed.
She put a palm on either shoulder scrunching up the fabric there and moved forwards, her mouth set in grim determination and was completely put off by him crossing his eyes as she got closer. She pushed his cheek away in disgust when he laughed out loud at how serious she looked. The beginnings of a five o'clock shadow made her hand twitch and she shook it out like something had slobbered on it.
"Sorry," he murmured and closed his eyes, peeking once to make sure that she wasn't going to back out. Her fingers grazed the sides of his neck where his pulse thundered in silence just before she allowed her lips the amuse bouche of his chin.
He smiled in encouragement, tilting his head slightly as her lips moved upwards in a soft trail to the corner of his mouth. Her hands crept up to his hair as her chest pressed against his and he waited desperate for her mouth to find his. She brushed her lips tentatively over his, unsure as much about the sensations raging through her body as what effect she might actually be having over him.
Feeling braver when he didn't pull away, she leant more heavily against him, rocking against his belt buckle to ease the craving seating itself in her lower body and his lips parted with a low noise in the back of his throat. When she pulled at his lower lip with her own, his arms went around her in a trice, sealing her closer to him as he swallowed her shocked sob at how good it felt when he moved his hips in opposition to hers and his tongue explained to hers why there was no other way but French.
She buckled breathless under the onslaught of his hunger, alternately clenching and releasing handfuls of his hair in an effort to ground herself while his tongue flickered down the skin of her throat and his hips kept steady pace with hers. When he reached the V of her top he stopped, panting, she could have kicked herself when she felt him smile against her skin and then push her off his lap. She stood on shaking legs braced against the desktop to keep herself upright, trying to catch her breath.
She stared at him wide eyed when he slipped to the floor in front of her and looking up at her whispered innocently, "my turn".
"Your turn?" she parroted incredulously. "I gave you a kiss," she gasped while his nose quested to find the dip between thigh and hip, unable to stop her pelvis twisting towards him seeking familiar friction. He rubbed the heel of his hands down the front of her leggings from knee to ankle, stilling when his palms came into contact with the bare skin of her instep. He features spread into a slow smile, no socks tonight. His wand spluttered damp sparks when he swept his thumbs under her arches and her hips bucked into his face in response. Her toenails were painted a deep blush pink and suddenly he wanted to know if she was the same colour inside so badly that it hurt.
He hummed into her leggings, leaning his cheek against her thigh to try and calm his breathing, his senses flooded with the scent of ozone, musk and heat. He squeezed his eyes tight shut intensifying the feedback her topography gave touching his face. Lust burned his throat raw.
"You gave me the kiss you wanted to give, not the kiss I wanted to have. As I am sure you are aware, understanding the question is only basic exam technique...and this will be so, so much better," he rasped. When he applied himself, she could feel every press and stroke of lips and tongue through fabric that might as well have not been there.
Her jaw dropped in a soundless 'O', feeling as if every bone was wilting under his heated breath. She felt unmoored when he moved his hands up the back of her legs, pinned only by his tongue plunging into the damp furrow it had made, her mind drifting on the sea of shockwaves emanating from the sight of his face buried between her thighs.
Her stomach flattened and shook. He grunted in frustration at the barrier and the angle and the need to be closer. Unable to take much more of the hollow feeling he seemed to be creating within her, she got an unsteady hand to his shoulder and tugged, whimpering "up."
Wordlessly he lifted her bodily onto the desktop, the veins standing out on his neck momentarily and tipped her backwards into a pile of parchment and leather bindings. Books spilled heedlessly over the edges, flipping open, pages whirring to save themselves from a hard landing. She raised herself on her elbows, trapping his gaze with her own. He warred with himself between finishing what he started and watching her finish, deciding ultimately on aiming for both.
On the corner of the desk, her wand rubbed itself shamelessly against his own, the vine leaves flexing and quivering in a hedonistic frenzy.
He slowly wiped the corner of his mouth with his thumb, drunk on her taste and the certainty she was close and he was the cause. He enjoyed her watching him almost as much as the sight of her spread before him, her chest heaving and shoulders shaking with the effort of keeping herself propped up. He pinched the flat of his tongue between thumb and forefinger muttering awkwardly 'estudo' and barely flinched as the stud slipped into place, clicking it experimentally against the back of his front teeth.
She watched his mouth descend, the piercing glinting dully in the lantern light and gave herself over to the sensation of undulating muscle and unyielding metal. Desire spun and twisted behind her belly button when his thumb knuckle wedged the fabric, stretched tight over her opening, persistently inwards. He ground his hips mercilessly against the desk edge, crushing his erection and the burgeoning need to bury more than just his nose between her thighs while she rose to meet his slick touch, offering herself to his increasingly savage attentions over and over.
Parchment tore and crumpled in her hands. Inky, curlicued characters squished together resolving themselves into flickering images of svelte creatures chasing one another in play. A crude approximation of muddy paw prints skittered, leaping from one tattered edge to another, large prints hurtling after smaller darting dabs of spoor.
He paused stricken, when his restraint gave way to the self inflicted friction, shuddering against her straining limbs and wrapping his arms under her hips to hold himself together. She held herself bowed up away from the surface, keening softly for his returned momentum, as her body absorbed the muffled groan accompanying his release. He nuzzled her once more, twice was enough, pressing himself tighter in as she came apart, crushing her lower body to the desktop under his exhausted frame.
In the twenty silent heartbeats that followed, a bookworm from the SexEd section drew out an index card and critiqued Cedrics technique, tsking disapprovingly at the wisp of blue smoke escaping the ash wand tip.
Crookshanks flicked an ear back and forth at the ragged breaths filling the air and the steady sated hum flattened his coat comfortably around him like a familiar hand. He passed a coarse tongue over the unruly tip of his tail that still vibrated like a rattlesnakes warning.
Cedric raised his head at the fluttering touch of her fingertips against his jaw and heaved himself up. He staggered back a step when she refused to meet his eyes. Hermione picked up her wand without looking and slipped off the desk, the vine coiled neatly back in place, its abrupt recoil causing his wand to roll heavily off the table.
"Hermione?" he whispered. She paused in front of him side on and facing resolutely forward, raised her chin. He wasn't sure what he expected, but it wasn't this. She met his gaze glassily, impassively.
"Congratulations," she whispered. "My first." Her skin still hummed with his touch, blood still burned with his imparted fire. It wouldn't be so bad if it weren't for the feeling that there was more and that he could give it to her. And would if she asked, or possibly even just stayed. For this reason, more than any other she propelled herself forward, that and that this was a library, her sanctuary, a place she spent more time in than her own bed. A place where now every time she passed the sleeping shelves, she would hear the echoes of pleasures they had shared rather than the voices of the authors imparting their invaluable knowledge.
She half reached for his face so that she could explain, better perhaps without words that her going was not so much leaving as self preservation. If she held any part of him now, she couldn't do it. He would offer his hand and she would take it, for in his eyes was surprise and exhaustion and forever and something else. For the first time, when she stared into him she saw Fire. It was followed by water, black water, but it was the symbol of salt that stayed her hand. Salt that needed a plan and a shield, not more salt.
Her bare feet padded in the plush carpet taking her away from him. She moved more sinuously than he recalled, like every joint was double hinged, every limb only electively straight.
"Hermione!" he repeated, louder, repressing the gut wrenching roar that demanded she acknowledge him, little knowing how much she already had.
Her sneakers clopped past him, the backs still folded flat against the insoles where her heel had bent them in her haste to make the library meeting on time. They raced to make pace and nestled neatly in front of her descending toes so that she slipped them on without breaking step. When she turned the corner without looking back, Cedric thrust both hands into his hair and doubled over. It wasn't supposed to feel like this. It would have been better if she had left her scarlet fury on his face.
Straightening and rubbing his hands down his face, her scent ambushed him again and he groaned bitterly when his cock stirred stickily, reminding him of the consequences of action before thought. He turned to scoop the heaped parchment into some semblance of order and uncovered a stray paw print, the ink still bleeding into ancient wood grain of the desktop. Before his eyes the edges congealed into the scrappy outline of a heart and as the blob in the centre sank without trace, it left a letter in gothic script either side of a simple cross.
C + H
He tipped his face towards the ceiling to combat the stinging in his eyes and fought the lump in his throat whilst he worked out how to take the evidence of their shared moment with him. It wouldn't make the Yearbook, he decided, she deserved something all her own, their own.
0.0
A/N Anyone fancying a lie down right about now, you can share my pillow.
An amuse bouche is a taster dish that you might get in a posh restaurant, normally on a dinky ceramic spoon to show how brilliant your chef is. I never met one I didn't like.
I have no idea what a tongue stud would be in latin, so I made it up. The closest Italian was lingua stallone which just killed the moment for me right after I finished pmsl
There will be a 2 week break while I sort some stuff out. I'll do a summary so hopefully we are all on the same page before we kick off again k?