(A/N: Give it up for iowa-tarheel!)
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"You really think Latin is harder than Parseltongue?" Harry said, quirking one dark brow over an emerald eye. Hermione lifted her nose snootily and crossed her arms, determined not to blush. "Yes, in fact I do. Latin is a dead language."
"How dead is a language when only one bloodline can speak it?" he snorted rhetorically. Hermione narrowed her eyes and gave them a roll. "All I hear when you do that is a bunch of hissing. I bet you can say anything in Parseltongue and make it sound like something meaningful just by making random hissy sounds."
"Seriously? Our SPELLS are in Latin. We learned it in first year. And no, that's not true."
"Prove it!"
"I can't," he smirked, "you wouldn't understand me."
Hermione pursed her lips. "Fine then- teach me."
"What?"
"Teach me Parseltongue, and I'll teach you Latin, and we'll see which is harder."
"No way! I already know Latin."
"No you don't." Hermione grinned and pushed a breath of air through her teeth, sticking her tongue out and making an exaggerated hissing sound. "There. I'm pretty sure I just called you a chicken." Harry grinned sharply, and her stomach gave a lurch. He was on her before she could get away, lips in her hair and teeth grazing her earlobe, making her shudder warmly.
"Provocatio accipitur, Granger." He followed that with the parseltongue translation and ran a warm tongue around the shell of her ear, ragged and smooth all at once that awakened something inside her- part primal fear, part desire.
Hermione bit her lip and reached around to run her fingers through the wispy black hair on the back of his neck, squirming in her seat. "Maybe later though...?"
She didn't understand his answer, but the hungry kiss he descended on her spoke volumes.