The moon is high in the skies of Hogwarts, softly illuminating the ever-gloomy ambiance of the Room of Requirement. There was not a single sound to be heard, and the bed felt quite inviting to those that lay on it, as if the furniture itself lulled you into a deep state of relaxation.

There would be no classes the next day, and the promise of sleeping in hung over the eager students. Soon, Summer would be upon them, and it is their chance to spend as much time as they could with those they appreciated in the castle, before three long months of separation.

The pair that clandestinely slept together in the Room of Requirement reasoned just that, but the actual sleeping seemed to elude them. Since, as soon as Rosalie had thought for a brief, hopeful moment that Sebastian was actually taking the time to relax before bed, she crawls up beside him and realizes that he is not reading for pleasure, but for research.

Spare parchment riddled with notes piles up on the bedside table, to the point she cannot see the pitcher, and his eyes are narrowed with unshakeable focus as they scan the page. At a glance, this appears to be some dense text regarding the trade of rare and restricted potion ingredients between the Iberian Peninsula and the surrounding territories.

It must have been the volume she procured from her relatives in Portugal, the girl wagered. Hogwarts is much too concerned with the affairs of the British Isles, she realises, and his research for a cure for his sister's curse could do with some broadening of horizons. Especially those that do not involve blood sacrifices and splitting his soul in seven parts. Though, she does not expect the cure of one to be at the expense of the illness of the other.

In any case, descriptions of flora and the trade routes that take them from field into cauldrons all over Europe is hardly the kind of comfort, relaxing reading she would expect to lull her lover to sleep, even if some people might argue that it is a quite dreary read. Perhaps she should be grateful that at least he is not prowling through the darkened corridors on the trail of some magical cure or another, but this is hardly how she would prefer for him to spend his night off.

"Sebastian." She calls his name with a sigh, settling on her knees on the bed beside him. "We have talked about you getting proper rest."

He replies immediately, as though he had expected her grievance. "A night in your hideout is a rare opportunity to do some research for the development of my counter-curses. Anne is feeling well enough for the time being, but I shan't allow my own complacency to undo any progress we have made so far."

Her pout in reply goes entirely unnoticed, which Rosalie supposes that it is unsurprising. It is not as though she can argue a point so close to his heart, and truly, she does understand and admire his ironclad convictions towards an obviously noble goal.

Still, she cannot help her concern.

With yet another sigh, she shifts closer to his side. "I propose a compromise."

At last, his eyes wrest themselves from the page before him, and Sebastian offers her a subdued smile. The sort he gives her whenever they get on a battle of nerves, that communicates that he will not relent, even if both of them know with certainty that he will, indeed.

"I am listening."

"Give me your hand." She demands.

He pulls his lips and offers her his free hand.

She lets it go immediately. "No, dear. Your writing hand, please."

His brow furrows in response.

"Do not look at me in this way!" She chides. "I just mean to say, you can keep reading, but you should take the time to rest your hands. You are always either writing or practicing Dark Magic, and that is very exhausting for your delicate muscles. You will strain something if you are not careful and does not treat your body with respect."

This time, Sebastian lets out a sigh of his own, as he feels he should argue the point, at least the part where she states that his hands are delicate. However, he does relent.

Naturally.

"A fair enough proposition. Very well, I accept." He says as his girlfriend takes his hand in hers, the formality in his tone contrasting the affectionate warmth in his gaze.

Then, with his hand secured, Rosalie sets to her task with eagerness. She carefully removes his glove and sets it aside, then begins by very gently massaging the worn and tightened joints of his fingers, tending to each in turn.

While she does give her ministrations her utmost focus, she cannot help admiring his hand, larger than hers and so strong. His fingers are long and skilful, and while the strong energy released by his usual curses has certainly helped develop hard and sturdy muscle, his skin is still surprisingly soft, without the callouses that tend to develop in more prolific duellists.

She has been to enough duels to understand that Sebastian uses these gloves to protect himself against the magical sparks on the wands, but still, she misses some physical contact in their day-to-day. It would be nice to go down the hallways holding hands, and actually hold hands, instead of having her hanging off a leather piece.

Gradually, she works her way down each of his joints, massaging away weeks and months and years of aches and, at last, the boy finally lets slip a short, appreciative groan. She smiles warmly, utterly charmed by the light pink flush across his face.

Still, she continues her service, now moving on to his palm, then his wrist. Here especially, she can feel the lingering tension, and she takes her time into slowly guiding him into a rolling, flexing motion that should help relax the joints. This time, he bites back his pleasure, his brow creasing as he struggles to remain focused on his reading.

"My apologies." He says stiffly.

The girl gives a short chuckle. "No matter. I am glad it feels good. It is not often I get to spoil you a little, you know."

Then, Rosalie draws his hand towards her lips, to kiss the tips of his fingers, one after another. His focus wavers. His eyes dart up to watch her, his face tinged red and his book forgotten on his lap.

Now, that is an interesting development, she considers, and one that she can hardly wait, so much that she wants to exploit it.

Wearing an impish grin, she kisses his forefinger once more, then nip at it gently, her teeth grazing his skin for the briefest moment.

His reaction is more delicious than she could have anticipated. Sebastian watches her with a look of agonized longing, whispering her name under his breath like a plea.

After some poor restraint, his voice rises. "Darling, you… This is... Far too tempting..."

She stands up straight on the bed and moves to straddle his thigh, drawing her body near his without touch, all in the while she still holds his hand lovingly in her own. Without a word, she circles his fingertip with her tongue, teasing sensitive nerves while he watches her as though he was hypnotized.

Before long, Rosalie is sucking gently at the tip of his finger, and his lips stall slightly parted, his chest rising and falling as his pulse pounds. She steals a glance downward, and sure enough, his hardened cock presses a lewd outline to the front of his nightshirt, already twitching eagerly for her.

With a playful smirk, she is about to comment on his obvious arousal, when instead, to her surprise, Sebastian wraps a strong arm around her midsection and turns her down onto the bed beneath him. His legs straddle her as she did him, but his hold is much firmer and stronger. He also spends no time with that no-touching tomfoolery, as he presses himself like a dog in heat against her withering body.

The teen boy kisses his girlfriend hard, the weight of his body pinning her to the sheets, his tongue pressing past her lips as his hands seize both of hers. He pins them both above her head.

He only parts from her lips to say, in a harsh, graveled whisper, "All of this teasing hardly seems fair, dearest."

"We are snakes. We do not play fair." She responds, every bit as devious as he is.

Ah, how he loves that girl.

"That we do not." He smirks, his hips slowly rolling against her, rutting the thick length of his member between her thighs. "It seems that neither of us will be resting for some time tonight."

"Good thing neither of us has nowhere to go in the morning."

Indeed, neither Rosalie nor Sebastian were seen in breakfast come the next day.