Chapter 2 – Kiss Me Again

As bedraggled as the rest of them, short blonde hair ruffled and streaked with the same dirt that was smeared across her nose, she still managed to look effortlessly stylish. But her face was creased in concentration, like she was troubled—like she'd been desperately looking for somebody.

Janey's head snapped around sharply, and when her eyes fell on him, a look of relief washed over her—of breathless astonishment. She was cat-like when she ran, fast and agile.

So forcefully had Janey flung herself at Sam, that he barely had time to register what was happening before he was reacting with equal force. Small Janey may be, but how Sam had so effortlessly swept her into his arms, so much so that her feet were no longer on the ground, and was still able to kiss her with as much frantic enthusiasm as he was, was a mystery.

It had certainly been a memorable first kiss.

The aftermath of a brutal and bloody battle spanning well over twenty-four hours, pushing both of them to their physical, mental, and emotional limits, most of which Janey had actually spent imprisoned in a murky cell. And yet that hadn't at all detracted from the beauty of the moment in which her eyes had met his across the hall full of wreckage, where something previously unspoken and unacknowledged had seemed to flicker between them so forcefully that it had sent her running straight into his arms.

And even though it had been a shock, not only to herself, the recipient, and everybody who played witness to (and was possibly scarred by) the unlikely couple's first kiss, in that moment it had seemed so impossibly right. In that moment, despite the years of jealousy, anger, and aggressiveness, the two teenagers had stolen a moment of light-hearted bliss.

And it had been exhilarating, elating. Beautiful. Perfect.

Rose Weasley, who'd had the displeasure of being stood by Sam's side as the dirty blonde whirlwind had come crashing into him, and the even greater displeasure of witnessing the way he so unashamedly and enthusiastically took her into his arms, lifting her off her feet, meeting her kiss with equally as fervent passion, had quickly dismissed herself after a couple of double takes at the odd affair.

Not that either of them noticed. They were… busy, to say the least.

Samuel Tyler had little experience when it came to kissing. He'd had two official relationships during his first six years at Hogwarts. One of which had been brief and unemotional, lacking in any form of romance other than hand-holding. And one which had been longer, though still brief in the long run, more emotionally-invested, and with whom he had shared an awkward, clumsy, but somewhat sweet first kiss. Plus several others.

But not like this. Never had Sam kissed his ex-girlfriend with as much warmth, passion, and relief as he felt kissing Janey. And his total and complete lack of experience in the art of snogging was proving to be less of a problem than he might have imagined. Maybe that was because, unlike him, Janey was more than experienced in such an art, and as she had orchestrated it, seemed to be putting most of the effort in—though not for Sam's lack of trying.

Or maybe it was because it was her, and it was him, and it was finally right.

Not that Sam had ever imagined kissing Janey, of course. Of all the scenarios he'd envisioned he and her in, most involving some kind of decapitation or permanent Silencing Charm, kissing had never once been involved.

Certainly not.

Not those dreams that had involved some kind of blonde girl who just happened to have her exact haircut and been her exact height.

Not all those times he'd closed his eyes to kiss Isabella and his mind had subconsciously wandered so much to the point where, once he reopened them, he was surprised to see raven hair and dark blue eyes rather than the gentle sky blue pools that Janey had.

That had been unintentional; it hadn't meant anything.

Janey kissed with an urgency, a desperation, that Isabella never had. Like they would never get another chance. Like it was now or never.

Maybe it was.

The moment their lips parted and Sam delicately lowered Janey back to the ground, a sense of coldness seemed to strike them both. No longer touching in the slightest, no longer even at eye level, both breathless, both still a little shocked by what had just transpired, that's when the initial embarrassment kicked in. It was as though, during the kiss, they had been transported—far away from the grungy debris and the fresh trauma of the battle and those trying days leading up to it.

But now they were back. They were there, in the remains of Rosewood Manor, and they had just kissed. And very publically at that.

Janey looked up at Sam's face, hurriedly closing her mouth from where it had been hanging down in shock, eyes wide, dirt-smeared cheeks red, suddenly mortified at what she'd just done. Sam too, opened and closed his mouth in a flustered manner, hair still mussed up from where Janey had grabbed at it at the back, face perhaps even redder than hers.

What was one supposed to do in that situation? What was one supposed to say?

"Ah…" Sam managed to gulp.

Janey just looked away in a hurry, as though to look him in the eye any longer would send her over the edge.

"I, umm," Sam tried again, his hand subconsciously moving to the back of his head where Janey's hand had just been in order to try and flatten his hair.

He and Janey didn't talk at the best of times, and if they did it was only ever to yell at each other. They hadn't ever shown even the remotest bit of affection towards each other—they weren't affectionate. They hated each other; they couldn't stand each other. And not even in a jokey, flirty, love-hate kind of way.

That wasn't them.

But something had changed. Something they couldn't just ignore. And perhaps their feelings for each other weren't exactly clear. Perhaps there had always been a lot of underlying desire beneath all the jealousy and the aggressiveness—of which had now been made blindingly obvious—but neither one of them even knew how to address it within their own selves, let alone with each other.

"Do you, err, want to sit down?" Sam suggested in a sort of grunt. He couldn't understand why he was lowering his voice so much.

He and Janey, though standing side by side, were profusely not looking at each other. Janey had even folded her arms, like she couldn't care less about the whole situation. That was what she was like though, Sam reminded himself. It's why he'd always struggled to read Janey. She was so stubborn, so closed off.

Perhaps now, after that frighteningly public display of affection, she would be able to come to terms with her own emotions and be able to speak freely about it. And he too.

Sam supposed now was a better time than any. Who was to say what would happen when they got back to Hogwarts. Would he and Janey slip back into their old familiar routine? Bitter and spiteful towards each other, that constant sparring? And all because… what? Because deep down they were so driven by a different kind of desire for the other? Because they were channelling their passion in vicious, angry ways, rather than accepting it for what it was?

Or would things be different, Sam considered with an ounce of trepidation. Would the dynamics of their relationship change? Would they be affectionate around each other, as they'd just displayed? Would there be more kissing? And, God forbid, would their relationship actually become a relationship of sorts?

Is that what he wanted? Is that what she wanted?

There was only one way to find out.

Janey made a sort of noncommittal huffing noise at his suggestion. Confused and unsure, just as she always made him feel, Sam decided to accept it as confirmation and take the lead.

Just behind where he and Rose had been talking prior to Janey's arrival, there was a huge glass window, sunlight streaming down through the remaining shards, highlighting the dust that clouded in the air. And below that, an alcove of sorts, more than big enough, and fairly private enough, for two people to sit and converse.

Following Sam's lead, Janey obligingly walked over to it, and the two were settled.

From where they were sitting, they had a perfect view of the goings-on of the hall in its entirety. All around them happy reunions were occurring between friends, families, students, teachers, companions, and loved ones in general. It only added to the now hugely awkward tension between the two.

Their knees were only a couple of inches away from each other, but the distance felt huge. How was it that just moments ago their hands, bodies, mouths, everything had been pressed up against each other? So casually, so excitedly.

There was no excitement to be found now. Just extreme discomfort. Janey had her arms wrapped around herself—(Sam tried not to think about how his had been wrapped around her just minutes ago)—and she was still refusing to look at him.

Sam engrossed himself in cleaning a bit of dirt off of his knuckles. Was Janey going to say anything? Was she going to acknowledge, in any way, that she had just initiated a pretty heavy kiss between the two of them? And it had been so public too—they couldn't pretend like it hadn't happened.

But he needed to know. He needed to know what was going on in her mind and her heart, before he could even begin to think about what was going on in his own. But would either of them, stubborn and aggressive as they were with each other, actually swallow their pride and admit to the other how they truly felt?

"So, ah"—Sam cleared his throat—"I guess we should talk…"

Janey ignored him. Or, at least, didn't jump at the chance to offer a response. She glanced down at her feet. A hole had been ripped in one side of her shoe, and the sole was starting to flap, which was suddenly incredibly fascinating to her.

Sam subconsciously rolled his tongue in his mouth, wondering what it would be like if it were in Janey's mouth.

He glanced at her, mortified, but she wasn't even looking. And, of course, he reminded himself stupidly, it wasn't like she could possibly know what was going on in his mind.

Which was why, he reminded himself firmly, they needed to talk about it all. Now, Janey was a gossiper, there was no doubt about that, and she loved nothing more than talking about herself. But never about feelings. Never about anything deep. She was very guarded, very closed off, never allowing anyone to see her vulnerable side, and Sam didn't know why that was.

But he knew he needed her to open up. They couldn't just beat about the bush—they couldn't just ignore it all—they needed to be honest with each other. About how they really felt and about where they stood now. Had it been a heat-of-the-moment kiss? Had Janey, having been imprisoned for the last twelve hours, been so overwhelmed and caught up in the elation of their victory and her new freedom, that it had just been a result of a little too much excitement?

Had it been, say, Mason, or Albus, or any other male companion who'd been standing where Sam had been, would she have responded in the same way?

It wasn't like him and Janey exactly had a romantic history, was it. Despite how he may or may not have felt about her.

Was her embarrassment maybe not at her own forwardness, but maybe out of disgust, he suddenly feared. Perhaps she was horrified at what she'd done. Perhaps there hadn't really been any underlying emotion beneath it all anyway. Or maybe it just hadn't been any good. Janey had kissed a lot of guys, it didn't take a genius to figure that out. Perhaps Sam's technique had been… disappointing.

And maybe she wasn't interested in him anymore. Maybe it had just been a heat-of-the-moment, one-time thing, which she never wanted to dwell on again. Would he be okay with that, Sam wondered. Is that what he wanted? Did he want it to mean nothing? Did he want it to mean something more?

The only way he was ever going to find out was to have a very open, honest, and emotional conversation with her. He looked towards her, ready to repeat the question or try and prompt her to even look at him, but he needn't have bothered, because she did so anyway.

Janey's nose, he noticed, was perfect. Despite the dirt, and what he suspected to be blood, that was caked onto it, along with most of her face, it looked very cute. Small and smooth, with a cute little upturn—a button nose, they called it—like a baby's. In fact, her whole face, her whole demeanour in fact, was very youthful, very child-like. Perhaps it was her height, he mused. But her skin, indeed, was soft and dewy, her complexion smooth, and her eyes incredibly blue. It was the first time he'd ever really noticed how pleasing he found her to look at. Even though, in that moment, exhausted, dirty, and war-torn, she probably looked her worst.

Janey was watching him tentatively, her eyes wide and anxious, like a scared child. It was very infrequent that Sam saw her in any state other than her default bossy, loud-mouthed one. It rather unsettled him, but he found it transfixing.

"So, uh," Sam breathed out, ready to re-announce that they should talk. Even though he could sense there was nothing she'd rather do less. Still, it had to happen—they couldn't avoid it.

But Janey interrupted him with a perfectly innocent, serious, and casual attitude. Her eyes flickered briefly to his lips before back to his eyes. "Do you wanna make out?"

Sam just blinked, not as startled by the frank and open suggestion as he might have been. No, he thought—he wanted to have an emotional heart-to-heart in which they could address their emotions and figure out the confusing state of their relationship.

Half a second passed.

"Yeah, sure."

Both had moved before Sam could even finish his rushed, two-word answer, so eager were both to recapture that gloriously passionate moment.

To hell with emotional heart-to-hearts, a voice at the back of Sam's mind piped up with greedy delight. He knew she was only doing all she could to avoid that painful, exposing confrontation they both knew they needed to have, but what did he care? He wasn't a fool—he wasn't going to turn a good thing down.

It was different now that they were sitting down. Their bodies, for one, were not pressed up against each other, meaning they were solely connected by their mouths. And yet it felt more intimate somehow. And now that Sam wasn't so preoccupied with holding her, balancing the weight of her body against him, his hands were free. He didn't do much. He didn't really know what to do, to be honest, but he brought them up to the sides of her face.

And as Sam's hands had moved, Janey's hands, he noticed, had instinctively moved to him as well. She held his body rather than his face, his ribcage to be more precise, just below where his arms were outstretched to cup her face. Not the most intimate, he thought, but then again, where did he expect her to put them? She was too short, too small to be able to reach her hands up and hold his head like she had before, not with the position of his arms blocking her.

No, the only place she could put them, given that there was still distance between them—(they weren't wrapped around each other as they had been before)—was below shoulder height. And it wasn't like she was going to start grabbing at his thighs or anything, was it?

Oh, God, Sam groaned in his mind, don't envision that kind of thing.

Sam couldn't help but think of Isabella. He was suddenly very aware of how clinical their physical relationship had been. Sure, they had kissed several times, but their bodies hadn't ever really been in it. Their mouths had barely been in it. It had felt like a necessity, like a casual thing that just had to be done. It had been somewhat nice, sure, but not like this.

Oh, God, not like this.

Everything in Sam's body seemed to be buzzing. He felt more than elated and giddy—he felt electrically charged. Janey exerted a sense of expertise. Not static and awkward like Isabella always had been, Janey had a rhythm that Sam easily and almost subconsciously picked up. It wasn't outrageously explicit—not yet, anyway, Sam briefly thought, before realising it and dismissing it with a sense of shock—but the way her lips rolled against his, the way she moved her head, even the way she breathed, it was all so well-conducted and so exciting.

Sam started to wonder whether he should do something more with his hands, but he was uncertain. And to be perfectly honest, he was putting too much energy and attention into the actual kissing itself—he couldn't just multitask like that. Or, at least, not in a way that would actually be satisfying to either of them.

He moved a thumb, ever so slightly, as though stroking her cheek. It was all he could about manage. But it didn't go unnoticed. At the new touch, Janey too moved her hands, gripping Sam's ribs just a little tighter, as though pulling herself closer. Their knees, Sam realised, were now touching. It wasn't exactly a huge difference, but it only made him more aware of how many different body parts were touching. Knees, hands, mouths.

Considering her legs had been wrapped around him during their first go, and his hands had been incredibly close to actually holding her bum, he wasn't sure why the thought of their knees touching suddenly excited him so much.

Although he was trying to solely focus his mind on getting his technique right, and actually get lost in such a moment, Sam's mind couldn't help but wander. He hadn't opened his eyes since that second kiss had begun—he'd had no desire to—but he remembered, all of a sudden, where they actually were. Though hidden away in a little window alcove, they weren't exactly hidden from view.

He wondered whether anybody was watching him and Janey—the two bloodied-up teenagers, furiously making out by the broken window like their lives depended on it. His teachers were there, he realised, his fellow students, and his and Janey's mutual friends…

Oh, God, they were going to take the piss out of him when—if—he and Janey ever stopped snogging. The boys especially. He wondered if they'd known already—if they'd seen this coming. Him and Janey. Had it been obvious to everybody else that there had been a very forceful, driving longing for each other beneath the bitter exterior? As blatant a fierce romantic tension as between Rose and Scorpius?

Because Merlin knows that had been obvious to anybody other than themselves.

Had that maybe been true of Sam and Janey too?

But Rose and Scorpius had a history, Sam reminded himself. They'd been together, albeit long ago, and even though they'd been separated for a year and a half, you'd have to be blind not to see the deeper emotions that ran through both of them. But he and Janey didn't have that. They didn't have a history. Not a particularly positive one at least.

Everybody was probably too caught up in their own reunions and celebrations, Sam decided. Nobody was probably paying much attention to them.

Janey's right hand briefly moved from Sam's torso. Not that he could see, given that his eyes were closed and because of how energetically invested in the kiss he was, but it had been to offer a silent, one-fingered salute to the group a few feet away from the snogging couple, her back to them. It consisted of James, Taylor, Gwen, Albus, and Mason, who were watching the display with sickening curiosity and great amusement, with James seeing how much he could levitate a bit of debris to gently knock against the back of Janey's occupied head before she snapped and responded. She did so with remarkable grace, never once breaking the kiss or even looking towards them. They all cheered. Sam didn't even notice.

That kiss could have lasted for hours, no one could be sure, least of all Sam and Janey. Sam had started to consider that maybe not having an emotional heart-to-heart would actually be the best solution. If he played his cards right then he could have many a snog with Janey in the future, but he could very well lose that benefit if they started putting emotions into the mix.

But he was suddenly finding it difficult to breathe. Perhaps from experience, Janey had well and truly mastered the art of breath control, but Sam could feel the tightness in his chest and the heat under his collar—for far more reasons than the blissful passion of such an embrace.

But she seemed to sense this. It was Janey who fully stopped it, which was just as well, as Sam might have died if she hadn't, but their hands remained in place. Sam gulped in a mouthful of air, feeling hot, sweaty, and a little embarrassed by his own inadequacy.

"You're, ah, really good at this," he said through his panting before he could even stop himself and realise what a weird and pathetic thing he was saying. Who complimented someone on their kissing ability?

"It's not my first time," Janey murmured back in a low, amused voice, her mouth still only separated from his by about an inch.

It wasn't my first time either, Sam wanted to protest, but then thought better of it. Maybe he really was that bad. Maybe she'd find it more endearing and acceptable to think he'd never had a proper snog before. Although, to be fair, after that, he wasn't sure he could possibly describe anything he'd shared with Isabella as a 'proper snog.' And besides, Sam didn't really want to bring Isabella, nor his romantic interactions with her, to Janey's attention right then.

Unlike the aftermath of the first time, they didn't immediately break away and leap apart in shock and embarrassment. Their hands remained in place, hearts wildly beating, hot, flushed, only inches apart. And when their eyes locked, gentle shared smirks broke out on their faces, genuine laughter, a little shy but with deep honesty. Sam couldn't ever remember laughing with Janey. It felt new and refreshing.

Slowly, they began to remove their hands from each other, that sense of immediate coldness creeping back in. Though they moved their bodies back to upright sitting positions, no longer leaning into each other, close and lingering, their knees remained touching. It felt weirdly satisfying to Sam, to have Janey's jean-clad knee resting against his.

But there was a new question to ask—now what?

The second round of snogging was done, and Sam wasn't sure he could physically take much more. It's not that he didn't want to, it's just that it was oddly draining. He feared he might sweat all over her if he tried again.

But it didn't feel like the time to talk anymore. Not in a heartfelt way. Not about them, at least. Causal conversation then? Playful and light?

But Sam drew a blank. What to say to Janey? He and her had never just talked. Not unless it was arguing or merciless, vicious teasing. Had they ever had a genuine, pleasant conversation, he suddenly thought with alarm. Two years together as Prefects, you'd have thought they would have…

"I'm going to go talk to the others," Janey announced, nodding to a group that must have formed in the centre of the hall sometime during their snogfest. They were all there, Sam realised—Rose, Scorpius, Taylor, Gwen, Ebony, James, Mason, Albus—all of their mutual friends really, along with the Headmistress.

Sam made some kind of affirmative, noncommittal noise, unsure what to really say or do, still struggling to catch his breath if he was perfectly honest. Janey smiled, tucked a strand of short blonde hair behind her ear, and then hurried over towards the group. Sam just sat there, watching her go, feeling stupid and awkward.

She had a nice bum, he thought to himself as he watched her retreating figure. He'd never noticed before. Even though she was small, Janey had nice curves. Not hugely emphasised, but she certainly filled out her jeans well. Not like Isabella, who had been skinny and flat, nor like Rose, who had been a hopeless crush of his for the first four years of knowing her.

Still feeling stupid and awkward, Sam thought of nothing else to do other than to follow Janey to the group of their friends. He wondered if any of the others would be able to sense what he and Janey had just been up to, very much unaware was he to the fact that everybody had seen them going at it anyway.

The following events played out unforgettably. Janey would learn she had a half-sister in rival Slytherin and Metamorphmagus Jinx Capella. The students would retreat to a more private room to share in celebratory drinks. Sam and Janey would find themselves sharing a goblet, laughing and generally being playful around each other. They would be outright confronted by their friends on the nature of their relationship and their unsubtle snogging. They would both profusely deny it, stubbornly insisting they still loathed each other. A mishap with Veritaserum would force them to confess otherwise. And then, once again, despite the roomful of onlookers, Sam and Janey would find themselves unashamedly snogging the life out of each other for the third time that day.

Oh, yes, it had certainly been a memorable first kiss.

And a second…

And a third…

In fact, that first night alone following the finalisation of the divorce, a twenty-two year old Janey sat huddled up on her windowsill, replaying not only their first kiss as foolish, naïve seventeen-year-olds, but every kiss they'd ever shared since that day. She remembered them all.

Sam did the same.

Author's Note: Italicised extract at the beginning was taken from chapter 190 'Victory' of Rose and Scorpius: A Forbidden Love. Title inspiration comes from We Are The In Crowd's 'Kiss Me Again' ft. Alex Gaskarth

Also, just a thing to mention—often I'll collectively refer to Sam and Janey as 'seventeen-year-olds' when, in fact, at this point in the story, Janey would only be sixteen (as her birthday is the end of July). Doesn't really make any difference, I just wanted to point that out.