12: Rung Six - Her

Disclaimer: Not mine. No money. Special thanks go to JKR for sanctioning HP fanfic.

Gobs of thanks go to my beta Southern Witch 69 and to my Brit-picker the amazing Saracen77.

12: Rung Six – Her

August 31st, 8:35 pm

I’m wandering slowly from the library to my rooms. The look on my face must be solemn because a friar from one of the sillier portraits dumps a tankard of ale over his head and looks at me expectantly. I manage a weak smile, and he turns away in a huff.

What’s wrong with me? I’m newly engaged – aren’t I supposed to be happy?

The friar looks abruptly towards the right side of his frame, and his eyes widen in amazement. He turns to the left and takes two steps before a flood of denizens from other portraits swarms over him.

Similarly, I’m almost bowled over by Nearly Headless Nick. “Coming through. Coming through. No time to chat. Really must run.” He tips his head and whips around the corner behind me, leaving a lingering trail of ghostly phosphorescence.

What’s gotten their knickers in such a twist?

I round the next corner and run into what’s upset Nick and the portraits. Or should I say who. It’s Snape. No, make that a furious Snape.

As I bounce off of his chest with a little oof, his hands snake out to grab my upper arms in a punishing grip.

The pain is acute but does little to distract me from the overwhelming energy of his presence. The air around him seems to roil in heightened Brownian motion as if his rage literally burns within him.

His expression flickers from anger, through another emotion I can’t interpret, and lands on disgust. He pushes me away.

Stumbling until my back hits the wall, I slide my wand into my hand.

Just in case.

But whatever I was expecting, it wasn’t this – he’s turned away from me, saying nothing.

My own anger rises to the surface. “How dare you physically assault me?”

“If I remember correctly, the last time I was physical with you was hardly an interlude that could be referred to as assault.”

Goddess, why does he always make it about sex?

“I didn’t mean the se…. I didn’t mean the ladder incident, you git. I meant just now!”

“I apologize, Professor Granger. I had no idea that a mere five seconds of my hands on a fully-clothed, nonsexual area of your person qualified as assault.”

“It bloody well hurt, you bastard!”

His back stiffens; the sarcasm leaves his voice. “Then I truly do apologize, Professor Granger.”

My anger isn’t mollified. “Look at me. Say it while looking at me.”

He’s still for a moment, and I wonder if he’ll comply, when he turns slowly. For the second time that day, I’m struck by how controlled his facial expressions are.

“You want me to speak to you, you want me to look at you, but you will not have me touch you. I find you painfully hypocritical, Professor Granger.”

“Hypocritical?” That came out a bit shrill, so I lower my tone. “How dare you say that asking to converse in a civilized fashion without being mauled is hypocritical? It’s nothing more than the respectful behavior due a colleague.”

“And is that all we are, Professor Granger, colleagues?” He takes a step forward.

“Of course that’s all we are,” I sputter. “You’re with Tonks; I’m with Ron. What more could there be between us?”

“Ms. Tonks and I are no longer a matter of concern.”

Shite. He broke it off with Tonks? Over me?

“As for you and Weasley,” he continues, “that remains to be seen. One could have doubts, as it were, as to the amount of satisfaction you derive from your relationship with him.”

“Will you stop bringing up the sodding ladder! It was an accident, a … a mistake.”

“A mistake?” His eyebrow mocks me as he comes even closer.

“Yes, a mistake. And one I don’t plan on ever making again.”

“Really?” It comes out in the husky whisper I’ve heard only twice before but which already has a profound effect on me. I shiver.

I try to sound defiant, but my answer is just this side of breathless. “Yes, really.”

He leans in, and I feel his hot breath tease my ear. Waiting far longer than is necessary, he eventually murmurs, “I do not believe you.”

My auditory nerve endings reroute to my clit, and it tingles in response. Another shiver ripples through me, and liquid tickles across my labia.

He moves ever so slowly, yet inexorably, closer and presses me against the stone wall.

His lips graze my ear lightly, feather under the edge of my jaw, and rise to brush against mine once, twice, a third time. Fire rushes across my skin.

Pulling away slightly, he pauses. I open my eyes to find him looking at me, and having caught my gaze, he leans in again, watching me the whole while. This kiss starts softly and builds intensity slowly. He increases the pressure of his lips and toys with mine for long, delicious moments. I’m not sure I’ve ever been kissed like this – as if I’m something precious to be savored.

The first swipe of his tongue causes me to gasp, and he chuckles softly against my lips – a dark vibration that once thrummed against my clit. It pulses in sympathetic delight.

His tongue returns, asking for an entrance that I quickly allow, and I send mine out to join his as my eyes drift closed. Our lips continue to move against one another’s, and although the kiss has deepened, the touches of our tongues remain light and glancing. Teasing.

After surreptitiously slipping my wand into my pocket, I grab the robes covering his chest and pull him closer to me. My right leg lifts to wrap around his left thigh, which rests against my mound. He places one of his hands under my thigh to hold it higher around him, and his other grabs my left hip. I whimper, sparking an answering groan, and he presses ever closer, his erection hard against my stomach. Sparks of tingling pleasure shoot through my center.

Circe, I think I could come just from snogging him!

Hunger defines our kiss now. A hunger for sensation, pleasure, fulfillment. His mouth moves forcefully on mine, and he sucks at my bottom lip, nipping it. My hips rock forward repeatedly to be met by the answering thrust of his thigh, and I slide my tongue into his mouth, attempting to devour his essence. My knickers are soaked.

Trying to slide my hands up so that I can wrap them around his neck, my left hand halts after a few inches. I’ve caught the ring I’m not yet used to on his robes.

The ring …

Shite! Ron.

The icy sickness of guilt washes over me. I struggle to drop my leg and shove him away, angry at him for initiating the kiss and at myself for enjoying it. He looks puzzled, but I’m silent because there’s nothing I could say that wouldn’t be ‘hypocritical.’

He smirks in triumph and moves to lean in.

I can’t do this!

Pushing him away yet again, I escape down the corridor. I’m running half blind due to the slow response of sconces grown lazy over a studentless summer.

I don’t believe me either.

AN: I may teach English now, but I have a dark secret in my past – I’m also a scientist. Brownian motion – the random motion of molecules when in a gaseous or liquid form; said motion is faster the higher the temperature.