Post by jazzyjess on Nov 3, 2011 22:32:34 GMT -8
Title: Demons in the Dark
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 240
Warnings: the use of the h-word once
Summary: Hermione will do the wrong things for the right reasons.
-
It’s dark outside, dark enough that you can barely make out the shape of your hand in front of you. There’s no moon tonight, or if there is, it’s hiding behind clouds so dense with rain that the air around you feels thick and heavy. It’s early March but there’s no chill in the air. You’re starting to regret having worn your heavy woollen jumper. You got his owl at breakfast but you don’t know why he’s chosen this, of all nights.
The Quidditch pitch is dark, too. The magic lights you’ve seen hovering around the boundaries on Saturdays when games have gone on after the sun had set are nowhere to be found. You consider using lumos but you feel more comfortable in the dark for the deeds you’re about to do.
“Granger.”
He’s come on foot too, but he isn’t wearing a jumper and he’s so pale that there’s a very faint glow from his skin and his hair, even in such a dim place. You don’t answer, just stand there and wait. This isn’t the first night you’ve met, and it isn’t going to be the last. Such is the deal you struck at the beginning of the year. As he moves closer you close your eyes, resigned, not interested in seeing the look in his. The first kiss is soft, gentle; the second is more insistent, more punishing.
You wonder what the hell you’re doing here.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 240
Warnings: the use of the h-word once
Summary: Hermione will do the wrong things for the right reasons.
-
It’s dark outside, dark enough that you can barely make out the shape of your hand in front of you. There’s no moon tonight, or if there is, it’s hiding behind clouds so dense with rain that the air around you feels thick and heavy. It’s early March but there’s no chill in the air. You’re starting to regret having worn your heavy woollen jumper. You got his owl at breakfast but you don’t know why he’s chosen this, of all nights.
The Quidditch pitch is dark, too. The magic lights you’ve seen hovering around the boundaries on Saturdays when games have gone on after the sun had set are nowhere to be found. You consider using lumos but you feel more comfortable in the dark for the deeds you’re about to do.
“Granger.”
He’s come on foot too, but he isn’t wearing a jumper and he’s so pale that there’s a very faint glow from his skin and his hair, even in such a dim place. You don’t answer, just stand there and wait. This isn’t the first night you’ve met, and it isn’t going to be the last. Such is the deal you struck at the beginning of the year. As he moves closer you close your eyes, resigned, not interested in seeing the look in his. The first kiss is soft, gentle; the second is more insistent, more punishing.
You wonder what the hell you’re doing here.
Well done. 
