The hour was late and the library was like a gothic ghost town. Hermione sat alone briskly scratching notes onto parchment with her quill, her History of Magic homework felt endless during her final year.
A piece of parchment flutters by her head dropped by a very large, very male hand whoâs owner casually strolls by her book covered desk. A quick check of the parchment leaves her brow crinkled with confusion; both sides blank. Her eyes raise from the parchment to watch its original owner continue on between the deserted desks. He pauses removing a book from the end of a shelf, silver eyes meet her own and warmth floods her veins. With a nonchalant nod of his head that makes his platinum hair fall across his brow in that irritatingly cocky way he disappears amongst the bookcases.
A shiver skitters down her spine as she turns her head into her shoulder and exhales loudly disturbing the coffee curls over her shoulder. She should leave, ignore the open invite and the warmth thatâs building in her hips. You wonât. With a roll of her eyes, she checks over her shoulder. Madam Pince is in her own world, visibly flustered, muttering to herself about torn spines and late hours.
Hermione rises from her chair and with another quick glance over her shoulders to check no one is around other than the occupied librarian, before she traces his movements. At the end of the bookshelves she pushes the book he removed back amongst its companions, the irony of the spine title not lost on her; Powerful Aphrodisiacâs & Where to find them.
She is part way through rolling her eyes at the cockiness of him when a hand snakes around and pulls her between the shelves.
âIs that eye roll for me? Granger.â He growls low.
Her reply dies on her lips, replaced by a squeak of surprise as he lifts her, placing her on the ledge desk before the book case.
She almost demands he put her down but he steps between her thighs and all coherent thinking is lost.
âFancy seeing the head girl out so late the night before exams.â He whispers against her ear, his tongue flicking her sensitive lobe and a rogue moan of delight slips between her teeth.
âShouldnât the head boy also be getting some beauty sleep? As we know his reputation to up hold his godlike looks comes from getting his 8 hours.â She smiles to herself internally clapping for her witty reply.
Pulling away he pierces her face with those silver eyes and her stomach flutters.
âYou think Iâm godlike in looks?â
Realizing her error too late she gives up all pretence of holding a witty conversation.
Grasping his shirt she pulls him down, he doesnât need anymore coaxing, his lips warm and skilled press down over hers.
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