For the drabble: Thorfinn x Hermione, “are you serious?”
Thorfinn Rowle stopped dead in his tracks, one hand tangled in his long blond hair where he’d been scratching idly, his eyes widening at the sight of the small, curly haired witch standing at his locker inside the Quidditch dressing sheds. She was in the process of performing some charm or spell on the contents of his locker, he realised, his eyes narrowing hatefully.
The bitch he’d been butting heads with since his third year when the buck-toothed little first year had tattled on him for making out with Cindy Sheppard in the library and got him a month’s detention. The vicious witch who’d been pranking him, and hexing him and cursing him at every opportunity and the girl he’d been paying back in full, with interest, every damn time.
“Are you serious?” he demanded, scowling at her when he realised she was casting an Itching charm on his towel, evidently knowing the rainy weather he’d been training in would leave him desperate for a hot shower - desperate enough not to check his gear for hexes.
“Actually, I consider myself quite the jovial sort of witch,” Hermione answered without turning to look at him, continuing her spell. He watched her transfirgure his bottle of shampoo into the shape of male genitalia, and hex the contents of his bottle of conditioner bright purple to ruin his perfect blond locks.
“I consider you the worst little shit I’ve ever met,” he informed her, cranky at the sight of her meddling.
Training had been horrendours tonight. He was team captain for Slytherin and the rag-tag collection of misfits he had making up the bloody team were only barely just a step above useless. This was his final year; he needed to do well to impress the scouts so he could make the NQL and it felt like everything was working against him, from this vicious little witch all the way down to the sodding weather.
“Someone’s cranky today,” Granger replied, and when she turned to him, closing his locker at last, she looked only too pleased by his foul mood. “What’s the matter, Rowle? Those dreams of making it to the NQL slipping through your fingers like your bat on a rainy day?”
Thorfinn narroed his eyes.
“Did you hex my bat, too?” he asked, having dropped it half a hundred times today, no matter how tightly he gripped it.
“Would I do something like that?” she asked, and her innocent smile didn’t hide the evil gleam in her dark eyes.
Of course she’d fucking hexed his bat. Fuck! He was going to kill her. It was the only answer.
“You can’t fuck with my gear, Granger,” he complained. “Ground rules, right? No fucking with each other’s future.”
“Mmm, I remember,” she nodded, and Thorfinn narrowed his eyes, recalling that it’d been her, all the way back in her first year after three months of torturing each other with pranks and hexes and mean acts of petty violence and theft, who’d suggested that if they were going to keep doing this, they needed ground rules. Including not fucking with anything that could affect the other’s future after he’d stolen her bag and amended all of her homework to include picutres of dick’s scrawled on the margins and a replacement of the word ‘and’ with the word ‘todger’.
“You know Qudditch is my future,” he growled at her. “You know that future is connected directly to my fucking bat. And you hexed it?”
“You stole all of my books, and got me banned from the library for a full month,” Granger answered. “My future obviously lies in academics, and you fucked with it. I retaliated. Get over it.”
She turned and began to walk away, uncaring and insensitive to his foul mood, and Thorfinn saw red. He had his hands on her shoulds, spinning her and slamming her back against the line of lockers before he could think better of it. And he had her wand-tip gouging a hole in his neck just as quickly.
“I didn’t steal your books,” he growled in her face, not even noticing that he’d lifted her a few feet off the ground until she kicked him in the knee.
“Oh, rubbish,” she rolled her eyes. “Put me down before you get hurt, Superstar.”
She brought her knee up, trying to nail him in the nuts but Thorfinn blocked her, sliding his own knee between her thighs and right up against her twat, trapping her.
“I didn’t take your fucking books,” he growled.
“How the fuck would I know?” he spat, raking her a look of disgust. “Despite your daydreams, Princess, my life doesn’t revolve around tracking your every move.”
She snorted and rolled her eyes again, clearly not beleiving him and Thorfinn wondered how much trouble he’d be in if he dumped her arse in the middle of the Black Lake in the depths of winter. He could drop her from a great height into the frozen waters without a lot of remorse, he was thinking.
“And even if I had taken your books,” he went on, feeling his magic surging with his anger as the air in the locker room began to crackle with static electricity. “It wouldn’t count as fucking with your future because you’re only a sodding fifth year. Fucking with my bat is directly fucking with my future! This is my final year. If the scouts don’t recruit me at the end of the year, I’m fucked. You get that?”
One of the nearby wooden changing benches caught fire when she rolled her eyes a third time, making a dismissive noise of disgust.
“Temper, temper, Superstar,” she chided, and fuck her, but she was enjoying this, he could tell.
“Fuck!” he hissed, releasing one of her shoulders to aim his wand over his shoulder and douse the flames before they could get him for destruction of school property. Again. “That was your fault.”
“I’m not the one who sets things on fire with my mind because I can’t control my temper,” she argued. “Are you going to keep acting like a Neaderthal, or are you goinng to put me down?”
“You got me banned from the library for a full month!” she hissed in return. “In O.W.L. year! With that fucking psychopath running things!”
“It’s barely Novemeber,” Thorfinn rolled his eyes this time. “You don’t need to start cramming for your exams until, like, Easter.”
“And you don’t need to be able to hang onto your bat in a rainy training session in November when NQL scouts won’t even see you. They only come to games, and usually not until third term,” Hermione argued.
“You’re impossible!” he growled at her.
“Bollocks, I did! You tattled on me for snogging someone in the library and started this entire mess.”
“You were soiling my favourite book with your tart,” she argued.
“I don’t spend enough time hexing you,” he grumbled, shaking his head when she eyeballed him stubbornly, refusing to accept blame for her actions just as she’d been doing since this entire ordeal began.
“I don’t spend enough energy trying to trip you down the stairs so you’ll break your neck and be out of my life,” she answered contrarily and Thorfinn didn’t even think about it before suddenly his lips were on hers.
Shit. What the hell was he doing? She’d just threatened his life and he was kissing her. Maybe that last blow to the head with the Bludger when he’d dropped his bat had scrambled his brains.
But Granger was kissing him back. Her wand was lowering from where it’d dug a hole in his neck, and her free hand was sliding into his wet hair, and he still didn’t know what the hell he was doing, but damn if she didn’t kiss like the devil. His hands on her shoulders slid up to tangle in her wild hair and Thorfinn threw caution to the wind, snogging her with every skerrick of fury inside him and pouring five years of pranks and annoyances and general tension into that one kiss. He poured everything he had into that kiss, his tongue making love to hers and his body grinding into hers hungrily while she squirmed atop his thigh like she couldn’t get enough, either.
When they pulled apart, panting, she blinked her eyes open slowly as he met her gaze before raising one eyebrow at him.
“Are you serious?” she asked, and she sounded scornful, rather than intoxicated on his prowess.
“Yep,” he answered, lowering his leg from between her thighs and letting her down before removing his hands from her person entirely and stepping back. “That happened.”
“Right,” she muttered, her face furrowing into a frown while he stared at her, a little shell-shocked; a little horrified. Kind of turned on.
“Fuck,” he said, before turning and striding away from her and leaving her to make a run for it from the dressing shed.
He was so distracted that it took him several minutes to undo the charm on his shampoo bottle once he got in the shower. So distracted he forgot about the purple conditioner. And when he dried off afterward and immediately began to itch like mad, Thorfinn realised he was so distracted, he’d forgotten about the fucking Itching Hex. Shit.
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