Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. No money is being made and no copyright or trademark infringement is intended.

My first D/Hr fic. A one- shot.

UNDER THE ROSE (SUB ROSA)

Tonight, moonlight, escaping from the dusty glass of the windows finds them in a darkened classroom. Their kisses are hurried and lustful, and uniform to every meeting place they go to, they are huddled together in a corner, close, confined, and yet so right. So safe. Held. Oddly free, but possessed. Without fail, they have never expressed this out loud, for they kiss, have sex (an outsider would never call it making love, they would doubt love is there to begin with) and words are never spoken.

He has learned to try and keep her face toward him at all times if he wants her to stay longer. He knows she looks up at the clock when she thinks she should depart. To distract her, he tries to keep kissing her, it's nothing more but a silent plea to let her know his satisfaction has not come yet. She's smarter than that, however, and leaves him the same time everynight. He's smart as well and doesn't argue, doesn't speak. He knows she's right and nothing he says can make her stay.

She kisses him before she goes.

Always.

He likes to think it's one last sin before she leaves him for the great Scarhead and Weasel. It is always lengthy and soft and bittersweet, and it reminds him of her, because she kisses like she looks, like she speaks: demanding and caring, light and direct. And feelings of ecstasy and loneliness and grief and insecurity surround him all at once- feelings that, could rival no other. And her hair smells like cinnamon and rainstorms, and he knows he'll never be able to think about them without thinking about her.

He had told her that once, had broken his rule about not speaking, and whispered it during one of their goodbyes. He'd been slightly breathless at the time and the words had come out muffled, and she had said nothing in response, but he knows she'd heard it- he'd seen the way her eyes had widened and how she had shook her head before walking quickly away.

Now he'll never say it out loud again.

Tonight, moonlight, escaping from the dusty glass of the windows finds them in a darkened classroom.

She stands by the door, ready to leave.

And feelings of ecstasy and loneliness and grief and insecurity surround him all at once- feelings that, could rival no other.

"Hermione," his voice is broken and weary. "Please stay."

Her hair smells like cinnamon and rainstorms, and he knows he'll never be able to think about them without thinking about her. He had told her that once, had broken his rule about not speaking.

And the door is closing, so much harder than it should.

For they kiss, have sex and words are never spoken.

And she doesn't look back.

But he knows she'd heard it- seen the way her eyes had widened and how she had shook her head before walking quickly away.

Now he's alone in the dark.

He'll never say it out loud again.