Disclaimer: I don't own it, and I'm certainly not J.K. Rowling. I can't even fake a Brit accent.

A/N: This little one-off is dedicated to dracosnewgirl, as a thank you for reviewing all my stories! The only thing I have to say about this, really, is that it's hard to write without using any dialogue!

She paced the required three times past the stretch of blank wall, focusing on him. After the third pass, a door popped into existence, and she knocked hesitantly. The door cracked open just enough for her to slide in unobtrusively. She stood with her back to the wall, still unsure if she was suffering from a case of temporary insanity. He chose that moment to acknowledge her presence, looking up at her with a knowing smile. A smile that seemed so foreign in his pale features. She felt herself drawn closer to him, as a moth to a flame, and she took slow, measured and deliberate steps toward the center of the room, to where he stood next to a low wet bar. He held out a shot glass filled to the brim with an amber liquid. Firewhiskey, she realized as she threw the liquid courage into the back of her throat and felt the burn all the way into the pit of her empty stomach. The room, anticipating her need, promptly provided a bowl of fruit and a pitcher of cool, clear water.

He quirked an eyebrow at this and she shrugged. No need to tell him that the thought of this meeting, this rendezvous, had had her stomach in knots all through dinner. He didn't need to know that she had picked at her mashed potatoes, creating rivers of gravy across her plate, that she had crumbled up her tart to make it appear that she had eaten some of it. She had taken off as soon as it was late enough to do so without raising too many awkward questions, and hidden in her dorm until now.

He picked up a ripe red strawberry and held it out to her. She couldn't resist, she took a bit from the sweet fruit, some of the juice running down her chin. He pulled a clean, starched white handkerchief with DLM embroidered in green in one corner and used it to meticulously wipe the juice off of his fingers, before hooking his forefinger under her chin and lifting her face to look into his eyes.

She found she could easily lose herself in his mercurial gaze. She hadn't missed the heated looks he had thrown her over the past couple weeks, in the great hall and during their patrols. His face slowly came towards her, his lips barely brushing hers in a questioning way. He pulled back for a moment, anticipating her response, and when he saw the want in her amber eyes, he knew that he was allowed. He kissed her again, all the passion he had mistaken for hatred all those years conveyed in his heated embrace. He pulled her to him, wanting to feel her against him, under him, inside him. She responded in kind, meeting his advances halfway, matching his tongue with hers, thrust for thrust.

She felt herself being moved backwards, and started when she felt something hit the backs of her legs. She looked down to see a low sofa, in front of a warm hearth, ablaze in all it's glory. He sat down, pulling her down into his lap, and she noticed for the first time that he was barefoot. She giggled at the thought that he was a normal man, if a little stuffy at times, and like all normal men, had ugly feet. She wiggled around in his lap, proceeding to remove her own shoes and wiggle her socked feet in front of the flames. The movement caused him to groan in response, and she turned to him to ask if he was all right, but the question died on her lips at the sight of him.

His head was thrown back, his long blond hair mussed up where he had run his hands through it. She liked his hair a bit longer than he normally kept it, it helped soften his angular features, even though he usually kept it tied back with a bit of black silk ribbon. His eyes were closed, his face relaxed, as if sleeping. She knew that he was trying to calm himself, she could feel the results of her wiggling underneath her. She leaned into him, kissing his long pale neck softly, then looked up for a reaction. He brought his arm down from the back of the lounge and wrapped it around her, pulling her head against his chest. He shook his head lightly as her hand wandered into his lap to help him with his "problem". He took her wandering hand and held it against his heart. She could feel the fast staccato beat under her palm, and looked at him in wonder.

Was he nervous? Why? Questions raced through her mind but before she could voice any concerns, he pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her palm, causing all concerns to fly away, and leaving a warm fuzzy feeling in her brain. She wasn't sure if the cause was the firewhiskey or her close proximity to him, or perhaps a mixture of both. When he looked down at her through those molten silver eyes, she decided she didn't much care.

A few hours later, she left the room again, holding his hand as far as she could reach, eventually letting go and watching his hand drop to his side, his facial expression unreadable. He had slipped on his Slytherin mask again, and it made her heart hurt to think that it would be another twenty-four hours before she would see the real man again.

A/N 2: I think this may have potential, but for the moment it's a one-shot. Review and let me know what you think, and if I get enough response, I'll consider adding chapters. This is a totally new ship for me, so please no flamethrowers?