I don't own anything you might recognise.

***

When I see her, I can feel my body react to her.

In the middle of the potions classroom – her hair mousy brown on second, bright red, or pink or green or blue the next when she notices someone watching her. It's always me watching her.

She knows I'm taking care of her – bloody girl is so clumsy that she would drop any ingredient into her cauldron without wanting to. I want to keep her safe though – and I keep her from making those mistakes.

Though, sometimes, I wonder if it's not me – she has that smouldering gaze – her eyes green or brown or blue or yellow – when she looks at me and she sees me looking at her.

Sometimes, though, I wonder if she doesn't know that I'm having the most forbidden, the most ecstatic, the most wonderful fantasies about her, that I long to see what she really looks like, looks like in the morning when she's waking up next to me (not cuddled up, for Merlin's sake), unaware that someone's watching her.

Sometimes, I'm sure that she knows – sometimes, I know that she knows that I want her with all her being.

But her, for herself – not the people, not the things she pretends to be. And she looks at me and I know that if I give her one detention, one single one, she will be in my arms.

Good thing that I know how to watch out for her cauldron. And for her. I never have reason to give her a detention.

And that's good.

It really is.

She would probably in my bed, in my arms. And even that wouldn't be enough. Even that would keep me alive during the nights, wondering about us.

Us.

I haven't thought in terms of us in – of Merlin – decades. And with her, there could be an us.

I should concentrate – and finally keep my gaze away from her.

"Professor?", she asks at the end of the lesson.

"Yes, Miss Tonks?", I snarl, willing her to go away. Go away, girl, leave, before I devour you.

"I was wondering, erm, whether you'll go to Hogsmeade this weekend?", she asks, her eyes a brownish-green, her being a brunette – for the moment. What does she really look like?

"Yes", I answer her, hoping she understands that it doesn't matter. Go away, girl. Please. I'm losing control.

"Good", she smiles. It's a wicked smile. It's one of those smiles that should be kept in the bedroom.

"I disagree", I mutter. "Anything else?"

"No, thank you, Professor", she grins and skips out of the classroom.

I can't help myself – my eyes follow her and it seems, she adds a little sway to her hips – feminine hips. Beautiful. I stop myself in time – I will not think about her skin there – touching it, kissing it – soft, milky white, I bet.

I have to look away.

And I'll have to ask Minerva to substitute for me.

***

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I'm considering turning this into a chapter-story - please let me know what you think!