Muggle Studies

Tiramisù

Recommended soundtrack: "I Wanna Be Yours", from Artic Monkeys.

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She didn't want to face his empty seat at the high table, so she spent the entire day holed up in her quarters. Did she want this? What was this? Was this healthy? It had been... until now... or still was? What was going on?

Then dinner time came and she just couldn't bear to be alone obsessing about all that anymore. She decided she could go for pudding, at least.

She was, however, surprised to find him sitting at the table when she got there. Her heart filled with warmth.

She sat in the fortunately empty seat beside him, muttering "good evening".

He looked at her and nodded, smiling slightly. She had missed that almost smile of his. "The elves made your favorite tonight."

Tiramisù. She grinned at him in disbelief. She had said that... on the day they met. When he was being incredibly obnoxious to her. How amazing that he was actually listening, let alone that he'd remember.

And what a coincidence that the elves would have prepared it tonight, precisely when she needed a little pick me up.

As he reached the tiramisù tray for her, he said, barely audibly even for her, "I missed you."

"Me too" she murmured, all the hairs in her body standing at once.

After dinner, they walked to the dungeon together again. There was a dense silence hanging over them. They were usually comfortable being silent around each other, but this was different. There was tension in the air.

He inhaled as if preparing to speak, but said nothing. He did that a couple of times. So unlike him. On the third time, the anxiety got to her; she stopped walking and turned to face him.

The candle light danced on his face. He looked tired... and torn. She sighed. Oh, his poor tormented soul. She was nervous. What now? Was this over? Whatever this was?

"There's something I've been meaning to say to you." He said. He looked around; there weren't many portraits on those walls, but he came closer and lowered his voice as he said that. His eyes were piercing into hers and she felt as if all air had escaped her lungs.

Her heart raced and she felt her desire taking over her, mixed with... fear? What was he going to say?

"Yes?" She asked as his silence stretched out between them.

He hesitated again. And now he looked down. He took her hand in his and caressed it. She looked from their joined hands back to his face. He seemed almost... sad and desperate. In a daring mood, she slowly raised her other hand to his cheek. He closed his eyes and breathed deeply. They were like that for what seemed like an eternity.

"I... I'm sorry." He finally managed. His eyes had found hers again, but seemed less intense somehow. "About before. I imagine it must have been... challenging for you. Waiting. Thank you. I appreciate it. And the way I spoke with you... I feel sick when I remember it. I ... respect you and I wish I had dealt with my issues in a manner consistent with that... respect."

She caressed his face, pulling his hair behind his ear, dying to kiss him. She wasn't used to men who could actually apologise, let alone acknowledge her feelings and what might be important for her in that process. If she lived in a cartoon, there would be hearts in her eyes right now. He leaned forward... almost nothing but she saw it. And his gaze started shifting from her eyes to her mouth then her eyes, then her mouth... and he wet his lips... and they parted... and he froze.

He wanted this, she could tell. What was keeping him? Oh, the angst. She would jump up and kiss him if she were sure that he wouldn't... freak out and run away from her. She had just gotten him back.

"Thank you. I feel... seen and appreciated." She smiled tenderly.

He nodded, swallowing and letting go of her hand, and they kept on their way in a lighter silence.

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He got into his chambers, cast a muffliato and roared. A crude, hoarse, loud, deep sound of frustration and rage.

He couldn't say it... it wouldn't come out. And then she was looking at him like that... and he apologised (that, at least he could bring himself to do, thank the gods) and her face... like a flower blossoming in front of him and he could smell her and he wanted to kiss her so badly it hurt... she was waiting for it, it was so obvious. He imagined what she would have tasted like if he had kissed her... how her tongue would feel, caressing his, how her breasts would feel pressing against him.

He wished he could be someone else. Someone less ridiculously fucked up.