Slowly, she raised her eyes to look at me through long dark lashes, a seductive move that only involved her eyes, nothing more. The blatant desire directed at me, straight from her baby blues, was almost enough to become my ultimate downfall. Almost.
Every time she looked at me like that, my mouth grew dry, my hands became sweaty. My heart would clench.
Alone, we sat in the Ministry Archives, each working our own individual cases in a large hall filled with dusty tomes penned by wizards long gone that were designed to help the wizards in their wake serve and protect the magical community of today. The room was dim and smelt of dust, wax and ink, hanging thick and low in the air, mixed with a delicious hint of vanilla, sandalwood and peach. It was a heady, potent combination, one that couldn’t simply be ignored as, like the darkness, it began to ensnare me.
Idly, my hands shuffled parchment after parchment across the smooth varnished table upon which I was working, but my mind was in a far off distant land where the only colour I could see was blue, the same colour found in the eyes of my companion.
We had made no effort to become friends and knew so little about each other, from during school and even after, and our only obvious similarity was our profession. I was bold enough to guess that it would probably be the only similarity we'd ever share, save for one.
I wanted her, too.
We sat here in limbo every night, Pansy Parkinson and I, tempting fate and each other to see who would be the first to crack, who would cave in and succumb to the other. A delicious tête-à-tête of better judgement and a nightly unspoken battle of will, shrouded by a thin veil of desire, and overwhelming lust. Our work very often lay forgotten on the tables before us as we sat later and later into the night engaged in our silent battle, everything else in our lives becoming ancient history, quite forgotten.
Countless of times since our game had begun had I thought of being the one to crack, to cross that dangerous line we had skirted along for so long. Me, Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived, to finally surrender to the yearning desires I felt towards the young woman sitting nearby, gazing at me longingly through her dark lashes, daring me to give in.
My hand stilled in its aimless searching and a barely audible sigh escaped my lips. It was only too easy to respond to her intentions and tumble out of limbo, to take that leap and fall into a pit of the unknown guided by her pretty blue eyes. It was only too easy...
Tiredly, I rubbed my face, feeling the cold metal band tightly clamped around my ring finger scorch my clammy skin, a burning reminder of why the challenge would always be left unanswered, untouched.