A/N: *cackling in the distance*

*mwahaha*

xx-Kittenshift17


Sorry, Not Sorry

By Kittenshift17


Chapter Two


"Well, well, well, what do we have here?" a familiar, deep voice drawled from behind her as Hermione reached for a book on a high shelf in a forgotten section of the library.

Before she could turn and defend herself, or even investigate the owner of that voice, a pair of large hands suddenly landed on her arse, squeezing the cheeks firmly through the fabric of her skirt.

"Hey!" Hermione protested, spinning quickly, enraged. "What do you think you're doing?"

"What's it feel like, Princess?" Thorfinn Rowle's annoying face swam into view in the dimly lit stacks and Hermione's heart seized inside her chest. Slytherin. Seventh year. Always a prick to her. Her rival in a five-year pranking war and currently not anyone she was speaking to.

"Rowle!" she hissed, smacking at his hands when he lifted them like he meant to give her breasts the same treatment he'd just bestowed on her derriere. "Have you lost your damn mind!?"

"Mmm, maybe," he hummed, evading her swatting hands to captured her small breasts in his large mitts. "You're legal now, right?"

"I'm sixteen if that's what you mean," she clarified, though she was certain he already knew that. He'd pranked her on her 16th birthday.

"Good," he muttered before he ducked his big dumb head down and crashed his lips against hers hungrily.

Hermione squawked in protest. She wasn't speaking to him after the last time he'd randomly snogged her, confound it all. She hadn't been speaking to him for over a month, their prank war on hold after he'd lost his temper in the dressing sheds and snogged her out of nowhere. What the hell was he playing at?

His hands squeezed her breasts enticingly and Hermione hated the way her knees quaked under the sensations even as her hands found his chest and she shoved him back from her with all her might.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" she snarled, pulling out her wand when he stumbled back and blinked at her impatiently.

"Princess," he tried to reason with her.

"Enemies, remember?" she reminded him. "Have you been confounded or something? I'm not one of the floozies you usually ravage in the damn library, numbskull!"

He rolled his eyes.

"Lower your wand, witch," he commanded and damn him, he sounded so stern and bossy that for half a second, her hand started to drop before Hermione narrowed her eyes on him, raising it once more.

"Have you been hexed?" she confirmed, frowning at him.

"Nope," she shook his head.

"You just snogged me and groped me of your own free will?" she clarified.

"Seems so," he nodded. "Put the wand down and I'll do it again."

"Get out of here, Rowle," Hermione warned him coldly. "Whatever you think you're doing, just forget it."

"Unsettling you, Princess?" he smirked, raising his eyebrows at her knowingly and Hermione wondered if he could tell her knickers were growing damp.

"We don't play like this, Rowle," she reminded him, lowering her wand a little and frowning at him seriously.

"Bullshit, we don't," he argued. "We've been pranking each other and hexing each other for five sodding years, Granger."

"Yeah, pranking," she clarified. "Not... snogging."

"Snogged in the dressing sheds," he reminded her.

"Because you have no self-control," she sneered.

"Guess it slipped again," he shrugged, and the look on his face suggested it was going to keep slipping.

"We're not doing this," she shook her head.

"You said that about the pranking war in the first place," he reminded her. "You say it every year when we come back to school and start up again."

"Yeah, because every year we take it too far and one of us nearly gets expelled when good-natured pranks turn into mean-spirited attempts to injure the other," she argued.

He shrugged his shoulders.

"Seems inevitable that this year will be no different."

"It will be if you think you're going to replace dumb pranks with molesting me," she snarled. "It'll come to an abrupt end when I remove both of your hands and watch you bleed out."

"You won't," he smirked knowingly. "You're wet right now, and you know it, Granger."

Hermione narrowed her eyes on him.

"You really have lost your mind," she declared coldly, not about to admit to something so outrageous, even if it was the truth.

"Lower the wand, Granger," he commanded again.

"Get out," she shook her head. "Get out of this row and out of the library right now, or I swear I'll scream."

He frowned at her.

"You really want to play it like that?" he lifted an eyebrow. "Are we back to that? Who would even believe you if you screamed, Princess? You know all the teachers know we're at each other's throats all the time."

"Rowle," Hermione said quietly, a shiver of dread spide-walking down her spine. She didn't like the look in his eyes or the knowing tone in his voice that said that after all they'd done to each other, no one would believe her if she accused him of assaulting her.

"Granger," he replied in the same tone, eyeing her seriously.

"We're not doing this," she said quietly. "Whatever you're thinking... whatever moronic idea you've dreamed up... we're not doing this. Not... this is too far."

"You kissed me back in the dressing sheds," he argued quietly.

"I didn't."

She had.

He just raised his eyebrows sceptically.

"Can't take it back, Princess," he said softly, some of his natural aggression where she was concerned fading as he held her gaze steadily.

"Don't have to repeat it," she replied quietly.

"Probably will," he shrugged.

"No."

He smirked.

"Yeah," he nodded before he stepped closer, his hand reaching for her wrist where she had her wand trained on him. Hermione watched him, a hex on the tip of her tongue, ready to blast him if he even tried to molest her again.

He brought his free hand up to trail his fingertips across her forehead, capturing a curl that had fallen loose of the messy bun she'd pulled her locks into, while the other hand guided the tip of her wand outward until it was no longer directed at him.

"You kissed me back," he reiterated quietly.

"So?" she sighed, letting her wand arm drop when he tucked the loose curl behind her ear without groping her again.

"You liked it," he told her.

"Obviously you did," Hermione argued, scowling at him.

"You haven't pranked me since," he reminded her.

"It's not my turn," Hermione said quietly. "I put itching charms on your towel and turned your hair purple. You haven't retaliated..."

"Consider this retaliation," he replied before he leaned down again, capturing her lips hungrily, his grip still tight around the wrist of her wand-arm to keep her from hexing him.

His tongue swept into her mouth unbidden and Hermione squeaked in protest until he licked at her tongue and coaxed a response from her. Gods, she hated this wretched wizard. He never could leave well enough alone. Without even meaning to, Hermione found herself replying, her tongue sweeping against his in response. His large hand came up to cup her jaw as he stepped into her, moulding her against his powerful chest and making her weak in the knees, and all Hermione could do was kiss him back.

It was wrong. He was her enemy. They hated each other. What the hell was he playing at?

When they broke apart, panting, after several glorious, agonizing, thrilling minutes, Hermione thought she might melt into a puddle of pure need right there at his feet.

"Fuck," he cursed quietly against her lips before he stepped back, taking his hands off her and shaking his head.

He had that right.

"We're not playing like this," she warned him breathlessly, shaking her head even though all she wanted to do was climb the big-haired bastard like a tree.

"Fuck," he said again, bringing a hand to his golden mane and carding his fingers through it distractedly while his eyes traced over her from head to foot in such a way, she might as well have been naked. "Your move, Princess."

Before Hermione could think of anything to say in response, or think of a hex or a prank to pull on him, he turned and strode away without looking back, leaving Hermione to slide down the bookshelf until she sat on the floor in a quivering heap, wondering where the hell he'd stashed her equilibrium.