Valentine's Vignettes

He looked up. He looked down. Neither direction offered an escape. Above was a small clump of mistletoe, below was a blonde girl who looked at him steadily, unblinking; she unnerved him.

"Well?" she asked.

"Well what?" he didn't want to answer. Didn't know how to answer.

She sighed, the breath made her small chest rise and fall. "Are you going to kiss me?" And that was the whole of it, was he going to kiss her? She didn't sound desperate; she just wanted to know.

Neville felt compelled to answer, he could have walked away, left or right were both viable options. "It's mistletoe."

She had been looking for a yes or a no, maybe even an act of violent passion, not a statement that left her wondering. "Well, Neville, that's why I'm asking the question. When you are under mistletoe you kiss."

Glancing around the hall Neville didn't see anyone. He had almost made up his mind to kiss her when another thought intruded. "It's Valentine's Day."

She smiled a little, just the corners of her mouth turned up. "A day for romance." Taking a step closer she placed her hands on his chest. The slim fingers traced patterns; he didn't know if she made a specific design, he did know that she was warm.

Stubborn still. "Mistletoe is for Christmas. It's red and green."

"Oh," she laughed. "Is that all that's bothering you?" Removing one hand from his chest she drew her wand from her bag. Pointing it at the mistletoe she spoke a charm, her voiced reverberated, a tinkling bell. Slowly the leaves changed colour, the berries remained red but the foliage became a shocking fuchsia.

He looked up. He looked down. There really wasn't a choice. She didn't give him a chance to make one; rising onto the tips of her toes she kissed him.

Neville stood still. He was being kissed, under the mistletoe.

"I HATE you!" she screeched, throwing a vase simultaneously.

"Well I abhor you." He ducked, narrowly missing the missile. She continued to fling anything she could reach at him. Pansy's hair was coming out of its elegant French knot. He didn't understand why she was so upset; he couldn't remember doing anything hurtful. He was only being nasty now because she was throwing things at him.

Draco caught the projectile. "A pillow?" He grinned. "You are trying to injure me with a pillow?"

She looked a little miffed - after all, she had been trying to hurt him.

Then he was in front of her, pushing her back, kissing her, violently. She supported herself against the wall, Draco's kisses made her knees shaky. His tongue slid into her mouth, hard, crushing, hard, desperate, hard, commanding.

She forgot why she was mad and remembered why she was with him - he could certainly kiss.

Ron stared at the fire. Beside him Hermione was engrossed in a book. The fire made her curls glow, he reached forward to touch one then retracted his hand.

She shifted in her seat and his attention returned to her. While he focused on her face she bit her lip, she blinked, she momentarily scrunched her nose, then she looked up. Faced with her brown eyes Ron returned his gaze quickly to the fire, it was safer.

Fire burns, it consumes, but her touch would ignite a fire hotter than that of a hearth, it would consume him faster than any flame, yet he yearned for it, the inferno would leave nothing and he wished to be incinerated by it.

"Ron, what is wrong with you?" Her sharp voice pierced the fantasy he'd been constructing in the flames. She reached out to touch his forehead. Resting it there for several seconds she came to a conclusion. "You're burning up."

He wanted to tell her that it was she who caused his fevered state.

"Do you want to go to the hospital wing?"

No. He didn't. He was content to stay. Unable to stand her touch if he couldn't return it he gently removed her hand. "I'm fine. It's probably just the heat from the fire."

Nodding she returned to her book. He stole furtive glances at her, taking in her form, her face, and her unmanageable crop of curls. Once again she caught his eye. He hadn't meant to be discovered.

"What are you thinking, Ron?" She closed her book, waiting for an answer.

"That I want to kiss you." And he did. Leaning over he tucked an errant curl behind her ear and tilted his head downwards. She looked up, her breath bated. Suddenly they were kissing, and that was all that mattered.

Hermione's mouth was kissable, and hot. When his tongue touched hers the blaze was stoked and he was, as he had known he would be, consumed.

Harry stroked Hedwig's feathers rhythmically. Slowly the tension released. He was sitting in the owlery, alone. He had Hedwig though. She nipped his ear affectionately, spread her wings, and flew through the nearest window. He was alone, without even Hedwig.

He had watched couples disappearing into rose bushes and trying to conceal themselves in secret alcoves. Ginny was gone and he was alone.

The night breeze blew through the glassless panes making him shiver. Cold in body, cold in heart, he was cold even in his soul. Harry stared, not seeing, past the grounds, up to the moon and stars.

One fell, leaving behind the myriad of others. Wishing on it, he asked not to be alone.

She walked through the door silently. Seeing the black haired boy looking pensive she did not disturb his intent gaze. Harry didn't notice when she sat down beside him. Tenderly she placed her hand over his.

He glanced up. Red hair, red freckles. "Ginny."