the_debt_of_time

it got out, there would be rumours going around. I had no desire to correct all of the stories
that would circulate, declaring that I'd broken the heart of the handsome Gryffindor
prefect."
"How come you'd be the heart-breaker?" Remus asked with a laugh.
"The girl is always to blame," she said.
Mia knew from experience that, when it came to rumours and gossip, she would
always be the one in the wrong. She was surprised that her face was not plastered across
the Daily Prophet by now. Then again, Rita Skeeter was not writing for them yet.
"Can I get out of this please?" she asked Sirius, who still had his arm around her as
she pointed up at the mistletoe.
He stared at her, suddenly looking like he was lacking in the confidence he'd had
only moments earlier when he was under the assumption that Mia was taken. Sirius
swallowed, released her, and cleared his throat. He leant in, brushing his lips lightly over
hers. It was a feathery touch, barely ghosting over her skin, and it still left her breathless.
Neither bothered to close their eyes as it happened so fast. Mia gazed into the storm
grey irises in front of her, seeing as they momentarily bled silver. She inhaled the moment
he came so close, and she smelled it all: parchment and grass—like Remus smelled—but
also firewhisky, leather, and the lingering hint of tobacco that should have disgusted her had
she not grown so accustomed to his scent.
It had been enough to break the mistletoe's charm.
It had been enough to leave her painfully wanting more.
It had been enough to reignite something deep inside.
It had been just enough to pluck a tiny gold string that connected their magic.
Walking away from one another was painful, but Mia forced herself to pretend
nothing was amiss even though her hands were shaking. Bringing the cider back to her
family and friends, she watched as everyone went about their business as though nothing
had happened—everyone except Remus, who shook his head and looked away from her,
and her mother, who pinned her with a scrutinising look. Mia fumbled as she handed a
glass of cider to her mother, trying to look unconcerned; she was certain she failed.
Slytherins could be intimidating when they wanted to be.