A/N: I wrote this quite some time ago. It was inspired by "The Twisted Crow," which I have recently re-posted here, with a few minor edits.
"Hmm, little witch? Go on, then. Tell me. Would you like that?" He leaned closer, his breath warm and sticky against her cheek. She took a breath, squeezing her hands tighter. He could smell the blood under her fingernails. She could smell the blood in his breath. "Your Professor Thorn is too much of a gentleman to ask your assistance in such matters."
"Are you not a gentleman then, sir?"
He smirked. She could feel the exhalation of breath through his nostrils and his lips brushed against her skin as he spoke. "I am very much a gentleman, more so than Oliver Thorn. But I have been known to abandon manners if asked correctly."
The clearing of a throat made her jump.
"I seem to recall escorting you to the door, Arcturius," said Oliver. He was holding an open book in his hand and looking at his friend questioningly. His tone was light and unaffected but his eyes were narrowed, piercing beams of rage, and she took a step backwards, her body pressed fully against the wall.
A moment of heavy silence passed, and then Arcturius smirked, bowed lightly towards her, and left.