Criss-Crossed

"Is that a threat?" She hissed, stepping even closer to him. He smelled of fresh parchment and smoke. His breath, minty and cold, was now falling in harsh rhythm across her throat. She gasped at the contact as he slammed her back against the wall. "Not a threat, Granger…a promise." My take on the HBP (UPDATE: Has trekked into DH territory) HG/DM. I own nothing.