"Could you excuse us, Claire?", a shift in tone, from voice that could have, would have melted cast iron. Something was happening, and he didn't like the way it was going, not right at that instant; sand shifting under his feet, and him unsteady, unbalanced, about to fall, and fall deep. And deeper, deepest.

Into what?

Of course there was a jolt when she took his hand; static electricity had nothing on it. Electricity, Chemistry, Fire, the pedantics didn't matter. A Spark, perhaps? Kabir said nothing, though, wise enough on his part when words (till now among his most trusted allies) and indeed his own tongue had turned against him with such vehemence.

In his confusion, he followed her lead like a blind man following a lifeline; held on to her hand as if it were fragile glass. When she stopped, he almost felt like a blind man, too, because there wasn't much by way of light here, and blessedly (?)enough, no chance of external intervention.

Forcing himself to calm down, he eyed her hesitantly, an apology most sincere half worded in his mind and almost ready on his fickle tongue -

"I wanted to know something,"

An apology he wasn't to have much need for, it seemed; as it was his mind went almost completely blank for the first few seconds. Kabir almost - almost - stiffened automatically, but his saving grace was that he didn't stay that way after about one and a half seconds had passed. How could anyone, stranger or not?

Since his rational mind had already undergone meltdown for the day, he threw it out the window and let instinct take over. For this event at least, instinct had the advantage of experience as backup.

Thus, Instinct made him shut his eyes, lean forward into the kiss, savour the dry heat between them; Experience drew his free hand around her, fingertips resting at the small of her back, cradling her and providing balance for them both.

There was more to it, of course.

Experience drew that same hand towards himself, pulling her to him that she was leaning into him instead of the other way round like a few moments ago; Instinct let him revel in the warmth of her body against his own, let him hold onto her as if she were a wisp given substance, a haze made manifest, that holding on too tight would simply cause her to evanesce like steam, shatter like glass.

Experience also told him when it was time to pull away, to let her pull away - slowly, too, Instinct told him to how to open his eyes, and for once, just once, gave his voice the firmness he'd been denied till now, despite a cold electric tingle lingering in his spine, despite a seemingly unquenchable thirst that dried his insides into an empty husk. When he inhaled, her fragrance lingering in the air only served to dry his throat further.

"You foolish thing," he whispered softly, clearly, slowly, unable to keep the sense of wonderment from his voice or his curious eyes. Cradling her hands between his, he lifted them up between the both of them almost as if it were a veil, of sorts. "You daft, daft creature, what in merlin's name drove you to do that just now?"

Instinct had driven his mind to sharpness, too, so his eyes almost narrowed a moment later, remembering his betrothed (the word came easier to mind now, after that - whatever it was had just happened now) was, after all had been said and done, probably the most beautiful member of Hogwarts' female population.

The veil felt more like a shield all of a sudden, and his clasp on her hands tightened, imperceptibly, when he exhaled. He inhaled again, helplessly bound to her fragrance, and bound to the moment too, perhaps.

After all, how many fool mortals could lay claim to a siren whose lips bled liquid fire and and whose touch bled dry ice?