The golden flames of the harvest bonfire subtly changed Astoria's ice-blue eyes, making them appear a serpentine grey.
Ron forcibly turned his head away. It was bad enough he'd been lured to her side from the other end of the fire pit by her mocking smirk. No way was he getting mezmo'd by her snake eyes, too.
Noting his dismissal, Astoria purposefully moved to stand before him, forcing him to zero-in on her delicately rouged lips. "Burning an effigy of my team won't change the outcome, Weasley. We're going to tromp you tomorrow," she goaded.
He stared at her lush mouth and burned with want.
For years, he and Greengrass had been dancing around each other on the Quidditch circuit, his Cannons clashing with her Harpies, his Keeper reflexes tested against her Chaser speed. During that time, he'd unwittingly become enthralled with the younger, pretty witch.
Her tongue swiped across her lips, wetting them. "I can't wait to score against you again," she bragged.
That sealed it.
"Really?" he drawled. "Then I suppose I'd better get my 'scoring' in now."
With that, he pulled her into him and lowered his mouth to hers, shutting her up and sealing their fates.