TTB DECEMBER MONTHLY 2012: Week 1

[lucca4]

Name: Ariana/lucca4
House:Gryffindor
Title: Our Last Dance
Ratings/Warnings: 6th-7th years; strong profanity, sexual situations, slash
Word Count: 800
Link to Post Containing Banner: Our Limbs by the fabulous Julia
A/N:


Sometimes I have nightmares about the world ending. But they’re more like memories than dreams (and the world ends with a snap, like the snap of a bone as it breaks – excruciatingly quick). I can feel the scenes unfold slowly, closer and closer to overlapping with reality. They are the images of the future, and the worst part is that no-one believes me.

Parvati calls it post-traumatic stress, a phrase she’s learned somewhere in her two weeks of interning at St. Mungo’s. She tells me to go back there, back to the room with the glaringly white walls and stench of sickness, because maybe I will find some answers there.

“Lav,” she murmurs, and my name becomes a kiss when it leaves her lips. “These dreams aren’t real. I promise you, they aren’t real.” Her tongue traces the curve of my neck. When our limbs entangle it feels like hot burning embers and for a moment I almost believe her.

Almost.

But then I close my eyes and the dreams are there waiting to take me away with their white hot fingers. Parvati holds me and kisses the top of my head but she seems much less real than my dreams.

It’s always the same image (because the end of the world is set in stone).

It begins with a dance, and a bright full moon. We are dancing in the street, Parvati and I, when the world ends. It’s night, the kind of night where the stars seem brighter and the night air seems to lift you higher and higher.

“Lavender love,” she says with a smile. “Isn’t it a beautiful night?”

She leans in to kiss me and that’s when it happens.

The moon becomes a menacingly large yellow eye (and I can tell it’s a wolf but I can’t point out why). And the world is swallowed; it disappears with the snap of his jaw.

* * *

“Hush,” Parvati says to me now. My body is cold against hers. Words spill from my mouth and tears spill from my eyes. I tell her about almost everything, but I leave out the dance and Parvati marvelling at the night because I don’t want her to think that I am afraid of her.

She is quiet for a moment, except for the sigh of her breath against my cheek. “This is about your attack, Lavender. It’s about Greyback.”

“No,” I say. “It’s about the end of the world. It’s a warning.”

She ignores me and brushes my hair with her fingers softly, as if she is consoling a child. “He’s dead. I promise you, he is very much dead. He can’t hurt you unless you let him.”

“It’s not Greyback.”

“Lavender, please listen to me,” Parvati pleads. “I miss you. I love you. I want you to come back to me.”

Her words sting like acid. “I’m always here for you.”

“But you’re not here,” Parvati says. “You’re there. You haven’t left the flat in months. You live in that dream world and it scares me.”

I don’t know what to say to this, and so I graze my fingernails across her soft stomach and kiss her until she moans. Sweat beads trickle from the small of her back. And I wish that this was my dream world, a world of nothing but heat and Parvati laying beneath me.

“No.” Parvati shakes her head and slides off the bed. “Lavender, we are going to settle this because damn it I’m tired of this.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean,” she says, putting on her silk robe and pulling me up, “we are going to face your fears. Put on something decent.”

“I don’t think this is a good idea,” I tell her, but I obey anyway because she’s smiling like she’s just come up with some brilliant idea.

Parvati leads me down the hall and opens the door to the outside air. The night is stale; it’s almost morning.

“Look,” she says. “You can see the stars. You can see the moon. The world isn’t ending, I promise.”

I can’t open my mouth. I can’t breathe. There is something inside of me (and maybe it’s fear, but more powerful than I’ve ever experienced it) twisting and freezing my heart.

“Save me,” I whisper, closing my eyes.

And Parvati holds me tightly, her arms warm and strong. She holds me and sways me as if to the beat of some comforting song I don’t know. She rests her chin on my neck and I think that if anything could pull me away from the world of nightmares, it would be Parvati.

“See,” she murmurs. “Lavender, love. Isn’t it a beautiful night?”

I freeze.

I don’t remember telling her about that part.

Overhead, the yellow moon winks at me.

[Equinox Chick]

Thank you.

~Carole~

[hestiajones]

Welcome to WEEK 4
of
TTB December Monthly: The Year That Was

Our chosen pillar for this week is fanfiction, so we'll be using a past challenge from The Great Hall as our plot bunny production houses: Inaugural Great Hall Cotillion. This is how things are going to go down. Pay close attention O..O

First, click on this. Unless you registered at the forums after the madness of this challenge, you will be aware that a lot of unusual pairings were born during its Kappa-like hold on the competitors. So, choose one of those hipster pairings and write a drabble based on it.

BUT NOT SO FAST.

What exactly do I mean by “unusual pairing”? This obviously rules out all the canon ones, but we’re also ruling out the more common non-canon pairings as well, as listed HERE. Ignore the “Various Pairings” and “Other Pairing” links. And, yes, that unfortunately rules out the Harry/Ron/Hermione/Other Characters as well.

So, your mission is:

+ Choose any pairing from the Inaugural Great Hall Cotillion, other than a canon pairing OR a non-canon pairing listed in the romance categories of the archives, as linked above, and write a drabble inspired by it. Most of the choices available will already have fics written about them; you may use the fic for inspiration if you want, but it is NOT compulsory.

+ There is no "first come, first served" rule here. A pairing can be used by more than one drabblist, but not more than once by the same drabblist. We're interested in seeing different interpretations by different people.

+ You can write more than one entry; all entries, however, must be edited into the same post to avoid clutter.

+ Your drabble(s) should have a word count of 500-800. Make sure it's devoid of errors. It's safest to get it beta-read or looked over by another pair of eyes. Or, at least, let it stew for a while, return to it and scrutinise with a magnifying glass.

+ Your drabble(s) should follow MNFF guidelines. No Professor-rated fic. We're willing to see 6th-7th year, with all applicable warnings mentioned in the author note.

+ Your drabble must be submitted in the default font format. It's uncomfortable to read a weird assortment of font colours (especially if it doesn't go well with the background) and bolded/italicised text that jumps out at me/shies away from me. Formatting should be used for a reason, and I can't see any reason not to use the regular fonts for entries. It makes the judging process smoother. Yeah, we barmaids reserve the right to use whatever font we want in whichever way because... because GOYLE RULES!

+ You have until midnight. GMT, December 31st, to post in this thread.

+ You do not need to have participated in the previous week.

+ Try not to get Cake-Womaned. Good Lord!

+ Use the following form for your submissions:

Name:
House:
Title:
Ratings/Warnings:
Word Count:
Link to Post Containing Pairing:
A/N: 

Any questions may be directed to the Ask a Barmaid thread. For more information regarding the monthly, go here. NOW, GET YOUR QUILLS OUT AND COOK US SOME TASTY DRABBLES!

[The owl]

Name: The owl
House: Hufflepuff
Title: The Night of the Olives
Ratings/Warnings: slash, sexual situations, substance abuse, mild profanity
Word Count: 797
Link to Post Containing Pairing: here
A/N: I am a determined James/Lily and Remus/Tonks shipper, so I imagine this night to be a one off. A very fun one off, but not a repeatable one. Also, the olives idea came from a Canadian comedian called Mae Martin. She maintains that you can't really be a grown up until you have an opinion about olives and I kinda agree XD

Remus was drunk. He had known it was coming; after all, James had just come of age. However, knowing that you're going to get drunk and being hit by the actuality of it were two very different things, he thought. And “actuality” was not a word he planned on saying aloud any time soon, not least because James would laugh at him.

Thinking about James and saying things aloud, Remus suddenly realised that James was talking to him. Talking very animatedly, but Remus had no idea what about.

“I don't even know how I feel about olives!” exclaimed James. He was looking at Remus like he expected a reply.

“No one's going to make you eat them, Prongs,” he hazarded.

“That's not the point,” said James. “Weren't you listening, Moony? Head in the clouds as usual?”

Remus ignored James's smirk; Prongs didn't need encouragement to appreciate his own jokes. “Backtrack a bit. How did we get onto olives? You know I hate them.”

“That's my problem!” said James, taking a swig of Firewhisky straight from the bottle. “You know how you feel about olives. It's fine for you!”

James's gestures were rapidly growing more extravagant and Remus feared for his drink. He slid one arm around his glass to shelter it from his friend's windmilling arms.

“Me?” James continued. “I'm ambliv... Ambilv... I can't make up my mind about the bloody things. How can I be an adult when I can't even handle a little green fruity vegetabley thing?”

“Don't forget the black ones,” Remus offered. “They taste different – equally horrible, but different.”

“Brilliant,” said James and made a sweeping gesture which caught Remus directly.

The sheltering arm wasn't enough. Mead went flying over Remus's robes, soaking right through to his chest. James, who had been about to continue talking, didn't close his mouth. Instead he sat, mouth agape, staring at the spreading damp patch on the front of Remus's robes.

“Um, right,” said Remus, suddenly feeling unfortunately sober. “I suppose I'll go and dry these off.”

“Yeah, of course,” said James, seemingly just as lost for words as Remus was.

Remus got up quickly and headed for toilets, very glad that Sirius and Peter were off trying their luck with Madame Rosmerta and hadn't seen what just happened. He was sure he hadn't imagined it. Something had felt... different when James's arm had met his. There had been plenty of physical contact between them over the years – only last week Remus had wrestled James and Sirius for his moon charts – but it had never felt like that before. It had never been tense, exciting even, before.

Closing the door behind himself, Remus shook his head. He was being stupid. It was only James. They had both drunk a lot and they'd had an exciting day. If it hadn't been an exciting day, they wouldn't be in The Three Broomsticks at this time of night, after all (although as a Prefect, he did feel rather bad about that). Remus was sure that was all it was: excitement and alcohol confusing him.

But James's reaction. He had looked just as startled as Remus felt. And the way he had stared at Remus's chest. What if..?

Remus shook his head again, trying to clear it. Thankfully, the toilets were empty. He pulled his wand out of his pocket and, putting it down on the edge of the sink, pulled his robes off over his head. The pub was as warm as the balmy air outside, so he wasn't cold, even with only his boxers on. He picked his wand back up and pointed it at the wettest patch of his robes, concentrating to perform the drying charm non-verbally. Anything to keep his mind off James.

And then the door opened.

“Remus—oh bugger!”

Remus had his back to the door, but he knew the voice instantly as James's. James had seen him in many states of undress over the years, but Remus knew this wasn't the same. He turned around slowly.

James hadn't entered the room, but was leaning against the door, holding it open. This was a common pose for James, but instead of looking confident and cool as usual, he looked like he was leaning there because he'd been Petrified.

Remus smiled slightly. “Are you just going to stand there? Shut the door behind you.”

James's eyebrows shot up, understanding exactly what Remus hoped that he would. He let the door fall shut and walked to stand in front of Remus, very close, their toes practically touching. One hand landed on Remus's upper arm; the other took Remus's wand and laid it on the basin. James looked up; Remus looked down.

Simultaneously, they leant closer.

[Equinox Chick]

Name: Moi
House: House of Butterbeer
Title: Thwarted
Ratings/Warnings: Sexual Situations (mentioned in passing)
Word Count: 556
Link to Post Containing Pairing: here
A/N: I can't get points, but the chance to write fanfiction for this pairing was too strong for me to run from. You really should read the original though.

When I look back on that time, it’s like a chapter from some far-fetched novel; the type of novel my mother warned me never to read. She knew me well, you see, and knew the temptations rippling through my body. Temptations, desires and dreams that were incompatible with the reality you would have offered.

I think you loved me, but I’m not sure. You certainly desired me. That alone was not enough. I know I am desired, but in those days, it was by foolish ham-fisted boys, and men who should have been wise enough to know I would never settle for them.

You were not ham-fisted. You were wise. But then you were not a man. At first you behaved like one. Did you know that? The application of make-up, that want to see me as a prize, part of your collection, a trophy to flaunt.

A cheap toy.

It disgusted me, and yet, it was at that point I knew the prize was no longer what mattered to you. I had won because I would not allow you to ‘collect’ me. Once the artifice melted, you became mine.

I heard afterwards that you were a widow again. At the time, I wondered if I should attend the funeral, or at least write a note expressing my condolences, but I was pre-occupied with another by then, and had convinced myself that your life did not concern me. But on the day of the funeral, I thought about you, and I mused on the peculiarities of your collection.


I remembered your palms smoothing their way down my back, the way you ordered me not to face you as if you were disgusted by this girl that lay with you. I remembered your fingertips on my neck and a slow, slow, slight increase of pressure before you gave a breathy sigh and rolled away. This may seem ridiculous, but for a faint second I was afraid of you.


Last week, in Diagon Alley, I thought I saw you. Arm-in-arm with a man, your husky laugh scratching the air. I was with my children, treating them to ice cream, and ducked behind the menu because I didn’t want you to see me like that.

I’m still not sure it was you because, strange as it sounds, I do not remember you ever laughing. I have such strong recall of those four days, but although we were together, and although we ate, drank, and chatted about everything we could think of, we did not laugh, did we? At least, we did not laugh with happiness. It was all a game, I think.

I don’t want to be reminded of that time. I am happy, far happier than I know I have the right to be – given my past – and I truly love my husband. But sometimes when I look around my house, when I hear squabbles like duck squawks turn into full-blow rage between three fiery children, I wish for that four-day idyll.

The place where desire was everything.

Although, in the end, Sesen, it was not, and never could be real.

That woman in Diagon Alley, the one who looked so much like you, she laughed and was happy. So, I hope it was you, for I would hate to remember you as thwarted.

[ToBeOrNotToBeAGryffindor]

Name: Mama Claw
House: The Raven’s Claw
Title: Weird
Ratings/Warnings: 3rd/5th Years – Bleeped out profanity
Word Count: Word says 801, but it also registers my ellipsis as three words, so the proper count is 798.
Link to Post Containing Pairing: Michael Corner/Tracey Davis, by h_vic/Hannah
A/N: This drabble probably sucks, but the deadline is in an hour, and so is my unfortunate employment affliction. May the points be ever in my favour.



That weird girl is looking at you again.

You know the one. Tracey Something, the Slytherin. She’s looked at you from her corner of the table at least four times that you know of, and Merlin knows how many times you didn’t notice. At first, you thought there was something on your face or hair, but after a couple of these weird bouts of staring, you’re pretty sure she’s just . . . ogling or something.

Well, enough is enough.

Once a bulk of the people in the Great Hall start to wander off towards their lessons, you slip out the doors and wait for her to follow suit. It doesn’t take long before you see her mop of light brown hair bobble through the crush. Despite the fact that your next stop is Transfiguration and in the opposite direction of where she is headed, you slide through the exodus of students to tap her on the shoulder.

“You’re weird,” your mouth says before your brain can catch up to it.

Tracey turns red as a tomato, and you feel bad. That isn’t quite the lead-in you had in mind. When she bites her lip and looks at her shoes, panic sets in. “I, um, that’s not what I —” You hear a sniffle. “Oh, bollocks.”

She runs away, and you don’t blame her after what you said, but your feet decide they want to follow. Up the stairs and to the second floor she goes, and you keep up, but just barely. Merlin, she’s fast! Finally, she darts into the supposedly-haunted girls’ lavatory, and feeling brave, you follow her.

“Oi!” she shouts. “This is the girls’ bathroom! You’re not supposed to be in here.”

With a shrug, you say, “No girls in here but you and Myrtle, I reckon. Now,” you cross your arms, “do you mind telling me why you’ve been staring at me all the time?”

You’re not sure if you really expect an answer, but she doesn’t give you one. Instead, she shuts herself in a toilet stall, locking the door behind her. “Go away!”

Shaking your head, you leave the loo with one certain conviction: girls are weird. So very weird.



What the hell is Davis looking at?

As Carrow drones on about dirty Muggles and mongrels and whatever nonsense he’s spouting today, you glance across the classroom at her. The pack of bored Slytherins surrounding her aren’t paying attention to the lesson or to their housemate, so when you glare at her, your eyes meet as if there is no one else in the space between. She looks away; your lip curls in disgust at her cowardice. Not a lot has changed since third year when she last decided to gawk at you like a freak.

When the lesson lets out, you find yourself following her, this time outside, as the school day is over. She doesn’t seem to realise you’re coming after her, so the shock on her face is genuine when you yank her by the arm and press her against the cold stone of the castle. “What gives, Davis? What the hell are you looking at?”

“I — I’m sorry,” she croaks. “I didn’t mean to stare, but —”

“But what?” you hiss when she doesn’t finish. “First you do it four years ago, and now you’re doing it again. It’s really f***ing annoying, so unless my hair is on fire and you swallowed a cork, I suggest you stop it.”

Davis gulps at your tone, and you immediately wish you had been kinder. As far as Slytherins go, she isn’t a bad one and never participates in detentions if she can get out of it. You are a one-of-a-kind git and you know it. “Hey, um — I shouldn’t have said that. Things have been stressful around here, but it’s no reason to act like that. Just — forget I said anything.”

Feeling properly contrite, you turn away and start to leave, but before you can get more than a few strides, a small hand gently grips your wrist. “Michael, wait.”

You stop because you can’t fathom doing anything else. It’s only now that you observe her perfume. It reminds you of water and fresh air and clean. Quickly, you try to remember her eye colour and realise that you never actually noticed. Not once when you caught her staring have you ever returned the favour. This feels oddly unacceptable, and you slowly wheel about to remedy the situation.

The light press of lips on yours isn’t what you’d anticipated, but it isn’t an unpleasant sensation. Her mouth is soft, warm, and gone before you even realise you want it back. Suddenly, you feel like a complete dolt because you didn’t know.

And hey — her eyes are blue. And you’re strangely happy you know.

[babewithbrains]

Name: Sorayers
House: Ravenclaw WOOT
Title: Untitled
Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th; sexual situations, strong bleeped profanity, substance abuse
Word Count: 770 (I've decided to write a followup at a later date :3)
Link to Post Containing Pairing: here
A/N: Sophie's drabble as well as Gina's story served as inspiration for this drabble. I love me some James/Remus, but this is the first time I've actually written it. I'm not quite sure how it turned out, and I don't have a title, either (forgive me, Natalie).

The sounds of stumbling and hasty footsteps made Remus look up from his Transfiguration textbook (which he wasn’t really reading anyway), and he frowned; he hadn’t expected anyone to be in the dormitory now, not when there was a New Year’s Eve party raging in the common room. Sirius had even managed to mysteriously procure some fireworks after sneaking down to Hogsmeade earlier that day.

But the truth was, Remus didn’t feel like joining in with the festivities, not when his limbs still ached from his transformation the day before. Sirius and Peter had nagged him anyway, and only James had understood, telling him to let him know if he needed anything, even though Remus, as always, had laughed James off and told him, as he always did, that of course he didn’t need anything and he would be fine on his own.

“Hello, Moony,” James said now, gripping the doorframe for support. Remus immediately rose, too familiar with James’s drunken dynamics not to know what to do; placing an arm over James’s shoulders, Remus steered him to James’s bed.

“Godric, how much have you had this time?”

“Not… that much,” James murmured back. He patted the space next to him, and Remus warily sat, aware of the familiar rush of heat in his navel as their legs touched. “Remus?” he said, slurring the name only a little and placing his hand on Remus’s shoulder.

“Yes?”

“I think Evans hates me,” he blurted.

“She doesn’t,” Remus replied quickly. He took a great gulp of air, trying his utmost to keep his voice casual as he asked, “Why, what happened?”

“Oh, you know. I… tried to get her under the mistletoe, and she just… pushed me away. And… we were getting along so well this year. What did I do to piss her off? What’s wrong with me?” All the while, James was shaking Remus’s shoulders as though, if he shook hard enough, he would get the answers he wanted. “Tell me,” James begged. “Please.”

Remus had never seen James like this before. He had seen him all shades of drunk, had even cleaned up his vomit when James and Sirius had overdone it with the Firewhisky, but this level of desperation shocked even Remus.

“Nothing,” he said firmly. “Nothing at all. Stop it, James.” At that moment, however, Remus halted; James had pushed the collar of Remus’s pyjamas aside a little and was now peering closely, not at Remus’s face, but at the scar that had been on his collarbone from where he had first been bitten. Very, very lightly, James touched the harsh laceration on Remus’s flesh, and Remus shuddered involuntarily, the hairs on the back of his neck standing up at the feeling of James’s breath on his exposed skin. “Stop it, James,” he muttered again under his breath, although James still heard him.

“Sorry,” James said, suddenly sounding far more sober. “That hurts, doesn’t it?”

“Yeah,” Remus replied, making to get up, but he groaned inwardly when he felt James’s hand close on his wrist.

“Moony, I… I'm sorry.”

Remus shook his head. “You have nothing to be sorry for.” And he meant it. He couldn’t possibly explain to James about his… he winced, looking up and James and trying to work out the best way to put him to bed and get into his own, and he couldn’t help but wonder what his father would say if he knew his son was attracted to one of his best friends.

Unfortunately, James was completely oblivious, continuing drunkenly, “You’re the only one who gets me, you know. Sirius — he just laughed at me, took the piss. And Peter… he’s just a f*cking rat. Nothing else. But you, Moony, you get me. I love you, Remus; you know that, don’t you?” James mumbled, lunging forward to embrace him. At this, however, Remus forgot everything — their friendship, what everyone would say, how completely and utterly off his face James was — and kissed him, not even caring how strong he could taste the liquor on James’s lips.

And to Remus’s surprise, James did not recoil in disgust or shock like Remus thought he would. If anything, James responded, his tongue hot in Remus’s mouth and his hands pushing at Remus’s shoulders against the covers; reaching into his robes, Remus just about managed to charm the hangings shut, hardly daring to believe what was happening, before pulling away to stare at James in askance.

“What are you doing?” Remus said quietly.

James only smiled in reply, smiling the familiar (and so f*cking endearing) smile of his before murmuring, “What am I doing?”

Name: Sorayers
House: Ravenclaw
Title: Distance
Ratings/Warnings: 3rd-5th years; mentions of sexual situations, very slight Pottermore spoilers
Word Count: 620
Link to Post Containing Pairing: voila
A/N: Um, so this is kind of crap. But whatever. It was fun to write :P I don’t ship this pairing at ALL, but I do like them in small doses :3 (says the girl wearing a Scily banner, hahahaha) Anyway, the next bit is a bit of a Pottermore spoiler, so I’ve whited it out; highlight to read:

JKR said that wizards, including purebloods, disdained all forms of Muggle technology except cars, which they envied and much preferred to the discomfort of Apparition. The most hardcore anti-Muggles refused to drive cars, but that explains why the Ministry had cars, too. Anyway, that’s why Scorpius is driving. It is canon — haha — sort of.

“Bye, Albus,” Lily called, waving, and Scorpius murmured his farewell as well. Once Albus had Disapparated, Scorpius turned to Lily; she closed her eyes, willing whatever was simmering between them to reduce, just a little, so she could keep a clear head and not do anything stupid. She just about heard herself saying, “Your place?”

“Yeah,” he replied. She hesitated, having no idea whether or not to reach out and hold his hand; she didn’t particularly want to, not when her palm was cold and sweaty and she was sure she was shaking. Calm down, she told herself. It’s just Scorpius.

But as they got into his car, she shook her head. It wasn’t just Scorpius. Of course not. He had always been her friend, nothing more, and to all intents and purposes, they weren’t a couple just because of that one time together. How could they be? She felt like laughing at the mere idea of thinking of him as her boyfriend or partner or any other trite label she could think of.

And yet… and yet she had still slept with him. No, they hadn’t been drunk (which confused Lily no end, because she couldn’t remember ever sleeping with anyone and being sober), and he had asked her more than once if she was okay, and she had responded impatiently each time with “yes”.

Her friendship with Scorpius had always been slightly frowned upon by her family. Lily’s father had not, however, explicitly said she couldn’t be friends with him; she had a feeling, though, that if her family would not take kindly to Scorpius if they knew they were, well, together.

If they were together, that was. The way Scorpius almost ignored her today, focusing far more on Albus than her, made her think otherwise.

For some reason, she was having trouble with his seat belt; she felt his hand close over her wrist, take the seat belt from her and clip it into place, and she murmured, “Thanks.”

He stayed where he was, his hand on her hip, and leaned forward just a little more so she could see the burnt blue of his eyes. “What’s wrong?”

She hesitated, and instead of answering, she reached up and kissed him. Temporarily distracted by the roughness of his stubble rubbing on her cheek, she moved her hand to his hair, and he responded for a moment but then moved away, looking at her expectantly. “Why… why were you being so — distant with me? In front of Albus and James?” she asked finally.

“Because I don’t want anyone to know about us?”

Though she tried her utmost to stop herself from looking crestfallen, her face betrayed her. “Why not?”

“Lily, you can’t possibly think that we can tell anyone. Not yet. They won’t get it. Come on — imagine what they would say if they knew—”

“But I don’t care what he thinks,” Lily said fiercely. “Or anyone, for that matter.”

Scorpius didn’t reply, settling back in his seat and turning the key in the engine. For a few moments, neither of them said anything, and then he murmured, “I care.”

“Why?”

“I care what Albus thinks. And James. And your parents. And my parents. Whatever they are, they’re family,” he said.

“And I'm your…” Lily trailed off, not quite sure what she actually was. Friend? Lover? Girlfriend?

“And I care about what you think the most,” Scorpius added, as if reading her mind. They stopped at a traffic light, and he placed his hand tentatively on her arm. “Please, Lily. I'm just… not ready yet, okay?”

“Okay,” she said reluctantly.

He squeezed her arm and smiled before turning back to the wheel just as the lights went green.

[Equinox Chick]

Extension on this competition to give you all a chance to recover from the festive season.

Will close midnight 2nd January GMT (that's a minute after 11:59 pm 2/1/13 (or 1/2/13 - if you're American)

Wow, I am tying myself into several knots here. Someone cast Relashio!