Back in our school days, we were something of a couple. We were each other’s first kiss in Second Year, held each other and vowed to run away and get fake-married. We could never have a real wedding, both being women. But, in seventh year, it fizzled. We just didn’t make it. It’s a lot of pressure- always having to hide. It makes things painful, and hard to endure. We loved each other, then lost it.

We stayed friends- became Aurors together, joined the Order together. But as of late… things have been different. It almost feels like we never broke it off, and of course there’s the kiss. I was tipsy, she was drunk off her ass. I let her back me into a counter and sit me on it; we made out sloppy-style in the kitchen of Grimmauld Place, a wine glass in my hand the whole time. We’re pretending we don’t remember it, and it’s killing me.

She’s having a rough go of it as of late- her father was attacked by Nagini and is in the hospital, and Harry believes he’s possessed by Voldemort. Her mother is in shambles, and she’s doing her best to hold it all together. It’s reasonable that our kiss is the last thing on her mind, but come on! Where does this leave us, what does this mean for us, is it okay that I want to kiss her again?

Maybe it’s selfish- no, it’s definitely selfish, but, as mush as I feel for her and her family, I want her to pay attention to me. And I don’t want to pretend that the kiss never happened, because it meant something to me! And I don’t know how much longer I can be “totally fine” before I just combust. At the very least, I want some closure, damnit! I want more, even if we’re in the middle of war and everything is going to shit.

And I think this gives me a good reason to want more. I could die tomorrow, and I don’t want to know that I could die with things on my conscience I wish I had told people; such as my desire to fall in love with her again, that I used to steal in hopes that someone would catch me, and that I prefer synthetic-tasting berry vodka to anything top-shelf.

We’re smoking together, sharing a cigarette in the drawing room. She’s started us a fire, and I’ve smuggled us a cheap bottle of strawberry lemonade-flavoured vodka. She takes a swig, laugh-coughing at me. “Jesus, you still drink like a schoolgirl,” she says, eyes watering as I down some without flinching and pass the cig back. She takes a drag and coughs, thumping herself on the chest as she takes another drag before passing it my way.

“Look, I have something to talk to you about.” I murmur, averting my gaze for a moment before scraping up the courage to have this conversation. “And what’s that, little fox?” She inquires, and the nickname sounds especially nice tonight. It’s an homage to my middle name, Vulpecula, which means ‘little fox’, a nickname she’s co-opted since she found out what my middle name was.

“I want to talk about the kiss.” I say, voice firm. She rubs her temples like one of her headaches is coming on, but nods for me to continue. “It meant something to me, Weasley.” I says, and her gaze drops from mine. Her eyes dart around the room, before landing on mine again. “Are you… uh… in love?” She asks, her voice quiet we than I’ve ever heard it. “No. But I could be,” I respond, and she nods.

The Manor is quiet at this hour, only us and that horrendous little House Elf, Krecher, who is probably cursing us for blood impurity. She leans in, closer. I can smell the liquor and smoke on her breath, feel the soft puffs of warm air on my face as her eyes move between my eyes and lip. Before she closes her eyes and leans in fully, the kiss is soft, barely-there and gentle. She holds my face as we separate, eyes opening just barely so they can find mine.