Ficlet. DP. 'He didn’t care about them, and none of those girls loved him. But she loved him. He was her friend.'

Ficlet. DP. 'Away from spells and wars and waiting and fighting and heroes and villains and life and death and everything.'

Ficlet. DP. 'Parkinson,' he starts, laughing dryly, 'you're up a bit late. I suppose you'll be joining me, then,' his voice lingers in the air as he studies her.' {PG13 for cigarette use only...}

Ficlet. DP. 'Unrequited love left a bittersweet taste in her mouth.'

Ficlet. DP. 'Cut it out, Malfoy. It's no use pretending to be someone you're not.' They sat in silence for what felt like forever.'

Ficlet. DP. 'And they were both happy. In a hidden, secret way.'

Ficlet. DP. 'The emerald grass swayed in the wind. And the world was beautiful.'

Ficlet. DP. 'The February day ended in that room, the two alone and together. And while sweethearts cuddled around cozy fires, sipping butterbeer and smiling, they stood in the cold.'

Ficlet. DP. 'Vivid battle wounds of crimson and tangerine stained the sky until the sun fell further and further away. The world became black.'

Ficlet. DP. 'Never lose your sense of reality. You’ll lose yourself in the doing.' He said to her as the sun fell from the clouds and the moon rose up.'

Ficlet. DP. 'Sometimes I pretended the tea tasted like licorice and peppermint. Because his mother would surely be mad if I left my tea."

Ficlet. DP. '...he would smirk and say 'Parkinson, how can you do that' Limes are a bitter, harsh fruit. But she liked the taste and she always had.'

Ficlet. DP. 'She groans and opens her bag, pulling out her favorite quill. The expensive one she got for Christmas last year. The one she only uses on really special occasions, the one she’s never loaned to anyone.'

Ficlet. DP. 'I'll nod, not fully aware of what you're talking about, and call over a house elf, who will bring you your tea and the Daily Prophet.'

Ficlet. DP. 'I've always liked it down here.' The girl said, looking at an intricate, glistening spider web that hung in the corner. 'Down in our dungeon.'

Ficlet. DP. 'Watching the blaze devour the log, the golden ember crackle' She laughed bitterly. 'Yes, I had the same thought.'

Ficlet. DP. 'They had looked into his soul as many times as they had looked at him. In the eyes, of course.'

Ficlet. DP. 'You have got to be kidding me. Parkinson,' he smirked at her, 'I do believe that is the silliest idea you’ve had in ages.'

Ficlet. DP. 'This kerchief wasn't special, just forgotten. Left in the pocket of the boy's finest black dress robes.'

Ficlet. DP. 'He hovered in the air, watching, waiting. He searched for the prize. '