The newest batch of Hogwarts students have entered this historic school and no one knows how their future will turn out - will you be a quidditch pro or maybe a prefect? The year is now 2021, and now it's time for the next generation to make their mark. The newest batch of Hogwarts students have entered this historic school and no one knows how their future will turn out - and that is where the fun begins.
The plot will be determined by the characters of the site as of now - future plots will change as these forces weigh in on the Wizarding World, and we see where these characters take us. So join in and let your character make their mark!
Minimum word count is 200.
Post by Ceres Selene Abercrombie on Feb 16, 2019 4:45:02 GMT
Who the hell was he? She really wanted to know. Who the hell was he? They were good! Maybe they weren't perfect. Maybe they would never be perfect. But they were good! They were going to be happy. They were going to be friends. That was the part that hurt the most. They were going to try to be friends. Even with everything between them, that they were going to be friends was what she held on to. Ceres Abercrombie fancied James Potter. The very same James Potter who tried endlessly to convince her that he loved her. Since the first time he laid eyes on her, he loved her. That James Potter. And Lottie? Seriously? It had to be Charlotte Longbottom? The one she cuddled with because Lottie always had the softest pjs, even when she used every charm she could think of? The one who let Cece dress her in the most ridiculous outfits in third year because she knew how long the blonde spent trying to perfect looks?
That Charlotte? The only other person he could have fucked and cut her deeper was Joy. Maybe Evadne. Definitely Niko. Okay so...maybe more than one person, but the only three only ever found James tolerable. After she was done sobbing her eyes out, (in which she realized she looked like Moaning Myrtle and proceeded to cry even harder) she resolved to end this. Because this was awful. She hadn't told Cisco she'd tried to kiss James, only to be rejected. Even if she hadn't kissed the older Gryffindor, she'd wanted to. She'd wanted to so badly. Enough that the feeling stayed after coming down from her high. She stuffed his hoodie underneath her pillows and pulled the sleeves to her face at night. When she was sure she'd have no visitors, she'd slip it on. It was almost like burying her face into the crook of his neck when he carried her piggyback.
hey babe, she hexted. Her fingers flew across the screen faster than she realized. i found chocowhiskey and whipped cream. you down? It helped that she actually had all of that. Mostly because she'd wanted to drown herself in it and somehow work up the courage to break up with the perfect guy. It taken talking to Evadne to realize it. Cisco was perfect. He just wasn't perfect for Cece. im breaking up with cisco. It certainly didn't negates how livid she was, now that all the crying was out of her system. babe? i enchanted the storage room on the 4th floor. Lmk? Knowing James, she only had anywhere between five minutes and four hours for him to see her hexts and respond. Dressing up was the easy part, as was fixing the disaster that was her face. So was wearing her school robes over her outfit, so as to not draw attention. She slid the bottles (because she found firewhiskey in her trunk) and went off, ignoring looks and stares.
All the way up to the fourth floor. It really only fueled her anger. Slipping into the storage room wasn't difficult, either. What was strenuous was how cold the room was now that she discarded her robe and went about trying to make the room comfortable for sprawling on the floor after getting hammered. Because Cece was trying. To get pissed. She took four successive shots of chocowhiskey and topped it with whipped cream while she waited.
Post by James Sirius Potter on Feb 19, 2019 20:46:01 GMT
Mid-March. Over a month since the heavily concentrated events of Valentine’s Day, but the sizzled stench of over-cooked gossip was still permeating the air wherever he walked. James had neither the ability nor self-awareness to recognize that as a socially popular male, his experience in the fallout of a scandalous affair was nothing compared to the public slander that any woman, namely Charlotte Longbottom, would take. The majority of his punishment could hardly be considered cruel- eye rolls from those who knew him personally, sideways glances from those who didn’t, dirty jokes from the Quidditch team, even a veiled jab from Professor Binns, who no one would have expected to know what a Lady Howler was.
…but the true catalyst, the specific event, for the restructuring of the Wizengamot? …Mr. Potter?
“…uh…the…”
Do your reading, Mr. Potter. It might prove a respite from your…surges of activity.
While most attention had been diverted from him, there was a small subset of attention with which he was most concerned, the direction of which was inexplicably unclear. Cece Abercrombie had not made it so clear that she considered him a pile of garbage, but there was enough circumstantial evidence for him to assume this was the case. That was, until she hexted him in the middle of the night from a high-swaying stand on the Quidditch Pitch, made him feel incredibly strange about the way they spoke and acted, taken a blurry photo on his quiv that caused him to glance at its shattered screen more than three times a week, and tried to lay a imbalanced kiss on his face. One he’d rejected. And simultaneously loved and hated himself for it.
But it was not only the picture, with his arm draped across her shoulders inside of his Gryffindor Quidditch sweatshirt, a sight that produced an immense amount of personal pride, which caused him to keep his quiv nearer to his person (even caused him to ask Dom where one could even buy a new quiv, to his own regret, sincerely disliking the lecture on lack of societal awareness he was forced to sit through after the fact). There was a nibbling desire for another set of nonsensical hext messages- as much as it made him uncomfortable to think about her with a lack of wherewithal, the possibility of her seeking him made him…
The buzzing of his quiv against the wood of the locker room bench made him jump in place, a variety of snickers rising from the various others who’d joined him in the late-afternoon workout. Longbottom looking for more, I’d say. Pursing his lips, James swiped at the quiv before it could remain vulnerable to prying eyes or fingers. “Your mum, actually. She loves it.” He didn’t wait to view the messages, popping into view one after another with enough rapidity to tickle at the sensibility that had caused him to sprint down seven flights of stairs in roughly two minutes a few weeks ago.
His jaw dropped, completely uncontrollably. …oi- what’s…” It was a kismet sign of the universe turning to his favor that he’d showered before receiving the hexts, one that cause him to leap from his things on the bench and run from the locker room with miscellaneous materials bundled in his arms and trailing behind him. There was no time to be lost, even a few seconds that could have been used to adjust, rather running with his broom between his legs as he pulled his Falmouth sweatshirt over his head, switching his unzipped bag, towel and bat flapping out of it dangerously, from hand to hand as he did.
By the time he burst through the door of the storage room, a slight sweat had broken on his brow, and seeing Cece, fabulously underdressed, empty shot glass and whipped cream can in her hands… After a brief pause, where he head tilted slightly and he couldn’t help but squint. “…I can’t help but feel like we’ve come full circle here.”
Post by Ceres Selene Abercrombie on Feb 19, 2019 23:28:12 GMT
There were only seven people in the world that had seen Ceres Abercrombie naked. If she only counted the people who had seen her naked outside of her toddler years, that number was drastically reduced to three. All three could count themselves among her best friends. The only reason, she believed, that Ev hadn’t seen the entirety of her body was because 1) Ev was constantly prepared and in the Ravenclaw tower. The chances of her walking in on Cece showering (nearing the end of breakfast and on the verge of being late for class) as Lottie did simply wasn’t likely. Nor did Cece ever get it in her mind to wear one of her incomplete outfits for the purpose of deciding whether or not she liked it in the classroom she had repurposed as a studio. So the chances of Ev walking into her viciously cutting it off of her via wand and being left in nothing but thong right at the right moment was unlikely. But Joy had. She could still hear Joy’s screech in the back of her head whenever Cece wore anything scanty. It was different with Niko. The two had shared baths when they were little and nudity was never anything that bothered her twin.
She had determined early on that it was not going to bother her. She didn’t think that Niko was going to be a nudist, but she also wasn’t going to rule out the probability of it happening. The point of the whole thing was that there were no guys in her life that had ever seen the entirety of her body. She didn’t think that was going to change anytime soon, regardless of what anyone else thought. Seriously, she could not stress enough how much it annoyed her that people made such snap judgements of her. Like, yes. She had a rocking body. That was not something up for debate and it was not just the drinks that led her to believe that. She was hot. She knew how to emphasize what worked for her body – clothes that showed off her legs, for example. And her midriff. Clothes that made her seem like she had meat to her bones. Her features were nice, if a bit childish sometimes and especially in comparison to Niko.
As much as the twins hated it, people were always drawing comparisons between them. Between all of the Abercrombie siblings but it was always easiest to liken the two of similar ages. And anyway, Niko was still the only person she ever felt comfortable being completely pissed with. Utterly trashed. Which was why her sister was the only person who had decidedly seen her purposefully naked. So far. It wasn’t so much that she was a prude. It was just that she hadn’t felt any connection with previous boyfriends that made her want to strip nude. Strip to her most vulnerable. And, well, maybe she felt stirrings of something with James. Maybe, but the likelihood of it happening anytime soon was unlikely. For one thing, he hadn’t kissed her. (Something that a sober Cece was incredibly grateful for, even if inebriated Cece had been less than happy.) Anyway, wasn’t that what had finally convinced her to start taking the steps towards becoming friends again? Yes. The answer was yes.
For another thing, there was the whole on the day we fought, I slept with your friend. The person you literally sleep less than 10 feet away from. One of the people who’s seen you naked. That thing. (And because she was still in a relationship, despite her intentions. And because he hadn’t taken her on a proper date and she was, at least going to abide by the three-date rule. Maybe more because it was kind of fun to watch James squirm.) She had just tipped her head back to top the chocolatey feeling in her mouth with whipped cream when the older Gryffindor burst into the room. It was honestly a miracle she hadn’t dropped the empty shot glass in her had because of it. “Hi babe,” she grinned, holding out the materials for him. “In my defense, I figured you were coming – ha! Phrasing! - and you did not text me back. Want some, yay or nay?”
Post by James Sirius Potter on Feb 20, 2019 14:18:59 GMT
Still squinting, an eyebrow shot upward as he became cognizant of the strange scene around him. He knew her well enough to know that she hasn’t ingested anything too questionable; however, the way she gripped the bottle didn’t give him any indication of how much of it she’d already drank, or how much had been in there before she’d started to. There was a guile about the entire situation, the fact they were in a storage room, the veneer of the fabric across her nearly-bare midriff, which encouraged him to believe the shot he’d witnessed her taking had not been her first.
“Gimme that,” he quipped, stepping forward after the clatter of his bag, broom, and bat on the floor to swipe at the bottom of the bottle and tug the neck away from her fingers, pressing the top to his lips. The resulting sweetness wasn’t wholly unexpected, but the taste of cocoa settling under and along his tongue made his jaw clench as he swallowed. Chocolate. He hated chocolate. The burn of liquor did nothing to negate the unsettling reaction his stomach had to the confection, his lips pressed together tightly so as to keep himself from coughing, or worse, showing weakness of any sort with a complaint.
He didn’t know how she knew, but she did. Maybe? No…she knew. She knew he hated it, and so she’d cornered him with it. With her, in black lace, in a fucking storage closet. Was this her exacting her revenge? For something that had happened a fucking month ago? The gears in his brain started to churn with his signature ferocity, logic expelling itself from his mind as he gulped, pressing the bottle upward for three long gulps, perhaps the longest gulps he’d ever experienced in his life, as if torture was being exacted on him from where she stood (even though to the unbiased observer, wasn’t he really just doing this to himself?).
Upon surfacing, an involuntary cough exploded from his throat, gasping for a lick of air that wasn’t coated with sweet sugar. He crinkled his nose, shoving the bottle back against her chest and letting go before he was even sure if she was holding it. But he rolled his neck, and his shoulders, appearing almost comical in the way he was squaring up to her, as if they were about to box instead of…well, he wasn’t quite sure what they were doing, but he knew it certainly wasn’t in his favor, and she’d cornered him with chocolate.
“Alright babe,” he said, shutting his eyes tightly as he grinned explosively in her direction, leading him to take a step closer to her. “I’m here babe, what’s this all about babe.” Was she really breaking up with that muscle-massed bowtruckle? The chocolate firewhiskey seemed to indicate that this was all some well-plotted ploy to made him rue the day he’d publically embarrassed her by getting their names inter-twined in a gossip publication. One he hadn’t published.
Logic was out the window. Logic was terminal velocity straight toward the ground.
Post by Ceres Selene Abercrombie on Feb 20, 2019 16:02:23 GMT
Cece was blessed with perfect vision, the irony of which was not lost on her. Even still, she squinted at him in a comical un-Cece like way. Because, like, what the hell? She'd offered the drink because it was polite and she'd invited him here, but the chocowhiskey was hers. He hadn't sent her a forewarning that he was on his way. Had just burst into the storage closet looking like a hot mess. With an emphasis on hot. Still. That bottle was hers. The whipped cream was hers. It had the sweetness she wanted. Not to fill the void of guilt settling in her gut and reminding her she had a sweet boyfriend probably wondering where she was. Lowkey wondering why the girl of his dreams had been ghosting him harder than the actual ghosts of Hogwarts. Besides, did James...even like sweets? Something told her that she ought to remember something so simple about him but didn't. Or didn't care. Or some combination of the two.
The look on his face was not unfamiliar. Cocky of her, maybe, but she'd seen it on his face before. Seen it on the younger years whenever she wore something that'd make Joy blush. She couldn’t help but be smug because he had rushed to be there with her. Not with Giselle, that bitch. Not with Charlotte, that precious bean she couldn’t be mad at. He was a hot mess. She’d thought it before and she’d think it again, but he was her hot mess. Or she wanted him to be her hot mess. She wanted him to be hers, period, and not even the tone of his voice was going to be bother her because it felt good to be called babe. It sent a delighted giggled tumbling from her lips before she could stop it, taking the bottle back and trying not to fumble with it in her arms. “I brought you firewhiskey.” She laughed, harder. She turned and slid onto the floor next to her school robes, wishing more than anything that she had brought his hoodie.
Whatever. She knew she looked hot, but hotness came with a price and that price was literally freezing her ass off. Why did she put herself in situations where her ass was freezing? The dungeons where they fought. The Quidditch stands where he'd rejected her. Fucking this. She wasn’t sure. “To celebrate! Or mourne. Or whatever. I can’t remember if we currently fancy each other or if we’re just friends or what.” Cece shrugged and raised the bottle to her lips again to take a swig. Completely overlooking the fact that this was an indirect kiss and that James’ very kissable-looking lips had just been on this same bottle. She savored the chocolate flavor, licking her lips afterwards. She pulled his bottle - because she’d be damned before sharing her own with him again, after seeing his long sips and how much that left her - out of her robes and sat it next to her, patting the spot with her hand. “I want to snog you. I want to snog the hell out of you, but not if you’re going to be like that.”
Post by James Sirius Potter on Mar 29, 2019 15:02:34 GMT
Ah…of course. She would torture him with the chocowhiskey he hated, as if there was nothing else to share, and then sweeten him up by presenting firewhiskey, so that she could blame him for being too hasty and making assumptions (which is exactly what he was doing, even though in this narrative she was teasing him and in reality he was conspiracizing himself). Her laugh, a crescendoing bravado that lit up the walls and she sidled, yes sidled, to the floor like a minx, coaxing by igniting a mixture of anger and desire within his chest that no number of shoulder rolls or neck cracks, signatures of a beater’s standard preparation, could dissipate.
The clear statement of opinion would seem out of character for her, but only because it was their relationship that she was so brutally discussing, something that he’d only done, and only on one occasion, when he’d called a belligerent caucus to scream his affection and misunderstanding toward her before adjourning it with flagrancy not a few hours after. It was a legitimate question, but his determination that this was just another game, another flirtation, another set of silly steps meant to send him sideways, had his eyelids locked at a tight half-mast, squinting at her with intentional distrust, the scales of his internal battle bouncing between his desirous reality and the capricious way she was licking her lips.
“I mean, it’s pretty clear to me- you fancy the ever living fuck out of me.“ Despite being livid, at her for the chocowhiskey and at himself for his embarrassingly quick response time to any of her becks or calls (only embarrassing to him on retrospect and not on moment of receipt), a smirk escaped him, the ghost of a time when his statement would be a mere flirtation, and not a jab…or call to action?
She was calling him to action, but tenaciously, demandingly. Manipulatively- as if she didn’t already have him around her finger with his infallible, mouth-watering, nearly agonizing infatuation. Bu that infatuation- that was his thing! His feeling to use. Not her to spin around in his face. Her cunning was hammering on each side of his chest, and he lowered himself to the ground with each pat of her hand, despite telling himself it was his decision to do so.
“Be like what, exactly? I mean, I’ve always wanted to snog the hell out of you, but not if you’re gonna have some goon boyfriend. Not if you’re gonna be like that.” He was treading into dangerous territory, but he was strangely unafraid. It was as if, deep down, past his theorizing and complete lack of self-awareness, past all of Dante’s circles, that he knew this was more about the beginning of something than of an end.
Post by Ceres Selene Abercrombie on Apr 10, 2019 20:25:16 GMT
Cece ran her hand through her hair. She had no hair tie on her person, nor did she think it would be anything less than the most awful of ideas to point her wand at herself and pile her hair atop her head or away from her face. Anything to keep the annoying little wisps that tickled her. Which was really annoying because all she wanted to do was run her fingers though his hair and play with his hands and not notice the way his face looked – crossed. She kept herself from rolling her eyes with a laugh only because she curled the chocowhiskey into herself and downed another mouthful. How could anyone not like chocolate? The very thought itself was blasphemous. Just like whatever it was that was running through his head. Because something was. Something was, without a doubt, running through that annoyingly hot head of his and made her definitely want to poke a perfectly manicured nail into his shoulder and ask him to tell her. That boy could not keep his emotions from showing on his face.
Or maybe it was that she knew him. Did she actually know him, though? Or was it more that she thought she knew him but didn’t actually know anything about him? Oh Merlin. Oh Hades. What did she really know about him? Why couldn’t she ever think of anything important? James loved his family, even if he didn’t always talk to his family. James loved Quidditch, even if he didn’t currently play Quidditch. James loved her, even if he didn’t know how to talk to her, right? She definitely had to do something about her hair now. This was getting ridiculous. Everything about this entire situation was ridiculous. What if everything that was between them was somehow in her head and it wasn’t real at all? What if she had let herself get so twisted up and thinking that she fancied him? Did she actually fancy him? Did she even know what it was like? All of those trashy romance novels that her mama definitely had but had charmed to look like fashion magazines in her office preached up and down it was butterflies in her stomach.
It was a warming sensation at her core, like the warming charms she cast on her clothes to keep her from freezing. The way the room just seemed lighter whenever he was there, like someone had perpetually cast a freaking lumos and kept it pointed at him. The giddy feeling that bubbled in her stomach like someone had cast a cheering charm on her when she wasn’t paying attention. Why couldn’t she remember if he had his wand out when he had come in? She didn’t think it likely. Actually, yeah. Probably not. Because if he had, she one hundred percent wouldn’t be feeling like crap. “Oh, have I been abundantly clear about where I stand?” She rolled her eyes and scooted over to him. Because he had come, hadn’t he? At the end of everything, he had shown up when she asked him to.
James always showed up. Cece always asked him to. She did like him, didn’t she? But the blonde also knew she wasn’t to be trusted. She was never quite her rational self whenever she got chocowhiskey in her system. Or any other substance. And honestly? What did it say about her that she only trusted three people to see her in such a state? Well, four if one counted Jasper, but literally everyone and their mother could trust that sweetheart because he was such a sweetheart. But not herself. Definitely couldn’t trust herself. She absolutely had to go and whine and lay her head down on Ev’s lap while the smarter and logical and less-likely-to-fuck-up-than-Cece girl braided her hair back and offer her advice. Although, perhaps not, given that Ev didn’t always love James as a person. “So if I were to date you, what? If I were to bounce around the castle in your hoodie and go to Hogsmeade with you and snog you in storage rooms and common rooms and, if you are so lucky James, anywhere else…what would that mean? For me. Because you’re definitely a goon so…”
Post by James Sirius Potter on Aug 5, 2019 20:53:23 GMT
Maybe it was the last effects of the choco-whiskey on his throat, but he kept rolling his shoulders slightly in place, still sporting a sitting stance somewhere between a confident preen and that of someone who was preparing to be hit in the stomach by a large projectile. The level of emotional vulnerability he was being asked to provide was coming forth as less of a sentiment and more as a physical manifestation of illness. Not ideal, especially since legitimate snogging with Cece Abercrombie was on the table. First, though, he had to get her to stop talking so fast because it was difficult to compartmentalize and comprehend every example she provided when she was rattling off at a clip of 300 words per second.
But it did seem like she was talking about…dating him. Like…actually. Which was enough to throw him off, even moreso than chugging chocolate whiskey directly after sprinting across the castle.
“Ok, woahwoahwoah, let’s just…slow it down here for a second.” His eyes squeezed shut momentarily, hands up and slightly out in front of him, as if to slow down how she was sliding forward towards him. This was all getting past the point of facades, and these spur-of-the-moment, late-night, hext-you-out-of-nowhere scenarios (while doing wonders for his sprint times) were escalating in drastic fashion. It was a rare occasion when he created an opportunity to offer a response other than that of his immediate reaction. He took a breath, forfeited his right hand to his hair, and opened his eyes to stare determinedly somewhere between the right side of her body and the wall, physically incapable of the discomfort that looking at her would bring when accompanied by palpable honesty.
“Ok…” He exhaled sharply, and tilted his head back, as if to source the strength to press on. There was no proper way to start, as he wasn’t quite sure what he was supposed to be talking about. “Uh, so to start…you’re not seeing Krum anymore? Not to be flat, or whatever, but that would be some pretty good information to have so I…you know…will then know that.” Strong start, Potter. “What do you want me to say? What would it mean for you…that’s something I’d really like to know. I mean, me? What would it mean for me? Uh…it’d be pretty fucking great?” A paragon of articulate excellence.
He inhaled and exhaled again, glancing over at her quickly before once again reverting his eyes. Was it embarrassment he was feeling? Or was he super frustrated at her? For hexting him and demanding answers to questions he’d never been able to consider as possibilities? Yeah, that must be it. “You know…” His tone had shifted, and now that he’d started talking, it was tumbling out of him, and a little more confidently. “I might be a goon, but Krum is definitely a goon. Tell me that guy understood one shred of who you actually are or what you’re capable of. Or about your family or like, abilities. He’s just a pretty boy…no substance. You’re….you’re like, nothing but substance. You’re fucking uncontainable. Which drives me batshit crazy! Hexting me at all hours of the night, trying to kiss me the only time it's not acceptable to be kissed, literally the only scenario, which was super unfair of you by the way. You're...you're so much person. How is it possible for someone to be so unbelievably unpredictable? And hot. You're so hot. And you know it, but you're not pretentious about it. Somehow everyone, literally everyone, likes you? How is that even possible? Like what the fuck!”
“Also…” He was almost out of breath, looking up at her piqued by his next thought, not realizing his volume had slowly risen throughout the course of his erratic explosion. ”…you have my hoodie, and we’re in a god damn storage closet.” His brows were furrowed. “So by your definition, we’re like,” he paused to laugh, pleased with what he’d considered to be a devious deduction, “totally dating.” TAG:Ceres Selene Abercrombie NOTES: This is SUCH a mess. My James threads are all so extreme so I’m sorry if this was a departure from his last post but he is #goingthroughit.
Post by Ceres Selene Abercrombie on Aug 8, 2019 15:38:03 GMT
She hadn't come here to listen to James talk all sorts of shit on her now ex-boyfriend. Because he definitely didn't deserve it. Cisco wasn't a goon. And maybe he didn't see her for who she really was. Maybe he only saw what she could be - maybe she was just his type on paper. But, he was sweet and he listened to her. He knew all her favorites and he was her friend. Even now, having broken up with him for seemingly the biggest mess at Hogwarts, he'd only wanted her to be happy. She had not come here to freeze her arse off and listen to some rambling about Cisco. But she liked hearing her virtues tumble from James' mouth. After what seemed like years of avoiding him, of pretending the sting of his rejection hadn't hit her faster than a Depulso to the abdomen, she came here to...to? The chocowhiskey was, in hindsight, probably not the best plan, but she'd needed the courage. And it was delicious, despite what his face had told her. No one told him to drink it. Cece was not going to feel guilty about it.
She was going to giggle. To cradle the bottle in her hand and take another swig, savoring the sweetness and the burn. "I broke up with him. I think I heard some third years crying about it? I bet it's already on the bathroom wall." Because the younger years were entirely too invested in her love life for her comfort. The same could be said of pretty much everyone at Hogwarts. Grimaldi must have done something because it was Cece currently sitting at the top of the most shaggable girls. She still didn't get why. It wasn't like she was going to plop herself down on his lap and begin to snog him senselessly. It definitely crossed her mind, but because she'd been wanting to kiss him for a while. She just wanted to siphon all the warmth. Maybe run her hand through his hair. Instead, she was halting her scootch and pouting at him. Not that he could see because he wasn't like...even looking at how ridiculously hot she was. Which...rude. She'd put effort into this. "Jaaaaames," she whined because she was tipsy and younger than him and allowed to do whatever the hell she wanted with her tone. "Baaabe, we've been going slow and it sucks because we just fight about what we are and what we aren't and I don't wanna do that."
She didn't want to fight. Or did she want to fight? Some little part of her told her that was exactly the sort of thing she had called him down for, but she looked at him. And he looked so pathetic and hot and kissable and like a giant mess. But he was her mess. Like she was his mess. "I wanna kiss you. I wanna be such a melt that people get sick of us. I wanna hold your stupid hand - because it's stupid and you're stupid and maybe I'm stupid for leaving one goon for another who probably actually earned his spot on the shaggable list because you look shaggable and you've definitely shagged and like I honest have so much trouble wrapping my head around why you show up for me?" Cece honestly hadn't realized how squeaky her voice was or how she definitely ran out of air. Her grip tightened on the whipped cream. A little voice told her this conversation was too much and to empty its contents on him. Or her mouth. Somewhere to lighten the mood. "I wanna be! James Stupid-Dense Potter! Merlin tell me why when we're both so bleh, but I wanna be! Your girl. Who you tell she's pretty and uncontainable every day. Do you hear me? Every day. Never living that down or I'm like… not going to snog you senseless." She smiled, feeling twelve. "Is that…okay?"
