A/N: For CheekySlytherinLass's The Great Prompt Mixup Challenge! Prompts: title: Playing With Matches, pairing: AliceLily, word: disastrous, object: goblet, dialogue: "Do you ever shut up?" Finally, I'd like to note that this is an experimental form, so if you decide you want to review this story, feel free to let me know what you think of it. Enjoy!


You have no illusions as you walk up the path to her house, heels click-click-clicking on the stones. Is it only the late hour that makes it sound so loud, so sinister?

You know exactly what you're doing as you knock on the door, and you also know that there's only one person currently in this home of two.

You quirk an eyebrow and raise your chin as she opens the door. No need for words. You both know why you're here. This isn't the first time, but every time could be the last. That was half the excitement, after all.

You hate yourself as you slip inside her house, consciously avoiding looking at the living room, where you sit in the daytime, surrounded by friends. And husbands.

You wonder why you bother with formalities as you sit for dinner, grinning lasciviously when she leans over you to pour the wine.

You keep up the silence as you eat. Before long both your meals are finished and she's staring at you, up and down, the sexiest smirk on her face. Finally, you finish your last sip of wine, set your goblet down, and say, "Alice."

You laugh throatily as she says, "My God, Lily… Do you ever shut up?" in an equally husky voice.

You are aware of how disastrous this thing that you two do will surely be as you climb the stairs, your lips on hers. Your families… Your hand on her waist, travelling down. Your friends… Your hair tangled up in her fingers. The way it could hurt everyone you love, and not just emotionally- The Order, good itself, resting in your wandering hands. The way your dress falls to the ground when you reach the bedroom. The way she lies on the bed, resting on her elbows so she can look at you. They way her skin feels against yours as you sink down next to her.

You think of no one but her as you touch each other.

You cry out as that perfect little tongue of hers makes you forget the very definition of right and wrong.

You carry all the guilt you deserve as you get dressed again, but it doesn't stop you from sneaking in one last peck on her warm, smiling lips. A child can be forgiven for playing with matches. It's a hard thing to resist, once they see it spark. The fire that burns so bright, so hot, appearing so unexpectedly. As soon as no one's looking, the compulsion to satisfy that curiosity becomes unbearable.

But you are old enough to know better. So what's your excuse?