The Great Firewhiskey Challenge
The First
The amber liquid glistened peacefully in the light as she moved it gently. It was a fun game, seeing how fast and far she could move it without letting the liquid spill over.
"Hey there, if you cheat by spilling some I'll be obligated to pour you a new glass."
"It's a fun game, would you like to play?" she teased him by spinning around, glass held high to catch the best light.
"Fine, first one to spill takes an extra," he challenged.
He spilled. Poured himself an extra. Held them both up to hers to hear the satisfactory clink of glass.
"Scared, Lovegood?" he asked, his voice low.
"It just seems too pretty to drink it all up." She had half a smile, and something sad in her eyes that pierced him just a little too harshly.
"Cheers." It burned sweetly, the beginning of his ritual of forgetting.
The Third
"Time to try something new," he decided.
"Oh I love new things. What is it?"
He dallied around in the kitchen a bit, scrambling a few items around, knocking a bag of potatoes over. One tumbled beneath her feet. Finally he pulled out a bag. Soft, white flakes drifted from the seams and lip.
As he brought to forward, a puff of the flakes sprouted forth and drifted across the air like snow. As he poured it into the glasses, a whole bunch of it fell across the table like a blanket. Luna traced circles in it with her fingers, uncovering the wood beneath.
"That one first." He gestured to the glass of powder.
She took them in quick succession, the powder sticking to her cheeks and teeth and tongue and the liquid starting to wash it away. She was about to laugh at George, his lips caked in the powder, but found her own lips glued together, the concoction in her mouth swelling and gushing slowly like cement. It felt like it was growing, rising from nothing, like bile. She swallowed as fast as she could.
"A shocker, eh? Most people don't like it."
"That was amazing." A puff of the white powder expelled from the movement of her breath.
The Fifth
"Mum will be kicking us out soon, I wager."
"That's alright. I want to go for a walk anyway."
"By yourself?"
"You could join me, I suppose."
"I would be honored to escort you on this fine evening, fair lady."
They exited, followed the path until the path disappeared. Then they scrambled through the high grass and over the wooden fence. The grass tickled Luna's legs and she giggled. The night was old and dark but alive with summer, bugs twittering, and a few early birds chirping. Away from the light of the Burrow, they could see all the stars.
"Look, its wairnbuckles!"
"A what?"
"Let's go!"
But those are just fireflies, he thought he should say. But who was he to say what things should or shouldn't be named? And he was losing ground.
She was off like a gazelle, sprinting across the meadow and into the trees. He followed, chasing her chasing some mythical beings and he briefly thought that he might as well be in a myth.
The darkness cast odd shadows, but her skin glowed blue and her hair caught the scant light of the moon.
He caught up to her, his senses failing for a brief moment as his foot caught a root and he fell against her. He rolled their bodies over so he would break her fall, but the momentum carried them down the hill, rolling over and over across the grass and brambles, her shrieks like the cries of joyous birds.
When the world stopped spinning, or at least seemed righted enough, he still saw stars in her eyes.
The Sixth/Seventh/Eighth?
"What number are we on?" he asked, after taking a long sip from his flask.
"Does it matter?" she asked, her head touching his as they lay back on the damp grass.
"What's the point of a contest if no one wins?"
"To have fun," she giggled.
He looked back up at the stars.
"What are you thinking about?" she asked.
"My brother." He didn't have to say which one.
"I feel him. There," she pointed to a spot in the sky where a cluster of stars twinkled brightly. "I feel like that's where he might be, when he's watching over you."
"Yeah," he said. He wondered what his brother would say to him, probably something like: Come on, Georgie, you've got a girl drunk in the woods and you're gonna waste the moment thinking about your brother instead of engaging with said pretty drunk girl?
He laughed, which made her laugh. He turned his head to see her large eyes. Her lips looked dark and flushed. There were leaves in her hair.
"Thanks," he said. "For not getting awkward when I talk about him."
"Sometimes it's good to remember."
There in the forests of the night, he thought he might be able to understand that sense of balance. Or he would be able to if he could stop staring at her legs, sprawled across the grass, her robes hiked up so her bare calves and feet glowed.
He took the flask out again, but hesitated on the drink.
"Sometimes it's ok to let go," she whispered, and her eyes were large and so close. Their breaths swept across each other's skin in a building cadence until their bodies finally met.
The flask fell from his grasp, metal hitting earth. The liquid flowed out and seeped down under the grass and into the rich soil.