of only 18, had a lot of trouble with herself;

“I want some, Malfoy. Caring is sharing.”

“I wasn’t - staring.”

“Maybe you’ve lost your appeal.”

“Put that frown away, Pickard. I don’t need you to do it, I’ll get someone else.”

“Well then I give you full permission to throw yourself at me. Come on, do your best, love.”

“You don’t need my permission, Parkinson. Go a head, start the process.”

“I hate that shit. Nobody ever changes. It’s all what they tell themselves to feel better.”

“The sooner people stop lying to themselves, the better.”

“And what if I had?” He asked, offering his hand to dance.

“Well then, I’d go right ahead and say that I missed you too.” Emily murmured quietly, accepting his hand with a small curtsey - after all, she was still her mother’s daughter.

“Well. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes?”

“You caught me.” She put her hands up in faux surprise. “Did you miss me, Aspen? I’m honoured.”

“Good point. Since you’re sucking the joy out of this, I can only assume you’re Emily.”

“I’m only sucking the “joy” out of this because I’m disgustingly sober, honey. And life sucks, but I think we all gathered that.”

“A mask doesn’t hid anything,” her reply fell smoothly from her lips, “because I can still tell who it is by the voice, their mannerisms, behaviour... patterns. Everyone has a different pattern, and you’re no exception.”

“Well, It’d be entirely your decision. Mask on, mask off, either way hypothetically I’d be getting some.”

“Oh, um, I was only asking about your plans…” Lara almost mumbled, as she scratched the nape of her neck. 

“I’m staying here and getting drunk.”

“Look, you don’t have to care about Christmas, but you have to admit that ‘may the festive force be with you’ is pretty clever.”

“Is that something muggle related?”

“Clearly I am such a festive person.”