June 1981. Lawrence and Miranda are seventh years. It's a few months before the Potters are killed and the first war ends.

Lawrence clapped strapping Angus and Octavian on the shoulders as he got up from the Gryffindor table bench. His two dorm mates had been sat either side of him at Thursday night dinner,
“I’ll catch you up.” He told them both, loosening his tie some more and picking up his school bag from under the table. “If I’m late in, cover for me, like.” Lawrence grinned and looked up across at the Ravenclaw table. Andy Carter was sat not far from Susannah who he winked at and gave a smile. She blushed and looked away pointedly. Lawrence sighed to himself - one day she’d get that he was into her. But for tonight, there were other Claw girls to bother. Ones that were in Professor Slughorn’s Slug Club[1].

He reached into his trouser pocket as he shouldered open the door from the Great Hall, shoving two polo mints into his mouth for good measure. He tossed them into his bag as he wound his way through corridors and up the stairs, raking his fingers through his curls. The castle was full of last minute revising ahead of next week’s exams. Lawrence and his classmates would sit their NEWT exams. As an aspiring auror, Lawrence had focused on the core subjects required: potions, defence against the dark arts, transfiguration, herbology and charms. Potions wasn’t his favourite, Slug had favourites, Lawrence, although a pureblood, wasn’t in his smartarse little club.

Cauldron set up nearby, Lawrence sprawled on the alcoved window seat beneath the classroom window, and flicked his wand with his left hand at the window latch to spring it open. It was a warm enough June evening in Scotland to be tolerable in his school shirt, sleeves rolled up to his elbow. From beyond the classroom door, just ajar, he heard footsteps and looked round as nonchalantly as he could manage. For as much Andy Carter could be spiteful, she had a pretty face and a brain. Even if she was bloody rubbish at Defences, she was rather good at Potions, and he needed to be sure of that Outstanding.

“Sod it.” Lawrence muttered an hour and a half later comparing the potion in the glass bottle in the summer sunshine from the window. “Right colour, right consistency, right smell, but wrong bloody shade.” He left it on the windowsill cooling with the stopper out and flopped down on the seat below, watching Andy smoke out of the window, looking smug. She hadn’t looked like that the last time when they’d revised practical defence, his strength. Still, the fact she was spending time with him at all was a miracle. She hung out with the likes of Misslethorpe.

Lawrence’s foot nudged his bag which gave a conspicuous clank. He’d been considering saving it for after their exams, but you only lived once. He glanced to Andy, observing she had heard it too, and shrugged. He reached down, pulling the bottle out.
“Drink?” He asked her.

Cool, Lawrence. Cool.

1.	1981 was Slughorn’s last year teaching at Hogwarts, and as Head of Slytherin before Dumbledore brought him back

Lawrence Musgrave was a bit of a wierdo and he held little interest for Miranda. She’d been quite honest about that when approaching him for help about a month before. He’d offered, probably a pathetic attempt at asking her out, and she’d accepted, knowing that without some extra help, the ‘troll’ she was currently facing in Defence would be a definite. Musgrave was one of the best in the class and he had a major weakness of his own. She agreed to help him in potions.

Her having taken him up on the offer didn’t mean that Andy enjoyed the sessions. She found them a bore and Musgrave trying to be cool and interesting just irritated her. So as he tried for what felt like the hundredth time to brew the simple potion, Andy pushed open the window and lit up a cigarette. Slughorn wouldn’t wander in, he trusted Andy Carter to behave outstandingly in his room. She was, after all, outstanding.

“You’re not accurate enough, Lawrence. Too many stirs clockwise.” The young witch rolled her eyes and crossed her legs, her school skirt riding up further to reveal pale thighs. Her shoes had been thrown on the stone floor below and her tie discarded on the bench, opting instead for the top several buttons to be undone. Curly dark hair fell over her shoulders, held back from her face by a headband.

Musgrave came close and dropped onto the bench just beneath her, clinking a bottle. That caught the witch’s attention and her lips twisted into a smirk. Her wand was pulled out and pointed at the classroom door. The lock could be heard clicking into place.

“I’ll get some glasses.” Her half-finished cigarette was passed to the wizard and she jumped down from the windowsill to grab a couple of clean beakers from the workbench. It was worth hanging around with Lawrence if alcohol was involved.

“Don’t mind if I do,” Lawrence muttered, taking a toke. He wrinkled his nose at the cauldron, too many stirs clockwise seemed a rubbish reason for a potion to be slightly off-shade but he’d remember for his exam.

Andy’s hips were of more interest as she turned back and returned with two beakers. Was it his imagination, or had all the seventh year girls not bothered with new uniform skirts this year as it was their last? He could admire some lovely thighs in a moment’s mind-wander. If he was really awful, he might pull feet out from under an opponent in Defences just on the mere chance of spying a little more on a day where the boys egged each other on. Generally speaking, Lawrence didn’t like to be crude, but he was still a teenage boy.

The stopper released from the neck of the bottle of Blishen’s and Lawrence passed the cigarette back to Andy before tentatively sniffing the bottle to be sure it was good. He and Angus had swapped out a bottle they’d found hidden in a toilet cistern in the Gryffindor boy’s dormitories and replaced it with cold tea at Christmas. Lawrence had claimed it was the responsible thing to as seventh years.

He poured both of them half an inch and set the bottle down on the floor between them.
“Fuck exams.” He offered in toast to Andy before downing some of the whiskey.

Lawrence watched his Ravenclaw classmate on purpose to gauge her reaction. Outstanding potions student she might be, but was Andy Carter able to handle firewhisky? He couldn’t entirely suppress the grimace it induced when it burned down the throat.
“Want some ice with that?” He asked, which might have founded like a suggestion of weakness were it not teamed up with a somewhat sympathetic expression.

The fact that the bottle of alcohol Lawrence had brought with him was firewhiskey made Andy feel slightly nervous. She’d gotten drunk on elf wine before and even pumpkin liquor. She’d always refused firewhiskey when Alex and Jaime had gotten her drunk over the summer. It stank and she’d seen their reaction to it. Unfortunately this evening it was all that was on offer and she didn’t need to be seen as a wet lettuce by Musgrave. People thought of her as hard faced, how would their opinion change when they heard she was a wimp.

“Want some ice with that?” Lawrence had certainly reacted to the burning as it slipped down his throat but Miranda rather hoped she did not. So instead of replying verbally, the young witch simply raised her eyebrows, lifted it to her mouth and took a large gulp before she could smell it.

Well the effect was extreme!
It felt quite literally like a fire had erupted in her throat and her eyes began to water, coughing taking a step back.
“Merlin’s balls.” She managed to gasp, slamming the beaker down on the workbench. “People actually pay for that fuel?”

After a moment to recover, the beaker was slid back to her fellow seventh year to top up. she couldn’t seem weak, after all.

Lawrence laughed at Miranda's reaction. It wasn't a cruel laugh, but one that caused the skin at the corners of his eyes to crease despite his youth and flashed his teeth. Despite the couple of inches of untameable curls on his head and the youthful arrogance, Musgrave was far more palatable than his older sister, Cynthia. One might have considered him Head Boy candidacy, only there was always someone more fitting.

"Here," Lawrence poured with his right, pointing his wand at her beaker with his left. There was a peal of glass against ice before Andy had a chance to complain. "There's no shame, especially since I saw you chugging wine at Slughorn's last party." He raised an eyebrow and poured his own, toasting Miranda. He summoned a stool from the benches nearby and threw his feet up onto it.

"Slughorn's a creepy bugger. No kids, no wife. Just his little club of golden students. He collects you all like cigarette cards. You, Sandy, his little healer protege and magazine editor." Lawrence sipped, watching Andy out of the corner of his eye, "You both like it, don't you? Gives you a free pass, an overlook. Neither of you can do any ill."

The second gulp was less of a shock than the first if still strong. The young witch could already feel the booze going to her head as Lawrence started to whine about her affinity with their potions professor. Andy sat back against the wall by the window, legs dangling down as she threw the now finished cigarette out, watching it flutter to the ground by the lake below.

“I can do no ill.” She stated matter of factly. “Slughorn knows potential when he sees it, Lawrence.” Her legs dangling near his head, Andy leaned forward, drink in hand. “I could set fire to this potions lab and he’d think you made me do it.” There was a dark look in the witch’s eyes before she took another swig of firewhiskey and threw her head back, eyes closed as the burning overpowered her senses.

It took a moment to recover before Miranda pushed down from the window sill, stepping from the bench he sat on to the cold ground in her bare feet. Next she sat next to him, taking the bottle from his hand to fill more up.
“Your lack of potential shouldn’t make you resentful.”

"My lack of potential!" Lawrence laughed. He didn't look all that bad looking when he laughed. His gaze didn't leave her as she worked her way down from above her, becoming not just legs but a full witch beside him. At least he and Andy didn't outright compete in the same fields, even if they shared classes.

"Look who's talking, underachiever. You may be Slughorn's golden cauldron student, but you couldn't defend yourself from a fly. Me, I'm off to London to catch Britain's darkest." He straightened his collar with his free right hand. "What a potions professor thinks of me isn't important after we leave here." He swigged the rest of his glass. "Besides, I bet you wouldn't dare risk your spotless reputation. You don't take risks, Andy." Lawrence's lips formed a smile, seizing back the bottle, glancing to her lips before he poured another.

Lawrence hit on a truth and Miranda bit her lip, looking away and down at the beaker of alcohol as she considered the reality. Every class she was in Miranda was one of the top. she was on a straight course to St Mungo’s to become a healer but one subject drastically let her down. It wasn’t that she was naturally terrible at it. She just hadn’t prioritised DADA over the other seemingly more important subjects. At least that was what she explained to people that asked. It was what she told her father every time he received her report with the last red T at the bottom of a list of Os.

"Besides, I bet you wouldn't dare risk your spotless reputation. You don't take risks, Andy." Dark eyes stared at Lawrence for a moment, reading his expression, considering what risks he actually meant.

“I take risks.” She finally said, not moving as they sat close, faces inches away from one another. “A reputation is what gets you places, Lawrence. What people think of you makes every difference.”

"And there was me thinking it was all about grades a moment ago." Lawrence teased, drinking more whiskey, attempting to maintain the closer distance between them. Gosh, she had pretty eyelashes, eyes. And she smelt good too. He could feel the whiskey pulling at the edges of reality, loosening his tongue. There was a pleasant, warm haze tickling him all over in contrast to the fire burning in his throat, on his lips. On her lips.

"You know what I think of your reputation," he spoke lowly, glancing from her lips again, to her eyes, maintaining his gaze. "People suggest you're cold, far too sharp to be likeable." He sipped again, "Just not daring to come out of that box you've built." The alcohol was beginning to colour his cheeks. He raised an eyebrow as if to ask 'am I right?'

"But what do you think about mine?"

“I don’t want people to like me.” Miranda responded. Her tone was softer than usual, her features more relaxed with the alcohol. She knew exactly what people thought. Some were forever trying to get past the icy barrier she’d built around herself but it seemed the only thing capable of pushing past that was the alcohol now giving her a warm glow. His words swam in her head “ not daring to come out of that box you've built.” Not daring… It wasn’t about not daring.

What did she think of Lawrence’s rep? Had she ever thought about Lawrence’s rep?

Her glass was drained before she decided to move onto that question. “You’re cocky. You want to be everyone’s friend and you can’t brew a potion for all of the gold in gringott’s.” A cheeky smile began to play on her lips as more of the firewhiskey went to her head. He didn’t look too bad up close. The mass of curls were somewhat endearing in her mildly inebriated state. His cockiness? Charming, perhaps.

“I take risks.” Andy once more took the bottle from him and swigged straight from it, screwing her face up before lowering the bottle and facing him. No one knew they were there. She took risks. She didn’t have a box around her.

Inhibitions pushed out by the firewhiskey, Miranda leaned into Lawrence, pressing her lips against his.

He hadn't thought she'd actually take the bait! Lawrence's eyebrows shot up towards his curls as her lips found his. His heartbeat raced to catch up with his mind which was spinning like a top, trying desperately to keep balance and to keep spinning. They both tasted of whiskey, but her lips were soft, a little wet from their drinking - fuck - this was lovely actually. His eyelids instinctively dropped closed.

And she had kissed him, her own choice. How about that! Andy Carter had kissed him! All dark hair and sharp eyes. The icy queen herself who all the boys reckoned was frigid and had no heart. More than one had tried to get in her knickers, and he wasn't even trying that hard.

Woah boy. His rational side (still alive, just beneath the raging teenage hormones and the severe risk of tight trousers) reminded him this was just a kiss, he was a risk, a dare. He had to be the gentleman. Hell. He wanted to touch her. He wanted to be closer - they were still kissing. His right hand found her waist, gently, just resting there. Gosh she was warm, soft. We're in here, Loz.

The kiss didn’t feel unpleasant. Neither were there sparks. The girls in the dorm had gone on about sparks whenever you kissed someone. That didn’t happen. It was warm, wet, alcohol fuelled. It was a necessary risk to have him shut up about her guard and walls and icy witchness. It had certainly worked as the wizard leaned in closer and felt the need to put his hand on her waist.

It wasn’t completely disgusting. With her eyes closed she imagined it someone far more distinguished. A handsome dragon tamer or auror. Not a lanky teenaged wannabe with hair curlier than hers.

But he was the lanky teenaged wannabe and people talked. Even with a few glasses of firewhiskey in her, Andy was aware of how rumours could fly if people found out that she’d kissed Loz Musgrave out of choice.

She pulled back and fixed him with a dark look.
“People will think you lied if you tell them.”

"I know." Lawrence replied, his hand still lightly resting on her left hip. "I'll need to pinch myself too." None of the boys would believe him, he knew that. He was keeping it fairly quiet that he and Andy were meeting up to study. It wasn't that he was ashamed, more that the pair had reputations and they weren't exactly known as being mates. Lawrence had often thought if Andy could drop the high and mighty attitude they might get on. Her sharp put downs to their classmates made him laugh when they weren't directed at him.

The Gryffindor blinked twice in quick succession, genuinely surprised at how this had come about. He'd kissed a few girls at Hogwarts (and a few in the summer). Stolen kisses that made some squeal, and another a girlfriend for the summer, where there'd been too much tongue.

"I should share a bottle with you more often when we study potions." Lawrence grinned, mind weighing up his options. He wanted to kiss her again. He didn't want that to be it and Andy to hold that over him. She'd be the sort who might.

Without second guessing any further, Lawrence closed the gap between them and kissed Andy softly. Properly. Like it was meant to be. Well, how his 18 year old self thought it should be, which was a bit tentative.

The suggestion that the two sharing a drink more regularly wasn't taken at all negatively by Miranda as she glanced side wards at the young wizard. She was aware that he may have taken her smirk as a positive reaction to him and his kiss. He was, after all, a teenage boy who had just been kissed by a pretty girl most thought to be a cold bitch.

Andy knew she wasn't the first pick for anyone at school. She knew she wasn't the most approachable or attractive but she knew she wasn't unattractive. She was probably average. She had her father's colouring; pale skin, dark eyes and dark hair. The hair fell in messy waves down over her shoulders but it was usually scraped back into a practical bun, messy curls escaping to fall over her face. Today is was down; free and wild framing a face somewhat reddened by the effect of the fire whiskey. She never wore makeup, seeing no reason when her main focus was work and certainly not attracting boys like the rest of her dorm.

Lawrence seemed happy enough when he took her by surprise, leaning in for another kiss; a more vigorous and meaningful kiss. At least he'd not doubt hoped it might mean something. His lips pressed overeat early against hers and she gave into it for a moment.
Risks. Take risks... Andy's inner voice tried to remind her as she considered pulling back. Lawrence wasn't her type at all. In reality she wasn't sure she had a type other than slightly dangerous. The only people she'd fancied were the rogues. The boys that seemed like they might lead her astray. Lawrence was too focused. He wasn't exciting enough to be bad.

The thought brought the somewhat tipsy girl back to reality and she pulled away from the kiss.
"Don't leave a mess. Or I'll tell Slughorn you broke in." Andy started to stand, straightening her skirt.

She seemed less into it this time, Lawrence had to admit to himself. But she wasn't shoving him off and slapping him, which was a good thing. This was generally amicable. Adult. She had started it, after all. He came with her, half an inch, as she retreated from him, before he caught his balance.

"You what?" Lawrence exclaimed at her suggestion, not loudly, just abruptly. "Come on Andy, you weirded out by a kiss?" The Gryffindor frowned at her, trying to read whether she had been stringing him along, or whether he was an experiment, or the possibility she was just freaked out by getting close to someone when everyone hated her.

"Live a little." He suggested quietly, lifting his eyebrows, lifting his hand from the bench where it had fallen at her departure, inviting her back. He doubted she'd sit down again, but stranger things had already happened that night.