Author's Notes: Second next-gen ever! Written for Asking Me Where My Love Grows' First Kiss Challenge on the HPFC forum.

Lucy/Lysander. Oh, and they're supposed to be about thirteen, not that it really matters.


"Have a good time, darling," Audrey said, tugging at Lucy's jacket to make sure it was neat and straight. Lucy didn't see the point, as the only people to see her would be the Scamanders, but she let her mother do it anyway.

"Be nice to Lysander this time, won't you?" she said softly, stroking a lock of hair that had come loose from Lucy's ponytail. "I don't want to come pick you up hearing that you shoved him into the nargle patch again."

"I won't, mother," Lucy said, rolling her eyes. She had explained again and again that the only reason she had pushed Lysander Scamander into the shrubbery in which his parents raised nargles was so that he'd do something besides stare at her all morosely, but they didn't listen. "It wasn't like he got hurt. Besides, that was four years ago."

"I know, dear." Audrey straightened up, and nodded approval at her daughter's neatness. "Now, have a good day, and maybe only play with Lorcan?"

"Whatever you say, Mother." Lucy waved, then made her way up the steps to the Lovegood-Scamanders' door. Before she could even knock, the door swung open, and Lorcan grinned at her. "Come on in, Lucy. But don't disturb Dad. He's working out how to cross-breed nargles with puffskeins, he says they'll make wonderful pets."

Lucy sighed and glanced over her shoulder at her mother, who waved, then the door closed, and Lucy was trapped with the Lovegood-Scamanders for the day.

Lorcan immediately pulled Lucy into the kitchen, where Luna was prodding at what looked like a congealed potion.

"Hello, Lucy," she said dreamily, not looking away from her cauldron. "I don't suppose you happen to know what went wrong when a sleeping potion thickens, do you?"

"It means you poured mixed up the flower and the crushed lacewings," Lucy said flatly. Lorcan, who had been helping himself to a cookie, made a face and spat it out. "Mum, can't you keep the cooking things away from the potion things?"

Luna wasn't paying attention to either of them, and instead was frowning at the potion, apparently trying to decide how best to fix it.

"Lorcan!" Rolf's voice drifted across the yard and through the open windows. "Would you come out here, please? I need someone to help me get the puffskeins out of their cage!"

"Coming, Dad!" Lorcan called. "Sorry, Lucy, I have to go." And he bounded outside, leaving Lucy alone in the house with Luna and Lysander.


She wandered out of the kitchen so she wouldn't get in the way of one Luna's potion-making experiments, and into the sitting room, where she was utterly unsurprised to find Lysander buried in a book of poetry.

She flopped down on the couch next to him. "What are you reading?" she asked, trying to make conversation.

"Yeats," Lysander said, not looking up from the page. His voice was monotone, and his face hidden by his scraggly, too-long hair, so Lucy didn't know what he was thinking.

"Is it good?"



Several minutes of awkward silence passed. Lucy bit on her thumbnail to give her something to do.

The problem with Lysander was that he was so boring. He was always reading poetry, but he'd never talk about it so she couldn't make conversation about that, and as far as she knew, he didn't play Quidditch or like school or even pay much attention to his parents' experiments. What was she supposed to talk about with him?

"I was reading Elizabeth Barrett Browning the other day," she said at last. "She's good. Have you read her?"

"Of course," Lysander said, still in that disturbing, soft monotone. "'How do I love thee, let me count the ways…'"

"Right," said Lucy. "I like love poems, don't you?"

"Not particularly."

"Why not?"

"Romance is for those who need another person to feel complete."

"But love is important, isn't it?"

"Familial love is important. Romantic love is a waste of time."

Lucy let out an impatient sigh. "You're only saying that because there's no one who would even kiss you."

For the first time, Lysander looked up. His large, grey eyes met hers from beneath several locks of dirty blonde hair, and he stared at her. "You've never been kissed either."

Lucy blushed.

Lysander considered her. Then he shut his book, leaned forward, and caught her lips with his.

"There," he said flatly, pulling back again. "Now we've both been kissed. Now can I go back to my reading?"