She exits the room full of rowdy young witches and warlocks. She knew from an early age that she was never really a fan of raucous magical parties. And besides, she needed a quick smoke. When Auntie Hilda found out about her new habit, she went into a long tirade on the usual mortal diseases, lung cancer, COPD, etc. etc. Auntie Zelda, on the other hand, only raised an eyebrow.

Exiting towards the rooftop, she takes a pack of lucky strikes from her back pocket, fumbles for a lighter, and pushes the fire exit door open. Someone was already there.

He stood beside the railing, leaning backwards, a light in between his fingers.

With no way to make it seem like she was avoiding him, she gingerly proceeds to his side. She takes a cigarette, the last one, in between her lips and tries to get a steady enough flame from her lighter.

With no warning, numerous loud deafening bangs sound on the other side of the rooftop. She startles and drops the cigarette. Loud hoots and cheers of "Happy New Year" fill the streets below them. She forgot about the mother fucking fireworks.

He watches her from the corner of his eyes for a few seconds, eyes darting on the cigarette on the floor. He places his lighted cigarette in between his lips, inhales and, exhales softly. Then he motions to pass the stick to her.

She warily eyes the cigarette between his fingers and she get a flashback of last new year.

She spent the new year in a similar fashion. Attending the Academy Party, with Nicholas, for the Wicca New Year Celebration, also called the Festival of Saturnalia or what not. Everybody knew witches and warlocks take any excuse to party. She remembers feeling the same way about the overflowing drinks, the alcohol, and the unadulterated sex. She also remembers going up the same flight of stairs to this rooftop, both of them trying to escape the party for a moment, just before the clock struck midnight. She remembers laughing about something he said, the smirk he always wore whenever he got too cocky for himself, and endlessly arguing about fruitcakes.

She remembers both of them getting startled by the fireworks, and (probably the same) people cheering below the streets. They both laugh at the silliness of it all. She felt the giddiness disappear, replaced with warm anticipation as he gently took her in his arms, whispered happy new year, and gave her a beautiful gentle kiss, just as the clock went past midnight. He was always one for tradition.

She realizes how much things can change in a span of one year. She looks at him, and she knows she should feel triumphant, he was safe and healthy, but she only feels a sense of loss and defeat. Her eyes linger to his eyes, the small scar on his cheek, his lips.

She warily eyes the cigarette between his fingers, and decides she is willing to compromise.

She takes the cigarette, just before the clock passes midnight, and takes a long drag.