1. Anonymous prompted me with the Trio: surreptitious glance, mushrooms, and horror.
A Culinary Horror (G; the Trio; 100 words)
The scent of caramelised onions was wafting through the kitchen as Harry entered it.
"What smells good?"
"Artichoke-Mushroom-Onion Pie," Hermione told him, as Ron thought, Ah, so that's what those green things were.
"When can we eat it?"
"When it's done."
"I hope that's," Harry said, pausing as he saw the contents of Hermione's mixing bowl, "er, soon."
Ron bit back a laugh. "Mushrooms, huh?"
"Yes, Ron, mushrooms. You like mushrooms."
"We do," Harry agreed, picking up the paper as Ron dropped it. "So, where'd you get the recipe?"
Ron and Harry shared a glance of culinary horror.
2. Anonymous prompted me with Scorpius/Albus Severus: magic, monster, and mouth.
Heroes Are Always Thanked Thus (PG; Scorpius/Albus Severus; 500 words): Scorpius develops an appreciation for jarveys one Hogsmeade weekend.
There was no evidence of anyone's having been dragged off into the Forbidden Forest as Scorpius stood rather more deeply inside of its eerie silence than was wise.
Could she have been playing tricks?
No, the little girl's distress had been genuine. Whether it was true or not, she clearly believed that a "monster" had taken her mother into the woods.
You never should have gone looking for her alone. Now you're lost, and no one's going to come looking for you except perhaps that poor little—
—girl, Scorpius thought, spinning about as he heard the twig break. "I told you not to follow me! It's danger—"
"Dangerous in here!" jeered the hag standing before him.
"Where's the child?" Scorpius demanded, brandishing his wand.
In a girlish voice, the hag mocked, "The mo—mo—monster eated him, didn't she?"
Too late, Scorpius realised the full extent of his mistake and began firing hexes at the hag, who lunged forward with a phlegmy cackle to seize his throat with impossibly long, strong fingers.
What a ridiculous way to die, he thought, as the hag jerked him off his feet and sunk her claws into his flesh.
Just then, an improbable litany of insults met his ears: "Ugly, spit-faced hag! Turnip-nosed half-witch! Filthy child-eater! Poxy, Friday-faced bi—"
The hag's gleeful laughter became shrieks of pain, and she dropped Scorpius, who fell to the ground gasping for air. Scrabbling for his wand, he looked up in astonishment to see a jarvey hanging from the hag's face by his fangs.
I know that jarvey, he thought, mortification paralysing him. It's Pot—
Someone was massaging Scorpius' temples when consciousness returned to him. "Hag!" he exclaimed, struggling to sit up.
"Try not to move," a soft voice told him. "She stamped down on your head pretty hard."
"My . . . my throat?" Scorpius asked, raising a hand to touch himself there.
Potter smiled down at him. "Don't worry. I Healed the gouges, and the, er, temple-rubbing should soothe your pain."
"Where'd you learn to do that?"
"From my Aunt Luna. She's quite interested in touch-based Healing. She says that people's auras, when blended, can . . . ."
His gaze transfixed upon Potter's mouth, it took Scorpius a moment to register what he was saying. "You're blending our auras?"
"Something like that," said Potter, flushing.
"Nice," said Scorpius. "Thank you."
"You're welcome, Malfoy."
"S—Scorpius. You should call me Scorpius . . . under the circumstances."
Shifting a bit, Potter replied, "It was Snappers who rescued you, Scorpius, not me."
"Well," Scorpius said, realising that the ball of warmth nestled conveniently upon his lap had to be Potter's familiar, "thank you, Snappers."
"Silly, brave-daft wizard!"
"Ignore him," said Potter, "you know how jarveys are—and call me Albus, please."
"Albus," Scorpius murmured, a shiver of pleasure running through his body as he reached up to thread his fingers in the other boy's hair and draw his head down towards his mouth, "please?"
"Please what?" Albus whispered, his breath warm against Scorpius' lips.
"Allow me to thank you proper—"