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The first part was originally written for the Fifteen Minute Challenge, and the second was written merely to amuse myself. So...enjoy
PART I
"The Luckiest Year"
It was a pleasure to burn.
As James Bond sat idly before the bonfire, he tossed in one more twig and watched as it was twisted, blackened, transformed. It had a certain beauty in the fading dusk, which was just now tainting the moors with a rosy stain. The sun, something else that burned, was falling low. Bond sat in silent contemplation. He really did love Scotland.
Of all the places he'd seen in his life, though each held certain charm - friends, good food (usually), and unique beauty - it was this, his homeland, that still seemed magical. Even now, when he was far too old to believe in magic anymore.
The sticks in the fire crackled, protesting the heat that consumed them. Their voices were more interesting to Bond than were those of his acquaintences, who had gathered here for a sort of vague summer celebration. They chattered about life, about their trivial activities, and what they planned to do the next weekend. The sticks, however, were fighting for their lives.
Bond slapped a mosquito that had landed on his arm. Gradually, people were filtering indoors, leaving for their homes, not wishing to become a feast for the insects. As much as Bond enjoyed the solitude, he decided it was high time that he left as well.
One figure stayed apart from the group. She sat across from him, on the other side of the fire, so from his point of view she seemed engulfed in flames. Her sandy-blonde hair glowed, and Bond thought that it looked a little like spun gold. Inwardly, he smiled.
She was watching him, as well. His lanky figure, the well-tamed dark hair that nevertheless fell into an incongruous comma above his right eye. It gave him that rogueish look that made all the girls glance at him, and then glance again for a better look. This particular girl had done just that, and she would never forget the day. Now, she looked into his eyes and saw fire in them. She couldn't tell if it was just a reflection, or something more.
She stood. Bond stood, as well.
Sidling over to him, she smiled a little half-smile that quickly faded. "Dad's coming home tonight," she said. "I'm scared."
Bond sighed. That damnable step-father of hers.
"You can come over after midnight," he whispered. "Just make sure Auntie doesn't hear, all right?"
The girl smiled. "I always do."
As she walked home, Bond stood in silent contemplation. "Thirteen, eh?" one of Aunt Charmain's irritating friends, a Major Somebody, had said to him earlier, clapping him on the shoulder. "Thirteen's the unluckiest number, Master James. Or the luckiest...depending on how you look at it. Just like everything else in life, it's what you make of it."
The golden-haired girl disappeared into the sunset, and Bond thought that this, his thirteenth summer, would be the luckiest of them all.
PART II
"Something Wicked"
Aunt Charmain chuckled.