Chapter 28 : The Party
| ||Rating: Mature||Chapter Reviews: 11|
Change Background: Change Font color:
“Wands, please”, a polite but firm voice broke up the laughter of the group of boys as they were about to enter the room beyond the portrait. Amusement died out of most eyes as the memory of the risqué joke Nott had just shared about the mermaid, the nymph and the witch was replaced by this unusual demand.
“Excuse me?” Draco asked the diminutive boy coolly, facing him and using his superior height and stature to remind the stupid Gryffindor exactly whom he was addressing.
“Wands are to be handed over at the entrance…security reasons…” Dennis Creevey started enthusiastically enough but his voice died out when he looked over at the rather menacing group. After all, no group comprising of Slytherins could ever be termed ‘chummy’, and when the said group boasted of Crabbe, Goyle, Zabini, Nott and Malfoy, it was downright intimidating. To make matters worse, Crabbe flexed his muscles and Goyle scowled at him, while Zabini and Nott raised their eyebrows most eloquently.
“Security?” Draco drawled, mouth turning down at the corner. “For Merlin’s sake, this is just the Heads’ Dormitory, where I happen to live, incidentally, not the Ministry! What security are you talking about?”
“Wands have to be deposited at the entrance to avoid accidental injury during the festivities…by Head Girl’s orders” Dennis recited quickly before he could lose his nerve, and wondered again just why he had volunteered to do this; it had seemed a fun thing to do before the Slytherins had started arriving. Pansy and her coterie had nearly hexed him earlier before Lavender and Parvati, bless them, had engaged their attention and ire. He began to pray for some interruption this time, too, but knew that everybody else had already arrived.
“Head Girl’s orders, eh, Draco?” Nott winked at Zabini and gave Draco a wicked smile, and Draco fought down the irritation that had started bubbling inside of him.
“And do the Head Girl’s orders include the Head Boy too, lowly minion?” Blaise inquired in a superior tone, earning a quiet snicker from Nott.
“She did say everyone has to comply with her orders” Dennis replied uncertainly, not helping the matters at all and Blaise and Theodore now guffawed openly. Dennis flinched; he had heard many terrifying tales about what happened when these boys laughed.
“Well, if the Head Boy has to follow her orders, then I guess we should too,” Nott shrugged amusedly and handed over his wand to a surprised Dennis.
“Interesting start to the evening! Lets see what else the Head Girl has in store for us, eh, Draco?” Blaise smirked at Draco as he passed his wand to the thunderstruck fourth year and stepped inside.
Draco swallowed his pride and irritation and, thrusting his wand at the hapless Gryffindor, followed his friends. When Crabbe and Goyle followed suit, Dennis nearly fainted with relief. Now he too, had a tale worth telling; how he had faced grown-up Slytherin boys and forced them to back-off!
Granger, it seemed, had put the time he had given her to good use. The Head’s Common Room was now five times as big from inside, and looked nothing like it usually did. All the usual furniture had vanished, to be replaced by clusters of chairs all over the room, and a long table rested against the wall to his left, laden with food. But what surprised him the most was a stage, directly opposite him, where two nutty Hufflepuffs were playing flute? Whatever.
As his eyes got used to the dim lights inside, Draco felt renewed irritation. The party invite that had popped up on the notice board in the Slytherin common room had clearly stated that the dress code, in honour of their team’s victory, was green, and yet, he saw that except for his own housemates, nobody was wearing green! What the hell? But before he could complete the thought, he saw the hostess gliding towards him in a rather fetching dress of forest-green, that reached the floor in the back but was artfully torn in the front to reveal her legs, ending just below her knees. And it left her one shoulder bare, giving her the look of some wood nymph, and Draco momentarily forgot his irritation when she smiled sweetly at him.
“Malfoy, Zabini, Crabbe, Goyle and Nott…welcome!” Hermione nodded politely.
Draco felt Blaise stiffen beside him, and remembering their last encounter, he couldn’t help but smile inwardly. Crabbe and Goyle were staring at her with their jaws open, while Theo was looking past her as though she were invisible. Really, his friends were so predictable.
“Granger”, he nodded at her coolly, though his eyes twinkled at her. But then he remembered the dress code. “Tell me, Granger, why is nobody else wearing green when your invite clearly said so?” he brushed his long fingers over the expensive fabric of his rich, hunter green robes to emphasize the point.
“Oh, but they are, Malfoy!” Hermione replied earnestly, and Draco had the sudden suspicion she was going to make him the butt of some inside joke. “The invite said to wear ‘something green’, and everyone is wearing a bit of the colour. I thought people could be more…creative…this way”, she finished, and when her eyes twinkled, Draco knew he was right. Looking around, he noticed that everyone was, indeed, wearing ‘something green’; from green embroidery on black robes to green sashes on red robes, everyone seemed to have followed the dress code creatively. Except for his housemates, of course, who were dressed from head to toe in different shades of green. And Granger herself. Draco stopped himself from gnashing his teeth and turned towards the snacks.
Just before he reached the table, he nearly bumped into Harry and Ron, and had to take a step back to steady himself.
“Whoa, Potter and Weasel! Watch where you are going!” he snapped, and then took a deep breath to reign in his irritation; this was his victory party…he had won a match and a bet; this was a celebration for him! He shouldn’t let some pesky Gryffindors spoil his fun.
“Likewise, ferret!” Ron snapped back, and Draco gave both of them a once over. For once, Weasley had on some decent robes, but they were still maroon, and they clashed horribly with his hair. For something green, he had opted to have a green muggle bowtie round his throat, no doubt a gift of Granger’s. On someone wearing a muggle suit, it would’ve looked fetching; on Ron wearing maroon wizard dress robes, it looked comical, and Draco nearly smiled before he noticed that Harry was not wearing anything green, unless he wore green boxers underneath his black robes.
“Why are you not wearing something green, Potter?” Draco asked before he could stop himself, and from the smiles that lit the faces of both the boys, he knew he shouldn’t have asked. But he couldn’t help it; Potter was wearing full black robes as though he were in mourning, and that had riled him. Couldn’t the prick be happy for him?
“Harry is wearing something green”, Ron smirked, and Draco gave Harry a searching look once again, as if to find out what exactly was green on his person.
“Well, unless he is green with envy, which is totally understandable, I don’t know what it could be!” Draco quipped, and Ron frowned. Harry laid a restraining arm on his friend and turned to Draco with a smile of genuine amusement.
“What would I be envious of, Malfoy?” Harry asked him, green eyes twinkling at Draco from behind glasses, and Draco suddenly understood what was ‘something green’ on Harry. With a huff, he shouldered his way rudely from between them to the table, eliciting a muttered curse from Ron and a chuckle from Harry. Whatever.
There were many drinks laid out; from fruit punches to butterbeer to elderwood wine to mulled mead. No Firewhiskey, but Draco was amazed this selection had passed Granger’s sharp eyes. Maybe someone from his own house had managed to smuggle in the wine and mead! He picked up a goblet of elderwood wine, not wanting to drink himself into a stupor before the evening had properly started, and raised it in a mock toast to Terry Boot, who stood nearby with his friends Goldstein and Corner. Boot sneered at him and turned away, the stupid Ravenclaw! Draco considered that what he had just thought was antithetical, and burst out laughing when he thought of the poor sod smitten with Sia. Stupid Ravenclaw indeed!
He turned his attention to the stage, where now a third year Gryffindor he didn’t know the name of was trying to sing. And trying was right, because that’s what the experience of hearing him was. Draco wondered who was in charge of the entertainment; the person deserved a detention just for existing. He was thinking of looking for Pansy when Zabini strolled over to him.
“The Head Girl seems to have gone out of her way to make you look bad, Draco! Its not just the trick with the dress code, or even the ridiculous entertainment! Its supposed to be your victory party, and yet there are more people from other houses than from Slytherin. I mean, what is McMillan doing here? He is not a Slytherin and not on his House team, either. And he’s a terrible bore. And Finch-Fletchley? And Goldstein, Corner and Boot? And third and fourth years from other houses? Theres not even a single person here from Slytherin below fifth year! Whats happening?”
Draco took a sip of his wine and surveyed the room; Blaise was right! He had thought there would only be Slytherins, a handful of Granger’s friends and a few other people. But now as he looked around, he could spot the Quidditch teams of all the other three houses, all the prefects from all the houses, and a few more people besides! And the third and fourth years from Gryffindor! What the hell? All his plans of making the Gryffindors squirm the whole night had been dashed permanently. But to admit this to Blaise would mean admitting that Granger had got the better of him.
“She threw this party in our honour, mate, and she’s free to invite whomsoever she pleases. In fact, the more people there are to celebrate our victory, the better it is, don’t you think?” he spoke coolly, sipping his wine as though he hadn’t a care in the world.
“If you say so, mate. But I’ll still say you are giving the mudblood a lot of slack. She needs to recognize her superiors and respect them, and not pull such tricks.” Blaise was clearly angry, and some of his anger naturally sprung from his last encounter with Hermione. Draco smiled.
“Ah, come on, Blaise. Smooth your ruffled feathers. If you want the witch so badly, approach her now, why don’t you? She hasn’t got her wand on her this time, so it should be relatively safe. Don’t let her go down in the history as the only female ever to refuse to succumb to the charms of Blaise Zabini!” Draco mocked him.
Zabini turned to him slowly, his heavy-lidded eyes black as coal, exuding coldness and hardness unmatched by anyone except Snape.
“Don’t worry about the charms of Blaise Zabini, Draco,” he spoke softly, and yet there was malice in every word. “My libido will survive being thwarted by a zesty Gryffindor. The question is, will yours?” and with that, he raised his own goblet of wine in mock salute to Draco and departed.
And after that, things went downhill for Draco. After those initial debacles over wand, dress codes and his run-in with Blaise, he had had to bear the cold shoulder of Pansy, whom he was counting on to rescue him from boredom, as he had refused to come to the party as her date. The entertainment had got more mind-numbing with the passage of time, with Professor Binns making an appearance to tell them about parties in Heads’ dorms when he had been still alive. His team mates had got more and more drunk, but instead of increasing their boisterousness, the alcohol had subdued them. Now he knew how Granger had allowed the alcohol to be there! Blaise had been carrying on with two witches, keeping his somewhat steady girlfriend Emilie occupied with drinks and kisses in one corner and flirting outrageously with a curvaceous Hufflepuff in the other. And then he had caught sight of Ginny Weasley, dressed in a white shirt, short green and red checked skirt and knee-high white socks, looking innocent and incredibly naughty all at the same time. Blood traitors like her should not be allowed to look like that, he had thought, outraged! And she was Potter’s! He was bored out of his mind, alone, miserable, and sitting between a snoring Goyle and a maudlin Crabbe, who had insisted on telling Draco about his first and only date. And currently he was retelling the tale for the fifth time. And there had been no sign of Sia.
He was slightly surprised when he found himself missing the mercurial Gryffindor, but a conversation with her was guaranteed to be interesting, he reasoned. Or any sort of exchange with her, really, he smirked, downing his sixth glass of butterbeer. After observing the effects of the alcoholic drinks on his house mates, Draco had decided to stick with what was safe. Better sober than mushy, he thought. Not that he was entirely sober any longer, but at least he was not showing any outwardly embarrassing signs of being drunk.
He dully noticed people of other houses laughing and enjoying themselves; apparently they had been warned about the drinks. Goldstein was canoodling with Padma Patil near the food table, Pansy and Daphne seemed to be fighting to stay awake, McMillan was holding a sort of court with other Hufflepuffs hanging onto his every word, except Miranda who was currently warming Vaisey’s lap, who seemed to be on the verge of drifting off, the Golden Trio were laughing in a corner, with the Weaselette showing every intent of climbing onto the Chosen One’s lap, undeterred by the glares shot her way by her brother, who still managed to find time to stick his tongue down Granger’s throat, who seemed to be telling him to behave himself, much to the amusement of the Chosen One who was dividing his time laughing at his friends’ antics and fighting off the Weaselette’s pathetic attempts at seduction. And this party was supposed to be about him!
It was then that Draco had this sort of epiphany; that this whole thing was engineered to make him feel as miserable as possible. He would’ve come to the conclusion quite sooner if his senses hadn’t been dulled by the amount of alcohol he had consumed, and he would’ve felt quite angry, he realized, if he hadn’t knocked back three goblets of the wine before wising up. As it was, he felt a simmering resentment, a peripheral irritation that refused to go away like a pesky fly, but which remained inconsequential enough not to get worked up about. And the worst part was he was aware of everything. He knew, for example, that the drinks had been tampered with; he knew that it was a potion, and one so subtle he had failed to detect it; knew that no teacher would give such a potion to a student, and knew that very few students were capable of successfully brewing a potion of such strength and subtlety when it was not on their text books. His eyes turned to pin Hermione down with an intense glare, but he knew it wouldn’t even frighten a first year, the state he was in. How he longed for his wand, and also knew now why their wands had been taken away. Merlin, the knowledge overload was going to kill him, coupled as it was with an inability to actually do something about it! He was so going to kill Granger later, he promised himself.
And then he had his second epiphany of the evening. Yes, Granger was certainly more than smart enough to pull everything off, but she was also too full of patent Gryffindor nobility to actually do it. Plus, he had not done anything lately to invite her ire. No, it wasn’t her. In fact, all this careful attention to details, and perhaps even the potion itself, was the work of someone else; a Gryffindor who had the courage to be audacious and lacked the scruples to prevent her from pulling this kind of thing off. And he was amazed at the clear functioning of his brain even as he despaired at the lack of will to get angry when he came to the logical conclusion; it had to be Raisingh. Damn her!
Almost as if summoned by his thoughts, Sia made a grand entry right in the center of the stage, and spotlights and thumping music punctuated her appearance. Even Goyle stirred beside him.
“Datsh a shnitch!” he proclaimed quite loudly, pointing at Sia, and Draco marveled detachedly at how observant his drunk friend was.
For Sia was indeed dressed as a snitch. She wore a shimmering golden short dress, with golden thigh-length boots and golden gloves on her hands. She also wore a golden skullcap, hiding her hair away, and white wings made of some gauzy fabric that shimmered silver when she moved completed the outfit. She was a snitch, alright, and Draco thought if she offered herself for the role in a real Quidditch match, there might be bloodshed amongst the seekers. Possibly every player on the team would want to be a seeker, and probably every boy who could fly would want to be on the house team! His rambling thoughts pulled to an abrupt stop when Sia winked saucily at the Chosen One.
It was a sort of musical Quidditch match without brooms, and minus the bludgers and the quaffle and other players, Draco surmised, as four male dancers joined Sia on stage, each of them dressed in each of the four house colours. Presumably, they were four seekers, each from the four houses, and they seemed to be courting the Snitch who danced tantalizingly away every time someone got close to her. Draco scrutinized the one dressed in green critically; after all, he was supposed to be him! What a poor imitation, he concluded.
The performance was riveting. Eventhough Draco knew he would not be made to look good, he found himself enjoying the dance. The music was good, and Raisingh was a talented dancer; and the four boys with her, who were unrecognizable because of hoods covering their faces, weren’t bad either. He watched as the Snitch flirted with each seeker, beckoning him, and then swirled away when the seeker made to grab greedily. In the end, as the music rose to a crescendo, Draco caught his breath when it looked as though the Slytherin seeker was about to be rewarded for his persistent courting by the hand of the suddenly docile Snitch, but the Gryffindor seeker came up behind her, tapped her on the shoulder to gain her attention, and she smiled delightedly at him. Draco groaned when the guy in red picked up the laughing Snitch in his arms and walked away into the darkness beyond to a tumultuous applause and loud catcalling. Of course! What else had he expected!
It seemed like the true festivities had started. The snitch dance was followed by an energetic performance by the Ravenclaws. Goldstein, Boot and Corner danced to a wild applause, proving that Ravenclaws were not all about studying. Hufflepuffs followed them, where Miranda and a couple of other good-looking girls managed to bring the house down. Draco noticed the girl Blaise had been flirting with was among them. And then it was the turn of Gryffindors.
Draco wouldn’t have believed it if he hadn’t seen it. Thomas and Finnegan started it off with a rousing dance, and then every Gryffindor fifth year and up came and shook a leg whether they knew how or not. Weaselette came with a bunch of other sixth years, including the camera-toting brother of their hapless doorman, and the Golden trio came together, where the Chosen One showed them all how not to dance. Even Longbottom jumped a few times. Draco wanted to laugh and jeer, but somehow could not, because they all looked like they were really having fun. Brown bumped Weasley deliberately while dancing, and Granger shoved her away playfully, and they were all laughing! Thomas and Finnegan pretended to flirt with every girl who came onto the stage, and they all looked like they were having the time of their lives. There was no finesse, no technique, and no talent even, sometimes, but it looked like pure fun. And everyone except the Slytherins was enjoying it. It rounded off when Raisingh came in the end, minus her wings and skullcap, and with a green belt round her waist to keep up with the dress code, and took a bow for providing the entertainment for the evening. Of course!
And then it was a free for all. The music was pulsating, and everyone was dancing with whomsoever they wished. Zabini was dancing with Emilie; Goldstein with Padma, and for a change, Raisingh was dancing with Boot. It was quite possible Blaise had come to know about the drinks from his girlfriend and had neglected to tell him, since he seemed to be just as he ever did. That irked Draco some more, but again, not enough to actually confront his treacherous friend. The Golden Trio had earlier proved they were no dancers, and were now quite content to sit and chat as before with the Weaselette joining them.
Draco felt ill at ease. He wanted to throttle someone, preferably Blaise and Raisingh, but found himself reluctant to work up the energy to do so. He wanted to hand out a few detentions and take away some house points, but found speaking to be too much work. He wanted to go to the loo to relieve himself, and was surprised when he found himself getting up and heading towards the staircase. He couldn’t see it because of Glamours, but since he knew it was there, he reached it just fine and climbed it. That set him thinking.
After spending quite a while thinking over things, Draco was walking back to his chair between a subdued Goyle (the Snitch had managed to wake him up) and a pensive Crabbe (he was now thinking exactly how and why his date had gone wrong), when he ran into Emilie. She looked lovely in a sapphire blue gown with a hint of emerald green embroidery at the plunging neckline. Draco’s gaze flitted to the emerald pendant nestled in her cleavage, and his irritation at Blaise returned to him. It was also time to put his theory regarding the potion to test.
“Emilie”, he smiled winningly at her, and was rewarded when her pink lips creased into a smile and pretty dimples deepened her cheeks. Blaise was a lucky bastard, no doubt. And a fool. “How are you? Blaise keeps talking about you, and yet somehow I have never found the time to talk to you properly. Please forgive me.” He could be smoothness personified when he chose to be.
“You are forgiven”, she smiled prettily, again, and added impishly “You do talk to me during prefect meetings, Draco!” Damn her Ravenclaw mind!
“Ah, but I was talking about something more social and less formal. Sitting around a table discussing rounds and detentions is hardly the way a lovely girl should be talked to.” He smiled at her, and when her eyes would’ve narrowed suspiciously, he straightened up and said warmly, “Blaise is a lucky fellow. Where is he, by the way?” he added the last question so casually she would never notice she was about to be master-manipulated by a Slytherin.
Sure enough, her suspicions regarding his flirting died down and she must’ve assumed he was just being gallant. She looked around vaguely, as though looking for something, or someone, and admitted innocently, “Actually I was looking for him. After all that dancing I was feeling a bit tired, so he said he’d fetch some pumpkin pasties and butterbeer for me, and that was about fifteen minutes ago!”
“He really is an idiot to leave you alone like that! Please allow me the privilege of fetching drinks for you” Draco bowed a little graciously; he might not know how to have fun the Gryffindor way, but he was a master at this.
“That will not be necessary, Draco, but thanks for the offer”, she smiled again, but this time Draco saw she was dismissing him. Not a chance!
“Ah, c’mon, Emilie! Do give me a chance to treat my friend’s girl the right way!” and here he caught hold of her left hand with his right one, raising it towards his lips and stopping just shy of them so she was forced to look into his eyes, a bit shocked. “So what will it be, butterbeer? Or the more exotic Elderwood wine?” His eyes turned silver as he said it.
Emilie schooled her expression into one of innocence and shook her head, trying to free her hand unobtrusively from Draco’s grasp. “No, thank you, no hard drinks for me. I always stick with butterbeer. Its safe.”
“Safe?” Draco drawled, pouring scorn over the word, “Emilie, dear, surely dating Blaise would’ve cured you of all misplaced affection for safety! After all, he is danger personified; that’s what attracts girls to him most.”
“Are you sure?” she tried again to wrest her hand from his grasp, slightly more energetically this time. “I thought for a moment there you were describing yourself.”
Draco smiled. The chit had fire; he already liked her. “Really? You find me dangerous, Emilie? I wonder why…” he let his voice trail off on a husky note in the end, knowing that girls found it exciting when he did so. And sure enough, Emilie visibly squirmed.
“Draco…” she began, a bit confused, but then seemed to make up her mind and looked at him decisively, “You know very well that I’m seeing someone else.”
“So?” Draco asked, letting an impish smile play around his lips. He was getting to her, he could tell.
“Draco, I’m with Blaise!” she spoke, a note of desperation creeping into her voice. Here I go, Blaise, watch out, Draco thought, and gave the outward appearance of thinking over her words.
“But the question, my dear Emilie, is: is Blaise with you?” and as he said it, he moved sideways slightly so the girl before him could have an uninterrupted view of the food table, and beside it, Blaise doing his seduction sequence on the curvaceous Hufflepuff.
Her eyes widened as she saw him almost immediately, and her jaw hung slack with dawning horror and embarrassment. Draco turned slightly to view the scene with her. He saw the handsome boy trail one finger down the side of the girl’s body, saw his hand stop at her hip and splay out, slowly moving to grasp the girl’s arse and pull her inexorably nearer. He saw her shiver deliciously, and then his other hand came up to trail over her cheek, and then cup her chin, angling her mouth to receive his kiss. Just as his mouth dropped to hers, Draco heard a moan beside him.
He turned back to find Emilie’s eyes closed, her face pinched in pain, and even as he looked at her, she opened her eyes and fixed him with a sharp, accusing stare.
“This is what you were doing, isn’t it? Setting me up for the fall? What purpose of yours did it fulfill? What could you possibly hope to gain by telling your friend’s girlfriend that your friend is cheating on her?” she accused hotly, and Draco smirked. He let go of her hand and moved to stand behind her, looking at Blaise and the girl retreating into a corner, and bent to whisper into her ear.
“You said that you liked safe. I merely showed you that there are different types of dangers. What looks safe isn’t always so, and what looks dangerous…” and here he laughed huskily, eliciting goose bumps on her soft skin, “well, what looks dangerous might very well be dangerous, but you will never know unless you find out.”
Emilie turned around to look him in the eye, her blue eyes hard. “Then I wish to find out. Now”, she said decisively, and Draco raised his eyebrows.
“Brave words for a Ravenclaw” he drawled.
“Bravery has nothing to do with it, Draco, but revenge has” was her answer, and she laid her hand on his arm.
Draco smirked and led her to where he knew the door to the kitchen was concealed under Glamour Charms, and his hand searched the bare wall till it grasped the invisible doorknob and turned it. She preceded him inside. Revenge was the best motive in the world.
Emilie was passion personified. No wonder Blaise had held on to her instead of letting her go before moving on. But he had forgotten that his girlfriend was not a sweet Hufflepuff who would cry her eyes out at his duplicity. And he had also forgotten that Draco had limits to which he could be pushed. And today he had been pushed a bit too far.
The potion, he had realized, subdued the more aggressive of behaviors, namely impulsiveness or the urge to be violent, or the intent to harm someone in any way. Raisingh had brewed a potion that would leave him with the full knowledge that he was being made fun of, without the will to do something in retaliation. When he had realized that, he had also understood that he could not confront Blaise for his treachery directly. But underhanded Slytherin tactics suited him more than direct action any day. He had not planned on doing this with the lovely Emilie, no; his intent had only been to make her aware of Blaise’s true nature, and the potion hadn’t stopped him. What was happening now, well, that was a heady bonus.
Emilie moaned into his mouth, her nails raking his back through his robes, and his wandering hands found the hidden fastenings on her gown and pulled them lose. He bent his head, his mouth and tongue tasting her neck, making her gasp, before moving down to feast on her breasts through her lacy bra. Emilie shuddered and undid the fastenings of his robe with trembling fingers, her eyes shut tight as his tongue tortured her navel. Draco dropped to his knees in front of her, bringing her dress down with him, and she stepped out of it gracefully before dropping down herself to begin assaulting his neck.
Bliss, Draco thought. His libido hadn’t died this year after all, he reflected with some satisfaction. Emilie was now kissing his exposed chest, and he smirked when he thought Pansy had been doing the exact same thing yesterday. This is your best friend’s girlfriend, an annoying voice spoke out in his head, and he almost growled in impatience. He was sure Granger had put some sort of spell on him that made him listen to her voice in his head when he was doing something she would disapprove of! Well, it was his life, for Merlin’s sake!
She is still your friend’s girlfriend; she needs your support right now, not for you to take advantage of her, the voice insisted, and Draco almost swore aloud that he was giving the only support he knew.
This is wrong, the voice said just as Emilie’s hand closed over his semi-erect penis, and the voice was almost drowned in Draco’s groan. He felt Emilie dragging the zipper of his trousers down, and the voice that bombarded him this time was his own: Remember what it feels like to be cheated, Draco! Don’t do it to Blaise! And without fully realizing what he was doing, he untangled his hand from Emilie’s hair and grabbed the hand that was sliding inside his boxers to touch his manhood.
“No!” For a moment, he felt as though the word had been spoken by his subconscious inside his head, but then Emilie’s head turned up to look at him questioningly, and he realized then that he had arrested her hand. “No”, he repeated, his voice a bit shaky, but firm.
“Are you sure? I can only give you a blowjob, nothing else” Emilie stated dispassionately and Draco realized, yet again, how wrong this was. She was not the least bit involved; she just wanted revenge. She had closed her eyes when he had touched her, not because she was enjoying it, but because it helped her to imagine he was Blaise; she wasn’t enjoying his touch, she had been enjoying Blaise’s. That killed every remnant of lust within him.
“This is wrong, very wrong”, Draco stated, and Emilie withdrew her hand from inside his boxers and stood up. That brought her tiny emerald green thong, which she had undoubtedly worn for Blaise, at his eye level and he hastily stood up himself. He turned his back to her to give her some privacy and began righting his clothes; by the rustle of fabric he heard, so was she. He took his time, doing each fastening slowly, and waited when he was done. After a while, he heard the door close softly behind him and released a breath he had been holding. What a disaster, he thought. But thank Merlin he had stopped when he had.
Emilie stepped outside the kitchen, and without pausing to look anywhere, kept walking to the door that led outside. She had much thinking to do, and no doubt much to feel guilty about.
After a while, Draco emerged from the kitchen and went over to take his original place between Crabbe and Goyle, who were now playing cards. He did not look around him either.
The exit of the both of them was noticed by a pair of dark eyes, and quite interestedly. When Draco emerged behind Emilie, the eyes became furious and virtually spitted fire. Draco had breached a cardinal rule of the Slytherin Code of Conduct; never encroach upon another Slytherin’s property, especially when the owner is looking. Now, it was time for Blaise to break a rule of his own.
Draco turned around and saw an obviously inebriated Blaise leaning against a table, grinning at him lopsidedly. He rolled his eyes and approached his friend. Obviously, his conquest of that Hufflepuff had gone to his head and he had over-indulged in celebration.
“Lets get you to your bed, mate”, Draco began, but Blaise refused to be pulled away.
“What a loverly party, Dray! I donwanna go yet!”
“Come, Blaise!” Draco insisted, and Blaise broke out into girlish giggles that he would never have done had he been sober.
“You hafta gimme a blowjob fo’ dat”, he sang, and Draco sighed.
“Blaise! Behave!” Draco admonished, and Blaise turned puppy-dog eyes on him.
“A han’job, den”, he whined, and Draco actually considered hauling him onto his shoulders and whisking him away before he embarrassed the both of them any further. What he wouldn’t give for his wand then to be able to silence his friend!
“Lets go”, he pulled firmly, and Blaise moved a few inches before deciding to plop on the ground.
“I alwaysh wanteda ashk you, Dray! Howz dat bed comin’ alon’?” Blaise asked, trying to focus on Draco, who paled.
“I’ll tell you once we get you to your bed; now come along”, he tried to pull the drunk boy up, but Blaise merely slid a few inches forward before lying down.
“Ah mean, you god friended wid Raishin n’all, but you know you godda shag her by yo’ birday, righ’? Shakin’ handsh no’ gonna ged her in yo’ sheetsh, man! Shtep it up, man, shtep iddup!”
“Yes, yes, I will, now lets go!” Draco almost barked. Thankfully the music was still quite loud and nobody was paying them any attention, because Finnegan had decided to do a topless Irish step dance.
Blaise started crawling as Draco pulled him, and after a gargantuan effort, he was able to pull the boy up and drag him towards the exit. All the while, Blaise was spouting suggestions on how to get a girl in bed, though thankfully he did not mention Raisingh by name again.
By a stroke of luck, Draco spotted the neat arrangement of wands near the portrait, and grabbed his Hawthorn wand. He cast a Silencio on Blaise, and opening the door, cheerfully levitated him to take him to the dungeons, unmindful of what it would do to the contents of his friend's stomach in his drunken state.
Blaise did not mind. He had spotted Raisingh sitting in a chair right behind Draco, partially hidden by a Slytherin banner. She had heard everything. All was right with the world.
A/N: Ok, first of all, I’m really, really sorry for taking so long. This chapter just refused to be written, honest. And I wasn’t sitting on my fanny doing nothing; I started another story, The Colour of Desire, and wrote three chapters of it already. Check it out, I quite like it. But this chapter, just didn’t want to be written. And when it did, I wrote the whole thing in a single day. When the creative juices flow, they really go for a flat-out flood, don’t they! Anyway, I just had my b’day, so please give me some nice reviews as b’day presents. Please! Love you all.