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( January 1996 )
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THE PARTY HAD BEEN GOING ON FOR AN HOUR BEFORE GINGER HAD SEEN GEORGE WEASLEY. He was drunk, not in his right mind, but then again so was she.
Laughing loudly at whatever was said to her had to be the largest giveaway to her intoxication, then came the desperation for her cardigan to be removed from her body as she began to have hot flashes created by the alcohol. Oh, but then she spotted George—gorgeous, hilarious, freckled, sporty, charming, George. Only he was dancing with a girl that wasn't Ginger.
This girl was irrelevant to Ginger past the fact that Ginger wasn't in her place. And that's where the last stage of the girl's intoxication came into place. Her shameless ogling of the broad quidditch player as his body moved with the girl that had so obviously been holding herself back from throwing herself onto the redhead.
The girl of the moon would never learn from her past actions to keep alcohol out of her reach. She stomped her foot slightly to recover from a wrong step taken, those same feet taking her to the substance that created the sway in each step. Ginger refilled her cup to the brim of that stinging liquid that comforted her consistent jealousy that poisoned her sweet bones while watching the boy. "Dernière fête à laquelle je vais," she grumbled into her cup as she glared at the two.
"Hello, gorgeous."
The girl's head whipped in the direction of the compliment with alert eyes. There stood a rather audacious boy, no doubt knowing how to use his looks to get what he wanted, but he wasn't Ginger's type. "What was that?" Ginger asked, her brain beginning to sober up quickly at the sight of the Gryffindor.
"Well, I saw you standing here all alone and decided to come over here to make you feel less lonely," he said.
Ginger scoffed but he only took it as a sound of gratitude. "How generous of you," she spoke with disdain while lowering her head to the rim of her cup.
The boy shone his teeth arrogantly before placing his hand on her bicep decimating the space between them. "I am known to be so generous," he gloated.
"May I ask what your name might be?" Ginger asked while slipping his hand off of her.
"Cormac McLaggen, dear," Cormac spoke as if his reputation carried with his introduction and surely it did. His ego made complete sense to Ginger when she noticed how he stood shorter than her by an inch or two. He had nowhere for it to go so it was bottled up in his shorter stature. "And you are?" he placed his hand on her shoulder again.
"A girl who would appreciate you keeping your hands to yourself." Ginger secured her hand around his wrist and harshly returned it to his side. "I have absolutely no interest in you." Her starry eyes glanced behind Cormac for a moment to see at least one of the redheaded twins to be somewhat in a four feet radius. Which one it was will forever be a mystery to Ginger but he was still there.
"No need to be so hostile, I only asked your name," he pressed on, his hand now resting on her cheek. On any other day, Ginger might've had the patience to calmly and quietly tell Cormac to get lost, but the sweet girl was long drowned in extravagant Firewhiskey to even think about staying calm.
"I said," Ginger annunciated deeply, her fingers snaking around the boney wrist of the boy. "Don't touch me, you immature, barbaric, overgrown child who is an incredibly deplorable and feeble waste of matter!" She finally pushed him off of her. The younger boy was offended—shocked even. Or was it confused? Perhaps she had begun speaking French halfway through her stream of insults.
Her possible French caught the eyes of a few nearby partygoers, noses always needing to hear the latest gossip, still, Ginger Lunette did not see her minimal slander as enough for a boy who did not understand boundaries.
His perfectly threaded eyebrows pressed close together as she grasped his eye contact to watch him with widened eyes. "If you touch me again," the freckled girl slowly flitted her fingers to the collar of his button-up until they were tightly held on to. "I will drag you to the Black Lake and hold you under. And forget waiting for you to stop moving, I will wait until I don't feel the slightest sign of a pulse." She was sure that was English that time. She needed him to get the message.
Within a moment's time, Cormac had taken a few seconds to process the complete rejection he was experiencing but then the second part dawned on him and he fled like a dog with its tail between its legs.
The Lunette heir sighed a heavy sigh watching the boy retreat to safety, yet there were far too many poor factors in that Slytherin party that just couldn't get her to stay.
