𝐚𝐥𝐥 𝐡𝐞𝐫 𝐠𝐥𝐨𝐫𝐲 | 𝐝.𝐦.

twelve

The Fat Lady whines peevishly when the portrait swings open. She removes the sleeping mask she's got resting over her face, eyes affixing blearily on Betty, and a scowl etches on her features.

"Is this the end of the party?" the fat lady asks groggily when she notices Betty's exit.

Betty shakes her head.

"Well, it better be it," the lady continues, white sheets crumpled against her body, "I know I promised the Weasley boys I won't be ratting on them when they throw a party - but those pair of boys are long gone. And I won't be so friendly with the rest of you."

The animosity in the lady's voice causes Betty to jump. She nods frantically, "I understand and I'm really sorry for the disturbance we've caused."

A lenient smile makes its way back to the lady's face. "It's alright, sweet thing. Now you go on in there and ask everyone to get out - or you turn out that god-awful music."

"I will, ma'am - I just have one thing to take care of," Betty tells her, surprised that she's even holding a conversation with a painting. Maybe it was the alcohol that's gotten to her head, or the fact that this school was magic.

The Fat Lady's frown goes deeper, but she doesn't make much noise to awake any of the neighbouring portraits, to Betty's relief, only warns, "Well, alright then. But you bear in mind what I've just said. And be quick, I don't want you waking me up when I've fallen back asleep."

Betty nods furiously before scampering off, clambering up the moving staircase that shifts its grounds once Betty's feet touches it, as though awakened. It was a sight to behold when she wasn't in the right state of mind, especially since she had grown up with muggles and less of this wizardry.

She isn't exactly sure where she should be heading, and she immediately regrets not asking for clearer instructions from that third-year.

The school is mostly unmoving, except for the alive - metaphorically - staircases beneath her feet and some portraits with historic people still moving around uneasily, beady eyes watching her expectantly.

She ignores them, and wanders aimlessly around, hoping the sudden jostle of the staircase wouldn't alert Filch, or his pesky cat that was basically a female reincarnation of its owner.

Her stomach is feeling odd, to say the least, as she feels the effects of the tequila slowly setting in. But she ignores it, savouring the high.

At this timing, Betty glances around for a clock - at two in the early morning, Filch would be in the vicinity - if he still sticks to that lousy schedule. And she can't risk getting caught by him, or it would condemn the entire Gryffindor party.

Then, she is fleetingly taken aback by the clear thought that racks her weary, befuddled brain.

The Gryffindor halve of the school compound is nothing but blanketed with bleak emptiness. And just when Betty is about to determine herself duped, and return to where the party is, she makes out a silhouette of a rather tall frame, veiling himself in the corners of the corridors leading to the hall.

A mischievous smile pulls at a corner of her lips as she familiarity of that shadow settles in. Before she can stop herself, she is strolling heedlessly towards the neglected hallway.

Malfoy's behind comes to view, but he doesn't notice her, nor does he hear her quiet footsteps because she's long since removed her heels due to the sore of her feet. Instead, he is focused on what's before him, a dark hallway with nothing but a floating, pesky ghost at the end of it.

Feeling a little more impish than usual, Betty holds her breath and stands to the right of him, a little out of his vision, but enough to startle him if he decides to turn his head an inch to the side.