PRECEDENT : Draco Malfoy II

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The brown liquid in my cup sloshes like it is the ocean in a thunderstorm, and my thoughts are hazy like misty rain. I shouldn't be drinking. A couple of sixth-year Gryffindors decided that there hasn't been enough inter-school socialization in the weeks leading up to the Yule Ball. Their party was supposed to be for students in sixth year and up, with fifth years coming by invitation only. An older boy from Durmstrang asked me to come here, and so I am one of three fourth years in attendance. It made some Gryffindor girl angry because she insisted that young witches cannot hold their alcohol, especially muggle-borns.

She's right. I'm pretty tipsy.

The guy from Durmstrang is whispering something in my ear. He's Russian, I think, and his accent is thick, and his words are slurring from how drunk he is. I'm leaning against the glass wall of the greenhouse, and his hand is across my stomach. Instead, I am watching the crowd.

My eyes are trying to find the two other fourth-year girls who got invited. Pansy Parkinson is sitting on a table surrounded by men from Beauxbatons, with the plants that are usually there shoved aside. Earlier, one of the pots fell. Someone with quicker reflexes than me stopped the pot from shattering. It wouldn't matter if it had, since they've got half a dozen muffling spells on the place, and one of the older Slytherins bribed the fifth-year prefects who are supposed to be patrolling.

Pansy is laughing at something one of the guys said. They are speaking French, a language which I don't know, so I can't tell what the laughter is about. If we were speaking Latin, I'd run circles around them all. I shrug it off, trying to act like I am more interested in the boy from Durmstrang than I am.

None of the other Slytherins got here, neither with bribes nor money.Actually, there isn't a single bloke from fourth year who has made it in. Isuppose that explains the absence of Draco Malfoy. If Slytherins are bribingpeople to get things done, I would be sure he was involved, somehow. Yet, here Pansyis, without any of the boys in her year. Despite her cruel demeanour, she is themost sought-after girl in our year. Sure, there are plenty who are pretty,beautiful even, but there is something shocking in Pansy's sharp jawline, bluntblack bob, and high cheekbones. She's like an ice bath, which is nice in agreenhouse I suppose.

The only other fourth-year girl, Mandy Brocklehurst, is doing a shot, being egged on by Ron Weasley's older brothers. She snaked her way into getting the guy from Durmstang to invite her as well. Honestly, I think he got forced to ask us on a dare, since his friends were sniggering behind him and he seemed rather annoyed with the matter. I wouldn't have come if she weren't so keen to go. After all, the man talking to me wouldn't have his hand halfway up my shirt if I had stayed home.

He seems more interested than he had initially.

Earlier, I was supposed to be studying in the library, a few seats away from Hermione Granger, as always. We are always sent out of the library at the end of the night. The other stragglers change daily, but she and I are the only fourth years that are in there constantly. I would've continued my streak if Mandy hadn't insisted on trying to do our makeup beforehand. She doesn't really take no for an answer, Mandy. Neither can this guy, it seems.

"I'm going to get more to drink," I say, just as the guy's thumb grazes the underwire of my bra. I pull away from him. He stares after me.

Mandy slips away from the Weasley twins to join me at the table with all of the alcohol. While I fill up my cup with some firewhiskey, she rolls her eyes.

"This party is lame," she points out.

I bite my tongue. The party is fine. It's the two of us who are lame. Some of us, namely Mandy, more than others. Besides, it's not like we have much to compare the night against. There are never parties at Hogwarts that either of us has the opportunity to attend. Really, it's shocking that we are here at all, with a bunch of sixth and seventh-years. There are probably only a handful of fifth years who have even made it inside the greenhouse. The bodies are packed so tightly in here that we are practically swimming in them. We move like ripples in a pond.