Inferno | Draco Malfoy

077 | Flames of Passion

It's Slughorn's Christmas party tonight and finally, the mob of students who wanted to be my date have left me alone, for they realised that I already have a date. Terry and I both agreed to share the information today in order to prevent further unnecessary havoc, though most of the students snarled upon hearing I had chosen Terry.

Including Draco Malfoy, who is still as sour as a rotten green apple because no matter how hard he tried to convince me to take him as my date, he couldn't and I didn't.

He can sulk as much as he wants about it. After all, I said to him straight up, "Being my date is a reward, earn it. Next time, think before you act. Perhaps then you'll know not to flirt with other girls, even to distract yourself."

My word, his face was priceless. It had never, and I mean never, felt that good to puncture his ego. In a world where girls toss themselves at him left and right, he's focused on me — someone who will put him in his place.

Malfoy wasn't mad when I was upfront, just from his face I could tell that his guilt was eating him. I didn't want to be insensitive, and I hope I wasn't. I understand his perspective, how he wanted a distraction after he cursed and sent a student to hospital. But, that does not give him the right to use flirting with another girl as the easy way out.

His sourness towards Terry is another story itself. Blaise told me a funny story, that Terry had better marks than Malfoy in their first exam at Hogwarts. So Malfoy being his usual self, made sure that for their final exam, he had the top marks. Bloody hell, he sure knows how to hold a grudge.

If I brought up certain stuff from the past, like that one time in third-year when I dumped a pile of soil on his hair in Herbology, he'd probably glower at me and be sour for the rest of the day.

As I leave the dungeons, I make my way up to the sixth floor where my friend-date will be waiting for me so that we can enter Slughorn's office together.

Knowing all too well that photographers and journalists will be there (from what Slughorn has stated as they are his esteemed companions), I dress appropriately. Because it's a casual event, my dark green dress reaches below my knee, allowing for utmost comfort and ease of movement. The sweetheart neckline of the dress exudes an air of simple elegance without being overly revealing, yet it offers a glimpse of my bust that cannot be hidden. My hair is styled into soft curls, flowing down my back, and to complement the allure of my dress and heels, I painted my lips a little red.

Terry and I greet, and he thanks me for inviting him to such an event to which I ask him if he's never been to a party. Indeed he has as he mentions the Ravenclaw end-of-year parties (which every House throws). Rumour has it though that Slytherin hosts the most unforgettable parties, possibly due to the fantastic memories made there, or possibly due to the fact that it's the House that hosts the most parties, or most likely due to the fact the older Slytherins have some of the most insane drugs that will make you forget your own damn name.

Entering Slughorn's office with glee, there seemed to be more people than I had intended to see. Daphne and Blaise had left much earlier than me and right now they appear to be enjoying themselves in a conversation with a group of people. Blaise smiles at me, but doesn't at Terry, (talk about being reclusive).

The opulent room is nicely decorated, with walls that are draped in gold and green hangings, and there are even fairies who each individually light lamps that dangle from the ceiling.

Loud chatter, laughter and music from a gramophone made it impossible to hear a single conversation. Just as me and Terry get past the door, an intrusive photographer abruptly shoves his magical camera in my face. The blinding flash assaults my eyes as it momentarily lights up the fairly dim room; as the shattering sound dissipates into thin air, a cloud of smoke emerges from the camera, indicating that a photo has been taken.