EXILE | TOM RIDDLE

07. Christmas Kids

Dearest Rebekah,

It would be a great honor if you were to join me and some other select students at my annual Slug Club Christmas Party, located in my office on the 20th of December. You are more than welcome to bring a date. I look forward to seeing you there,

- Professor H. Slughorn

"What's that?" Abigail asks, craning her neck over my shoulder to get a good look at the letter I hold in my hands. "Why is Slughorn inviting you to his Christmas party? You're new, and it's so rare to get an invite from him."

"The more important question is why didn't he invite me to his Christmas party?" Alphard complains, frowning as he folds his arms over his chest. "I thought Sluggy and I were pals."

"Maybe it's because you refer to him as Sluggy," Abigail nudges him with her elbow, and he rolls his eyes.

"It is not a very charming nickname, I will say," I add with a laugh. "Alphard, it says I can bring a guest. Would you care to join me?"

"Alphard can, but not me?" Abigail shoots me a glare through her deep brown eyes, which I interpret as playful.

"It says date," I sigh. "I cannot take you as a date, however beautiful you may be."

"You're too kind," she grins at me, as Alphard shifts in his seat. "Fine, whatever, I can probably convince someone else to bring me."

"She has half the school falling over their feet for her," Alphard explains to me. "Everyone's obsessed with her, and who can blame them, really? I mean, she's gorgeous."

"Why thank you," she winks at him, and he rolls his eyes.

"Don't let it get to your head, Butler."

She shrugs. "It already has."

"So..." I begin, scratching the back of my neck, "What exactly does one do at a Slug Club party? Must I dress up?"

"Yeah, I'd assume so," Abigail tucks a strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you have any nice dresses? Besides that one you wore when I first met you — though I wouldn't really call it nice. It was more...medieval peasant-ish. But anyways, if you don't have anything, you can borrow something of mine! I have a ton of dresses."

"Would they fit, though? You're much taller than Rebekah," Alphard points out. "She's so little."

"Does it matter? We have magic. I know plenty of spells to adjust skirt lengths."

"Fair enough."

Abigail rises to her feet, reaching over and grabbing my hand, pulling me up off the bench as well. "C'mon, Beck. We ought to go find the perfect dress for next week. You have to look stunning. All the rich boys are at these clubs. Maybe we can get you a boyfriend."

"A boyfriend?" I blink. While I have never heard the term before, I can assume what it means. The state of a relationship during a courtship, before you are wed. I have never thought of a romantic relationship before, outside of daydreaming about William.

"Do you not want one?" She asks as she tugs me away, leading me out of the Great Hall and up towards our dorms.

"I do not know."

"Well, you should. I've only ever had one boyfriend — Abrarax Malfoy, you might know him, but turns out, he was a total arsehole," she waves a dismissive hand, evidently not sensing the way my spine stiffens at her harsh language. "You know, blood supremacist bastard. All that bullshit Slytherin stuff. I swear, Alphard is the only half decent one in that batch — no wonder he only hangs out with the Ravenclaws."