Too Much?

17

The Slytherin common room for the next hours after their victory against Ravenclaw is filled with party decors; the tapestries can hardly be seen against the colorful garlands that comes in different shapes and twisted in varied sizes of curls. The huge banner hung above the fireplace, covering the portrait of Salazar Slytherin. Loud and lively music can be heard from the instruments being played by the students, variety of ordered and smuggled foods occupy the table; from the Weasley food products to sweets from Honeydukes. Norman Enriquez tiptoed to snake an arm around Robinson Vailey's tall shoulders.

"Come on, compadre, don't wear that smug look! We will just eat and use these products just for this night!" he said, his hand holding a glass of pumpkin juice and is swaying it wildly as he converse which causes some if it to spill on the floor. Robin does not looked pleased, but still managed to make a small smile. "I'm not confiscating them, Norman. Enjoy eating."

"You're the best, compadre!" Norman punched him playfully on the arm although it resulted into very little effect. "You should also know, we'd ordered all these since the last game because we really thought we'd win! It might expire in a few days, and we prefects can't eat everything we confiscate, so when would be the perfect time to consume them if not today?"

Robin gave a chuckle and looked at him skeptically. "You ordered all of them?"

Norman gave him a knowing look and smiled sheepishly. "Most of them," he said, before raising his glass. "¡Salud, compadre!"

Ulysses sit with the Quidditch players in the center reminiscing their triumphant scores and moves in the match. "My ears are safe again from Snape's slanders," he would say over and over again. "At least we're not a disappointment today. I can say we were just taking easy on the Gryffindors last match by losing our potential players—though by accident."

"We should try to be hard on them, then," replied Blaise before gobbling a huge Cauldron Cake. Ulysses gave a chuckle. "We don't have to try, Blaise. Everything we do is already cruel to them."

Draco sits with them although in the far end of the couch, with Crabbe and Goyle next to him. Instead of joining the Quidditch discussion, he seems to have his own conversation with the two; who appears to pay very little attention and are too busy pigging with foods. For some reason his ears are vivid pink, and it is hard to tell if it is because of the cold or because of something else.

Pansy sits in a corner with Daphne and other 6th year girls, giggling about how stupid the boys sound when they talk about the match and sometimes counting the number of times that they'd be saying the same thing over and over sgain. "That's third for Julius saying ‘I killed that 20th score,’ and fourth for Blaise to say, ‘Boot is an idiot,’" said a girl named Emily with a smile. "They're spending too much time investing in their self-esteem."

"That's alright," replied a 7th year named Ava. "They were drained the last match and they need a refill for the next."

"It's against Hufflepuff, isn't it?" asked Daphne. "Do you reckon we'd win against them?"

Ava shrugged her shoulders. "I don't know. I don't brood about Quidditch all day."

Emily leaned forward to look at Pansy at the far end of the seat and appears to be lost in thought. "Pansy counts the times Draco says ‘My father will hear about this.’ What is your latest count again, Pansy?"

Pansy was pulled off from her deep thoughts at the mention of her name. "What? Er...if I'm not wrong—of course I'm not—it's seven since our first year."

The girls shared high-pitched giggles, but was cut short when Blaise joined their table with a smug look in his face. It was Pansy who greeted him, "What's up, Blaise? Finally grew tired of blabbering about ‘How did Ulysses and the Glorious Team Brought Home the Bacon and Slew the Claws?’"