Disclaimer: I do not own rights to Harry Potter. All characters and related material belong to J.K. Rowling. This is for entertainment purposes only, no money is being made.
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Firewhiskey
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spectrosilver
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The strong taste of firewhiskey burned her throat. Her blackberry tinted lips pressed into a thin expression that almost looked like a grin. Almost. Her black hair fell lifelessly down her back, her silver-grey eyes expressionless in the firelight. Her small hands reached out for the half-empty bottle. The boy smirked, moving the bottle just out of her reach.
"Don't you think you've had enough, Parkinson?" The boy asked, his eyes scanning the label of the bottle.
"Give it here!" The girl whined, extending her grasp to the boy's, trying to pry his pale fingers off of the bottle. "Malfoy, give it here." The boy's fingers relaxed, letting the bottle fall into the girl's grasp. The whiskey felt cold against her lips. After swigging a small mouthful, she bent over and let some of the firewhiskey fall into the flames that lit the dark dungeon. Bright ember shot up, illuminating the room at least twice as bright as it had been. Enough heat escaped the blaze to make the girl remove her scarf and cloak. They fell to the floor next to a pile of emerald and silver Quidditch attire. She put her feet onto the old, green, velvet couch which looked partially moth-eaten. The boy looked into the flames, watching the red and orange twirl around in the air. The two Slytherins sat silent, alone in the damp room.
"Do you think the Gr-Gryffindors celebrate their loses?" Pansy asked, her long nails combing through her hair and a hint of drunkenness in her voice.
"What an idiotic question, Parkinson. How would I know what the Gryffindors do?" The boy paused, rubbing his eyes. His body still ached from the vigorous strain of the Quidditch game, in which wonder-boy Potter had, once again, proved superior and caught the snitch. And as much as he didn't want to care, he did. He grabbed the bottle forcefully from her hands and took a long drink. The whiskey slid down his throat like poison, causing him to cough lightly. He set the bottle on the floor. "Though I would imagine that there is a good-sized party in the Gryffindor common room at the moment."
"Yes, I would suppose so." Pansy said, her eyes resting on the ever-swirling flames, which were dancing in her eyes as if they were alive. A draft ran through the room, causing a chill to run up her spine. Seeing that she was shivering, the boy leaned down and picked up her cloak, handing it to her along with the bottle of whiskey, from which she took another long sip.
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