The path leading up to Brancebeth Hall was nearly a third of a mile and uphill all the way; Theodore found himself shamefully out of breath and slightly disheveled when he reached the crest of the hill, where the manor sat. He thought about taking a moment to collect himself or try to tidy his hair, but glancing down at his cheap green dress robes, he decided there was little point - he would already be the shabbiest-looking person at the party.
He was greeted by two elves at the door, who checked his name against a list and ushered him into the garden. A glass of champagne was pressed into his hand, and he was alone in a sea of familiar faces who were nonetheless strangers to him.
He spotted drab Daphne Greengrass, her thin lips pressed together in an expression of perpetual distaste; Adrian Pucey, that famous idiot; sugar-sweet Lila Urquhart; George Vaisey, flirting predatorily with Tracey Davis; the monkey-mannered Marcus Flint, picking his teeth with his fingernail; not one among them whose company he had missed.
Theodore milled around for the evening speaking to a few people but mainly observing. He had never shared many common interests with most of his housemates, but now lacking a recent winter holiday in Malta or top of the line broomstick to brag about, Theodore found himself feeling even more awkward and out of place than usual.
"Nott," a voice said from behind him. "Wasn't expecting to see you here."
Theodore turned. Blaise Zabini was leaning against a trellis, sipping champagne and gazing disaffectedly into the crowd. Immaculately dressed in rich scarlet robes, Blaise as usual made Theodore feel like a human-sized pile of dirt.
"I couldn't miss the chance to celebrate this special occasion with so many old friends," Theodore said, accepting another glass of champagne from a passing elf. "Are you just arriving?"
"Straight from Johannesburg," Blaise said. "I had an engagement I couldn't break there this morning. The climate's not a pleasant adjustment, I can tell you."
Theodore had smoked too much before he came, and the lingering effects of the weed combined with the champagne and the Fine Focus elixir he had swiped from the lab at work were making his head buzz. Zabini observed him up and down and inclined his head with a questioning look.
Theodore nodded. They stole away to a more private part of the garden to smoke.
"This isn't bad, Nott," Zabini said, exhaling and coughing slightly. "Glad you're keeping up some of your standards." His gaze trailed over Theodore's unpolished shoes.
"Just the important things," Theodore said dryly. "What's new with you?"
The surest way to get Zabini off one's back was to ask him about himself. Like most people Theodore knew, Zabini relished talking about himself, but unlike most others, Zabini's life was occasionally interesting.
Blaise had traveled to more places than Theodore had ever heard of. In just the past year or so he had jumped from a waterfall in Thailand, slept under the stars out in the desert in Jordan, flown by broomstick through the limestone crags in Halong Bay, seen sharks in French Polynesia. But for all Blaise's many adventures he really only told one story: he had gone to a beautiful exotic location somewhere, but it was actually a hovel, and the women were either ugly or whores.
"Everyone goes on and on about how amazing it is, but Vietnam is simply a cesspool," Zabini said with a sigh. "It's absolute chaos, and the people will rob you blind of anything that's not pinned down. The women that approached me there - well, let's just say they make Goyle's blushing bride look like a centerfold."
"Have you met her? The future Mrs. Gregory Goyle? A lucky woman."
"I've seen her from across the garden," Blaise said. "The only distance from which one can fully appreciate her charms."
"They're a handsome couple."
"Hard to say which one is handsomer."
Theodore chuckled, holding the tip of the wand over the pipe to light it. "Heard anything from Malfoy?"
Blaise shook his head, accepting the pipe as Theodore exhaled and passed it to him. "I thought he was in Prague a while back, but I didn't look him up when I was there. I can't party like that anymore. He's in pretty deep." He exhaled. "Parkinson's here - I saw her drinking too much and glaring daggers at Lila Urquhart. She probably knows what's up with Malfoy. Did you hear Urquhart just got engaged as well? To George Vaisey?"
"Oh, dear. Someone should tell Vaisey."
It sounded like there were about to be toasts of some kind made, so Blaise and Theodore made their way back to the party. A few people glanced around when they returned - Theodore belatedly realized he had smoked far too much and began to feel anxious all over. He saw Terence Higgs glance his way as he was leaning down to whisper something to a pretty girl Theodore didn't recognize, and he could feel his heart hammering in his chest because he knew they were talking about him - everyone was talking about him -
He turned to make his way into the house when a girl in pale gossamer blue robes pushed past him roughly. Nott stood frozen for several moments, barely breathing, fully certain that everyone at the party had seen that, and that they were watching him right now, their faces full of judgment and scorn, and perhaps if he were as still as possible and didn't look up they would turn away and ignore him.
Carefully, slowly, he picked his way across the garden toward the manor. The girl in blue turned as he approached and he saw that it was Pansy Parkinson.
Oh, no. Oh shit.
Pansy was frowning at him darkly and saying, "If Tracey sent you over here to talk to me, tell her I'm fine and she needs to leave it alone. I just want a little privacy right now."
Theodore attempted to tell her, with his eyes, that that was also what he wanted, but he was unable to speak.
"What's wrong with you, Nott?"
He sat down, very still and straight, on the long wicker sectional on the patio. He could not look at her and so stared straight ahead. Pansy made him nervous under the best of circumstances, and now, when he was baked out of his mind and she was wearing sparkly silver slippers and a dress that looked like it had been carved with a very fine knife out of creampuff clouds into wispy perfection, he was purely terrified and numb in every extremity.
Pansy slumped down next to him with an immense sigh, then gave a start as her champagne glass refilled itself - for the toast, Theodore realized, as his did the same. He stared at it with growing alarm as he watched it refill, sure that it would spill over, and became so anxious that he simply poured it out.
"What are you doing!" Pansy snapped. The champagne began to refill itself again and Theodore quickly set the flute down, as far away from himself as possible.
Pansy had ignored him thunderingly the entire time they had been together at Hogwarts - during class, at meals, in the hallways, her eyes passed straight through him. In seven years together he could count on two hands the number of times she had addressed him for anything more consequential than asking him to pass the jam at breakfast. Theodore would not have had any idea how to talk to her even if she had deigned to speak to him, so he felt this had been for the best.
She had been speaking to him now for several minutes but he had not heard a word she said; the buzzing in his ears was much too loud.
"It's not that I'm not happy for Lila. I'm happy, if she's happy. You know? But she deserves better than a pig like George Vaisey. Pigs deserve better. And you know - I just think that like - we're too young to be getting married, Nott. That's what I told Draco last time he asked me. We have our whole lives ahead of us. We're only young once and this is it. Why are we rushing into settling down when we haven't even really lived?"
Through his haze, Theodore saw Pansy put down her empty champagne flute and take up the one he had discarded. There was a slight slur in her words, and she did not seem to have noticed the fact that her robes had gathered when she sat down in such a way that left most of her upper leg exposed. Her head was tilted back, resting on the top of the woven seat cushion.
"I'm happy for people who are happy," was all Theodore could manage to say, after several minutes of effort.
Pansy closed her eyes as if he had said something profound that touched her deeply. "Yes. Yes. That is so real, Nott," she said, putting her hand on his knee for emphasis. "That's like the thing that is real. People just don't even feel things for other people. They're just wrapped up in themselves. In their lives. Like I tell people that I'm happy. I'm great. And they're like, whatever. They don't want to feel happy for me. I'm independent, I'm figuring things out, and that's okay! So just - be okay with me. You know?"
Nott stared at her. He had a hazy sense that he could relate to what she was talking about, so he nodded. Her hand was still on his knee.
"You seem like you've got it so figured out," Pansy sighed, rolling her head over to look at him. "Free and unattached. Doing whatever you like."
Theodore's heart was pounding alarmingly and he was very afraid, of Pansy, of the crisp spring air around him, the enchanted fairy lights lining the patio; but mostly of doing something incredibly regrettable like kissing her.
She was so surprised she did not respond, but she did not push him away. He pulled back and stared at her, barely daring to breathe. He had one arm resting along the top of one of the cushions; he let his hand fall from the nape of her neck. She was staring, her eyes very wide and unblinking, at his chest, where he could feel his heart pounding madly in every cell of his body.
"I didn't know how free you felt," she said, at last.
"I apologize," he said, unable to meet her eyes as she looked up at him. "Too much - erm, champagne."
But Pansy was leaning in toward him, pulling him toward her, and his lips were on hers again tasting champagne and peach lipgloss. Someone at the party was concluding a toast, and there was a great cheer and enthusiastic clapping.