Chapter Eighteen
Boating
AN: For those of you that do not enjoy the drinking chapters, I promise this is the last time I'll hand anybody a butterbeer for months.
0o0
If Astoria was being ridiculous, she no longer cared. Yesterday, her sister's scorn had made her feel very sad. But today, she was determined to turn that ugly emotion into something proactive. Astoria ducked into the clearing full-charge, prepared to unleash fire.
There were more people under the trees than she had expected, however; a full on gathering seemed to be taking place behind the wall of foliage. Astoria's eyes made a quick circuit of the immediate faces, searching for Pansy and Daphne. They were both present, loitering about behind Flora, who was still giggling aimlessly.
"Davis and Greengrass!" exclaimed Flint, eyeing the newcomers with interest. "Nott—I never thought I'd see the day!" He turned toward Astoria. "Are you running a gang of defected Slytherins now?"
"Why, would you join?" returned Astoria confidently, determined not to be put off by such an unpleasant crowd.
Blaise Zabini laughed, intrigued by Astoria and Marcus's level of familiarity. Behind him, Draco Malfoy was leaning against a tree, eyeing her silently from between Crabbe and Goyle's sizable shadows. He didn't look half as irritated as Pansy, but something about his expression seemed to suggest that Astoria and Tracey had caught him unprepared—that he had been more at ease before their arrival.
This look was heartening.
Good, Astoria thought. That is what I want Pansy to look like.
"Ooh, Astoria!" cooed Pansy falsely. "Did the Dementors make you faint at the match?"
Flora cackled, but Tracey was too busy watching Astoria to join in. She knows you're gunning for Pansy, Astoria realized, shying away from Tracy's gaze. She's waiting for you to pounce.
"Butterbeer, Greengrass?" called Flint.
"She's fine," scowled Theodore, answering for them both. Daphne's eyes flicked up tensely.
Provoked by her sister's nervousness, Astoria promptly contradicted him. "Yeah, sure, why not?"
Flint passed her a bottle, smirking dangerously.
"If you're anything like the rest of them," he motioned, indicating toward Flora, "we'll end up having to carry you back to the castle."
"Let's just see how the night goes, shall we?" snorted Astoria, opening the bottle herself.
Theodore put his face in his hands; she could see his eyes through the cracks in his fingers, gazing heavenward imploringly.
"Pity about Potter," drawled Malfoy, recovering enough to employ his usual haughtiness. "His first defeat and he won't even remember it. He spent the whole thing unconscious in mud."
Astoria blew into the top of her butterbeer and turned toward Draco.
This was the sort of comment that usually made her angry, but she had such a one track mind at the moment that she didn't even bother scowling. Insulting Malfoy would not get her anywhere, her intuition reminded her. If she really wanted to annoy Pansy, she would make far more headway by being nice to him.
"That's mostly down to you, isn't it?" returned Astoria. "What with all of your lingering injuries. Oh, look at that—"
Astoria had been so focused on Pansy that she hadn't even noticed Draco's arm. It was no longer bound up in a sling; he was properly clutching a butterbeer with his dominant hand again. Liberated at last.
"Yeah," drawled Draco, following her gaze. She had never seen him look so smarmy. "I figured it was finally time for the cast to come off. Call it a celebration."
Warrington—another Slytherin teammate—chucked appreciatively.
Astoria swallowed the last of her drink, hoping to take the bitter edge out of her mouth before it turned into bitter words.
"Well," she admitted freely, "your plan certainly worked better than I thought it would."
"What's this?" asked Flint, eager to join in the gossip.
"I'm just congratulating Draco," said Astoria tightly. "He finally beat Harry at quidditch. I mean, he didn't do it in the air, but Harry lost just the same, didn't he?"
Draco's smirk flickered a little at this guarded insult, but it did have the desired effect of drawing in Pansy.
"Why are you all over here?" Pansy pouted. "I was sitting!"
"How many points is Gryffindor down now?" wondered Flint. "You know, I never even checked!"
"A hundred," answered Astoria smoothly, endeavoring to sound un-bothered. "Just enough to nearly put them out of the league for the whole year."
Flint smiled toothily; the impression was shark-like.
"Let's play truth or dare!" squealed Flora, grabbing Pansy by the shoulders. "Enough about quidditch! I want to do something fun!"
"Ooh!" Pansy agreed.
"You lot have at it," scoffed Miles Bletchley. "That's a girls game."
"I'll play," leered Blaise, provoking Pansy and Flora to fall into a fit of giggles.
"I don't want to," ventured Daphne quickly, turning red.
"Of course you do!" insisted Pansy, tugging hard on Daphne's hand, forcing her to sit in the grass. "You love truth or dare."
"No, she doesn't," Astoria interjected angrily. "Daphne hates truth or dare."
Daphne met Astoria's eye for the first time in weeks; for a moment, Astoria experienced a rush of hope. But then, just as quickly, Daphne looked down again, obviously more willing to be bullied than side her with her in front of Pansy.
"Come on, plaaaay!" whined Flora.
"Fine," Daphne muttered, "but I'm not doing any dares..."
"What about the rest of you?" called Pansy. "Blaise says he'll play. Draco? Marcus? Warrington?"
Marcus made a face and snickered. Draco looked hesitant—it was plain that he did not want the prospect of a slumber party game to make appear nervous, but public embarrassment was something he wished to avoid. Crabbe and Goyle simply blinked thuggishly.
"What about you, Astoria?" called Tracey in a strong, clear voice. Astoria held Tracey's gaze for a moment. A lively mischief animated her face; she was offering support, there was no way around it...
"Oh, right," agreed Pansy halfheartedly, remembering Astoria at last. "Astoria. Sure."
"Alright, I'll play," Astoria agreed. She sat down next to Tracey, wedging her Butterbeer bottle into some moss. She was in no position to turn down help...
Pansy's eyes narrowed across the circle. Astoria stared right back at her, smiling determinedly.
"Boys?" called Tracey, all sing-song.
"Eh," laughed Marcus. "Screw it, I'm in."
His sway broke the tide. Everybody but Miles Bletchley came to join the circle—even Theodore. Theo sunk to the ground in defeat, all protruding limbs scowling brow. Flint had forced a butterbeer into his hand and something about the way he kept looking at Astoria when he sipped from it seemed calculated to insinuate that he was drinking to dull his pain.
"Who goes first?" asked Marcus.
"How about Astoria?" suggested Pansy, doing a poor job of disguising her contempt.
"How about Flora?" countered Astoria flatly. "It was her idea."
"Noo!" cried Flora, but her unwillingness was clearly an act. She was delighted to be chosen first.
"Alright," began Tracey bossily, taking control of the game. "I'll ask the first question and from there on, the person who was asked last gets to go next."
Nobody else seemed well-versed enough in truth or dare to argue.
"I want a truth!" declared Flora.
"Okay..." Tracey murmured slowly, thinking. "Have you ever had a sex dream about someone at school? If you have, who was it?"
Flora's face stiffened.
Clearly Tracey was more upset about Pansy's headbands than Astoria had assumed—that or Tracey was privately playing game of her own.
"I don't have sex dreams," decided Flora primly, causing Marcus Flint to laugh and throw up his hands in skeptical delight.
"Lies!" drawled Warrington, who seemed to agree with Marcus on this. "Filthy lies."
"I am not lying!" clipped Flora, nose in the air. "Tracey asked a question. I've answered it. No."
Malfoy was leaning back on both of his hands. He was laughing, but Astoria could tell by his look of forced confidence that this question was more reveling than he had expected. When the time came, he would be seeking a dare.
"Do I get to go now?" demanded Flora hotly.
"Yes," allowed Tracey. "The ball is in your court, but—you know what happens to people who lie during truth or dare..."
"Merlin," leered Marcus happily, "this game turns ladies into savages!"
"Right up your alley, Flint?" wondered Astoria, trying not to smirk.
"I choose Tracey," sniped Flora vengefully. "Have you ever had a sex dre—"
"She gets to choose whether she wants a truth or a dare first!" Astoria corrected loudly.
Flora glared at her. "Fine. Truth or dare, Tracey?"
"Dare," Tracey chose at once, grinning at Astoria.
"I dare you..." Flora began, swaying slightly, eyes roving cruelly between Blaise and Tracey, "to kiss the person you think is the most attractive in this circle!"
There was a smattering of appreciative laughter, but Astoria knew what Flora was about and her motive was not kind.
Tracey had more than once betrayed a slight interest in Blaise—she had even told Astoria as much last Christmas. Flora, who Tracey spent so much of her time with, must surely know this. Which meant that Tracey would either be forced to kiss Blaise and give away her crush or be called out as a liar.
Tracey leaned back on her knees and leveled a long hard look at Flora. Marcus was right: the game did turn woman into savages.
"The most attractive person in this circle..." Tracey muttered to herself slowly. A look of vague amusement flickered behind her eyes.
Astoria took a sip her butterbeer and then nearly choked. Out of nowhere, Tracey's mouth were suddenly on hers; her vision obscured by the soft trim of Tracey's bob.
Instinct commanded Astoria to pull her head back. Tracey's face swam into focus. Behind it, Astoria heard Floral gasp in shock.
"Let me," mouthed Tracey, glowing with the promise of something genius.
Astoria let out a low, incredulous laugh. When Tracey came back at her, she opened her mouth properly: a mistake as it turned out, because Tracey meant business. Thrown off guard by so much enthusiasm, Astoria very nearly toppled into Marcus.
"What!?" drawled Blaise Zabini, lost in a haze of ecstasy.
"That doesn't count!" complained Flora petulantly. "I said the person you're most attracted to! You aren't gay!"
"No," countered Tracey, and there was hellfire in her smirk, "you didn't say that. You told me to kiss the most attractive person in the circle. Which Astoria is—the most attractive boy or girl here."
Pansy soured and Astoria began to catch Tracey's drift. It was a bit further than Astoria would have been prepared to take things on her own, but it seemed to have done its job: everybody was staring at Astoria, Tracey's not-so-secret crush on Blaise remained concealed, and Pansy looked as though she had just swallowed ashes.
"Do I get to pick a person now?" asked Tracey innocently.
Miles Bletchley was blinking like a fish out of water. Draco Malfoy looked as though he had been slapped.
"Go ahead," scoffed Flint, laughing dully. "There's no topping the last show."
Pansy let out a tightly-wound click of annoyance.
"I pick Marcus!" Tracey decided.
"Dare," returned Flint, challenging her to dream up another make out session with his leer.
Astoria finished her bottle of butterbeer, secretly beginning to fear her own turn. There could be no denying the fearless madness of Tracey Davis: the girl who had not received a matching headband.
"Daphne!" snapped Pansy loudly, causing Flora and Theodore to jump on either side of her. "My hair's falling down! Come braid it for me."
Perhaps it was only paranoia, but Astoria thought Pansy's eyes flashed cruelly in her direction. Was she avenging the scene Astoria had made by making her watch Daphne do her bidding?
Astoria looked away, unwilling to watch Daphne touch Pansy's hair. Warrington offered her another butterbeer and she accepted it gratefully, compelled by a heady mixture of misery and anger. Draco eyed this exchange covertly—what was his problem?
"I dare you to lick Warrington's face," decided Tracey, jabbing her thumb at Marcus. Blaise laughed approvingly and her look of satisfaction deepened.
"I'm not going to lick my beater's face," scoffed Marcus.
"Then you're out of the game," returned Tracey, eyes shining feverishly.
"Fine!" Marcus gave in. "Get over here, Warrington."
It was not hard to see why Flint had risen to such an early quidditch captaincy: what he lacked in tact, he more than made up for in competitive spirit.
"Huh?" grunted Warrington, springing to his feet evasively.
"I said, get over here," repeated Marcus lazily. "Davis says I have to lick you."
"Are you kidding?" sneered Warrington dubiously.
"Whose team do you play on?" jeered Marcus, displaying such deliberate nonchalance that Astoria was not the only one laughing.
"Just do it that so the rest of us can keep playing!" snapped Pansy, reaching around to the check on the braid Daphne was creating. "That's so low! Pull it up higher!"
Astoria took a deep breath and tried to focus on Marcus, but her vision was flickering with rage.
"Are you really going to make me chase you like a blushing maid?" leered Flint.
Warrington dithered, straddling the line between team loyalty and self respect. "I thought we were men together, Flint," he sniffed.
Across the circle, Pansy slapped Daphne's hands away and began to undo the braid herself.
Marcus heaved himself up, preparing to give chase. The only thing Astoria could see was the stricken expression on Daphne's face.
"You're letting all the hairs come loose!" Pansy hissed, dragging Daphne's hand toward the base of her head.
Astoria was on her own feet before she even knew what she was doing. Perhaps it was the butterbeer—or perhaps it was Daphne's nervous shock—but her own fury was officially overflowing.
"I want lunch!" Flora wailed sloppily.
Astoria paused, reigning herself in at the last second. Blood was roaring in her ears, but the switch in group dynamic was enough to bring her back into check.
"Alright," agreed Pansy, standing up and brushing off her skirt. "I think that's a good idea—you're getting splotchy and I wanted a word alone anyway..."
She stared baldly at Astoria.
"We'll be back!" Pansy announced, to nobody in particular. "Do any of you want anything?"
Her eyes twitched toward Draco, but Malfoy was watching Flint chase Warrington up a crumbling rock wall.
"Draco?" Pansy persisted loudly. "Blaise?"
"Huh?" shot Malfoy distractedly.
"We're getting lunch," repeated Pansy, sounding a little annoyed. "Do you want to come?"
Draco shrugged. Warrington was kicking moss at Marcus now, so Blaise flagged her on.
"Fine," sniffed Pansy, "hurry up, Daphne! Hopefully this stupid game will be over by the time we get back!"
Astoria watched them go, feeling less satisfied and even more powerless than she had before. Miles Bletchley—who had no interest in the game—got up to pursue the retreating girls toward the great hall. After a long pause, so did Crabbe and Goyle.
Marcus finally managed to grab Warrington from behind; in one languid motion, he licked the side of his face and released him onto the wet grass.
"Ugh!" drawled Malfoy, eyes dancing with poorly disguised amusement.
Theodore turned toward Astoria. He obviously hoped Pansy's exit meant they would be going soon as well.
Astoria turned away from him, unable to focus. His honest expression was wearing a hole in her conscience. A new idea—a terrible one that she would never have formed sober—was beginning to take hold of her thoughts; if she wasn't careful, Theodore's horror would ruin it for her.
A hostage for a hostage, Astoria rationalized shakily, it was only fair. If she acted now, she might reasonably have the situation in hand by the time Pansy returned...
"Well," declared Theodore, standing up, "I'm going for lunch as well. You coming, Astoria?"
"No," answered Astoria, trying not to sound evasive.
"Why not?" hissed Theodore suspiciously.
"I've already had lunch," Astoria prompted him. "Remember?"
"I'm still going," he threatened stubbornly. "If you want to stay and celebrate Potter's broken broomstick, that's up to you."
"What's your problem, Nott?" sneered Malfoy distractedly. He pulled his eyes away from Warrington.
"I want to go eat," grumbled Theodore, watching Astoria's face closely. "I'm waiting."
"For what?" jeered Draco.
"Astoria, I mean it," hissed Theodore. "I'm going."
Plainly he did not believe she would enjoy herself if he left her alone with such poor company. On any normal day, he would have been right. But today, Theodore's absence suited Astoria right down to the ground. Indeed, she would be able to execute her plan much more comfortably if she didn't have any reason to fear Theodore's judgement.
"I ate less than two hours ago!" huffed Astoria, becoming annoyed. "I'm not so sure what everyone's obsession with lunch is."
"Do you need help finding the great hall, Nott?" scoffed Draco scathingly.
Astoria pressed her fingers against the top of her empty butterbeer. She tried to smile reassuringly, but she could feel her eyes flashing.
For a long moment, Theodore stared at her. He took two sharp breaths, trying to decide if his vague, ghastly suspicion could possibly be true.
Astoria's smile flattened into a fat smirk. Theo pulled in a third breath of disgust before throwing up his hands. "You know what—no. No, I don't even care!"
He turned and began to march up the hill, muttering irritably under his breath.
"I don't know what you see in him," sneered Malfoy, betraying a bizarre mixture of laziness and hostility "He's a crackpot."
"I don't know," Astoria countered mildly. "I tend to find him both lovely and wise."
"Theodore?" demanded Blaise skeptically, moving to snag the spot that Marcus had vacated. He settled down between Astoria and Draco. "Wise, maybe. Lovely, no."
Astoria eyed Blaise's legs, now separating her from her target, Draco. She could think of no better way to annoy Pansy than by honing in on Malfoy. Quietly, Astoria began to brainstorm ways of covertly removing Blaise..
At last, unable to think of anything else, she stood up and moved toward the rock wall. Marcus and Warrington were still locked in a wrestling match near the other end, so Astoria tested the nearest stones climbed up onto the wall.
"There's more than one kind of loveliness, Blaise," called Astoria sagely. "You're always going out of your way to sound poetic, you should know that."
Draco snorted derisively at this description.
"You think I'm poetic, Greengrass?" Zabini jeered.
"I think that you want me to think you are," Astoria taunted.
Tracey got up and helped herself to a butterbeer.
"Grab one of those for the rest of us, would you?" Blaise called after her. "Flint is legal now. He doesn't have to steal them from the kitchens anymore, so there's no reason to stockpile."
"I was wondering about that," admitted Tracey. She handed Malfoy and Blaise both a bottle and tossed a third to Astoria.
Astoria leaned forward to snag the flying beverage our of the air. She caught a glimpse of Hagrid's hut through a gap in the trees. They were still so close to the teachers...
"What are you looking at?" demanded Malfoy. Unable to contain his nosiness, he stood up and moved toward the rock wall. Astoria grinned without turning around, privately elated.
"Hagrid's hut, but don't worry," she warned, "I don't see any rogue Hippogriffs."
"Funny," Draco sneered.
Astoria laughed warmly. Uncertain of himself, Draco's sneer hitched.
Be more direct, prompted the treacherous little voice in Astoria's ear. Making fun of him won't work.
"What do we do now?" wondered Astoria. She handed Malfoy her butterbeer, which he took out of confusion, and used his shoulders to help herself down off the wall. "The game's broken up."
She let her fingers linger near Draco's tie for a second longer than she normally would have before pulling them away again—slowly, but not quite slowly enough to be considered embarrassing if her plan failed.
"Some game!" complained Tracey sarcastically. "One lick, one kiss and not a single sex dream."
Blaise laughed and Astoria experienced a predatory rush when Draco handed her butterbeer back a fraction slower then he should have done. It was a powerful thing to know that something as subtle as a finger brush had not been lost on him—perhaps this wouldn't be as difficult as she'd feared?
"We could go to the lake?" suggested Tracey, eyeing the rapidly brightening sky.
"No," said Astoria firmly. "It's too windy there."
She wanted to flirt with Malfoy just enough to bother Pansy; it did not serve her purpose at all to drag him off somewhere that the slytherin girls wouldn't be able to find.
"You're wearing a coat," scoffed Blaise.
"A raincoat," Astoria corrected, "and I've already faced Dementors today. You don't want me to—how did you put it on the train? Have a swooning fit—near water?"
Tracey laughed boisterously and grinned at her over Blaise's shoulder.
"Who's going to the lake?" panted Marcus, dragging Warrington back into the now-broken circle.
The battle was lost before it even began; everyone wanted to move toward the water. Astoria reassured herself by imagining that Pansy—who had a nose like a bloodhound—would probably still manage to hunt them down wherever they went.
Making up their minds to finish the open bottles of butterbeer before they moved, they all crouched against the rock wall to avoid being spotted. By the time Tracey reached the bottom of her drink, she was beginning to look slightly effected— a worrisome observation, as Astoria figured that Tracey had drunk the least. What did that say about the rest of them?
The question of her own sobriety was soon answered. Leaning backward to laugh dizzily, Astoria brushed against Malfoy by accident. Seizing the opportunity, she continued to linger against him until she needed to dispose of her bottle. Either he did not notice or he did not mind, because Draco waited until Astoria moved away to straighten up.
"I love butterbeer," declared Tracey in a nasal, mournful voice, emptying the last of her foam onto the grass.
"Yeah," agreed Marcus, sounding untroubled, "but Warrington's got fire-whiskey."
0o0
Some part of Astoria knew that fire-whiskey was a terrible idea—that it would only break down the last wall between how she normally behaved and outright insanity. For a long moment, she toyed with the idea of simply going back up to the castle. Fred and George were probably in the common room: they had made money off the match, but they had still lost the game. Surely the twins were miserable with defeat? Perhaps they could use some good news?
Several minutes later, however, Astoria had allowed herself to be steered halfway across the damp grounds without a single protest. When Tracey handed her the bottle of Warrington's fire-whiskey, she took a very small, controlled sip from it.
The beach was wet; rough pebbles lined the banks, moist and silty from rainfall. The air was slightly misty, but the sun was shining through in patches, provoking a haze of indian summer heat. There was no wind of any sort. Tracey and Astoria both pulled off their rain coats when Marcus stopped walking.
"Ok," Marcus chuckled, squinting at the water, "here's the game."
Tracey giggled for no reason at all. Astoria smiled at her absently.
"See that log floating in the water?"
They all did. Thirty feet away, the trunk of an old oak tree was bobbing between waves, looking very much like the bow of a sinking ship.
"Sure," prompted Blaise.
Flint bent down and picked up the roundest rock he could find. Taking aim, he threw it in the direction of the log. It struck with a burst of tree-bark—not with a plop!—but with a solidly dense thunk.
"First person to hit it five times wins," explained Marcus.
Warrington whooped appreciatively, but the floating stump proved strangely evasive. Partially obscured by water and very far away, it took a great deal of force to strike it. Only Flint and Draco managed to confidently toss rocks and expect a satisfying thunk in return; the rest of their throws were mostly swallowed up by the greedy gulp of lake water.
Astoria's aim was good, but she lacked the arm strength to properly compete. When one of her rocks slipped wetly out of her hand and soared upward instead of forward, she gave up laughing.
"I thought you'd be good at this, Astoria," drawled Blaise, wiping sweat off his brow. "You shot that snitch right out of the air with a bow and arrow."
"The loser takes a shot of fire-whiskey!" called Marcus triumphantly, hitting the stump for a fourth time.
Neither Tracey nor Astoria had managed to hit the floating log at all. Realizing that she was tied in last place, Astoria hastily scooped up another rock.
"You can't throw?" drawled Malfoy, plainly amused. He paused with a stone still in his hands to watch Astoria's wild toss slip beneath the gently rippling water.
"You're doing it wrong. You need to flick harder," corrected Draco bossily, looking down his nose at her grip. "Pull the stone back and flick it at the last second."
"Show me," suggested Astoria, taking a step closer to him.
It was a trick as old as the 'yawn and reach', but to Astoria's surprise, Malfoy immediately stepped behind her and corrected her arm.
"Loosen your fingers," he commanded, pulling her elbow back. He hesitated and then, perhaps because Astoria was acting in an unusually docile way, he gently angled her wrist. "Right there. Aim and snap."
Astoria squinted into the haze of sun. She reached behind her softly until she found Draco's other arm. Quietly, she tugged it up in front of her face for shade.
Everyone else was facing the lake. With any luck, her maneuvering would go unseen.
"Like this?" she asked, leaning comfortably against where Draco's arm joined his shoulder. She demonstrated the same motion Malfoy had made.
Draco exhaled, stirring the hair near her face. A tiny, tantalizing lick of fear flared in Astoria's stomach.
"Yeah," he said in a low voice.
Without giving Malfoy a chance to make any snarky comments about how close she was standing to him, Astoria aimed and snapped. Her rock hit the stump with a dull thwack just seconds before Marcus landed his fifth. The game was over.
"Hah!" Astoria gasped, genuinely shocked. Draco's correction had worked brilliantly and she was privately elated. Beaming, she jumped away from Draco before Tracey and Blaise turned to look at her.
"That was cheating," Tracey complained half-heartedly. "Draco helped you—"
"She still threw the rock," shrugged Blaise.
Tracey was the loser and everyone knew it; she took her slug of fire-whiskey without complaint. The rest of them followed suit, robbing the moment of any punishment.
"I wonder if they've managed to rouse Potter yet?" wondered Warrington, stretching out of the damp sand.
"Did I tell you that I saw Professor Flitwick picking up the pieces of his broom?" laughed Flint. "What a mess! Waste of a good broom, that. It hit the Whomping Willow."
"Think he'll faint again when they show it to him?" mused Draco unpleasantly.
Eager to ignore this, Astoria hailed Tracey. The sun was sweltering; she wanted to keep moving.
"Come on, let go to the dock," Astoria suggested, nudging Tracey in the direction of the boat house's shadow.
They picked their way across the pebbles together, laughing tipsily.
"Where are you two going?" called Marcus, unwilling to break up the group.
"Astoria wants to be alone with me!" called Tracey drunkenly, throwing her arms around Astoria's neck to keep from slipping. "I think she liked our kiss!"
"Well, I'm going with them," announced Marcus, handing the bottle of fire-whiskey to Blaise.
The side of the boathouse was bordered by several large boulders. These bathtub sized rocks needed to be climbed in order to reach the dock from the sand. The boys caught up with them before Astoria and Tracey could scale the first pile.
Climbing was perilous work. The lake was swollen from rain and the rocks were very slippery; they shimmered like oil in the blazing afternoon sunlight. Below, green lake water lapped softly, disguising a perilous mouth of submerged granite shards.
Finally, after a lot of sliding about, they reached the crest of the stone embankment. A gap of about four feet still separated them from the dock, necessitating one last—and very perilous—jump to safety.
Marcus and Warrington both plunged forward without thinking. They sailed over the gorge with ease, but Blaise landed swearing. Marcus reached out to stop him from tipping backwards.
Astoria glanced down at the water below. She was a bad judge of distance, but the fall certainly looked lethal.
"Tracey," she began, rethinking her courage, "do you want to walk around the long—"
Tracey gave herself a running start and leaped. Her long legs carried her forward, propelling her with Olympian grace onto the dock.
She heard Malfoy snort behind her.
"What's taking you two so long?" called Marcus.
"Greengrass is being a princess and won't jump," drawled Draco. He moved her aside and jumped down onto the dock.
"What is this?" laughed Astoria dubiously. "A trick? The day the Gryffindor got wet?"
Blaise laughed.
"And a real lion of a Gryffindor you are, Greengrass!" called Marcus Flint delightedly. "I'm about to jump back over and toss you."
"Fine," Astoria ground out tightly, backing up as far as she could for purchase.
In a rush of wind and nerve, she propelled herself out into the air. The edge of the dock rose up to meet her—but the angle was wrong and the wood slick. She landed and teetered; her stomach slipped up into her throat...
Thankfully, Malfoy had already intervened several times on the boulders. Despite his haughty sneer, he had intentionally positioned himself to catch her. She felt his hand swing out and seize her arm. In a dizzying flash, Astoria foresaw them both falling over. What if she dragged him over the edge?
Then, miraculously, Draco seemed to find his balance. Astoria toppled forward toward the group of tittering Slytherins.
"You're such a damsel, Astoria!" cried Tracey merrily, rubbing both of Astoria's cheeks with her hands.
"She may look like a damsel," chucked Marcus knowingly, "but I certainly know better."
"What's that supposed to mean?" sneered Draco, instinctively turning on Flint.
Astoria realized she was still holding the front of Draco's shirt. She let go at once.
"It means that Astoria might look like a fairy tale, but she gave away her true colors in first year," cackled Marcus, passing the bottle of fire-whiskey to Tracey. "She managed to trick me out of all my pocket money for a month on a bad bet."
Tracey laughed so hard that she nearly projected whiskey through her nose. Still snorting, she rolled into Zabini.
"Look," observed Blaise, holding Tracey at bay by her shoulders, "they keep the boats tied up here."
"You want to go sailing, Blaise?" Warrington leered.
"I'll go!" cried Tracey. Now decidedly drunk, it was clear that she would go anywhere Blaise suggested.
Astoria eyed the boats longingly. Lined up against the dock, they looked like cheerfully bobbing corks.
"See?" demanded Blaise, spotting the look on Astoria's face. "Even Greengrass wants to go."
"No she doesn't," scoffed Warrington. "We'd probably capsize and drown."
"I do want to go," admitted Astoria at once. "We won't sink. These are the boats that take the first years across the lake— they must be enchanted."
This was enough to reassure everyone except Warrington. After several minutes of various cajoling promises and threats, Marcus simply pushed him off the dock into the rowboat.
The boats were smaller than Astoria remembered. Boasting only two plank-like seats apiece, each vessel was ideally designed to accommodate four eleven year olds.
After a small scuffle and much wobbling, Warrington and Blaise claimed the seat in the front of the boat; Draco and Marcus took the one in the back. Tracey—by now intoxicated enough to willingly go swimming full clothed—flopped shamelessly onto Blaise's lap.
Despite the ominous warmth of the fire-whiskey in her cheeks, Astoria restrained herself and made do by sitting on the side of the boat. She trailed her fingers through the chilly water, watching the sun dance on the lake's surface happily.
"The boat's not moving," observed Warrington snidely. "How do we make it move?"
"Filch and Hagrid are the only teachers who use these boats, right?" reasoned Astoria. "Neither of them can do magic. I suppose we'll have to row."
Marcus laughed loudly at Warrington's stupidity and stood up. The boat rocked dangerously.
"You know, I bet she's right? That's good thinking, Greengrass," he declared. He untied the boat and, passing her the bottle of whiskey, searched under the seats until he produced a pair of oars.
Astoria took the smallest sip she could, afraid of turning wild. There would be no easy way to escape once they were adrift...
"Here, row us out," commanded Marcus, thrusting an oar into Warrington's hands. He let the other drop back to the deck; Astoria lifted her feet to avoid being splashed by rainwater and nearly went overboard. Feeling obnoxiously unbalanced, she promptly moved down into the seat Marcus had vacated.
"You do it!" argued Warrington. "You licked me today. I'm not your groveling henchman!"
Astoria laughed and pushed closer to Draco, hoping that Marcus would still have room to sit. He didn't: the seat was not big enough for three. At the same moment that Marcus made to lift Astoria up far enough to slip under her, Draco pulled her towards himself. Astoria suddenly found herself perched awkwardly on top of both of them.
Warrington began to row, but it was hard to make much headway with a single oar. A strong wind grabbed them once they cleared the dock and he soon gave up paddling, preferring to let the boat drift along on the current.
"I love whiskey," sighed Tracey.
"That's what you said about the butterbeer," jeered Malfoy. Smirking snidely at Tracey's obvious drunkenness, he shifted his weight so that Astoria fell more solidly against him than Marcus.
"My aunt says you can guess a girl's taste in boys by the liquor she drinks," said Astoria thoughtlessly, pushing stray hairs away from her face.
"Huh?" jeered Warrington skeptically. Marcus cackled wickedly, however, and Tracey moved forward, clearly intrigued by the concept of predicting secret inclinations.
"It sounds ridiculous, but she's got a real sixth sense," Astoria insisted, surprised by the sudden interest that this idea had awakened.
"She can't tell anything—" jeered Warrington.
"No, wait a minute," interrupted Blaise, raising a hand to silence him. "I've heard my mother say the same thing about perfume. I want to hear this theory out. Does it apply to all drinks or just types of liquor?"
"It's not a specific study, Blaise," drawled Draco, pushing his shoulder back and bringing it forward again. Astoria suddenly found herself even further away from Marcus.
"No," Astoria agreed slowly. "It's more like reading tea leaves—it requires a bit of translation."
"So what does whiskey mean?" Blaise persisted wickedly. "Explain Davis."
"Yes, tell us!" squealed Tracey happily. "Do I like strong and expensive boys?"
"My aunt would be a bit more refined about her choice of wording," admitted Astoria, but the spirit of mischief was impossible to resist. "How exactly do you drink this whiskey?"
Even Warrington had stopped heckling to listen.
"Warm and neat," declared Blaise. He held the half-empty bottle aloft in the sun and raised an eyebrow.
"My dad drinks it with lemon," amended Tracey.
"You don't, though," insisted Draco insolently.
"I would if I could," sniped Tracey, retaining a surprising amount of dignity for a person sprawled across one boy and asking to hear about another.
"So, then, you like boys who are dark and straight," began Astoria, pausing for Marcus Flint's roar of laughter to subside, "but you enjoy a twist..?"
The boat exploded with fresh laughter. Astoria had to work very hard not to smirk, because if this did not describe Blaise Zabini to a tee, then Astoria did not know what did.
"Well, I like wine," Blaise volunteered, lazily tossing the cap for the whiskey bottle overboard.
Marcus hooted at this ante-upping maneuver, but Astoria barely sipped any when the bottle came around. Her head was already swimming.
"Wine?" drawled Malfoy, obviously finding this choice to be slightly effeminate. He took a decidedly larger sip off the bottle than Astoria had and returned it to circulation.
"Doesn't count!" said Tracey quickly, perhaps less keen to hear about Blaise's supposedly fine tastes. "Astoria's theory only applies to boys."
The edge of Marcus's knee was becoming uncomfortable because Malfoy had stealthily re-positioned her. Making no effort to be subtle, Astoria gave in and slipped solidly onto Draco's legs. She flipped about so that one foot was dangling in the water and pondered her predicament.
It was not even remotely likely that Pansy would find them again; their isolation all but ensured it. What was she going to do, after all—steal a boat and navigate it across a loch? But Astoria had a hunch that word got around pretty quickly in the Slytherin common room. Surely Tracey or Blaise would be good enough to rat her out for drunken draping herself across Malfoy?
"The real question is, what does Astoria drink?" asked Marcus keenly, eyeing the way that Astoria had shifted away to sprawl across Draco with decided interest.
"I don't have a favorite," answered Astoria breezily. "I'm not old enough to drink."
Warrington laughed at this bit of false primness, but it wasn't enough to get her off the hook.
"Well, I've seen her drink fire-whiskey," volunteered Blaise. "Maybe she and Tracey have similar tastes?"
His smirk widened; there could be no doubting the innuendo.
"She likes gin," said Draco firmly, and a quick glance at his face revealed a surprisingly smarmy expression that Astoria could not quite explain to herself.
"Gin?" repeated Marcus blandly, sticking out his tongue. "That's got to be the most repulsive drink imaginable—no teenage girl prefers gin!"
Astoria raised her eyebrows, trying to recall if she did have a preference. In truth, the variety of alcohol she had tried was limited—and she wasn't entirely convinced that she had liked the taste of any of it.
"That's what she drinks when she's skulking about country clubs," drawled Draco. "They have full bar service, too. So she ordered it by choice."
"Gin!" murmured Marcus again, this time shaking his head. Astoria was surprised when no one questioned how Malfoy knew this.
"Well Greengrass, it's just you and the oldest members of Wizengamot," continued Marcus solemnly. "Go ahead, translate yourself for us. What does gin mean? You only fancy blokes over sixty?"
Tracey snorted in an ungainly sort of way. "I could see that actually—"
"I never agreed to this!" laughed Astoria, unwilling to perjure herself. "Why don't you go ahead and do it for me?"
Marcus bit his lip in concentration, but it was Blaise who took up the torch.
"Let's call him a classic," Blaise leered. "An upper-class British classic that doesn't mix well with anything."
Astoria laughed, but internally she could not help chafing at the pointed resemblance that this description bore to Draco. Next to herself, Blaise was easily the most talented at mischievously re-wording an idea. She did not doubt for a minute that he had done it on purpose.
0o0
The rest of the afternoon passed in a foolish haze of sunshine. If Astoria remained glued to Malfoy, it was no longer out of manipulation, but out of a general inability to fight gravity.
Tracey was by far the drunkest among them and she soon became the funniest. There did not seem to posses a single thought that she was too ashamed to voice out loud. This willingness to speak fearlessly was made doubly hilarious by the fact that intoxication did not seem to put a dent in her wit.
Warrington, on the other hand, was not improved by liquor. Astoria soon came to realize that she did not like him at all. In fact, by the end the of the whiskey, she was forced to make this clear to everybody. He attempted to touch her bare foot with his pinkie-finger (she responded by throwing a wet leaf directly into his face).
Twice Astoria thought the boat might capsize when one of the boys suddenly stood up. Their voices grew steadily louder, but there didn't seem to be any teachers within hearing distance.
"I always wanted a house elf," announced Tracey grandly, attempting to tickle Blaise's unwilling chin with the offending leaf. "Or maybe two—that way I could stage dramatic parties and have them fight to the death!"
"I suppose you'd make all of your guests wear monocles and smoke villainous cigars?" Astoria wondered out loud, enjoying the howl of appreciative laughter.
"Astoria could take bets on your death match, Davis!" Marcus added, plainly convinced that this was most funny idea he had ever had.
"Are you wearing a scarf?" Astoria asked Draco seconds—or was it moments later?
"Why shouldn't I be?" drawled Draco smugly, content to watch Astoria pull on the green and silver fabric.
"Because it's about eighty degrees out," Astoria cackled. "If I pull this off of you, am I going to find out that it's monogramed?"
"Nah, that's Zabini! He monograms everything—" interjected Warrington.
"No, but really," Astoria went on tauntingly, searching the fabric for Draco's initials. Tracey giggled, watching on.
0o0
When the sun began to set, Marcus began to search for the oars. He managed to maneuver them close to shore, enabling the boat to be pulled onto sand. This in itself was almost courteous; they had floated so far away from the dock that it would have required magic to return to it. The girls fared better dismounting; their skirts were too short to touch the shallow water, but there was a lot of swearing from the boys when socks and pant legs got splashed.
The grounds had changed since they'd been gone. Everything was the deep emerald hue of ink. By the time they managed to lap back around the lake and regain the entrance hall, the sun had set.
Unwilling to be spotted at dinner with half of the Slytherin quidditch team, Astoria gently extracted herself from Tracey's grip at the doors. Seizing the first opportunity, she slipped off towards her common room unnoticed.
It was a very happy fact that most of her house was at dinner; Astoria had never felt so awkward, dizzy and exhausted. The moment her head hit her pillow, however, she began to think of food. A very early lunch was not enough to stand against an entire afternoon of drinking; she was famished.
Snagging a bag of Lavender's half-eaten pretzels, Astoria burrowed back under her blankets. Despite Belladonna's long standing rule of forbidding her niece from eating where she slept ("the habit will make you thick, darling!") Astoria devoured several handfuls. Then, tunneling her face beneath a pocket of blankets, she promptly drifted off to sleep.
0o0
So I know some of you may be thinking, 'Astoria is kind of an unpleasant hag', but bear with me. Astoria has many healthy relationships with people, but I think that growing up with Belladonna would probably normalize the use of sexuality as a weapon in a way that might be hard to un-learn. She's still young and foolish. Let's not throw her under the bus just yet.
And again, sorry about the excessive drinking. This is probably the most drunk you'll see things get for a long a time, I promise. Blame Marcus and Warrington—they're technically legal!