Hermione left first. Ginny waited for a few moments before she followed. She cast a hasty, guilty look around and, confident that nobody had seen her, tried to walk casually into the hall area. From behind a curtain. If anybody was watching, she knew it would look suspicous.
But nobody was watching, so that was okay. She snagged a glass of punch from one of the long tables--the Gryffindor table, actually. That was where the best punch was to be found. The Hufflepuffs had boring punch, apple flavoured. She had heard rumours the previous year that the Ravenclaws' punch was really prune juice. Looking around, she noticed that nobody was drinking it. The rumour was probably correct. The Slytherin punch was more akin to a ruined potion: she knew, for she had tried some, although it did have lovely side-effects. Gryffindor punch, however, was nicely alcoholic. Like a pinot noir, but with the kick of firewhisky. At least she could blame the flush of her cheeks on that, rather than what had transpired behind the curtains.
A horrible warble erupted on the main stage, and Ginny turned to stare. She dropped her glass of punch on the floor, the glass tinkling as it smashed, pinot noir-firewhisky soaking her slippers. Was that--surely it couldn't be. But from where she stood, it looked very much like a very strange person was on the stage.
The person--a girl--was blonde. Wearing a silly outfit: strange long underwear with a jumper on the top. It looked like one of her mother's jumpers, although maybe her dad's jumpers. It had an "A" on the front. With eyeliner: never a really good match, it was smudged across her face strangely. Ginny wondered idly if she had been behind the curtains also. But why would anybody kiss her on the eyes? Ginny looked around for somebody with black lips: unfortunately it was halloween, so there were a few harpie wannabes with black lips. She hummed to herself. Then she coughed.
"I cannot find a way to describe it."
Ginny started. The girl--she was sure it was a girl, but her breasts were very small, and Ginny touched her own with a smirk of satisfaction--started... singing? It sounded like it was an attempt at singing. Ginny tried not to laugh, but almost couldn't manage it. But luckily, at the last second, she coughed. There was something in her throat. Something tickling. Something--oh no.
"It's there inside; all I do is hide..."
Ginny wanted to hide. Unfortunately the curtains were rustling again: there was somebody else in there! She wanted to panic, she tried not to panic. She started towards the Gryffindor table for more punch, but there people crowding the bowl. Her throat, she coughed again, it tickled. She was going to kill Hermione. How many times had she told the bushy-haired girl to shave, or at least trim? Gah. Hermione was a know-it-all: she should have foreseen this!
"I wish that it would just go away..."
Ginny wished it would go away. Merlin on a sex rampage, this was horrible! She spied movement out of the corner of her eye: Michael Corner. He was still nursing that stupid crush on her. Damn him. She looked for an escape, but couldn't find one.
"Hi Ginny," he said, his beady eyes staring at her cleavage. Damn him, damn boys. Ginny choked again, hoping it sounded like a polite dismissal.
"I was wondering," he said, encouraged that she hadn't sworn at him, "would you like to dance?"
To this? Ginny tried to grind out, but it came out more as a choked gurgle. Damn Hermione, damn damn damn Hermione... Michael took her hand in his own slimy grip and led her three steps towards the completely empty space in front of the strangely dressed, warbling girl on the stage before Ginny realised he was serious. She wrenched her hand from his grasp, not hesitating at the hurt look in his eyes.
"Ginny--where are you going?" he called after her as she fled.
What would you do, you do, if you knew...
Ginny gasped for air through the massive and disgusting hairball in her throat. She gestured frantically at the nearest bowl of punch.
"But Ginny," Michael cried, "that's the Ravenclaw table!"
Ginny hesitated, but dove for a cup, and the empty punch bowl. She dipped the cup in the bowl, not caring for decorum. She was choking. Somebody would know. Somebody would find out!
She choked down the horrid tasting filth that Ravenclaw saw fit to inflict upon the room, choking down the hairball and cursing Michael, the entirety of Gryffindor, and Hermione to the seventh level of hell.
What would you do...
But nobody was watching, so that was okay. She snagged a glass of punch from one of the long tables--the Gryffindor table, actually. That was where the best punch was to be found. The Hufflepuffs had boring punch, apple flavoured. She had heard rumours the previous year that the Ravenclaws' punch was really prune juice. Looking around, she noticed that nobody was drinking it. The rumour was probably correct. The Slytherin punch was more akin to a ruined potion: she knew, for she had tried some, although it did have lovely side-effects. Gryffindor punch, however, was nicely alcoholic. Like a pinot noir, but with the kick of firewhisky. At least she could blame the flush of her cheeks on that, rather than what had transpired behind the curtains.
A horrible warble erupted on the main stage, and Ginny turned to stare. She dropped her glass of punch on the floor, the glass tinkling as it smashed, pinot noir-firewhisky soaking her slippers. Was that--surely it couldn't be. But from where she stood, it looked very much like a very strange person was on the stage.
The person--a girl--was blonde. Wearing a silly outfit: strange long underwear with a jumper on the top. It looked like one of her mother's jumpers, although maybe her dad's jumpers. It had an "A" on the front. With eyeliner: never a really good match, it was smudged across her face strangely. Ginny wondered idly if she had been behind the curtains also. But why would anybody kiss her on the eyes? Ginny looked around for somebody with black lips: unfortunately it was halloween, so there were a few harpie wannabes with black lips. She hummed to herself. Then she coughed.
"I cannot find a way to describe it."
Ginny started. The girl--she was sure it was a girl, but her breasts were very small, and Ginny touched her own with a smirk of satisfaction--started... singing? It sounded like it was an attempt at singing. Ginny tried not to laugh, but almost couldn't manage it. But luckily, at the last second, she coughed. There was something in her throat. Something tickling. Something--oh no.
"It's there inside; all I do is hide..."
Ginny wanted to hide. Unfortunately the curtains were rustling again: there was somebody else in there! She wanted to panic, she tried not to panic. She started towards the Gryffindor table for more punch, but there people crowding the bowl. Her throat, she coughed again, it tickled. She was going to kill Hermione. How many times had she told the bushy-haired girl to shave, or at least trim? Gah. Hermione was a know-it-all: she should have foreseen this!
"I wish that it would just go away..."
Ginny wished it would go away. Merlin on a sex rampage, this was horrible! She spied movement out of the corner of her eye: Michael Corner. He was still nursing that stupid crush on her. Damn him. She looked for an escape, but couldn't find one.
"Hi Ginny," he said, his beady eyes staring at her cleavage. Damn him, damn boys. Ginny choked again, hoping it sounded like a polite dismissal.
"I was wondering," he said, encouraged that she hadn't sworn at him, "would you like to dance?"
To this? Ginny tried to grind out, but it came out more as a choked gurgle. Damn Hermione, damn damn damn Hermione... Michael took her hand in his own slimy grip and led her three steps towards the completely empty space in front of the strangely dressed, warbling girl on the stage before Ginny realised he was serious. She wrenched her hand from his grasp, not hesitating at the hurt look in his eyes.
"Ginny--where are you going?" he called after her as she fled.
What would you do, you do, if you knew...
Ginny gasped for air through the massive and disgusting hairball in her throat. She gestured frantically at the nearest bowl of punch.
"But Ginny," Michael cried, "that's the Ravenclaw table!"
Ginny hesitated, but dove for a cup, and the empty punch bowl. She dipped the cup in the bowl, not caring for decorum. She was choking. Somebody would know. Somebody would find out!
She choked down the horrid tasting filth that Ravenclaw saw fit to inflict upon the room, choking down the hairball and cursing Michael, the entirety of Gryffindor, and Hermione to the seventh level of hell.
What would you do...