Disclaimer: Yea– no.

a/n: thanks so much to my reviewers, I'm incredibly sorry that I haven't updated lately, but I promise that I will make it up to you. Action will start soon! I promise! And to the Lady of the Realm: I may have to use that idea . . . and yeah, I'm only a lowly sixteen years old, but hopefully more brilliant than my years.

Let's get on with it!

OoOoO

Chapter Eight

After two weeks of sitting in long classes, reading dull books, and sleeping in the same (otherwise empty) bed every night, I have come to a conclusion:

Wizards have no idea how to party.

My father had always pressed the importance of keeping up the Malfoy name, of course, but this never extended to binge drinking. Respect could be gained in more ways than one, my father always said, usually referring to either bribery or torture. I earned my respect – in shots.

You may be surprised by my empty bed, as well. Well, imagine growing up with the same five or ten people. These are the only people that you are allowed to see or be seen with for the rest of your life. At this bleak prospect, it occurs to me that whatever time spent outside of their company will take it longer for me to grow tired of my comrades.

As for everyone else in the school, they were all things to be laughed at, like court jesters. Right now, Granger's the most useful at it. I chuckled, spotting an envelope sitting on my bed, addressed to one David Gleans in a very precise cursive. I jumped onto the bed and began reading.

Dear David,

I'm so glad that you responded to my last letter. Yes, I was very curious to find out who you were, so a friend of mine did a revealing spell over the card. I'm glad to know you're not upset about it! Though all of those shameless compliments may have been sarcastic . . . I mean, honestly? That was the longest string of euphemisms I've ever read! You do seem nice. I wish we could meet up soon, if you're interested? Curious as I am, I almost died of interest when I couldn't place a face to your name.

Let me know soon, and where we can meet. It's only fair, isn't it, that I know you if you already know me? Don't be shy!

Until then,

Hermione

It took me nearly a quarter hour to read, I was laughing so hard. The door banged open, and in stalked one of my housemates, a very tan boy with dark brown hair. Well, look who it is!

"What's gotten you into such a light mood?" Blaise asked with a growl. Hello to you too.

"And what's gotten you into my business?" I countered, flipping over the letter in what I hoped was an inconspicuous way. "On the other hand, what's gotten you sounding like a boar with a hormone imbalance?"

Blaise snorted. "Point taken," he said. He sighed, sitting down on the edge of his bed with his head in his hands. Not unusual Blaise behavior. This sigh, however, seemed to be caused by something other than a failed romantic escapade.

"Well? Are you going to answer me or not?" I prompted. My brain was meanwhile searching for ways to get him out of the room so that I could write my bloody letter.

Blaise sighed, a very proper, disdainful, dramatic sigh. "As it would happen, Draco, I have a problem."

I rolled my eyes.

"There is a party going on tonight."

My ears perked. Paint my trousers and call me Albus, I may find some firewhiskey yet!

". . . in Gryffindor." He stood. "So if you'll just leave me to wait in utter boredom for the Quidditch outing tomorrow afternoon –,"

"So?" I asked.

"What d'you mean, 'So?'"

"It often means that an explanation is needed or requested of another party."

"I know what it means, lame-arse." Blaise sighed again, as if explaining transfiguration to a dog. "I intended to ask, 'What the hell are you going on about?'"

I really did think that my comrade was more intelligent than this. "Just tell me when you decided that a night out would be worse than being trampled by hippogriffs," I said, eyebrow cocked at him.

"When it's required that we spend it with Gryffindors!" Interesting, a nerve has been found.

"We should support the noble traits of smuggling, lying, and fun-loving wherever we find them," I said decisively. I rolled off of the bed, found a set of casual black robes, and shrugged them on over my sweat pants and t-shirt.

"Where're you going?"

"Calcutta, Blaise. Where do you think?"

He gave me a suspicious look. "You're not going to that mudblood-infested cesspool up in the west tower, are you?" Ding, ding, ding! We have a winner!

I fastened the last clasp on my robes, already headed out the door. "You're welcome to join me," I offered. "Otherwise, keep your mouth shut, I don't expect to return." With a sweep of my robe, I was gone.

OoOoO

"Imagine! All these goody-goody Gryffindors! Who would've thought, eh? Draco? Oi, Malfoy!"

Half an hour later, I was in the middle of the Gryffindor common-room, having gained entrance from some seventh year Ravenclaw. A significant number of students from every house were crammed into the tower. A rough guess would be around sixty people, but there was no way to count, as some were still coming in and everyone was moving around once they got inside.

Blaise had already downed a good few shots of firewhiskey, and was apparently starting to feel it, judging by the way he stumbled back and forth from the fire and hummed "Weasley Is Our King." When he was nearby, he hovered irritatingly by my left shoulder, like an anxious house-elf.

I was trying to chat up a friendly fifth-year. And by friendly, I mean good-looking.

"Hold on a second," I said, flashing my best aren't-I-charming smile at the girl. She twirled a strand of shiny auburn hair and giggled. I have a good feeling about this girl, I thought with a secret laugh.

"What is it, Blaise."

"Don' get your robes'n a bunch!"

I sighed. Imagine, a drunk getting snippy with me because I took a minute from my little conversation to act like I give a damn. "I'm listening, Blaise," I said.

He seemed a bit more satisfied at that. "Look'it the bookworm, mate! See'er?" He pointed waveringly near a staircase where a group of people were congregated. I glanced over, not really paying attention, and continued my conversation with fifth-year.

"Apologies for the interruption," I said with a smile.

"Is that a friend of yours?" she asked, twirling her hair again. Oh, that tosser? The one who cost me five minutes between here and getting into a nearby bed?

"I'm afraid so," I replied disdainfully.

"That's so sweet!" Twirl, twirl.

"What is?"

She suddenly looked shy, as if her outburst would cause turmoil for me. "Well, your friend, you're looking out for him, even if you're a bit busy," she explained. "It's kind of– cute – how you look out for him." Twirl, twirl. Smile. Twirl.

"Well, I try," I said, the smile growing on my face once again.

"Not everyone would do that," she continued eagerly. "Most of the Slytherins I've spoken to are kind of mean, look-out-for-number-one type blokes," she said. She bit her lip. "You don't really seem like that, though." Twirl. Smile. That smile that says, alright, I'm ready for bed.

I knew I had a good feeling about this girl!

"Well, I–,"

"Draco! Look'it!"

I spun around furiously, looking for my offender. "Blaise! What the hell do you want!"

My fury was without avail. "Look!" he said, pointing at the right staircase, which I looked at again. The people had abandoned the base to get out of the way of more people coming off of – A slide? Why don't the dungeons have slides?

"When the hell did that slide get here?"

"The girls' stairs turn into a slide when a boy tries to climb up," Twirla-Girl explained, looking around me to see what was happening. "Oh, look, they're having races again!"

"Races?"

"Down the slide. Wait, you'll see." I was a bit curious what she was talking about, so I turned to look at the slide again.

"MYA, MYA, MYA," the students started chanting. I looked around. The low light of the fire and rhythmic stomping made it feel like a tribal ritual. All eyes were on the top of the staircase, where I spotted a group of people talking and laughing. Glints of light came from teeth and wide eyes through the darkness, but one figure in particular seemed to glow. It stepped out from the shadow, laughing, head bowed in mock-resignation. Hermione?

"Alright! Alright, I'm going. Dean, come on!" it tugged at another hand, and a larger figure stepped out. They moved to the side to allow a large mat to slide in front of them, and settled down on the edge of it.

"Is that a mattress?" Blaise asked wildly. I squinted into the darkness.

"No, I – yes, it is!" I eagerly stepped to the front of the crowd, grinning, to see this.

"THREE, TWO, ONE!"

"What the–,"

The mattress came shooting out of the top landing like a cannonball. Spraying white foam and screaming as they went along, Thomas and Granger sat on top like they were riding a magic carpet. The crowd moved and gasped below them. Meanwhile, the mattress began flying around the room like a hyperactive owl. Sprays of white blurred but continued, girls shrieking as they were hit.

Then, all of the sudden, the mattress stopped. And plummeted.

"AAAAAHHHHHHHH!" The entire room shouted in unison, Granger screaming the loudest of all. I ducked to the side to avoid the falling students, who were directly above me.

The mattress landed with a thump two feet away from where I had rolled.

Sssssssssss– what the hell is that? Thomas and Granger looked down at me, their magic carpet deflating beneath them. Ssssssssss. I gave a sigh of relief. Still alive.

"Hallo, Malfoy," Granger said amiably. She peered at me with wide eyes and a genuine smile. "What're you doing?" The mattress settled enough for me to think it safe to speak.

"Just trying not to get killed, Granger," I said.

PSSSHHHHHT!

"AUGH! WHAT IS THAT?" I looked to the side, touching my wet ear, to find Thomas off of the bed, grinning devilishly in front of a group of people. A can was clutched readily in his left hand, explaining the white foam that was sprayed all over the side of my face.

"Whipped cream, Malfoy," Thomas laughed. "'Ere, look!"

Time seemed to slow down for a moment as Thomas leaned forwards. I gave a feeble, slow attempt at escape, but it was to no avail.

He got right next to me, and licked my ear.

He licked MY EAR!

"WHAT THE FUCK!"

I was literally beyond comprehension. Apoplectic. Infuriated. Licked by a half-blood Gryffindor man!

Granger had come out of nowhere, clutching a bottle of Sterovski's Smouldering Firewhiskey. She sat in front of me, on the mattress that was still deflating two feet away. "You want one, Malfoy?" she asked, seeing the look I was giving the bottle.

Without further question, I snatched it out of her hand. Sweet nectar of redemption! I took a large gulp, almost crying with relief as the drink burned down my throat.

"Je-sus Christ, what happened to you?" Granger asked without venom. She observed my state of discomfort like a transfiguration experiment. I gulped again, sighing my contentment.

"Thomas fucking licked me," I said, relatively more composed.

"Why would he do that?" she wondered aloud.

I snorted. "Like any of you lot need a reason to be idiots," I said. "He sprayed some white rubbish at me. When I asked him what the hell it was, he said, 'Whipped cream! Here, look,' and licked it off!"

Granger chuckled and shook her head. "What the hell are you laughing about?" I spat at her.

The girl was unfazed. She instead took a hold of my chin and tilted my head to the side. "What do you know," she said offhandedly.

"What?" Oh, Merlin, what else did he do?

"He missed a spot!" Something cool on my cheek–

"GRANGER! W-WHA?"

I gaped over at the bookworm, seeing her wipe some whipped cream off of her lips and lick her fingers. She did!

Who would've known. My mind was totally blank, as if it was a chalkboard and someone had just erased everything. Just blank, blinding blackness. Then something new was scribbled onto it. In a very neat, tidy cursive, the board proclaimed: Hey, Granger's pretty cool.

She smiled at me, implicitly friendly and unjudgemental, and began to giggle. I started laughing, too. Everyone around us, who had apparently seen the whole thing, was laughing. Me, licked by two Gryffindors – literally! It was hilarious!

Granger surprised me again, taking the firewhiskey, drinking a huge gulp, and giving it back to me without so much as a cringe. I took the bottle with a smile.

"Granger, I gotta hand it to you. You lot know how to throw a party."

OoOoO

a/n: well? How do you like it so far? OOC, yes; unbelievable, yes; but dammit, it's my fic! And that last description –"friendly and unjudgemental"– was very deliberate choice of words. In case you didn't notice.

This was actually a really hard chapter to write. I'm American. Writing like a Brit – a guy, for that matter– is like getting a bikini wax. A very good looking result, but a long, confusing, dangerous process.

The end is so very cliche as well. But I'm getting a foundation down, here!

Thanks to my reviewers, I'm trying to be as quick as possible with updates, but I actually have to write these and think up new ideas as I go along. All of this? Out of my ass.

Do pardon my French.

So help me out (you can tell that I need all of the help that I can get, and no, I'm not too noble to beg, I'll be going to college in a year) and press that marvelous little sunshiny-lavender button. Go, now! Shoo! Go ahead, my chickadees!

Love and leftover Easter candy (who else loves old peeps?),

Cami