Chapter 9: Mr. Sad

What happens when you let Seamus near the rum.

…

I step into the common room that night to find it full of people. The slow, heavy beat of music thuds from one corner and in another is a table hidden under multiple glass bottles of pumpkin-spiced rum.

Colin slaps me on the back before I have the chance to step into the crowd and disappear.

All a good party needs is plenty of rum, I've always said. Don't look so glum, Mr. Sad! Meant to tell you earlier, Nev, but you know how it is. Colin gives a sarcastic shake of the head.

The party is raging. Seamus and Ernie are involved in an aggressive round of exploding snap, both with bottles in their hands. A few surround them, shouting. Couples are pairing up on armchairs I won't look at the same way again and others are simply standing, drinking aimlessly. Both the Patil twins are involved in a kind of spin-the-bottle with sour expressions on their faces. Luna, her shirt completely unbuttoned is dancing to the dubstep on an end table while Justin Finch-Fletchley is spinning a muggle record by magic.

Yeah. I know how it is.

Fuck yeah! I've had this planned for ages. Bit of a celebration thing, of course now there isn't all that much to celebrate. Got all fucked up, didn't it, Nev?

Colin pushes a cup of something fizzing into my hand.

Where is she, Nev?

I scan the devastated common room. There could only one 'she' when it comes to Colin. I tell him the truth, that Weasley's still stuck to her bench in the Great Hall and that Carrow is considering it her detention. Colin gripes at the information and takes a swig from his cup.

I need to get laid. Outta my way, Mr. Sad.

I watch as he heads toward the Patil twins. I had never seen a party this large in the common room. All of the bleeders from other houses had come.

Every so often Ernie or Dennis calls for me join them, but I refuse. Instead I'm sitting by the fire with Seamus's board of Wizard Chess unable to move any of the pieces. The fact is I'm only too aware that I'm the only one not completely trashed.

There, there he is, Neville, no I'm fine I, I just need to sit down and, and where did my drink go? And no I swear to Merlin I'm fine! FINE, let me sit down! Neville….

Seamus breathes a deep breath and tries to wipe the drunken tears from his face. He sits opposite the fire and refuses to look elsewhere. Finally, he rests the sockets of his eyes in the palms of his hands.

I'm still? There's still water coming out isn't there? I didn't even know until they all started bloody giggling at me.

Seamus sniffs, but refuses the tissue I offer.

I said I'm fine, damn it. His voice croaks. Am I crying? When did I start crying? Where's my fucking rum?

A rustle starts in the huddle of students closest to the portrait hole, but the music is still banging on so loud I can't hear a thing over Seamus. From the commotion the crowd parts, and standing in the space is Parkinson. She silences the music.

Seamus sniffs. He's now closest to her as everyone else has seen fit to back away from the menacing Parkinson.

PANSY, Seamus sobs, WHERE HAVE YOU BEEN ALL MY LIFE? You're always there, I see you all the time. You know who look like? You look like my cousin, back home. She spends all day with the sheep. Seamus's blood-shot eyes give away the fact that he's obviously drunk off his arse. Pansy for her part snarls, her dimples twinkling in excitement.

PARKINSON, CAN'T YOU SEE HOW I LOVE YOU?

Pansy looks down at the dried tears on Seamus's face. I'd like to make you cry, you KNUT-BRAINED, GOAT'S ARSED, BASTARD CREAMPUFF.

She kicks Seamus away from her, and hexes erupt from her wand in all directions. Never having a Defense Class with the Slytherins, I had never before seen Pansy's hexes. Her spell work is far from genius, but she makes up for it in sheer volume.

Gryffindor Scum! Mudblood cunts! Pansy screeches in between curses.

In fact, a majority of the sparks and cracks are just that; and the rest more often than not miss their intended target and ricochet until they make contact. To the drunken Bleeders, the effect causes a chaos that last year I would have paid to see.

The drinks table is overturned with gusto and broken glass scatters onto the carpet. Bodies press together in a mob to reach either of the spiral staircases, but the girls' staircase keeps turning into a slide. Ernie pushes into my back, forcing me to clobber up the boy's stair into Dennis, who keeps tripping over his own feet.

I open the door to the Seventh year's dormitory expecting it to be empty. Seamus and I are the only seventh year Gryffindor boys at Hogwarts.

I'm wrong. Hannah Abbot, in nothing but her knickers and a pale yellow bra the same color as her pigtails sits on the edge of what was Ron's bed. Hearing the door open, Colin appears from behind the four-poster's curtains.

I hopve you don't mind we ended up here. Colin keeps trying to button his shirt, but can't manage to get them to line up, and gives up.

Er, no. I'll just be going then—I tell them

Don't be stupid. S'your turn now.

You're not serious?

I could only getther here after I promis'd her she could wait for you here. O'course that was quite afew drinks ago.

Hannah's head droops to her shoulder and looks at me dazedly.

Colin, she's about to pass out.

Oh, oh you don't mind, do you Hannah?

Hannah arches her back, stretching.

What do you think, Nev? Colin is a good half foot taller than me, although skinnier and without any muscle. Could I take him if he tried muggle dueling?

I think you're trashed. And it's not an improvement. I pick up Hannah's shirt from the ground and hand it to her. She takes it, and whispers to me.

Don't go. Please. There is a strange absence of alcohol on her breath. Even as I begin to put the pieces of what had happened in place, Hannah reaches out to my fly, trying unsuccessfully to unzip it. I take the instinctive step backwards, and Colin laughs outright.

Tell us something. Are youa fag? Anif you are, it's okay. Just say it.

Alright then. I'm a fag. I just can't hide it like you do. But Colin remains defiant and his face contorts in anger.

You din't let the lovely Hannah here give you a blowie, you smell nice, yur Bleeder tie is always so damn straight. Yur polite. And yur good to yur gran although she gives you shit. Add it up. Colin points a drunken finger at me. You. Are. A. Fag.

What do you want me to tell you?

I want you to tell me about your limp dick. Because there's only two explanations. Either Mr. Sad is a faggity faggot, or he got laid this morning. Right, Nev?

Colin grabs the collar of my shirt. Yur fucking the dye-job.

The coldness in his voice hits me harder than the punch he's longing to throw to my gut. I can't put the two together, that he's really calling Ginny Weasley, the most beautiful witch alive, the dye-job.

Let go of me.

Colin lets go, but not without a jerk for good measure. I raise my wand, pointing it at both Hannah and Colin.

Get out. I'm only going to say it once. The pair of you.

Hannah darts from the room, and after stumbling over his first steps, Colin follows.

...

A/N - next up~ How the Sword of Gryffindor is stolen. Briefly.