(216): There are the two biggest tools by me - at our table. I hate them. But they're not ugly and I may make out with them later. And I hate myself. Definitely hate myself.

"Tool Academy"

Ministry balls were a bore. Daphne had held that opinion since her father had first brought her along at age fourteen to show her off to his pureblood friends in the hope that they might think her an acceptable wife for a wealthy son.

She was twenty-three now and her opinion hadn't wavered. Of course, now the nights could have a rather more exciting end, usually followed the next day by a raging hangover and a quick clothes collection before a dash out the backdoor of a strange man's house. This particular ball was celebrating the recent achievements of the Department of Magical Games and Cooperation (at least, she thought it was. She was really only here for the alcohol and man-meat).

Daphne was currently staving off boredom by searching out Pansy in the crowd of gorgeous witches who were flouncing about, gushing over old men about trivial things and laughing inanely at their tawdry jokes. It wasn't hard. She just had to look for a path of destruction and broken hearted ministry juniors.

Halfway through the night, two men, considerably younger than the majority, joined her at the table. She ogled them casually and discreetly. The taller of the two had long auburn hair tied back with a strip of red ribbon in the pureblood manner, but sported rather muggle-esque attire instead of the traditional dress robes. His friend was blond (though not naturally), his hair slicked back in a style that reminded her awfully of Draco Malfoy during his first two years at Hogwarts. She shuddered inwardly – it wasn't a haircut for grown men, not if they wanted to be taken seriously.

Their conversation was irritating and self-absorbed, and directing them toward the collective label of 'wankers'.

Yet, they were both inordinately attractive despite their obvious shortcomings. (Of course, this could have been the alcohol talking – or just the fact that they were under the age of sixty – she wasn't quite sure.)Downing the remainder of her drink, she honed in on Pansy who was standing near an older fellow, smiling flirtatiously as he murmured something in her ear.

Making a bee-line for her friend, she excused them both politely and tugged the black haired witch over to the balcony, stealing two glasses of champagne as they went.

"There are the two biggest tools by me - at our table," she updated Pansy, when they were off the main floor. "I hate them. But they're not ugly and I may make out with them later."

Sipping their champers, the pair ogled a waiter as he ambled by.

After a few seconds, Daphne added decisively: "And I hate myself. Definitely hate myself."

Pansy looked amused. "Why? That's a stupid thing to do."

"It's degrading."

"As long as it's a spectacular shag, who cares?"

"I care, Pansy."

"Why? Sex is just another form of exercise after the first time," the black haired witch shrugged and continued before Daphne could argue, "and I know for a fact that you aren't a virgin, sweetheart."

The blonde girl huffed resignedly. "It's like you're the devil sitting on my shoulder sometimes, Pans," she told her friend.

OoO

When Daphne slipped out the door of the blond wizard's apartment, shoes in hand, she shook her head, a half-smile on her pretty face; he'd looked so much better with his hair mussed – and it had been a truly magnificent shag.

Haha, I love Pansy. She's frank, a bit of a biaatch, and a total man-eater, but I like her anyway. And Daphne is just a bit cool. If anyone was the Ice Queen of Slytherin, it was her.