Settling the Score

If Music Be the Food of Love, Play On!

"—single hairbrush—!"

"—goddamn lipstick—!"

"—of you bints stole my leggings—!"

"—blue stiletto's missing—!"

Have you ever been stuck in a relatively small room with three murderous girls whilst they battle each other to the savage, bloodthirsty death in attempt to finish getting ready for the victory party they happen to already be forty-five minutes late for? No? Then let me paint this tranquil landscape of a picture for you.

Imagine a pretty blonde banshee screaming obscenities at her flatiron, her hair a curtain of pin-straight gold on one side and an explosion of psychotic curls on the other. She's wearing nothing more than the skimpiest boy-shorts you can ever imagine, a push-up bra, and one Mr. Moo-Cow slipper (the other having been flung off long ago in a bout of rage), though she's left the room numerous times to yell "give us five more fucking minutes, goddamnit!" down the stairs without even thinking of donning a robe.

Beside her, clad in an unzipped pair of skinny jeans and hogging up the entirety of the full-length mirror, is a frazzled black girl with a sea of braids. She has green eyeliner on one eye, two entirely different earrings on her ears, and one of those really complicated bras that crisscross like sixty-seven times so that your backless top looks sleek and sexy. She's currently struggling with said really complicated bra, growling viciously under her breath about 'fucking boobs' and their 'sodding need' to 'bloody ruin' her 'goddamn life'.

A few feet behind her, dropped into a crouch and tunneling through her trunk like a rabid dog in search of a bone, is a frenzied brunette with long, dripping wet hair trailing down her back. She's wrapped in a fuzzy blue robe, her skin still damp from the shower she had dashed out of maybe forty seconds ago, babbling hysterically about having nothing to wear whilst hurling dress after dress over her shoulder in panicked search.

And in the center of it all, all dolled up in a tight black dress with long sleeves and a dangerously short hem, was none other than yours truly. Smoky-eyed. Pretty-haired. Glossy-lipped. Jewelry-clad. Me. The reason all of them were so late in the first place. You see, when I finally managed to pull myself together and leave the Arithmancy room, I was in a right state. I was confused, miserable, angry, upset—pretty much every negative emotion available to humankind, really. Naturally, when I dragged myself up to the dormitories, I wanted absolutely nothing to do with this party, I just wanted to curl up in my bed and have a slumber party with a Mr. Ben and a Mr. Jerry.

Unfortunately, Kats, Alicia, and Angelina would have none of it.

They plunked me down, gathered around my bed, and dragged the series of Wood encounters they hadn't yet heard about out of me, starting from the events of the locker room and ending at the fight we'd had earlier that day. It was rather therapeutic, to be honest, detailing everything out with the wisdom of retrospect—it helped me rationalize the actions and arguments that had been obscured by emotions at the time. Also, I got to see things through my friends' more objective lenses: this was the first moment we'd really had to breathe since the match had ended, so I hadn't really caught them up on anything till now.

In the end, they ended up getting pretty much every detail sans the Claire bit—that part struck me as intimate. Private. Something that only Wood had the right to divulge. Naturally, by the time I was done, they had plenty of divergent opinions and different things to say on the matter—particular a certain loudmouthed blonde—but in the end, they all agreed wholeheartedly on one thing: I deserved a night of fun. No stress, no overanalyzing, no arguing—just pure, laughter-filled, unencumbered fun.

And apparently, that involved looking like a stripper.

Okay, so that's a bit of an exaggeration, but honestly, I don't think I've ever worn anything this tight before. It's an incredibly sexy dress, don't get me wrong, and the solid black color has the whole understated thing I love going on, but it's a 3,000% Alicia dress—i.e. ridiculously short and ridiculously tight. Mine are usually one or the other, though according to Kats, 'this one's got long-sleeves, so it cancels out!'…

I'm not really buying that logic.

Still, their excitement was contagious, and my legs really were one of the only things I had worth showing off, so I decided to be frivolous and throw caution to the wind—why the hell not? It wasn't like I had anything to lose: perhaps Alicia was right; perhaps looking good would somehow make me start feeling good. At this point, it was worth a sodding try.

Thus, two solid hours were spent on nothing more than making me a Barbie—taming my scraggly bird's nest hair into soft curls, bronzing my pale, English legs, plucking my brows into smooth arches, painting my nails a pale pink… it was honestly ridiculous. Granted, we were all laughing hysterically throughout the process and it cheered me up astronomically for a while, but now I was feeling a bit stupid.

I mean, honestly, who was I trying to kid? Pretending to be Alicia for a night wasn't going to make me feel any better—I should really just stay home and eat my damn Half-Baked in peace. I started fidgeting with the hem of my dress uncomfortably, looking rather dejected, and Angelina caught my eye in the reflection of the mirror.

"Stop thinking about ice cream, you cow—you're going out and you're going to like it," she snapped, carefully lining her bare eye in jade green eyeliner. "I didn't do your eye-makeup for bloody nothing."

Alicia scoffed angrily. "Sod eye-makeup—I didn't do her bloody hair for nothing! Blasted haystack took forever," she growled, dragging yet another loose curl through the clamp of her straightener. "Her eyes are at least pretty to begin with!"

"Oi, they took a while!" Angelina snapped back, indignant, just as Katie let out a ragged cry of anguish.

"I have absolutely, positively, completely and thoroughly nothing to wear!"

"Then just borrow something!"

"I don't know what to borrow!"

"Well, what do you feel like wearing?"

"I don't know!"

Angelina scoffed, raking mascara onto her lashes. "Helpful, Kats."

"This is a disaster! I'm just not going to go," the brunette declared dramatically, and I instantly perked up.

"Great, so I guess that means I can—"

All three of them whipped around to glare fiercely at me, gazes slitted and mouths tight.

"…stand here some more," I finished a bit lamely.

"You could help Katie find something to wear—just a crazy thought," Alicia jabbed rather testily, and I sent her a brief glare.

"Fine," I replied, shifting my attention to Katie's rifling form. "Kats, what are you looking for?"

"I dunno, just something pretty!"

"Like a dress, or—"

"It doesn't matter, it all looks terrible on me!"

We all groaned—Kats had serious image issues when it came to dressing up. For day-to-day stuff, she was fine, but when it came to actually putting effort into her appearance, she had a cataclysmic meltdown—she'd just put something on, look perfectly pretty in it, and cast it off miserably without any explanation. "What's wrong with the high-waisted skirt you were trying on earlier?" Angelina asked, and Katie shook her head in frustration.

"As if my waist is what I want to accentuate."

"You have a perfectly nice waist!"

"Shove it, Ally," she growled at Alicia, who, to be fair, had the tiniest bloody waist ever.

"Well, what the hell do you want to emphasize then?"

"Nothing, I'm a troll!"

Alicia scoffed. "Yeah, a troll with a phenomenal rack and Pantene commercial hair."

"Look," I intervened, marching over to Angelina's trunk since their 'phenomenal racks' put them closest in size, "just dry your hair and do your make-up—I'll find you something." Katie made to protest but I threw a hairbrush at her, promptly silencing her.

With a heavy sigh, I dropped down to my knees, the hem of my shirt-oops-I-mean-dress hiking up to just below the curve of my bum—mental note: do not lean over at any point tonight. I rifled through Angelina's neatly organized trunk for a solid five minutes, transforming it into a toxic wasteland of colorful clothing, before finally yanking out a flowy, low-cut white top in victory. "I got it!"

Katie glanced up dejectedly, hair now dry and back to being the shiny mass of thick, stick-straight honey brown that it always was, and sighed. "Paired with what?"

"Your black skirt," Angelina decided, staring at the shirt with a calculating air.

"For Merlin's sake, I don't want to wear the damn—!"

"Just shut up and try it on, Katie," I snapped, shoving the gossamer top at her with a scowl, and she grudgingly pulled it over her head. I cocked my head to the side as she reached for the skirt, noting the way the fabric billowed prettily off her shoulders and showed off the perfect amount of cleavage—it really did look nice on her. She slid the skirt up her legs, expression dark and pessimistic.

The second she zipped it up, however, the band wrapping tightly around her waist and cinching the flowing fabric beneath it, I grinned. She looked hot—and it was in that black and white, Audrey Hepburn, simple-yet-classic way that Katie absolutely adored. "Red lipstick and heels and you're good to go," I announced with a wry look.

"Seriously, Kats—you look brill," Angelina added, assessing her from the mirror's reflection.

"Why don't you move so she can see for herself?" Alicia snapped, irritated with Angelina's mirror-hog tendencies, and Angelina merely stuck her tongue out before stepping aside for Katie.

"It's… pretty nice, I guess," Katie began hesitantly, turning from side to side and taking in the outfit from different angles before turning to face us. Her look was uncertain. "Right? I mean, maybe not, I just…"

The rest of us knew it was our cue to shower her in compliments.

"It looks phenomenal!"

"Blokes won't be able to control themselves, love."

"Seriously, you're going to be a hazard—"

"Beat them away with a stick—"

"Stop sodding traffic—"

"Go into heart palpitations—"

"Okay, okay, shut up," Katie cut in, laughing, "the bullshit quota has successfully been met—I'll wear it."

"Nice job, Andy," Angelina grinned, yanking the flirty yellow top she'd set out earlier off a hanger and resuming her place in front of the mirror. "How we doing on time?"

I glanced at my alarm clock, wincing. "Er… somewhere between fantastically late and never going to make it?"

Alicia rolled her eyes. "Which means?"

"11:05."

"Shit," Angelina swore, ever the punctual one, whereas Alicia seemed pleasantly surprised.

"Perfect—an hour makes them antsy."

I snorted. "Who exactly is 'them'?"

She slowly turned to look at me, halfway through yanking on a little blue dress that made her eyes look like crystals, and smirked. "Why, the gaggle of unsuspecting blokes that are going to be positively drooling after you the whole night, of course. Please flirt with at least six of them—really, Andy, it'll be so much fun."

I heaved a gusty sigh, collapsing back against Angelina's trunk with a defeated air. This was going to be a long night.

I had to give my House credit—they sure knew how to throw a party.

The Astronomy Tower had been completely transformed. Scarlet and gold streamers hung from the high, vaulted ceilings, spiraling down toward the boisterous crowd singing and dancing below; Gryffindor banners ran along the railings of the spiral staircase that led up to the second level of the tower, where smaller gaggles of people were lounging about, drinks in hand, chatting animatedly; and a bonfire spitting out red and gold sparks was roaring on the Observatory balcony.

On the first floor, apart from the ringing of laughter and the occasional girlish shriek, nothing could really be heard over the music—a pounding combination of beats, guitar, and percussion soared over the dancing crowd, filtering into the night through the open windows and wide, stone archways of the balconies. How we weren't keeping up the entirety of the castle, I honestly had no idea, but I suspected a powerful assortment of silencing charms had something to do with it.

Off on one of the many balconies, a heated game of Wizarding Strip was underway, consisting of a gaggle of half-naked Gryffindor males gathered about a small table with cards in hand and fiercely competitive poker faces on. Among them were Zach Davies and George Weasley, the former clad in nothing but polka-dotted boxers and tube socks and the latter in no more than a pair of trousers and a Bludger-covered tie. They looked hilariously serious about something so completely ridiculous.

On the neighboring balcony, a makeshift Tiki bar was set up, serving everything from Orange Juice to Goblin Rum Mojitos to Firewhiskey, and on yet another balcony, an assortment of lounge chairs and floor cushions were sprawled under the stars, begging to be used for all sorts of illicit activities. People were spread out amongst all of the different levels of the tower, rowdy and spirited and having an absolute wild time, and I had to admit, the celebratory mood was infectious.

"Gryffindor! Gryffindor! Gryffindor!" I grinned as the go-to cheer of the night once again broke out amongst the gyrating crowd, glancing over at the dance floor from my spot by the bonfire.

Kats and Angelina were caught up in that whole mess, jumping and squealing and dancing their sodding faces off, and I shook my head at their wild movements: it's amazing what a few shots of Patron could do to people. Off to my left, Alicia was draped along one of the floor cushions, very much sober and deep in discussion with Poof-boy, whose hazy, half-lidded expression spoke volumes about his mental state. Fred and Lee were at the Tiki bar, caught in the midst of a vicious Butterbeer chugging contest that looked like it wasn't letting up any time soon, and Fiona was watching them with a delightfully disgusted look, snooty brow raised.

Now, I know what you're thinking. Better yet, I know what you're thinking I'm thinking, and I just want to make it clear that that's not what I'm thinking.

For the most part.

…

Fine, so I was wondering where the hell Wood was. But I mean, really, every single other member of the team was accounted for—even Martin the sodding Towel Boy was leading a conga line in the corner. We'd arrived about an hour ago, and at the time, I was relieved by Wood's absence. I wanted to let loose and have fun, which was nearly impossible to do whenever him and his stupid, brooding stare were around.

Now, however, I was a bit narked. Granted, I was angry to begin with after what had happened in the Arithmancy room, but the fact that he wasn't here now was just stupid—this was a party thrown in honor of the Quidditch team, and he was the sodding captain. If he really thought avoiding me to this extreme was the best way to go about our stupid situation, then he wasn't anywhere near as mature as he thought he was.

"…really, really brilliant dive, until that sod had to go an knock you off your broom. I would've caught you in a heartbeat, love. Couldn't let such a fit bird get injured—I like my women healthy…"

I glanced over at the younger-looking, freckled boy now standing beside me, wondering where the hell he came from, until his words registered in my head. My brows shot up; was he hitting on me? "What?"

He grinned, blue eyes sparkling as he shifted toward me, dark, ruffled head barely reaching my shoulder. "Oh, c'mon, doll. You can't deny this mojo we've got going here. Look at you, you're swooning."

I choked on my laughter—was he serious? "Kid, how old are you?"

"Thirteen," he said, though he promptly leaned forward with a conspiratorial expression and waggled his eyebrows, "but I'll be fourteen in two months."

I snorted. "Well, in that case."

He arched a cocky brow, expression growing sly as he leaned back against the railing. "Poke fun all you want, doll, but know that one day, when you're old and ugly and wear orthopedic shoes, you're going to dream about getting attention from a spry, dashingly handsome fourteen-year-old like myself."

"Thirteen-year-old," I corrected.

"Two months," he snapped a bit defensively, and I smiled. This kid was ridiculous.

"What's your name, Casanova?"

"Jefferson, but the fairer sex usually calls me 'baby daddy'," he replied.

I spat out the sip of my drink I'd just taken, spraying the contents into the fire—baby daddy? I lapsed into a fit of laughter, shoulders shaking uncontrollably. He'd said it so seriously, like it was the most casual thing in the world, and now he was looking at me like I was crazy.

"You alright, doll?"

"You're a seriously messed up kid," I managed to get out, still laughing quite loudly, and Jefferson merely grinned.

"Thanks!"

"No problem," I chuckled.

"You know, I think you're pretty messed up, too," he said after a beat, his expression growing suggestive again as he lowered his voice, "so what do you say we ditch this scene, head back to my place, and go be messed up together?"

I widened my eyes in fake excitement. "Ooo, you mean the third year dormitories? Let me go get my coat!"

"Alright, alright, I get it, the hard-to-get approach," he conceded, lifting his hands with a stupid smirk. "I'm cool with that, doll—I'm nothing if not persistent."

"Really? Because I can think of a few other adjectives you're 'nothing if not'."

"Charming, suave, and sexually irresistible are implied."

I snorted yet again. "Silly me."

"Sexy you."

"God, you're creepy," I laughed, incredulous—this kid was like a cartoon character.

"I can be anything you want me to be, doll."

"How about gone?"

"Ooo, feisty."

I shuddered at the creepiness, eyes bright with humor, but the flushed, pretty face of Katie Bell came barreling at me before I could respond. "Andy, you've got to come dance with us," she gushed, pushing a hand through her disheveled hair as she reached for my arm. "Angelina just put on disco!"

"Aw, Kats, not the bloody disc—"

My whine was interrupted by a low, drawn-out, suggestion-ridden whistle. "And who, pray tell, is this exquisite creature?"

We both glanced over at Jefferson, whose entire demeanor shifted as he took in the sight of Katie. I groaned: his expression was positively Cheshire. "Uh…" Katie reared back slightly, tossing me a questioning look, and I sighed.

"Katie, this is Jefferson."

"Er, hi, Jefferson."

"Hi, Wild Kat."

Katie looked baffled, and Jefferson merely winked. She turned to look at me. "You know, your new friend's kind of creepy."

"Oh, we're not friends."

"We're lovers," he went on to explain. I rolled my eyes, mouth parting to protest, but he pressed on before I could, "Although, now that I've met the goddess that is you, I'm starting to rethink that decision."

"Great! I'll just leave you two, then…" Katie grabbed my arm before I could escape, giving me a 'don't-you-dare' look, and I sighed miserably. "What?"

"You're not leaving me here with him!" she hissed.

"Then leave with me."

"I can't—that's rude!" she replied, and I almost laughed at the earnest expression on her face—she was actually afraid of offending someone who referred to himself as 'baby daddy'.

"Jefferson," I said pointedly, gaze snapping over to his dancing eyes, "we're leaving. It was a pleasure meeting you—well, not really… but anyway, have fun at the party." With that, I turned to go, but I realized Katie was stalling beside me, looking uncertain. I internally groaned—she was so bloody nice.

Jefferson seemed to notice this, for he was watching her closely, taking note of the hesitation in her gaze. And then, just as she turned to follow me, the cheeky git struck—he pulled the saddest, most vulnerable face in the sodding universe and stared up at her. "Please don't go." It was a trembling whisper.

Oh, please, I thought, but sure enough, Katie had turned back around, expression torn. "Well… it's just that our friends are waiting for us…" her hesitant tone trailed off as he cast his dramatic gaze down, the very picture of dejection, and her stare snapped over to mine, desperate.

I snorted. "Do what you want, I'm leaving."

Her eyes widened, but I swiveled about anyway, making my way over to Alicia. She turned her attention back to the cheeky git as I walked away, venturing back into uncertain conversation, and the last thing I heard was:

"So, what's your favorite color?"

"Sex."

"What?"

I chuckled darkly, shaking my head. Serves her right for being such a Hufflepuff. "Oi, Spinnet!" I called, making the blonde's head snap up from beside the fire. She looked annoyed at the interruption, and I promptly realized it was because she was still in the midst of a deep, life-altering discussion with Sebastian.

"What?" she snapped.

I held my hands up in defense, stifling a laugh. "Just saying hi."

"Hi," she replied, sharp and irritated, before dropping her gaze back to the skinny-jean clad male sprawled across from her, expression intense. "Continue with what you were saying."

"What were we talking about?" he drawled, voice hazy and slow, and I almost snorted: that was a stoned voice if I'd ever heard one.

"The ritualistic ills of corporate, modern society."

He tossed his head back and laughed, the movement languid and arrogant. "Where do I even begin with that one?"

I rolled my eyes, wondering what the hell Alicia saw in these kinds of blokes, when suddenly, a loud, boisterous cheer sounded from the dance floor inside. I glanced over briefly, expecting someone to be dancing on a table or something, when a familiar flicker of blonde caught my attention. I leaned forward, straining to get a better look at the party's newest arrival, and sure enough, Gabe's lopsided grin came into focus.

I instantly grinned—perfect! "Hey, Alicia, I hate to pull you away from such a fascinating conversation, but I actually have someone I need you to meet."

She gave me a positively withering glare, motioning to Sebastian with her head in way that said, 'hello, this is the love of my life, here!', but I simply ignored it, smiling pleasantly. "I'm a bit busy right now, Andy."

"Not for this, you're not."

Her glare darkened into a scowl. "Yes, actually, I am."

"C'mon, it'll take three seconds."

"I—"

"It's fine, love," Sebastian drawled with a shrug, though given his present state, I was rather certain anything would be 'fine'.

Alicia smiled briefly at him before snapping her gaze back over to me, edgy and pissed. "And who is it that I have to meet right now?"

"Gabe."

Her face flickered slightly with realization—I'd already told her my plan to get her on the Wobbler staff. "Gabe, Gabe? The Gabe that—"

"Correct."

"You mean Gabe Harris?" Sebastian asked, leaning back onto his elbows in a catlike motion.

"Yeah," I said, arching a brow, and he let his head loll back in desire.

"That boy is such a slice."

I smacked my lips together as hard as I could, fighting the burst of laughter bubbling up my throat. Sebastian… thought Gabe… my shoulders started shaking. "R-really?" I managed, avoiding Alicia's eyes at all costs.

"Oh, completely," Sebastian said, voice tinged with a dramatic purr. "He's number three on my list of top twenty straight blokes I'd get a sex-change for." I almost lost it at this point. "I mean, honestly, have you seen him doing laps in the lake? That torso…" He shuddered lustfully, eyes fluttering closed, and I couldn't help but sneak a peak at Alicia.

At which point I did lose it.

Steam was practically curling from her nostrils, her eyes reduced to fiery slits of blue. Her shoulders were rigid as stone as she stared at Sebastian, teeth gritting together in jealous fury, fingers digging into the thick velvet of the cushion below her. Tears threatened to spill from my eyes as I convulsed with laughter, making a quick grab for Alicia's wrist and hurling her up before she could protest. "C-c'mon!"

I staggered forward into the crowd, probably looking totally hammered despite the complete lack of alcohol in my system as I dragged her behind me. "Seriously—gasp—too—gasp—perfect!" I heaved, struggling not to fall over; I nearly crashed into six people, but I couldn't even manage a sorry. "Look on your—gasp—face!" I fell into a fresh peal of giggles, positively drunk with laughter, while Alicia scowled.

"It's really not that funny," she jabbed, yanking me to an angry halt as we neared the dance floor. "He's gay; obviously he likes blokes."

"Yeah, but this particular—"

"Whatever," she snapped, crossing her arms with a glower. "It doesn't matter—let's just meet this kid." I laughed in her face for a few more minutes, making all sorts of obnoxious comments about karma and 'this-is-what-happens-when-you-go-through-life-as-an-inconsiderate-bint', before finally settling down a bit.

"Alright, I'm done, I swear," I conceded, grinning cheekily as I raised my palms. She looked thoroughly unamused, eyes slitted with a mixture of irritation and impatience, and I rolled my eyes. "Seriously, the joke's over."

"Fine."

The response was predictably snippy, and I sighed. "Can someone please get this girl a drink?" I yelled over the crowd, gesturing at Alicia, and sure enough, a lovesick fifth-year jumped at the chance, racing over to the Tiki bar like his life depended on it.

"Wha—no! Oi, kid, stop!" Alicia called, turning around and yelling after the boy, and I took the opportunity to scan the room for Gabe. The crowd was sprawling and tightly packed, so it took me a few seconds before… bingo.

"Harris!" I called, spotting the tousled, dark blonde head amidst the swirl of people by the Strip Poker balcony. He glanced over, spotting me and shooting a crooked grin, and I waved him over impatiently. "I need you to meet someone!"

He broke off the conversation he was having with a pretty Ravenclaw, causing her to pout cutely at him and whisper something in his ear, and I merely rolled my eyes—typical. "If it isn't my little ray of optimism and sunshine," he greeted as he made his way over, pulling me into a bear hug before I could protest and ruffling my hair.

"Oi—whoa! I spent half an hour getting her hair to look human; paws off, buddy!"

My eyes closed at the snap of a voice, groan working its way out of my throat. "Gabe," I said, voice muffled by his collar, "meet the girl you're doing a favor for."

He pulled away slightly, keeping an arm draped over my shoulders as his curious green stare landed on Alicia. I glanced over, snorting at the sight of her: she was in her pissed off stance, hands thrown against her hips and lips pursed, and I couldn't help but marvel at how aggressive she could look in such a pretty blue dress.

"You're Gabe?" she demanded, arching a judgmental brow.

His mouth curled cheekily. "Only on Tuesdays."

"So I guess that leaves Hair-Destroyer for Mondays," she snapped coolly, and I almost groaned.

"True—but I'm Helps-Delusional-Girl-Stalk-Gay-Bloke on Wednesdays, so get excited."

Her eyes widened in outrage, and I couldn't help but laugh. "Why do you people insist on painting me out as some creepy stalker?" she cried.

"Oh, I don't know—maybe because you creepily stalk people?"

She scowled at me. "Your hair looks ugly now."

"Irrelevant."

"But true."

"So is the fact that you're a stalker."

"Iamnotastalker!"

"Alright, regardless of what may or may not be your stalker-like tendencies," Gabe began, shooting Alicia a placating look as she predictably ruffled, "I said may or may not be, love, calm down." She did nothing of the sort, pretty blue eyes tapering into slits, and Gabe continued with his thought, "You want to work for the Wobbler."

She scoffed. "Sure."

"Sure?" he asked, arching a brow, and I couldn't help but groan internally—Alicia always did this when she felt attacked or on the defensive. Her movements grew tense, her answers flippant, and everything about her got snippy.

"Yes, sure—awesome, brilliant, great," she listed testily, waving an errant hand. "Insert superlative here."

"Alicia," I interjected, voice falsely pleasant. "I don't know if this has slipped your oftentimes questionable mind, but Gabe's doing you a favor." She stared at me uncomprehendingly, and I rolled my eyes. "Translation: stop being a bitch."

"I'm not—" Gabe's laughter sliced through her snipe of a response, irritating her immensely. "What?"

He shrugged. "For someone so blunt and 'tell-it-like-it-is', you're in denial quite a bit," he replied, and she scowled in response, parting her mouth to speak. "Let me guess—'no, I'm not'," he ventured, raising a cheeky brow.

Her mouth snapped shut, lips pressing together in a flustered purse, and my brows slowly inched upward. Well, damn. The only other bloke I'd ever seen shut Alicia up was George, and that was because he had a mean Silencio charm. The tense silence persisted for a few moments, her glare steadily fixed on his cheeky stare, before I cleared my throat.

"Alright, well, I'm going to let you two talks things out…"

"That would require actual talking," Gabe said, raffish stare trained on Alicia.

She gave him a surly look, lip curled in distaste. "Why on earth would anyone ever get a sex-change for you?"

His face crumpled in confusion, and I took that as my cue to leave. A few, trailing snippets of the their bickering carried over to my ears as I walked off, loaded with a crackling mixture of curiosity and animosity, and I couldn't help but shake my head—I really think I might've just opened up a Pandora's box with those two. Gabe could get along with pretty much anybody, but Alicia—'shame, what's that?'—Spinnet was no anybody.

"ANDY!" someone called, boisterous and loud, and I glanced over to see none other than a half-dressed Zach Davies staggering toward me, George Weasley in tow. "Th' woman o' the decade! Everybody give it up for th' bezzt Seeker in Hogwarts hist'ry!" he roared through cupped hands, causing the chaotic crowd to erupt into cheers, and I laughed.

"Davies, you're drunk."

He grinned stupidly. "You're c'rrect."

"I take it you lost?" I observed, referencing the poker game and the fact that he was only wearing his boxers, a beanie, and a bright red sock.

"False!" he cried, thrusting a dramatic arm over to the balcony and nearly falling over in the process. "Lies, Andy! M'm telling you, it was a conspir…rimacy…" he stumbled for a moment, expression dropping, before glaring back up at me with restored ferocity. "Lousy gits cheated th' whole game!"

"Sore loser, this one," George chimed in, slinging an arm around the impassioned blonde's shoulders and tossing me a grin. "Having fun, love?"

"I really am," I said, smile earnest—despite my initial misgivings, I was actually really happy I'd decided to come. It was a brilliant way to get my mind off things, and while Wood's continued absence admittedly bothered me, it was refreshing in a way as well. I'd pretty much given up on the idea of him coming, so I wasn't going to bother with him tonight; this was a night for just me. No drama. No conflict. No butterflies. No maybes.

Just fun.

"I know 'vrybody's probably been tellin' you this, but you look great, Andy," Zach drawled, a hilarious slur in his speech. "Like hot great. Like damn-whoz-tha'-leggy-bird-in-the-black-dress great. Like—"

"I get it," I interjected quickly, feeling a slight flush rising onto my cheeks. I never did take compliments all that well. I simply didn't know what to do with them. "But, er, thank you."

"No," Zach slurred, leaning over in a dramatic gesture and holding my gaze suggestively, "thank you."

George yanked him back by the scruff of his neck, rolling his eyes and sending me a pointed look. "Do me a favor, yeah? Next time you decide to wear that dress, let me know ahead of time so I can bring my Beater's bat."

I snorted, defaulting to derision in my state of discomfort, though before I could properly respond, a sudden, deafening roar erupted over the crowd. I jolted in shock at the sound—it was by far the loudest of the night, wild and frenzied and full of hysteria, and I glanced over my shoulder in irritation. What on earth could be so bloody excit—

"LADIES AND GENTLEMEN," Lee shouted from the entrance, grinning like a madman, "THE CAPTAIN HAS ARRIVED!"

My heart suddenly skipped about three beats. He'd shown up.

Everybody started swarming the tower entrance, rushing over to greet the long-awaited missing member of the Quidditch team, and I found that I simply couldn't move. I honestly didn't know why. The reaction was violent and sharp, almost suffocating, and I realized after a moment that it was anxiety. Pure, unbridled anxiety. Butterflies started fluttering about my stomach, nervous and tense, and as stupid as they were, I couldn't shake them off.

I'd made up my mind that I wasn't going to see Wood tonight, and now that he was here, I felt… heightened. Awake. Like someone had just hit the 'on' switch inside of me. Three seconds ago, I'd been having fun, sure, but it was an easygoing, lukewarm kind of fun where everything was lighthearted and nothing was unpleasant. I'd almost been a bit… numb.

Now, with that one, simple announcement, I was electrified.

"…he's a jolly good fellow, for he's a jolly good fell-ooooow!" everyone was singing, voices horribly off-key, and I forced myself to look up at the source of it all, "that nobody can deny!"

I stiffened. Hauled onto the shoulders of Lee and Fred, shirt unbuttoned and Gryffindor tie askew, was none other than the man of the hour himself, Oliver Wood. His head was tossed back in reckless laughter, hair a ruffled mess of dark brown, eyes bright and warm as he egged along the crowd… and I honestly couldn't do anything but blink. This was, quite simply, due to one minor detail.

He was completely, totally, and irrefutably drunk.