Sofia's view

The dizzying beat of the music almost gets under my skin. I hide in the corner, and collapse, crying. I can still see her smile, than the surprise on her face when she saw me. I wish she had dreamed about me. But I know she doesn't. She has Reginald as her boyfriend. Why would she dream about me? She has no reason for that. – Sofia, are you okay? – Elara's words snap me back to reality.

- Yes, of course – I state with a weak smile.

- Than what are you doing here?

- Nothing, I'm just… - my voice falters as I glance again toward the couch. Pansy laughs at something Theodore says, but there's a hollowness in it that I don't understand.

- Did you talk to each other?

- No…but I accidentally bumped into her and there was something in her expression. Suprise and something inexplicable…maybe hate.

Elara narrows her eyes, clearly unconvinced, but she doesn't press further. She pats my shoulder before disappearing back into the crowd, leaving me alone with my spiralling thoughts. I take a shaky breath, my gaze unwillingly drawn back to Pansy. Her head tilts forward now, dark strands of hair falling into her face. Draco says something, but she doesn't react, her hands fumbling for the nearly empty bottle in her lap. For a fleeting moment, I wonder if she's okay. Then I shake my head. Why should I care? She's not thinking about me. She never does.

But the truth gnaws at me, sharp and insistent. That smile she had—it was too soft, too intimate, to be for anyone else. And yet, the way she's drowning herself in that bottle tells me there's something she's trying to forget. Or someone. Me.

The crowd shifts, and for a moment, I lose sight of her. Panic flares in my chest, irrational and uncontrollable, until I catch a glimpse of her again. She's standing now, unsteady on her feet as Draco and Theodore exchange concerned looks. She waves them off with a slurred laugh, but her knees buckle, and she sinks back onto the couch. My body moves before I can stop it, weaving through the mass of people toward her. I don't know what I'm doing. I don't know what I'll say. But the sight of her so broken, so far removed from the confident girl I know, is like a hook pulling me closer.

- Pansy, a-a-are y-you okay? – my voice stumbles as much as my feet. Great, the alcohol I consumed has finally hit. Now, I'm sure that the universe hates me.

She looks up, her pupils dilated and unfocused, a sloppy grin spreading across her face. –
Yes… your ha-a-a-air is soooo beautiful, darling, – she slurs, reaching out and barely brushing my curls before giggling. My stomach twists at her words, a mix of unease and something I don't want to name.

Leaning forward, his tone sharp, cutting through the haze of the room. – Get her out of here, Sofia. She's drunk, and there's LSD in her blood. She's going to lose it soon if she stays.

I glance between him and Pansy, who's now humming some unrecognizable tune. – How much did she…

– Enough – he cuts me off, his face unreadable, but there's an edge of concern in his voice. I nod, swallowing the lump in my throat. – Go. Now.

I kneel beside Pansy, looping her arm over my shoulder. She leans heavily against me, her head lolling. – Come on, Pansy. Let's get some fresh air.

Her voice is sing-song, barely coherent. – Why are you… sooooo niiiice to me, Sofs? You don't even like meee…

I grit my teeth, guiding her toward the door, my cheeks burning at the nickname. It's not fair, how easily she can make my heart race, even like this. - That's true, I'm not like you. I love you, Pansy. Now walk, please.

The cool night air hits us as we step outside. The party noise fades behind us, replaced by the distant chirping of crickets. I help her to a bench nearby, sitting her down carefully.

She tilts her head back, gazing at the stars with a dopey smile. – You're soooo pretty, Sofia. Did you know that? Like… like one of those… what are they called? Angels? Yeah. An angel.

I let out a shaky breath, sitting beside her, my hands gripping the edge of the bench to keep them steady. – You're drunk, Pansy.

She turns to me, her face suddenly serious, her eyes glassy but searching mine. – Reginald thinks I'm pretty too – my chest tightens at the mention of his name. Of course. Reginald. That filthy Ravenclaw clown she's been hanging out with lately. I should be happy for them, but I truly hate him.

My voice comes out colder than I intend. – What about him?

She blinks slowly, her lips twitching into a faint smile. – He's… not you. Congratulations, Einstein…

The words hang in the air, their weight sinking into me before I can process them. I don't know what she means, but the way she's looking at me—soft, vulnerable—makes my heart skip a beat. But then her eyes close, her head lolling to the side as if she's fallen asleep.

I let out a bitter laugh, running a hand through my hair. – Of course.

For a moment, I sit there, staring at her, torn between frustration and something dangerously close to hope. She doesn't move, her breathing steady, and I realize I have no idea what to do next.

The weight of her words lingers in the air, as heavy as the night pressing down on us. My chest tightens, and I try to steady my breathing, but it feels like I'm drowning in everything she just said—and everything she didn't. What does she mean, "He's not you"? Is it the drugs talking? The alcohol? Or is this some half-truth she'll laugh off when she's sober? My mind races, trying to grasp onto something solid, but all I can focus on is the way her voice softened when she said it, like she wasn't just rambling. Like she meant it. And that terrifies me. Because if she did mean it, what am I supposed to do with that?

Everything feels like it's been turned upside down, like the ground beneath me is shaking with the weight of what Pansy has said. For years, Pansy and I have been inseparable, two sides of the same coin, our personalities almost mirror images of each other. We've confessed our feelings to each other, shared things no one else knows, and for a while, it felt like we were finally in sync, like we had figured out the unspoken truth between us. But then came the kiss from him. Reginald. The Ravenclaw boy destroyed it, but now, I can't help but wonder if that kiss meant something more. The fact that she didn't pull away, that she let him kiss her in front of me… it's like a bruise that keeps deepening every time I think about it. I don't know what to do with all these feelings, all this uncertainty. On one hand, I want to pull her close, remind her of everything we've shared, and tell her it's still me. But on the other, a part of me is afraid. Afraid that maybe I was never enough for her, that maybe she was just waiting for something—or someone—else to show her something different. She's always been so sure of herself, so confident, and I wonder if, deep down, she never really needed me the way I need her. And that thought alone feels like a weight I can't carry anymore.

Somehow, she manages to open her eyes. I have no idea who moved first, but in a few moments, our lips meet. I can feel the alcohol in her kiss, but her lips are still sweet. Her hands find their way to my neck, pulling me closer, as if she's afraid I might disappear. The world around us blurs; the muffled sounds of music and laughter from the party fade into the background. It's just her and me, tangled in this fleeting moment.