Chapter 17: The party of the year
"Ugh, this won't do!" Ginny grumbled, looking herself over in the mirror for the umpteenth time.
All her dresses were at least two years old and though she could still fit them (she hadn't exactly gained weight during the war), she felt she had outgrown them, both in style and comfort. They just weren't.. her anymore.
She was sorely tempted to put on the Muggle attire she had acquired in a shop in London when going there during the Holidays with Hermione which consisted of a black, sleeveless silk top, slim, dark-blue jeans and a pair of low, black, chunky-heeled boots. 'The highest fashion', Hermione had told her. Ginny had just shrugged and said 'OK'. How would she know what Muggle fashion currently dictated? She had given up looking up the fashion section in Witch Weekly two years ago.
But she guessed it had looked nice enough on her. And she really needed some new clothes. She had only gone on that shopping spree with Hermione out of desperation and need of distraction.
During only a couple of months she felt she had outgrown everything in her closet. Most of all, she just wanted to lit a big bonfire in the garden of the Burrow and throw every damn cute little, girly, knitted, multi-colored article on it and watch it turn to ashes and disappear into the air. As if everything bad and gruesome she had witnessed and experienced while bearing it also disappeared. All the good memories they once held tainted by the bad ones. No need to carry around such memories. She had been a little, silly, innocent girl back then anyway. She was no silly, little, innocent girl anymore.
A silent choke tore up her throat and she was met by her own teary reflection in the mirror.
Way to go, Ginny. Now you've really set in the party mood. And all by yourself.
She had deliberately refrained from calling on any of the other girls to help her pick out an outfit or join in for a pre-party at their dorms as they used to.
Huh. 'As they used to'.
What they used to do seemed light years away and yet it was only two years ago they had all been sitting here, right where she was standing, invited by the then Head Girl of Gryffindor whom Hermione knew through her Prefect duties. They were going to one of the big House parties thrown by Gryffindor and had decided to throw their own little pre-party to 'warm up' together with some of the other girls from Ravenclaw and Hufflepuff. Despite they had still been on the cusp to war, it was one of the last times Ginny had felt truly carefree and happy at school.
Now, the memory seemed like a ghost conjured from her imagination and swept out through the open window to the cold night sky. The stars twinkled back, either mocking her for her sentimentality; for reminiscing too much on past innocence, or they were consoling her; thanking her for giving them her little memory. That they would take good care of it.
She sighed and looked down the tatty, old dress she was currently wearing and angrily grabbed the hem, ripping it over her head to throw it in the growing pile of clothes at her feet. Rummaging through her closet she finally found the outfit she had bought in London. Well, it would do. She didn't really care what the others thought or wore in comparison.
Putting it on, she added some of her necklaces, a bracelet and a so-called 'choker', made of a black velvet ribbon that Hermione had given her in another instance of her 'It's the highest fashion'-speeches.
She chuckled for herself at the memory of Hermione of all people telling her what the newest fashion was as she swept up her long hair into a high, loose bun with some of it framing her face. The finished result was satisfactory and for once, as of late, she didn't feel out of place in her clothes. However, not wanting to give anymore thought to it nor suddenly having second thoughts, she grabbed her wand, turned off the lights and exited her room.
She did not have to venture far from her quarters before she ran into the first, several groups of dolled up, merry students headed towards the House dorm of Politics & Law. Even the looming threat of a rogue Dementor couldn't rattle the new students of Hogwarts that easily, it seemed. Clearly, this party was the party that was going to set in the new year. With a blast!
Closer to the entrance, she narrowly spotted some underage students who had snuck in between the others but failed trying to blend in. Making quick work of catching them, she made it clear to them how severe the consequences would be if she found them here again. Usually, she didn't have to say things twice since she had built up a nice rep throughout the semester of just how serious she was about her position as Head Girl, but apparently her 'rep' had been overhauled by the sheer hype and attraction of the party. Those small, shining, pleading eyes darting towards the festivities and music at the other end of the hallway behind them certainly told her she would have to say things several times before it registered.
"Listen, I know you want to go to the party, but you are simply not old enough to this kind of party, you see?" she prompted, balancing her voice in equal measure of sensible authority and sympathy to the group of Second Years she had caught. "Maybe in a year or two and then you'll be able to have your own parties as well."
They nodded slowly, their crestfallen faces not exactly lifting her mood for going to the party herself.
"What's this? The Spanish Inquisition? My my, Weasley, spread the joy a little wider while you're at it, why don't you?"
The mocking, languid voice behind her was unmistaken and for a second she thought she might break her own jaw from gnashing her teeth so hard together at the sound of it.
"Zabini." The acid in her voice could have melted a hole in the floor and swallowed him whole. Oh, she wished! She really didn't have the energy to deal with him, of all people, right now.
Facing momentarily away from the bewildered Second Years, she crossed her arms and turned towards the dark-skinned Italian who was standing as lean, tall and superior as ever and pinning her down with an irritatingly smug expression painted on his sculpted features. He was clad in some sort of aristocratic, dark evening robes, presumably worth the yearly salary of the entire Hogwarts staff put together, and on his left arm was some snooty-looking, leggy blonde whom Ginny vaguely recalled having seen around him before, probably a former Slytherin from his year.
Well, does he work quickly!
Gone was this afternoon's frustrated and edgy countenance she had witnessed up-close, as he gave the assembly a towering, haughty once-over.
"I see you've collected your stray dogs? How tedious. But shouldn't you at least try and lift their spirits? A drink or two couldn't possibly hurt. They'd have to learn it from somewhere and, why, we all know you would be the perfect teacher," he drawled in thinly veiled disgust. However, his full lips quirked ever so slightly and she spotted an amused twinkle in his dark eyes, goading her on. To anyone else it probably just looked like a typical, icy stand-off between two old House enemies.
She shot him a raised eyebrow. Oh, so it's with that attitude on now, is it, Blaise? Well, she hadn't exactly expected hugs and flowers. It wasn't like they had something going on or anything (that was way too confusing to think about now); they could hardly even call themselves 'buddies'.
She gave an internal scoff at the positively absurd sound of that, turning her attention back on his smug features.
"How original, Zabini. If anyone would applaud underage-drinking, one could only expect it to come from a former Slytherin," she smiled overly sweetly, keeping up with his goading which she figured – based on the answering glint in his eyes – was well-received.
"Hmph! As if you Gryffindors don't get unseemly sloshed and knocked out all the time at our parties! So boorish," the girl at Blaise's arm interfered snootily, oblivious to the silent transaction between the two and tossed her long, blonde hair over one shoulder. "That uncouth brother of yours who always ran around with Scarhead? Ugh, he was the worst!"
Blaise said nothing but a muscle in his strong jaw ticked in obvious annoyance at his date's interruption.
"Right," Ginny jeered with an arched eyebrow towards the girl, "whoever you are. I don't think you're in a position to say anything about my brother, so please stay out of this."
The blonde gaped. "Ugh! Did you hear that, Blaise?! How rude!"
Blaise, however, seemed more bored than bothered with the entire display – and definitely with his date whom he didn't deign a second glance.
"Anywho," he continued smoothly, unperturbed by the murderous looks his date kept sending Ginny, "you need a certain Prefect's help with this particular lot?" He bent his long frame slightly forward and eyed the unmoving crowd of underage students behind her who had been watching them in curious awe. Blaise's crowding frame however seemed to startle them out of their daze and they backed ever so slightly away from him.
Ginny held back a snicker, looked at them and shrugged. "Nah. I think they got the message."
Straightening up again, a subtle, wolfish grin exposed a set of perfect, white teeth, and his gaze swept back to her, sending a warm, chafing jolt to her stomach. He emitted a short, low chuckle. "Suit yourself, Weaslette," rolling the nickname predatorily over his tongue, his obsidian eyes transfixed on hers, "but if you will be in need of help to sort out this particular lot then don't hesitate to call … somebody else."
His voice was laced with a double meaning, but his date clearly missed it and snickered exaggeratedly beside him, tugging at his stoic frame. He didn't budge however, hardly seemed to register her existence as his dark orbs bored into Ginny's.
She stood for a moment, flummoxed by his words and this new intensity of his stare, when another voice broke through and shattered the spell.
"What'z thiz, Blaisy-boy? A group hug? Can 'ah join?"
Theo Nott had so 'gallantly' chosen to join the party, already drunk as a skunk, his arms slung around two giggling teens on either side of him as he blearily grinned at everyone in the circle. Unsteadily he held up a giant bottle of expensive champagne, waggling his eyebrows and gestured to the females – even those among the Second Years who giggled at his theatrics. "How'z it hangin', girlies? Want zome?"
"Cut it out, Theo."
"That's enough, Nott!"
Blaise and Ginny briefly glanced at each other for having spoken at the same time, but their attention was once again drawn to Theo's reeling form.
"I'll say!" he exclaimed, drunkenly affronted and swinging the heavy bottle in his flailing arm; the boy on his right narrowly escaping it. "Can't a man have zome fun? Huh? What'z the crime, folks? Iz it because 'am a Deathz eater, huh, iz it? Hm?!" he slurred and leaned forward. The teens who were holding most of his weight were now straining under him. "It iz, isn't it?! It'z that Dementor appearing and now –"
"Pull yourself together, Theo," Blaise was quick to intervene, distracting any onlooker with an air of overbearing exasperation, though his tight voice belied a hint of alarm. "You're drunker than a Cornish Pixie who's fallen into the spiked punch!"
"Am not!" Theo childishly retorted and pouted, swaying dangerously between the teens as he tried but failed to point directly at Blaise, likely seeing double.
Blaise sighed. "Get him inside and put him down a place where he can't hurt himself. Or others, for that matter," he said, apparently not unfamiliar with his friend's behavior, and gestured towards the entrance to the dorm. "I'll make sure he gets to bed safely."
The teens, not ones to question the clear authority Blaise held, nodded (rather gratefully) and pulled a now grumpy and protesting Theo away from the group, navigating his stumbling body in between the bustling crowd of students in the hallway.
"Shall we go?" the Italian's terse voice sounded next.
Before Ginny knew it, Blaise had passed her, dragging his baffled, leggy date behind him, a more strained look marring his features.
For a second she just stood there, contemplating his strange behavior, then a small finger poked her shoulder.
"Can't we come, too? We promise to behave," one of the Second Years tried with a last, desperate plea.
Ginny once again took in their crowd of eager faces and sighed.
"No." Their faces fell. "I am sorry, but I'm not the Head Girl if I do not implement the school rules – and the rules are strict concerning underage drinking. Now go along, back to your dorms," she cajoled, hands on their slim shoulders pushing them gently, but firmly in the opposite direction of the party.
With one last, despondent look over their shoulders, the sulky children shuffled along down the corridor and eventually rounded the corner.
Making sure they had all gone, Ginny sighed once more. Being a strict rule follower didn't exactly sit well with her, but she wouldn't want to begin slacking on the rules, knowing how well they could escalate if she just once gave enough leeway. Besides, the last thing she wanted was to get into the soup with McGonagall.
Somewhat reluctantly, she started following the herd of cheerful students up the stairs of the former Ravenclaw Tower that led to the current House dorm, having already lost sight of Blaise and the others. Once jostled inside the overly packed room she admittedly had to concede to the whole hype factor; this House certainly understood how to throw a proper party:
A magnificent display of various blue and bronze serpentines covered the entire ceiling, with little stars and birds of silver paper and glowing glass globes charmed to stay afloat and fly in-between them, throwing the spacious room in a cozy lightning. In one of the corners, the House band played a loud, electric beat, resonating well throughout the castle, in front of an excited, dancing crowd, while a circular bar had been placed in the middle of the room and several colorful drinks and delicious-looking snacks were handed over the counter.
By the looks of it all, you certainly wouldn't think a threat of a Dementor on the loose had been announced just yesterday morning!
"Ginny! There you are! Over here!" a familiar, female voice shouted across the noise and she barely managed to spot a raised hand waving towards her from across the crowded room. Parvati's excited face emerged for a split second and Ginny gave a small sigh, smiling and waving back before beginning to push past people in the direction of her.
Finally reaching a very fashionably styled Parvati and the group she was hanging out with, the twin's hand eagerly shot out to lightly grab Ginny's arm.
"I'm so glad you came! Wow, you look great! Is that new? Muggle fashion? Risqué. Oh, but I've heard of this amazing shop in central Muggle London that's just a must see! Here, have some of the vodka we smuggled in! And who's got the pumpkin juice, guys? Come on, hurry, before somebody sees! Ah, here you go!"
The little group around her giggled conspiratorially and before Ginny knew it she had been handed a large cup which was then immediately filled with the promised beverage. She stared down into the slightly disconcerting mixture for a moment.
"Merlin, isn't this great!" Parvati babbled on, eyes shining as she gestured to their surroundings before eagerly settling back on Ginny. "No way you'd have wanted to miss this for the world, right?!"
Ginny gave an indulgent smile, taking a sip from her drink (which had an acquired taste, indeed), and nodded to her surroundings. "Well, they certainly seem to have put a lot of effort into this, I'll give them that."
"Effort?!" Parvati laughed, practically bouncing with giddiness, "This IS already the party of the year! Seriously. No one can top this! Everybody is here – even the teachers and the Aurors – look!"
She gestured through the crowd towards one of corners where indeed some of the staff members – mostly of the younger generation – stood calmly in a group, drinks in their hands, alternating between observing the crowd and chatting to each other or some of the students. They managed to somehow ooze the jovial authority and professionalism that younger, idealistic and still rather untried teachers possessed. And already spurning quite the doe-eyed fans among the students who were clearly chatting them up. It stayed one-sided, of course.
Meanwhile, the few Aurors present stayed in the shadows, looming in the background while reconnoitering; their uniformed attires, serious faces and battle-ready attitudes marring some of the festive mood of the room. However, few students seemed to pay any particular attention to them, probably distracted by the music and the many drinks handed across the bar.
"The new teacher of History of Magic is such a stunner!" a younger, strawberry-blonde girl in Parvati's group sighed out loud, her eyes transfixed on the young, swarthy Professor Altair Zelenko in the corner who presently was sporting a blinding smile in front of his colleagues.
"Oh Merlin, yes!" Parvati crooned in a breathy response. "We've been standing here drooling like fools for about half an hour now, and I tell you, Ginny, History of Magic is never going to be boring again as long as he is at the helm. Total fox!"
Ginny chuckled at their besotted behavior, taking another sip from her drink while eyeing the Professor again. She had to admit that he had been gifted with several handsome features, though she found them rather conventional. She hardly remembered his classes (and not just because she hadn't attended most of them lately), so she could only conclude his personality had to be rather bland as well. Nice, but bland.
No, he wasn't the type she would be drooling over. Maybe once, long before the war – which seemed a lifetime ago – she could have been like these girls and gushed over a hot boy or young teacher. Back when she could allow herself to be relatively carefree, her heart and mind unburdened by trouble, untouched by darkness.
And now?
Yes, what now?
Did the close encounter with evil and the loss of innocence make her want a bit of darkness now? She could hardly let herself admit it. Yet, had her eyes not shifted; drawn to something else as of late? Not merely out of distraction or boredom or simply a change in taste. It was too superficial to explain why she had all of sudden and consistently collided with a specific individual in the crowd. One who had actually tasted the darkness; youth and innocence tangled up with its euphoric power before fear and understanding set in, yet, by then, had been pulled in too deep, deeper than her or any of her friends; now frantically, silently trying to escape from his past.
She was drawn on some inexplicable level she had yet to fully comprehend. As if they were already instinctively connected because of their shared experience with said darkness. And it had become all too mixed up with the rattling, sensory memory of his mere physical presence these last couple of months; angrily pushing her against a wall, looming over her and surprising her with such fierce, unchecked emotion; the stirring, knowing look given across the Quidditch field, seared into her soul; his dark brow set in pensive folds in the sparse lights of the tunnels to the Shrieking Shack, his raw voice guiding her to a greater insight of him and herself, revealing emotional scars she'd never seen before; him bodily shielding her prone form on the ground from the Dementor; his vulnerable state of shock in the aftermath; his length pressed against hers in the Prefects' Bathroom, lips hungrily meeting her own and gone before any of them had time to process it. The presence of him in her life suddenly becoming very tangible and real.
Too real.
"Ginny?"
Ginny snapped out of her heady thoughts and stared back at her olive-skinned friend who looked a little too knowingly at her, eyes gleaming.
"Why do I have the feeling that you weren't thinking about the young, hot Professor right now like the rest of us?"
"I'm – um – I wasn't thinking about anyone," Ginny said in a flurry, damning the tell-tale heat that flew to her cheeks which only made Parvarti's eyes narrow.
"Right. And I know you to be a better liar than that, Ginny Weasley." Stepping closer, cutting off the curious glances from her friends behind her, she whispered with curious excitement, "Who is he?"
"Er, I seriously don't know what you're on about, Parvati," Ginny chuckled nervously, backing away and looking desperately around for a distraction of some kind.
"Come on, Gin; you can tell me."
Parvati, having first caught the scent of potential gossip, was renowned for her persistence in getting a good scoop. In the back of her head Ginny wondered if the Patil twin one day would come to surpass Rita Skeeter herself in relaying the latest, blatant gossip for the Prophet. It wouldn't come as a surprise if she did. She looked positively hungry at the moment and the last thing Ginny wanted was this exact situation – escalating.
"It's really nothing, Parvati. Trust me," she emphasized, then looked away, trying to appear particularly wistful though secretly ashamed of her blatant lie, "I was just thinking about a special memory I had of Harry and me… you know?"
Parvati still looked suspicious.
Looking down to her cup, somewhat surprised that it was already empty, Ginny jumped at the chance.
"I'm thirsty. Aren't you thirsty? Let's go get some more drinks," she quickly intercepted before her friend could get to pry anymore, grapping Parvati's arm and pulling her through the crowd towards the bar.
Reaching it, a strapping, young bartender leered at them, leaning over the counter.
"What'll it be, ladies?"
"What've you got?" Ginny replied impatiently, eyes roaming the rows of various bottles behind him. She needed something hard-hitting and preferably fast!
He smirked. "Well," he drawled, "I've got everything your hearts desire: I've got Odgen's Old and Blishen's Firewhiskey, Dragon Barrel Brandy, red currant rum, Elf-made wine, Bungbarrel Spiced Mead, beer and ale, champagne and whatever fruity combination you wish to combine in a cocktail," he reeled off, smiling triumphantly at his own sale's speech.
"I'll have a fruity one, I think," Parvati piped up from behind her. "Perhaps one of those bubbly, red ones I've seen around? With the little butterfly wings, you know?" she mused, looking around as if hoping to point one out in the crowd.
"Certainly! Coming right up!" the bartender responded with a wink (Ginny practically snorted at that), already swinging his wand to pull forth the ingredients while his gaze came back to Ginny. "And for the other beautiful, young lady here?"
Hmph, 'young lady'! As if we aren't practically the same age, Ginny grumbled, having no patience for his contrived flirting.
"I'll have a Firewhiskey. On the rocks," she stated flatly. "Thanks."
His eyebrows, in turn, rose to impressive heights.
She harrumphed wryly. "Well, what can I say? I have an acquired taste, but right now I need something a little stronger than a bubbly butterfly drink – no offense, Parvati."
"None taken," Parvati smiled unfettered, eagerly accepting her own drink (which looked more like a butterfly nest) and began sipping at it.
Eyeing the still somewhat amazed bartender, Ginny raised an eyebrow, "Well?"
"Oh! Yes," he stumbled out his daze, "one Firewhiskey on the rocks coming up!"
"Firewhiskey, huh? Isn't it a bit early for that?" a deep, male voice chuckled and both girls whipped around in surprise to find none other than the topic of their earlier conversation standing right behind them with a handsome smile plastered on his face. His muddy-green eyes twinkled particularly magnificently in the light from the floating glass globes as they settled on a dumbfounded Ginny.
"Why, Professor Zelenko!" Parvati exclaimed in girly adoration, briefly distracting him from Ginny's stupefied stature. "I was just – I mean, we were just talking about what wonderful classes you teach! Weren't we, Ginny?" She elbowed Ginny in the ribs (who in turn gave a pained grunt) before prattling on, "I never thought History of Magic could be this interesting – but what do you know! There seems to be no ends to the surprises this year, does there?!" She burst into a slightly exaggerated, pearly laughter and Ginny eyed her with incredulity.
The Professor continued to smile, unperturbed by Parvati's theatrics.
"I'm glad you enjoy them, Miss Patil," he stated levelly, before his eyes settled back on Ginny with interest, "but I'm a bit surprised that – Miss Weasley, is it? – enjoys them so much as well, since I've hardly ever seen her in my classes." He kept his tone light and unimposing, but there was a slight, challenging sparkle in his eyes as he continued to study her.
Blast! She gulped.
"Well, I –" she chuckled nervously, "I don't seem to have a lot of time this year for all of my classes, Professor – um, with my Head Girl duties and Quidditch and all that."
Very articulate, Ginny, she cringed. An excellent and truly pathetic excuse. Merlin, how she wanted the floor to open up and swallow her whole right now!
The young Professor subtly scrutinized her face as she gnawed on her lip.
"Too bad," he finally said, seemingly in earnest, crossing his arms in a relaxed stance. "I have heard a lot of great things about you in the short time I've been here. I must say, I was very much looking forward to have you in my class and see for myself. But I realize that you are perhaps more of a – well, that you are less academically inclined than some of your peers. More of the sportsmanlike type. Am I right?", he smiled.
She stared befuddled back at him. For some reason, she couldn't quite figure out his tone of intent as it was said in all good humour on the surface, but had an underlying patronizing edge to it.
"Oh, you should totally see her in the air, Professor!" Parvati interjected with shrill enthusiasm. "She's the best Quidditch player we have! On the entire school!"
"Parvati," Ginny started in slight embarrassment, but the Professor cut in.
"Oh, I believe you," he smiled, his gaze sparking as he once more gazed at Ginny. "Actually, I have been so fortunate to witness so myself during the matches I've attended. You're quite the Captain, I've noticed."
She couldn't help but squirm under all the sudden praise. "Well, the team effort is really what makes the games worth the watch," she stressed rather feebly.
Zelenko tsked. "Ah, I wouldn't have thought you the type to use false modesty, Miss Weasley. Come now! You're surely the reason why the team is so effective, no?"
Irritation welled up in her at his overly personal address and she inhaled deeply, sending him a forced smile.
"Well, Professor. I guess I'm fortunate to have an excellent team that is eager, hard-working, competent and apt to any humble guidance I can prescribe, given I've only played on amateur level for a couple of years now. In the end, I'm merely doing my job, but that I happen to have a personal and professional interest in the sport does enhance my own effort. So, yes, in that regard, I guess I can take some credit and pride in the end results, but Quidditch is and always will be a team effort."
There! Take that, Mr. Smarty-pants Professor!, she gloated inwardly. Worthy of a bloody essay!
The look on his face was indeed one of astonishment, but it soon sparked an admiring note as he continued to study her with understated rapture and suddenly she feared she had done herself a disservice by trying to outwit him. He definitely didn't seem to mind that – at all!
Great, she thought wryly, what mess have you gotten yourself into now, Ginny?
"Indeed," he drawled, "I can see you are very keen about your sportsmanship. And don't take this the wrong way; there's nothing inherently wrong about striving for such a career. But," his voice took on a subtly overbearing tone, despite not breaking his casual, smiling countenance, "wouldn't it do you good to prioritize your other studies as well – if not more? Quidditch is hardly going to be your entire life, after all, since it's such a short-lived career from what I understand. No matter the level of fame – which I'm sure you're likely to achieve – you'll also need to have something to fall back on. Something dependable. Don't you agree?"
Ginny all but gaped at him. Why didn't this feel like a mere student-teacher-small talk any longer? Besides, he was little more than a stranger to her; how did he presume to know her all of a sudden? To lecture her this way? Really, it felt as if he had managed to reverse her usual self-confidence by jumping her all of a sudden here at the party, using the surprise to his advantage, to somehow undermine her with a double-edged compliment.
She wasn't usually distrustful of other people, but there was something off with this guy. He was too smooth.
Averting her gaze, and for the second or third time this evening she wished for some distraction to fall into her lap. Luckily, it momentarily appeared in the shape of her long-awaited drink being handed over the counter to her left by the frisky bartender.
Relieved, she grabbed it and wolfed down its contents, wincing at the burning feel in her throat and her body's response to the almost immediate, sedating effects of the strong liquor.
From the corner of her eye, she noticed it was Parvati's turn to stare incredulously at her and grumbled inwardly when she saw the Professor hadn't taken the hint and backed away. He was still standing there with that irritating smirk plastered on his face, an awkward silence settling between them.
She had just had about enough of this guy! She had never asked for his attention, least of all his more than unnecessary lecturing she felt there was no correct response to.
And of all the girls fawning over him and fighting for his attention in this overstuffed room, he had to pick out the least interested one!
"Another one, please," she snapped at the bartender who somewhat impressed but quickly filled her glass again. She drained it – all the while scowling at the Professor above the rim of the glass – before slamming it down on the counter, her head reeling from the effects of the alcohol and her gnawing irritation with present company. (Well, except Parvati, perhaps).
It was all that it took for her to wish for another face in her field of vision to distract her from the Professor's.
Distracted, her eyes skirted over the top of the Professor's head; roaming the crowd for that familiar dark head and set of wide, elegant shoulders squared against the world.
But there were too many people crowding her vision to set anyone particular apart and the ceiling decorations seemed to fill up any spare space above them. The noise, the music and the chatter disturbed her senses, a loss of direction setting in as she tried to scan her surroundings for him, her heart palpitating. He would be in the centre of attention and yet beside it. Giving no call to suspicion and maintaining his usual role, knowing he was not easily overlooked, but imposing a sense of respect for privacy, no matter the relaxed circumstances. Somehow she knew he would do that. Maybe because she did it as well.
Her stomach dropped. He was nowhere to be seen. An ugly, unwanted voice appeared in her head: Probably off shagging his leggy, blonde companion somewhere.
Ugh, here we go again.
Suddenly, the alcohol took a turn for the worse, no longer the warm, fuzzy feeling just moments ago and she paled.
"Will you excuse me for a moment," she spoke hoarsely and pushed away from the bar, leaving the company puzzled behind (she felt momentarily guilty for ditching Parvati, but she hoped she would understand), to stagger through the crowd towards the exit and out into the hallway leading to the stairs.
Yet, not even here could she have some privacy; it was still peopled with sniggering, stumbling students out for a snog; the air too thick and warm, constricting around her throat and making the nausea set in twofold.
As swiftly as her foggy brain and slightly wobbly legs could manage, she passed the distracted teens along the walls and hurried down the stairs of the tower, almost falling over a couple of students who apparently had picked out the stairs as a good snogging spot, before finally reaching the lower level corridor connected to the tower.
She walked a couple of steps into the nearest hallway on the left which was quite dark and abandoned and – luckily – infused with the cool, night air from some of the opened, high-ceiled windows facing the starlit sky.
Finally in peace, she bent over, hands on knees and letting herself breathe for a moment to get the nausea and dizziness to settle down.
Since when had she taken so badly to a bit of Firewhiskey?!
OK, and some vodka, she admitted begrudgingly, grabbing the side of her throbbing head, already regretting coming to this party, at all.
"You're feeling well, Miss Weasley?" a deep, uniform voice drawled from further down the darkened hallway, making her straighten with a small yelp.
Gee, not a moment's peace!
A/N: Oh, this 'party' isn't over yet, folks ;)
Btw, the inspiration for Ginny's garb I got from one of the outfits that Rose Leslie (whom I very much like to imagine a grown-up Ginny Weasley would look like) wears in the movie "The Last Witch Hunter".