* 𝐓𝑰𝐏𝐒𝐘 𝐓𝑶𝐏𝑺𝐘 .

*   𝙾𝙿𝙴𝙽 .

  ⁰.    who  even   are   you?          is a question she’s heard all night.          from herself,     tipsy   &   suspiciously existential,    or coming from pricks who like to get in her face for being a new face in the crowd.          she’d spat the question back each time,     sour in her throat,     before stalking away into a new corner to simmer in privacy.          she’d been the new girl before,     &   she had daphne there just as much as she has her here now,     which helps a ton     …     but mum not so much.          but that’s totally not happening right now.          no,     thank you.          she is not thinking about that,     &   a drink should help that happen quicker than finding daphne in a childish panic would.

        just as she makes it to the drinks station,     someone’s leaving.          at the risk of being rude,     she lightly taps their shoulder   &   pulls a “sorry” face for when they turn.          “i’m  so  sorry,     could  you  please  clue  me  in  on  what’s  what  with  the  drinks?          i’m about to go in blind.”          she gives a small laugh to ease her own tension,     perhaps unsuccessfully. 

          𝐌𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐍,    𝐓𝐇𝐄    𝐅𝐄𝐄𝐋𝐈𝐍𝐆    𝐎𝐅    𝐍𝐎𝐓𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐍𝐄𝐒𝐒    is    truly    something    else    .    marcus    tips    his    head    back    as    the    liquid    glides    down    his    throat    and    settles    in    the    pit    of    his    stomach    —    making    him    all    warm    and    fuzzy    inside    his    normally    ice    cold    body.    an    unsolicited    smile    slides    across    his    stone    face    but    at    this    point,    he    truly    could    not    care    less    .    he    stumbles    towards    the    drinks    station,    the    crowd    parting    for    the    giant    swaying    side    to    side,    red    cup    half    squashed    due    to    his    massive    hand    and    lack    of    self    -    awareness.    oh    well,    it    will    do.    marcus    would    drink    out    of    his    own    hands    if    it    came    to    that    (    he    wouldn’t    —    that    was    a    tad    too    much    …    maybe    though.    )    

         his    hand    is    halfway    to    contact    with    the    pitcher    when    it’s    drawn    back    just    as    quickly    at    the    tap    of    his    shoulder.    he    turns    around    languidly,    smile    widening    as    his    gaze    falls    on    a    familiar    face    (    ??    —    he    must    admit,    it    is    slightly    blurry    )    “    oh,    daphne    darling,    that    is    the    beauty    of    it    all    …    think    of    it    like    a    lucky    dip.    just    reach,    grab    and    sip.    perhaps,    it    should    be    called    the    lucky    sip    instead    then.    ”    he    shares    a    chuckle    with    himself.    embarrassing.    but    again,    who    even    cares    ?    (    his    dad    ,    probably    )    

Eager chestnut eyes scanned the unruly, rambunctious crowd of students who had gathered outside for the bonfire, glamoured to fool the ever-watchful staff. Hermione was deep in recruitment mode, much to the dismay of everyone there. In normal circumstances, she wouldn’t be caught anywhere near a party like this, especially as a prefect — she was expected to prevent things like this, not join in — but Ron and Harry had dragged her along, saying that they hadn’t gotten to see her all summer and “couldn’t she not be a stick-in-the-mud for just one bloody night?” At least this way, she supposed, she could keep an eye on everyone and ensure that no one got hurt in the midst of all this chaos.

Hermione’s eyes landed on her first target, and quickly, she moved towards them, beckoning. A quick tap on their shoulder and then she gave her well-rehearsed spiel: “Excuse me, do you have a moment to talk about the Society for the Promotion of Elfish Welfare? S.P.E.W. for short. We’re a modestly small but devoted organization determined to stop the heinous abuse and mistreatment of house elves. The joining fee is only two sickles, a meager price to pay to help stop the injustice of elf enslavery everywhere.”

           𝐎𝐍𝐋𝐘    𝐀    𝐅𝐄𝐖    𝐃𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐊𝐒    𝐈𝐍    and    marcus    can    already    feel    reality    start    to    slip,    walls    are    starting    to    swirl,    floors    beginning    to    tip    …    he    smiles    to    himself    as    the    warmth    tickles    his    stomach    and    he’s    halfway    through    another    cup    when    he    feels    a    tap    on    the    shoulder.    he    quirks    a    brow,    wondering    if    he    had    imagined    it    but    a    voice    had    quickly    accompanied    it    and    he    turns    around    much    quicker.    the    cup    lingers    on    his    lips,    the    smell    of    alcohol    tempting    his    senses,    but    to    his    great    surprise,    brings    it    down    to    give    the    other    his    undivided    attention    —    does    being    drunk    make    him    nicer    ?    he    shoves    the    question    far    from    his    mind    and    clears    his    throat.    he    hums    in    agreement,    despite    only    a    few    words    reaching    the    itty    bitty    processing    part    of    his    brain.    “    hmm,    and    what    do    i    get    in    return    ?    ”    he    asks,    cocking    his    head    to    the    side,    “    personally,    i    mean.    ”