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Vivienne looked around at the lights, pleasantly surprised. She grudgingly had to admit that it was one of the most spectacular sights she’d ever seen. “Hm, not bad.” She muttered under her breath before looking around for the snack table. However, unable to see where it was, she tapped someone on the shoulder. “Excuse me. Where’s the food table?”
Tracey turned, her hair swinging out behind her as she looked at the other girl. "Ooh, yes, right over there," she told her, nodding to her left. "Wait a minute -- I'll show you." She gave the girl a cheerful smile as she walked ahead, beckoning Vivienne to follow. "So, how are you? Enjoying the night so far? It's not been bad yet, has it?"
“I wasn’t even implying that but now that you mention it— Good point. But even Weasley’s disoriented owl with a crystal ball could predict 'The Chosen One's' death, one could think he’s suicidal or not a very bright light bulb. I am talking to people, I’m talking to you now!”
"I suppose he is doing such a great job at staying alive, though. He manages to get his way out of tricky situations pretty quickly, anyway, so he can't be all that bad. What I'm saying is that you could be so much nicer and you'd be -- approached, is the word I'm looked for, yes -- more often. You're such a lovely person when you want to be. And still, my attitude has not rubbed off on you; it's rather unfortunate, actually, if you think about it."
"I can’t blame her. The old man was quite annoying,” Millicent laughed. She glanced in the direction of the lights, “Yeah, I think they’ll have the whole community gathered there. But the lights are pretty,” she added quietly, “so there is at least that.”
Millicent laughed again. “They disapprove of everything. You should have heard my mother’s rant. She completely missed the point of parties and free alcohol,” Millicent shook her head. It wasn’t like she was going to get drunk and insult Mrs Pucey to everyone’s entertainment. Well, not on purpose, at least. “I’d love to,” she smiled at Tracey. “Though I don’t have problems with talking, I definitely need some help with keeping the nice pureblood daughter act together.”
"Millicent!" Tracey mock-exclaimed, her hand covering her mouth as she tried to suppress her own giggle. "The old man is dead, you don't speak ill of the dead. Merlin, there's people over there who would go nuts over what you said."
"Oh, I suppose your mother didn't mean it like that. The adults mean well, even if they're a bit... old-fashioned." She didn't know why, but Tracey felt the need to still defend the adults at times. Though she never particularly agreed with what most of their views were, it was only uncomfortable to talk about them like that. She nodded at the bottle, nudging it closer. "Help yourself. -- Well, I'm not particularly good at that either," she laughed. "I do try, though. My mother tells me to act more like -- well, all of you."
The stuffiness was getting to her. Elowen wrinkled her nose as she made her way outside of the building, the quiet murmurs giving way to the sounds of nocturnal creatures as she moved further and further away. The Pucey madriarch knew how to form a gathering but she had no idea how to throw a party. Flashing images of undulating bodies filled her mind and Elowen sighed wistfully. Now that was the sort of party she would have enjoyed— this, the one that had barely started, only had champagne and alcohol that she was sure to consume.
Speaking of alcohol— Elowen’s eyes alighted on the firewhiskey bottle that Tracey had righted and she didn’t bother apologizing or speaking until she was seated, heels tossed behind her carelessly. “O’course everything’s okay,” the slang made its way from lips that normally formed perfect words. “You know what isn’t okay?” She smiled. “The fact that you aren’t sharing that alcohol with me.”
Tracey gave the girl a friendly smile as she sat down, immediately popping open the bottle top. "Right on. You're not too fussed about germs, are you?" she added, passing the Elowen the bottle first. Tracey had a tendency to disregard whether someone had drunk from the bottle or glass already -- alcohol was alcohol. It didn't particularly matter to her. But her mother wrinkled her nose at it, so there must be some other people out there that were the same. Still, she thought it better to ask.
"Having fun, already? It's beautiful out here, I wish it looked like this every day. Maybe I'll start putting up my own lights around to brighten this place up."
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"Everything’s fine. Just came to check on you. Wondering why you aren’t the life of the party as per usual — though this is a different sort of party. — Or why your sunshine isn’t being illuminated throughout it. Are the lights stealing your thunder?” Astoria smiled over at Tracey, taking the few steps to close the distance between them. She was hesitant in sitting down next to the other girl, in case her dress was to get grass stains on it, but decided to slip off her shoes quickly before sitting down, her bare knees tucked under her, resting on the grass after pulling up her dress.
Astoria knew she didn’t have much time to be away from the party having to watch her sister carefully, as well as knew that meeting Tracey near a multitude of people was risky, but she figured the benefit outweighed the risks.
( And maybe yes, Astoria needed
the other girl’s sunshine. Her
e n d l e s s knowledge about the
things she wasn’t allowed to
know about. But her presence,
It was infectious just as well. )
“And, you’ve got a lone bottle of Firewhiskey. Should I be c o n c e r n e d about your alcohol consumption, Tracey Davis?” Her tone was playful, even if there was genuine concern in the crevices of her mind.
"Oh, people keep saying that to me. Maybe if it were a better party," Tracey said, but there was a smile playing on her lips and it was clear she didn't mean it. "It's only started anyway, I'll be back out there in a moment. I wanted to come out here and think for a bit, before all the adults lecture me about acting too un-ladylike and stop any drinking whatsoever."
Rather, the night had made her realise early on about Mr. Vaisey's death. It made her rethink about how he had burned himself in that fire, and that only led thinking about other people who were probably mourning their loved one's deaths, and that resulted in a mass thinking of the war. The pond was a nice place to cool off, the lights around still illuminating the water. She did't mention this to Astoria -- their views on the war never particularly agreed and Tracey found it much more enjoyable when the two avoided the topic altogether.
"Why, are you missing me already, Astoria?" Tracey teased the younger girl, a full-on grin stretching across her face. "Relax. I've been of age for nine months already, and I'm still going to use that to my advantage. Firewhiskey makes everything better." She paused for a moment, considering something in her mind, before pulling a face. "Would I be a completely terrible influence if I offered you any? You could always blame me if you're caught by one of the adults."
“Fine, this is definitely not drunk you. But I’m offended, I love Professor Trelawney. She tells the craziest, most fascinating stories ever and doesn’t care who laughs about her. Don’t know if they are actual predictions of the future but they’re entertaining. Well, I am. But that’s my burden to carry.”
"Of course, drunk me is way more endearing, thank you very much. Well, I think people are just mean when they laugh at her, its terrible. And we don't know for certain the predictions aren't true -- Potter hasn't died yet, but he's making it very easy, if I say so. Oh, Heather, you know you don't have to carry the whole 'burden', if you made it easier to talk to people."
“Now you sound just like Professor Trelawney, Merlin, where does that come from? Are you drunk? No, I think I am fine with the fact that I’m not fine, life ends awfully and I’m going to meet the end with the right attitude.”
"I'm not drunk yet. Honestly. -- And how many times have I told you not to trash talk Professor Trelawney that often? She's not a fraud all of the time. Sweet Salazar, you're such a pessimist. And a buzzkill. Not a good combination."
Millicent was putting off the moment of participating in the party as far as she could. She wandered around the grounds, keeping away from the streets where the most tables were set up. The whole shallow chit-chat and cheerful atmosphere around the event felt insulting to what was happening outside the Emerald Gates. Millicent seemed to slowly run out of places to go, when she found herself heading to the pond. She was relieved to see that the only person sitting there was Tracey.
She smiled, watching the other girl try to hide the bottle of Firewhiskey. “I’m fine,” she said, sitting next to her. “Just avoiding the crowd over there,” she made a vague gesture towards the lights. “I think Mrs Pucey is beaming brighter than the lights she made, it’s scary.”
"Yes, I noticed that too. She doesn't seem particularly upset about her husband's death at all -- not that I'm judging," Tracey added hastily, looking around. "The crowd's only going to build up; it looks so pretty out here. Like stars in the sky, see? They went all out this year." She shifted to make more space for the girl and nearly toppled the bottle over again.
"I thought you were my mother for a moment," she admitted with a sheepish smile as she balanced the bottle again. She gestured to it as an explanation. "Or any other adult, to be honest. Even if I'm of age, they still disapprove." Then again, most of them were always looked down in disapproval by the older generation. Tracey left that part out but the words hung silently in the air instead. "I was going to have a bit before going back to meet everyone again. You can join me if you want; some people find it easier to talk to people when they're slightly tipsy."
“You breathe the air of a good party like oxygen, Tracey Davis, I do know. But people died and all those lights are so bright, like Christmas at Hogwarts, it doesn’t even give me the opportunity to grieve.”
"That's me. Good parties make me happy. And I think that's the point, silly. The lights are meant to be bright. Grieving literally darkens your soul, and I think you need lightening up in yours."
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Her high heels flung carelessly to her side, Tracey's feet dangled over the edge of the pond and let her toes soak. The night hadn't started yet, per se, and it was nice to get fresh air before she went to talk to other people. Her eyes settled onto the faraway lights in the distance, her mind slowly drifting to think, but a noise behind her startled her. She jumped slightly, the Firewhiskey bottle next to her toppling over clumsily, and she made a hasty grab for it before looking up.
"Oh," she breathed in relief when she saw who it was. She set the bottle carefully back down, wiping droplets of water she had splashed when she jumped. "Sorry. Everything okay?"
Tracey was a halfblood; she knew that, without a doubt. Her mother had been of a well-enough respected Pureblood surname -- Dearborn. Yes, several Dearborns had been involved in the last WIzarding War, and admittedly most had been in The Order of the Phoenix -- like Carodoc, her mother's cousin. Of course, those in the Order had died and the rest would have wiped out too, if it weren't for the remaining Dearborns letting everyone in the society know that they weren't involved in the Order at all. Isabelle Dearborn had been amongst those who wilfully told that they regretted the other members of their family supporting the wrong side, and they were protected by their still Pureblood surname, even if a little tainted. Isabelle was sorted Slytherin, too, when it was her time at Hogwarts, and it was clearly a bonus point feature when she was accepted back into the society.
Tracey's father, on the other hand -- well, that was a different story all together. Joseph Davis wasn't a Muggleborn, actually. He was also a halfblood, with a Muggle mother. Though his father had magical blood, he had never stuck around long to stay with Joseph and his mother. So, thus, Joseph grew up in a Muggle household, surrounded in a Muggle neighbourhood. Going into Hogwarts, he was placed in Ravenclaw house. He had met Isabelle during Hogwarts, being a year ahead of her, but that was all before the First Wizarding War had made a very obvious appearance. No, this was all before blood status mattered all that much. Even the first year after Isabelle had graduated, that was all okay.
It wasn't until after they had discovered Isabelle was pregnant with Tracey, did everything come down in pieces. They knew that Joseph wouldn't be directly imprisoned because of his blood status just yet, but his mother definitely would. And so, they resolved to hide the Davis' first; not so obviously, but making sure they frequented out less and the such. The downfall of Lord Voldemort meant it was relieving, and Joseph could return from hiding. They could live a normal life in their home -- nobody having to know Joseph had a complete Muggle upbringing, because he simply stated he was a halfblood when asked. And Tracey remembered those days, being able to spend time with her mother and father.
But, of course, Tracey had to be born within the same year as Harry Potter and be in his year at Hogwarts. Of course, when she was in her first year at Hogwarts, Voldemort came back to kill Potter -- not completely, but enough to make her mother panic. Her mother was smart, not to mention having a great sense of self-preservation. Straight after fourth year, she had successfully managed to persuade Joseph to leave them and prepare to go into hiding once again -- the talk at Emerald Gates, there was no denying that Voldemort was planning on coming back for good very soon. The Triwizard Tournament positively proved it. So he had left, and Isabelle had warned her daughter not to talk about her heritage too much. Let people assume that she is a Pureblood. Tracey tried her best not to mind too much and, true to her word, she rarely spoke about her father much at all. But she still remembers him and she still even sometimes misses him, even if they were not as close as they could have been. Not that it mattered. The alternative is far more dangerous, for them all. For now, most people have swallowed the fact she is a Pureblood and she doesn't find it in her to correct them.
Tracey stopped abruptly as the other girl interrupted her, effectively cutting her off mid-speech.
“Oh.”
See, Tracey didn’t like to talk such badly about people most of the time, and she didn’t even remember how she ended up on the topic of ranting about a girl from Ravenclaw that had annoyed her. Still, the statement threw her off. She regained her posture back quickly.
"— I mean, thanks for the advice, but really, it's not needed. I just… It was not much of a big deal, and I don’t think I could kill anyway… — And I just realised you probably meant it metaphorically, right? Right. Right. Okay."
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"What happened last night?" [When Heather was still at Hogwarts]
Tracey tilted her head to the side, looking at the older girl thoughtfully. "You know," she started with a slight frown on her features. "I'm not completely sure." The frown slipped off her face as she looked around the rest of the passed out people in Common Room. She flicked a lock of a girl's hair that was sprawled across a pillow and giggled. "There was a party, I think. And there was a bit too much to drink. I took a bottle of Firewhiskey out and was, er, by the Lake. I think I fell asleep there, and when I came back here earlier this morning, it was like this." She grinned suddenly, her eyes sparkling. "Ooh -- they'll all be hung over, let me wake them all up, please!"
The lone, pearly figure standing -- floating? -- in front of Tracey was enough to make anyone take a step back. Her skip faltered mid-step as her eyes fixed on the ghost. Though the two were never the closest they could be, Tracey still counted the younger girl as her friend and her death had been an abrupt blow on her. It had been hard to have to keep reminding herself that no, she couldn't turn around and talk to Astoria in secret anymore, because the girl was just... gone.
"Astoria?" Tracey whispered softly, hesitant to move straight away in case she vanished. "Are you -- What are you -- Are you okay?" In a fumble of different questions she wanted to ask, the last one fell out stupidly. "I mean... What are you doing here?"
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