Chapter 16

Zoe

"Did you hear anything, see anything? Anything you know is critical to our investigation, Miss Fletcher, as you were one of the only students in the girls' dormitories last night."

I open my mouth to speak, but nothing comes out. Fear has swept my mind blank - not that I have any memories from last night worth examining. I can remember the sound of the doorknob trembling, but that's about it.

Professor Snape gives a lofty sigh. "This is a waste of time, Minerva. We need to move on."

McGonagall shoots him daggers - he surely won't be getting the best of her when I've left the room. When she rounds on me, her eyes have a much softer texture.

"Thank you, Miss Fletcher - you're free to go."

I pace out of the stuffy office as quickly as my feet will allow me too, not feeling as though I can breathe until the doors are behind me. I understand that the professors need to make sense of what happened in the Slytherin dorms last night, but I certainly don't want to relive it.

The corridors are strikingly empty - bare of the casual chatter and laughs brought about by students during passing time. It gives the castle a hollow and lifeless feel. I don't feel comfortable wandering the halls alone. I am jumpy and skiddish like a mouse hiding beneath a stove, because I'm expecting a tall figure with a slender knife waiting around each corner I turn.

The headmaster has made the executive decision to keep all students outside of the castle for the day while the professors search for the knife-wielding man inside. The conditions of early November weather are rather uncivil - churlish winds destroy the air, and the ghost of rain soils dead leaves to the ground. No one wants to be outside, but no one is complaining about a day off of classes, either.

When I finally make it out of the castle, the grounds are pale and dry with the chill of late autumn. Students have packed themselves together in tightly knit groups, facing inwards to protect from the cold. Some are laughing, others are discussing what happened the previous night in hushed voices. As I descend the stone steps, I hear whispers of the mysterious man with a knife. Not to my surprise, the story has already been twisted several ways.

"-a man was outside of the Slytherin girls' dorms with the Gryffindor sword - yes, you heard me right - well I couldn't tell you how he got his hands on it -"

" - a group of warlocks in the dungeons, walking the corridors and chanting 'hail Lockhart' - I know, crazy right?"

" - the professors are covering it all up. Clearly, it was a Death Eater, searching for you-know-who's next apprentice."

The last one frightens me the most. I've heard of Lord Voldemort before, and all of the chaos and death he's caused in the wizarding world. The last thing we need is one of his servants sniffing around the Slytherin dorms and recruiting students.

I try to convince myself that the chills dancing up the back of my neck are from the cold, rather than the thought of the wizarding world's most infamous evil, and set off to find a familiar face.

Stevie and Eric are huddled beneath a willow tree by the black lake, accompanied by a large group of Hufflepuffs. Eric is practically swimming in a large Ravenclaw coat draped over his shoulders. To his right is a bulky, sweater-clad boy who's feeding him every-flavoured beans from a plastic container.

"Why hello there, baby hot stuff." Eric says in a sing-song voice when he sees me approaching. "Why so late to the party?"

"Snape and McGonagall wanted to talk to me." My voice comes out scratchy, like I've just woken after sleeping for days. "You know, about last night."

Stevie's face falls from beside me. "Right - about that. How are you doing?"

I shrug, afraid that if I open my mouth to tell the truth (which is that I'm terrified by what happened last night), I'll freak out.

"Ah, my little Zo-Zo. I know just the thing to cheer you up." Eric coos, pricking the tip of my nose with his index finger. I quickly wonder whether or not he does, because Eric's coping method is quite polar to mine. "A lot of the sixth and seventh years have snuck off to Hogsmeade for a get-together at the Three Broomsticks. Parental warning, though - there will be drinking. And lots of it."

My stomach twists at the sound of this. I'm not sure if I can handle another party right now. The boy beside Eric slips a purple bean into his mouth.

"C'mon, it'll be fun! It might help you feel better - it's worth a shot." Stevie adds in. Her cool voice makes even the worst of outgoings sound like a magical time, so I give in.

***

"Butterbeer my uglies!"

Eric returns to our table, which is pieced in the corner of the crowded bar, with three mugs of steaming butterbeer. I look up from my napkin, on which I've begun to sketch using a complimentary quill.

"Thanks, Eric."

After last night, I don't even know if butterbeer can lift my spirits. It's worth a try, though. I lift the mug to my mouth, expecting a cheery warmth to wash down my throat, but the beverage instantly burns my tongue instead.

I slam the mug back down against the table, foam rushing over the sides. "What the hell, Eric? What did you put in this?"

He shrinks back into his chair, offering me a sheepish grin. "A dash of whiskey, perhaps?"

Of course. I wipe my lips with the back of my hand, feelings of unease swirling in my stomach.

"I don't know, guys. You know I don't drink. And I'm not sure I should start now after what happened last night. I don't want you to have to chaperone me all day."

"Dearie, I know how to make any situation about me. And this one is not." Eric says. "You deserve to have some fun. Down the hatch!"

I feel a smile tugging at the corners of my mouth. I waste no time taking Eric's advice. Slowly, I lift the pitcher to my lips, pouring the bubbly contents down my throat.

***

"Never have I ever...had a threeway."

"Bottoms up, boys!"

The two guys to my left knock their glasses together and tip them back.

"Tommy? Leo? I don't fucking believe it for one second."

"Well, believe it, mate. And get this - remember that girl from the house cup after-party last year? The one with the weird thing on her ear? We both did her."

The group of guys break out in rowdy cheer, whooping, glass-slamming, and shoving one another in excitement. I join in too, letting out a wild shout, though I don't know what they're talking about.

After downing several more of Eric's whiskey-laced butterbeers, I began to feel light and airy and daring. This is a rare sensation for me, and the sudden boost of confidence I gained from the drinks led me to join a group of seventh years in a wild drinking game.

Next to me sits a large boy with a sharp face, tattoos the color of nighttime shadows twisting along his wrists and fingers. His eyes are dark, so much so that they're almost colorless. An open bottle rests next to his hand. I pick it up and finish off the remaining Brandy inside because my own mug is already empty.

My throat is stinging when I finish his drink. I let out a loud sigh.

"I'm not drunk enough. Another round?"

My head is spinning and my words are blurred together when I speak. The group of guys at the table give a rowdy cheer. I join in, pumping my fists into the air and simultaneously tipping off the side of my stool.

The boy next to me, I think his name is Neil, slides an arm under me. He is chuckling, and I wonder why.

"Are you laughing at me?"

"Yeah, I am. You really think you need any more to drink?"

"Yeesssss!" My voice is a slow drag. "I wanna get wasted."

"I think you already are, sweetheart."

"And I think youu need to loosen up." When I sit back up, I see that new drinks have arrived. "What! How did those get here so fast!"

"This'll be 20 more sickles, boys." The young bartender says, his watchful eyes scanning our table for wallets and coin pouches. "Let me know how you want to split the check up."

"You're no fun." I complain, stumbling over my words. "We shouldn't have to pay money to have a good time."

The seventh year boys around me give a cheer of agreement, several of them slamming their mugs against the table rowdily.

"Yeah, well, paying isn't an option." The bartender says.

That's when a scandalous idea enters my mind. It's something I'd never do in a state of sobriety, but the alcohol I've consumed has lifted the weight of self-consciousness off of my tender shoulders, and I feel as though nothing can hurt me now.

"How about I make you a deal?" I slur, my finger finding its way to the bartender's chin. He raises an eyebrow.

"If I do this -" I proceed to lift my shirt up, exposing my near-bare chest, only covered by a bra adorned with a tiny bow between the cups, " - will you give this round to us free?"

The boys at my table have begun to shout and whoop, all ogling at the sight of a half-naked girl. I've drawn the attention of the entire pub now, and through my drunkenness, I am not bothered by it.

The bartender stares at me wistfully for a moment, and then chuckles.

"On the house it is!"

I parrot his words as the boys cheer even louder. I seem to have gained quite a few brownie points with them, as well as the attention of the whole bar.

Through my drunken haze, I see a familiar face staring at me from a faraway barstool. Though I'm rather intoxicated, I can tell right away that it is Blaise. He is wearing an expression somewhere between anger and disbelief. Without thinking, I decide to ditch my new friends and saunter over to him.

I slide into the stool next to Blaise, leaning on the bar top for much-needed support. He is silent, his lips pressed into a stubborn line, his fingers coiled tightly around his mug handle. He is so still that I don't think he's breathing.

Neither of us speak. I don't know if he is waiting for me to say something or if I am waiting for him to say something, or if he would rather not talk to me at all. Without thinking, I decide to break the silence.

"Well hello the-"

"Are you drunk?" Blaise cuts me off, his voice firm. The question is simple yet demanding.

"I'm moderately functional."

"I'll take that as a yes."

Blaise lifts his mug to his lips, refusing to meet my eyes. I lean forward, attempting to make him see me. I wave my hand in front of his face, emitting giggles that are interrupted by hiccups. He still won't look at me, and I don't know why not. I want attention.

"You know," I say, once again breaking the silence, "you're not very much fun."

"You don't need to be wasted to have fun."

"I did not ever say that you did Blaise. But I must admit that being drunk is quite the thrill."

I flash him a grin, hiccup again, and steal his mug to take a sip. The liquid that touches my tongue is cold and sweet, and then toxic-like.

"Ouch." I say, sticking my tongue out and screwing my face up. "That's spicy."

I see Blaise bite back a grin. "That's because it's vodka."

"Haha!" I stick my finger in his face, satisfaction coursing through me. "I made you smile. You never smile."

"That's not true. I smile all the time."

I ignore this comment, and subconsciously shift our dysfunctional conversation to another topic. "You know, Zabini, rumor has it that I make you nervous."

This time, he cannot hold back his chuckle. "Oh, really? And who told you that?"

"My intuition."

Blaise is opening his mouth to respond when through the loud chatter, I hear a familiar song begin to play. I recognize the upbeat music in an instant - this is a song by a popular wizarding band that Eric showed me several years ago.

"I love this song!!!" I shout, rising from my stool and stumbling back to the table of seventh year boys before Blaise can get another word out.

I climb atop a stool and onto the table, waving my arms in the air and twirling drunkenly to the tune. The boys below me are cheering and howling at the sight of my dancing, and I begin to belt out the lyrics in response.

If I wasn't so wasted, I would've noticed Blaise staring over at me with venomous jealousy in his eyes as I paraded myself around the table.

Several songs and drinks later, I begin to feel really dizzy. The room is spinning, and I can't make out the faces below me. Helplessly, I topple off of the table.

I hear several shouts, and fall into the arms of the tattooed boy from earlier.

"Easy there."

"Oopsies." I giggle. I am too intoxicated to notice the way his hands have found their way to inappropriate places on my body, and the way his eyes turn darker the longer he looks at me.

The tattooed boy is just opening his mouth to say something when a tall figure slides in next to us.

It's Blaise - he seems to have appeared out of nowhere. I think that he has a funny way of doing that, like a magician. Which is funny because we are wizards.

"I've got her from here, Neil."

Quickly and almost a tad violently, Blaise whisks me out of Neil's arms and secures his own around my shoulder.

I note that the boy Blaise calls "Neil" doesn't seem so happy that Blaise has shown up, and I wonder why. Truthfully, though, I must say that Blaise is not the most pleasant person to be around.

"You sure about that, Zabini?" Neil asks. There's an edge to his voice that I don't pick up on - I have begun to examine Blaise's arms.

"Your arms are very big." I tell him, running a finger up his bicep. "I bet you could lift an elephant with one finger."

"The real fun was just getting started. You don't wanna leave just yet, do you, Zoe?"

This catches my attention. What fun? I have been having such a lovely time and I sure don't want to miss out on anything. Still, I do not pick up on the rigid tension between the two of them.

"She doesn't want to stay." Blaise says stiffly.

"Yes I do." I say. "I want to stay here! This guy's so funny, he makes me laugh."

"Hear that, Zabini? I make Zoe laugh. I bet if I tried hard enough, I could get her to make some other noises, too."

Without hesitating, Blaise whips around and pushes me out of the bar.

I fight back, trying to push his hands off of me and keep my feet rooted to the ground, but he is too strong-willed and I am too drunk.

I don't understand why he is making me leave! I hadn't heard what Neil said, but I do know that he has been more friendly to me than Blaise has this whole night, which makes me very frustrated.

"What the hell is your problem?" I ask once we are outside of the pub.

Blaise only stands there, his eyes boring into mine and filled with something I can't identify.

"You're not the boss of me, Blaise! You can't tell me what to do!"

Still, he remains motionless and silent.

"Answer me!" I shout, and shove against his chest with all my might. He barely stumbles back an inch, which angers me even further, so I go in for another attempt. 

"Stop it, Zoe." He says, grabbing ahold of my wrists to still them. I cannot wrestle my way out of his firm grip no matter how hard I try. "You're drunk, and you're being naive. You don't know what you're doing."

"I can take care of myself just fine!"

"Apparently not."

I make an irritated noise somewhere between a growl and a scream, executing another failed attempt to free my wrists from his hands. 

It's then that the bar door swings open, and two familiar figures emerge.

"Everything okay out here, my love? I saw you two walk out."

It's Eric, wrapped in a large scarf that I suspect belongs to another one of his boy toys. Stevie stands beside him, her eyebrows raised in concern.

"Yes - I am totally and completely fine, Eric - in fact, I've never been better - just go back inside so I can kick the shit out of him -"

I am flailing my feet around in a drunken attempt to whack Blaise in the shin or maybe someplace where it will hurt more.

"Take her back to the castle." Blaise says, giving me a push that lands me in Stevie's arms. "She's drunk."

"I can see that." Stevie says, gazing me up and down with pity.

My two friends bid quiet thanks to Blaise and begin to walk me back towards the castle. The bitter air is not doing much to sober me up.

As we walk away, a burning sensation begins to form in the depths of my chest. When I glance over my shoulder to see that Blaise is still standing by the front door of the pub, I can only think of a few words to yell back at him.

"I can't stand you sometimes, Zabini!"