Bad Decisions | Fred Weasley

Seventeen: Philophobia and Firecrackers Part I

Sylvia had never been to a Slytherin party, but it sure lived up to what others had told her. Despite Umbridge's strict curfew and all the Inquisitorial Squad consisting solely of Slytherin students, the common room was packed with bodies. The heavy reek of alcohol hung thick in the humid atmosphere and Sylvia's shoes were already sticking to the floor.

Hestia Carrow -- or maybe it was Flora, she couldn't tell them apart -- handed her a red plastic cup filled with some foul-smelling concoction of various liquors as she entered the common room with Alicia. Hestia giggled as she slurred her words.

"I'm so glad you're here!" She pulled the Gryffindor girls into a hug, yelling over the music that played from the record player in the corner. Sylvia met Alicia's eyes over Hestia's shoulders, raising an eyebrow. Alicia just gave an amused smile through her pink lipstick as they pulled away.

"They're self-fulfilling so be careful." Hestia giggled uncontrollably, scrunching her nose and eyes up like it was the goofiest thing she'd ever said before handing Alicia an equally sickly-smelling cup and stumbling away.

"Self-fulfilling?"

"I think she meant self-refilling." Alicia wrinkled a nose down at her drink, taking a hesitant sip and making a face.

Sylvia surveyed the party before her. Nearly every sixth and seventh year student was crammed into the common room, which probably had a maximum capacity of fourty. The record player must have been enchanted because an Oasis song was blaring so loud that even people having conversations two inches from each other had to yell to be heard. The furniture was pushed up against the walls, every seat filled by students either flirting with arms around shoulders or crossed angrily in front of their chests, so there could be a dance floor in the center of the room. They had also charmed the few lights to glow a poisonous shade of green so that everyone looked like they were covered in neon paint.

"Christ, what are we waiting for? Let's go." Alicia said, though it sounded more like she was trying to convince herself. She bounced in her shoes, hand tapping against her thigh before reaching up to nervously comb through her bangs.

Taking in a deep breath, Sylvia nodded and downed her cup. Saying it could have tasted better would be an understatement. It seemed to burn against her lips and tasted like what she imagined gasoline would taste like. She nearly gagged, but didn't let it sit on her tongue, gulping it back like water. Alicia guffawed a laugh, eyes widening as she watched the cup bubble back up with a murky liquid that resembled pond water.

"Oh my god! Sylvie, there wasn't even mixer in there! I think it's literally moonshine."

But Sylvia was already feeling the effects of it, her stomach churned but her head felt light. She coughed through a disgusted frown. Her legs and arms seemed to become heavier almost immediately.

"Well," She sniffed, swallowing down the leftover taste of liquor, "I think it's gonna help more than it could hurt. Come on."

She grabbed Alicia's hand and pulled her into the mass of dancing bodies.

He didn't think she was going to be there. Sure, he had mentioned that he was going, but he really didn't think she'd show. He told her about it, offhand a few nights before, when they were the only two left in the common room. Everyone else had gone to bed, oblivious to — or pretending not to notice that Fred and Sylvia would be alone. She was sitting in the armchair that faced the fireplace at an angle, half-curled with her legs folded to the side, an elbow resting on the leather arm. Her shoes were placed neatly at the foot of the chair and her finger slid under a page in the book she was reading. Fred pretended to organize the chest of prank sweets George had left open on the bench by the portrait door.