𝐓𝐇𝐄 𝐋𝐀𝐒𝐓 𝐁𝐋𝐀𝐂𝐊║𝐅𝐫𝐞𝐝 𝐖𝐞𝐚𝐬𝐥𝐞𝐲

𝐏𝐫𝐞𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐝𝐢𝐧𝐠

Fred looked at their own couples costumes. Y/n's Beauxbatons dress mended to fit Lee, and George's "borrowed" suit uniform from a boy around his size and height, mended slightly, as well. If George and Lee were so blatantly up front with each other about their feelings, maybe he could too.

And with that sudden burst of courage, he stood and began striding for the door, ignoring the calls from both Lee and George.

✯¸.•'*¨'*•✿ ✿•*'¨*'•.¸✯

Y/n wasn't good at pretending.

Y/n wasn't good at pretending she wasn't head-over-heels for Fred. Y/n wasn't good at pretending to be patient as she waited for him. Y/n was not good at pretending.

She picked at her black painted nails, chipping some of the polish off as she waited. Fussed with her now black hair— the bright veela blonde underlayer tied so it was not seen, as the dye never seemed to affect it— and at her mesh black gloves that didn't cover her pale, manicured fingers.

Thirty minutes had passed, and still no sign of Fred.

Giving small waves and shy smiles, Y/n watched as people passed her in the dark corridor and entered the Slytherin dungeons. She waited near the door, nearly in the shadows, waiting for her date.

"You're still waiting?"

Y/n looked up from her chipped, black nails and met Carrie's eyes. Her blue eyes were framed with black eyeliner, smudged a bit, with mascara elongating her lashes.

"It's not ideal," Y/n sighed, crossing her arms and leaning further against the pale stone wall. "But— yes."

"Here," Carrie said, pulling out a flask from her long, shimmery black skirt.

The bracelets stacked upon her wrist jingled and clacked against each other as she fully pulled out the silver flask. Carrie gave her a sly grin, shaking the flask in front of Y/n.

"My dress has pockets," Carrie flicked her brows up. "I thought it'd be perfect to hold... certain things."

Carrie's magenta painted lips were closed now in a smirk, her eyes bright. Y/n sighed again and gingerly grabbed the flask, examining it before twisting the lid, maintaining eye contact with Carrie whilst doing so.

"Do I want to know what else is in those pockets?" Y/n asked, swirling whatever was inside the flask.

"Oh, you naughty girl," Carrie rolled her eyes, extending a finger toward the flask, pushing it closer to Y/n's mouth. "I've got food—cookies, more importantly."

Y/n frowned at the flask, knowing full well that the liquid inside could be entirely unpleasant. But, she brought it to her mouth, taking a single sip— or what she intended to do. Before Carrie pushed it up, more liquid poured into her mouth.

She nearly choked and vomited. She was right, the liquid was absolutely vile. It was definitely liquor, she thought. It was almost like rubbing alcohol, and it stung in her mouth, and in her throat as she forced herself to gulp it down.

"That's— foul," Y/n choked, pushing the flask to Carrie's chest.

Carrie only gave a huffing laugh before reaching into her pocket again. The taste of the alcohol lingered in her mouth, a strange sense of warmth settling in her throat, her stomach. And when Carrie held something out in front of her, Y/n nearly shoved it away before she smelt the cookie now waving before her.

Snatching the chocolate-chip cookie from Carrie's hand, she scowled, "Remind me to never drink anything you give me again."

Carrie shrugged, adjusting her flowy, black skirt while watching Y/n carefully. Expectantly.