theres no need to show me round baby, i feel like i've been here before
i've been wondering whether later when you tell everyone to go
will you pour me one for the road?
-
It was a very rainy Saturday morning, and Imogen was so exhausted from her revision the night before that she'd gotten dressed and lay straight back down on her bed. Exams weren't for another year, but she'd left her revision for her OWL's far too late last year, and she could already feel herself forgetting what she'd studied at the start of the year. The notorious difficulty of NEWT's terrified her, especially now that she had her St Mungo's position to work towards.
Rewarding herself for her hard work the night before, Imogen was reading a muggle novel Hetty had leant her. She'd thought, going off of the title, that it would be boring, but the book continued to prove her wrong with every page she turned. It had taken her a while to get used to the writing style, which used a heavy Scottish dialect, but once she did she found it sort of charming.
When she was on page one hundred and and two, the door swung open, and in strutted Mo.
"Hi," she said gruffly, seeing Imogen on her bed.
"Hi," Imogen said back. This had become routine for them now.
She looked back down at her book, but then found her eyes wandering over to Mo, sat on her own bed. Mo's foot seemed to be tapping the floor, and she stared ahead restless. Imogen's eyes returned to her book, not reading.
It was barely a few minutes later when her eyes were dragged upwards by a sudden flurry of footsteps.
"Why haven't you apologised yet?" Mo demanded, looking cross. She was standing over Imogen.
Imogen regarded her for a moment. She hadn't been expecting this. "Why haven't I apologised?"
Mo looked incredulous. "You nearly ruined sex night for me!"
She couldn't help but laugh a little. "Because I didn't get off with Adrian Pucey?"
Imogen was sure she saw some shared amusement underneath Mo's cold veneer, and she seemed to search for the right words, before she huffed and stomped her foot.
"Fine!" she said, crossing her arms. "If I say I'm sorry, can we be friends again?"
It was hardly a proper apology, but Imogen couldn't resist her pouty face. And besides, Mo clearly needed someone to talk to.
"Come on," Imogen said, a mild smile on her face. She patted the spot next to her on her bed, and Mo seemed aflush with relief as she rushed to take the spot offered to her.
Just like that, it was as if they'd never fallen out. Mo filled her in on every detail of her escapades with Victor, and Imogen found herself actually enjoying hearing about it.
"Maybe... this big," Mo said, holding her hands out in front of her to demonstrate. "But very girthy."
Imogen laughed so hard she could have pissed herself. She'd missed Mo, she really had.
Maybe she should have told her all about Wilma and boxing day, but she didn't want to bring the mood down. Plus, she'd only just about stopped being sad about it herself, and talking about it with Mo would probably drag up all those feelings again unnecessarily. It was enough for now to dutifully listen to her speak; to be back in her confidence.
A couple of hours later, when their conversation had come to a natural lull, Mo took her hand.
"Sit with me at the second task?"
Imogen smiled. "Hetty and I will be happy to."
It was probably a testament to how happy Mo was to be friends with her again that she didn't complain about having to sit with Hetty.
"Okay," she said, "cool."
Then Imogen remembered the other part of their plans for that night. "We're going to the party at the Hufflepuff common room afterwards too, if you want to come."
Mo considered it, her bright eyes looking up at the canopy of Imogen's bed. "Can Victor come?"
"I don't see why not," Imogen said, and that was that.
-
The day of the task, Imogen had to walk down on her own, because she'd woken up late and told Mo and Hetty she'd meet them down there. It turned out she wasn't the only one who wasn't on time, as she walked down from the castle surrounded by a huge crowd. Some third years in front of her were sharing a cigarette, taking advantage of all the teachers being stationed at the tournament. The four of them passed it back and forth, making a poor attempt at hiding it from the students around them. Someone wearing red (who looked suspiciously like Harry Potter) rushed past her, almost knocking her over in his hurry.
It made Imogen feel a little better about being late, anyway. The closer she got to the big setup for the task the more imposing it looked. Her eyes were steadily fixed on the large stands until a distant voice pulled her eyes away from them.
"Place your bets, place your bets!"
She smiled to hear it. As she neared she could see them; Fred and George were calling out to the passing students, offering odds on the outcome of todays task. She had a funny feeling that her being late was one of those funny things the universe liked to orchestrate, so that a meeting like the one that was about to happen could take place.
He hadn't seen her until she was close enough to speak.
"Hello, trouble."
Fred looked over, his eyes widening in surprise as they fell on Imogen. He grinned at the nickname.
"Me, trouble? That's all you, Falker."
He was wearing his Gryffindor hat, his windswept hair barely poking out from underneath it.
Imogen indicated to his clipboard. "Taking bets?"
"Yup. You're not going to tell the teacher on me, are you?" he said playfully.
Imogen rolled her eyes, suppressing her grin. "Not if you're nice to me."
He raised his eyebrows. "I'll be as nice as you want me to be. I like your turtleneck."
Imogen gave a stupid giggle. "Thanks. I don't look like a grandma, then?"
He looked her up and down. "Hm. Maybe a sexy one."
"Sexy grandma. You sure have a way with words, Weasley."
"I try, I try," he said graciously. He didn't seem ready to let her go yet. "Do you want to place a bet?"
Imogen thought about it. "Who's favourite to win?"
"For this task, or the tournament?" Imogen shrugged, so he went on. "Well, at the moment... Krum for this task, Cedric for the tournament."
"Hmm. You probably know better than me. Who should I bet on?"
"Oh that's easy," he said. "you should always go with the underdog. Harry."
Maybe she shouldn't have, but Imogen decided she could afford one little bet... if it kept her talking to Fred for two minutes longer.
"Okay," she reached in her pocket for some coins, "that's on Harry to win this task."
Fred marked the bet down, accepting her money. Imogen looked around, wondering where Mo had gotten to.
"I'm going to find a seat," she said.
"I'll see you later?" he called after her.
Imogen smirked, turning around to look at him as she walked away. "If you're lucky."
The stands had been set up over looking the black lake, which today rippled gently in the wind, reflecting the greyish sky above. Hetty and Mo were sitting together at the end of the nearest seats, and Imogen was pleasantly surprised to find them chatting amiably. She sat with them just in time for Dumbledore to begin addressing the crowd, and even once the four champions had entered the lake's waters, Mo continued being quite friendly with Hetty. It certainly eased any worries Imogen had about the three of them going to the party together that night.
The task seemed to be over quite quickly, what with the three of them chatting like bosom friends. When Cedric emerged from the lake, carrying Cho Chang with him, Imogen thought her bet had been ill-advised, but, somewhat expectedly, despite being the last to return to the shore, Harry was awarded bonus points for courage (or something like that) and ended up coming joint first. It was probably the only time Imogen would thank Dumbledore for his obvious favouritism.
The three girls were among the first to leave, wanting ample time to get ready for the party. Hetty came with them to Slytherin house and they did their makeup together. Hetty had picked her outfit out for that night in the morning, and brought it with her in her bag. She emerged from the bathroom, having changed into her sparkly blue top and a pair of black jeans that hugged her curves beautifully. Gold hoops dangled from her ears, matching the assortment of necklaces she had on. Mo settled, finally, on a skirt of Imogen's, and a high-necked white top that showed off her shoulders and collarbones.
Imogen had known what she would wear the moment she'd heard about the party. Over the summer, she'd bought the most gorgeous black dress. It was short, with a square neckline and long sleeves. She thought it was the sexiest, most elegant thing she'd ever seen. Once Mo had done up the zip, and she could look at it on, paired with all her best jewellery and boots, she found it hard not to smile at herself.
"You look incredible," Hetty said, and Imogen felt herself blush.
It wasn't quite time to go, so they sat around having a few glasses of a bottle of wine Mo had been given by Victor. The conversation was easy and all three girls were a nice level of tipsy as they set off towards the Hufflepuff common room.
The party was raging when they arrived. Though the music was loud the chatter was louder, and everyone was bunched in big groups, smiley and animated. Hetty dorm-mates had greeted them at the door and presented them with fruity drinks.
"They're cocktails," Farah explained. She had short honey-blonde hair which clung to her angular skull. "We found a spell for them, it's like potion brewing really, but a lot less stressful."
Imogen took a sip of the orange drink. It had a gentle fizz, and a very sweet taste. "What's in it?"
"Mostly rum, to be honest. And a bit of vodka. Then passion fruit and sugar– ooh, and lime!"
Imogen stared at her a moment. She'd barely been able to taste the alcohol. "Merlin, they must be lethal."
Farah giggled, "I guess we'll see!"
She turned her attention to someone else, and Mo appeared at Imogen's side again, leaning into whisper to her.
"I'm regretting coming already. These girls are so... chirpy."
Imogen looked at her face, and laughed at how uncomfortable she looked. She patted her shoulder.
"Give it a chance, Mo."
Mo gave her a withering look, sipping her drink.
"This is actually quite nice though."
"Don't drink it too fast," Imogen murmured, "I think it's half spirits."
"It might make the party more bearable then," Mo said. She gave a begrudging smile when Imogen laughed.
"Come on," she said, linking arms with Mo, "let's find somewhere to sit."
They sat on a cushy brown sofa that was vacant, and shortly after Hetty and one of her friends joined them. Imogen sipped at her drink slowly; despite it not tasting of alcohol, she could feel the slight burn it left at the back of her throat, and she wasn't looking for a repeat of the lake party. Getting too drunk wasn't good for her.
As the Hufflepuff ladies were attempting to explain the rules of some complicated drinking game including cards, Mo spotted Victor and his friends, and rushed off. She poked her tongue out at Imogen, probably to rub it in her face that she wouldn't be forced to play the game. Imogen couldn't even pretend to understand the rules that Farah was explaining, and she found herself genuinely jealous as she watched Mo wrap her arms around Victor.
"And if you pull an Ace, that means you all have to start drinking..."
Something else had caught Imogen's attention. A record scratch had been followed by an outpouring of strings that she recognised. Her eyes widened and she grabbed Hetty's arm.
"Oh, come on," she said seriously. "We have to dance to this."
"I love this song," Hetty said, her grin wide.
They both set their drinks down on the floor, and, hands entwined, they rose to their feet, the game forgotten. They twirled one another wildly, laughing. Both of them knew every word. For some unknown reason, Hetty dragged Imogen up onto a coffee table. She only felt self conscious for a moment, before regaining sense and dancing madly.
Hetty's hair bounced around her as she moved, and Imogen allowed her hair to be just as free, forgetting all the time she took smoothing it down. She headbanged and jumped up and down, letting herself become out of breath. Everyone was probably watching, but what did she care? She looked hot.
Someone else was pushed onto the coffee table with them, and what with it being quite a small table, he nearly toppled right back off it before Imogen and Hetty grabbed an arm each.
"Woah!" Cedric Diggory said, laughing at himself, "Nearly went flying there."
He was dripping with sweat, his shirt unbuttoned to his navel. He seemed very jolly, and very drunk.
"Nice work today, Cedric!" Hetty said, shouting over the chatter.
He looked genuinely touched. "Many thanks, Hetster. I was trying my best."
With that, he put a hand to his heart, and without the support of holding onto Imogen's arm, he stumbled again. Hetty and Imogen both scrambled to grab him and keep him steady. Once they were sure he wasn't going to fall, the girls shared a glance and seemed to decide it would be best to get him down from the table before he broke a bone.
"Come on, Ced," Hetty said, stepping onto the floor, holding his arm. Still on the table, Imogen held his other arm, making sure he didn't slip as he stepped down.
Once she'd seen he was safely down, Imogen could let herself get lost in the song again. She closed her eyes and raised her arms above her head, twirling on her own. Once she'd done a full circle, she opened her eyes to find a group of students cheering her on. She smiled and sang the words with them, and did another twirl.
"You in that dress, my thoughts I confess, verge on dirty!" she chorused, as the girl stood watching her clutched her heart and sang the same.
Distracted by the fun she was having, she didn't notice the voices calling out over the music.
"Come on, come and get your winnings!"
"Not you, Pearson, you bet on Krum."
Hetty climbed back onto the table, and the girls joined hands again. Over Hetty's shoulder, someone was watching Imogen, and she had a feeling he had been for a while. He was smiling gently, his tongue poking the inside of his cheek, barely glancing at the boy who pushed a bottle of beer into his hand.
"Nice moves," Fred mouthed, now that she'd seen him.
Imogen smiled breathlessly, her heart beating in her ears. Hetty turned around, wondering what had caught her attention. She turned back to Imogen with a knowing smile, and leaned into her ear.
"You two need to get a room," she said.
Imogen shoved her gently. "Piss off."
Hetty laughed at her, and then raised her eyebrows as if to say I'm serious.
They stepped off of the table then, looking for their drinks. Miraculously, they hadn't been knocked over. Imogen took a long sip, thirsty from her exertion. She had kept her back turned for far too long, and couldn't help but look behind her to see where Fred was. He and George were standing with a group of students, still handing out winnings to those who had placed bets.
Hurry up, she thought.
It took a great deal of effort not to check over her shoulder again, and make conversation with Hetty as if she was capable of thinking of anything else at that moment. Fred's eyes had been full of fire, and tonight she was intent on fanning those flames.
An eternity later, his voice came from behind her.
"Ahem," Fred said, "your winnings, Miss Falker."
She turned to find his hand outstretched, a jingling bag offered to her. George stood beside him, his hands in his pockets.
"Thanks," Imogen said, surprisingly shy now. Her hand shook ever so slightly as she took the bag from him, slipping it into her boot.
"You two look exceptionally lovely tonight," George said.
"Why thank you," Hetty said, as Fred nodded in agreement. "How's the betting going?"
"Yeah, good. Very decent takings, I'd say," Fred told her.
"It's turned out to be a nice little scheme – as long as the professors don't find out," George added.
"Well, apart from Hagrid."
George lowered his voice to a murmur. "He's put ten galleons on Harry winning the tournament."
"Only because we wouldn't let him put twenty," Fred said, shaking his head.
"Nutter."
Imogen was confused. "Is he really into gambling or something?"
"No, he just loves Harry. He has him round for tea some afternoons," George delighted in the surprise on her face.
"As weird as that is," Hetty said, "it's also sort of... sweet."
"Oh, Harry is such a sweetie, isn't he George?" Fred joked.
"He really is an angel," George said, clutching his heart in playful adoration.
A plan seemed to have hatched in Hetty's brain, as she looked between the group.
"George," Hetty grabbed his arm, her eyes wide and devoid of discretion, "I think we should go and grab a drink."
"But... you've got a drink," they heard George say, as he was being dragged away.
Imogen and Fred laughed a little, and when their eyes met, Fred seemed to become almost transfixed. She felt nervous under his gaze.
"Stop staring at me," she said.
"Sorry," he said, after a moment. "It's just. You look pretty. Very, very pretty."
Imogen felt herself blush and she had to pull her eyes away from him. But she knew he was telling the truth. She did look pretty tonight.
"Is Moryddian here?" he asked.
"Yeah, she's somewhere around here, with Victor." Imogen scanned their surroundings, but couldn't spot her.
"She'll be distracted then. So I can kiss you."
His eyes were full of mischief, and now Imogen found herself unable to stop looking at him. She dropped her voice to a murmur, an unavoidable smirk playing on her lips.
"Behave yourself, Fred Weasley."
He was quick. "Don't ask the impossible, Falker."
She was almost about to do as he asked, and kiss him right there, when someone appeared at her side. She turned to find Adrian Pucey, nursing a plastic cup and wearing a snarl of a smile.
"Alright, Weasleface? You don't mind if I borrow Imogen for a minute, do you?"
Then he turned to Imogen, a hand landing on her waist. "You don't have to stand around with him, come on."
He gave a small tug at her waist, and she gently removed his hand from her.
"I'm fine where I am, Adrian," she said firmly.
"No come on, we can have a catch up," he said, and his hand was coming back up to her waist again.
"No," she said, taking a step away from him.
Adrian looked between Fred and Imogen, and she took the chance to look at Fred, who was surprisingly calm.
"You can't be serious," Adrian said, with a hollow sort of laugh. "So you can't stand to dance with me, but you'll cosy up to whichever Weasley twin this is no problem?"
Imogen stared right into his face, which was a picture of confusion. "That's exactly right. Now fuck off, would you?"
Adrian looked as if he'd been slapped in the face. His eyes darted to Fred.
"What are you smiling at, Weasleface?"
Fred looked him up and down. "Watching you embarrass yourself is one of my favourite pastimes, Pucey."
Imogen had to bite her lip to stop herself laughing. This seemed to upset Adrian.
"Think that's funny, do you?" Adrian was suddenly back in her face, his hand around her waist, pulling her closer so she couldn't help but hear what he said.
"I wonder if Phineas Falker would find it funny, hearing that his daughter was sidling up to a fucking Weasl–"
But Adrian never got to finish his sentence. Evidently, Fred had decided he'd put his hands on Imogen for the last time. The jinx hit him with laser-like precision, and he was sent recoiling away from Imogen. Adrian crumpled on the floor, and Fred stepped towards him.
"I think you need to learn the definition of 'no', Pucey. Normally, when a girl tells you to fuck off, that means she doesn't want your grubby paws on her."
As he finished his sentence, the entire party seemed to have realised what had happened. The thunderous chatter died, and everyone at the party turned towards them, looking at Fred and Imogen as Adrian tried to stand. The music played on; an inconsequential hum in the air.
Imogen's eyes only watched the crowd for a moment, and in the sea of onlookers she couldn't pick out a single face. None of them mattered. She didn't bother looking at Adrian, just about peeling himself off of the floor.
She took Fred's hand, surprisingly calm. He seemed to match her nonchalance, his eyebrows only raising slightly as he laced his fingers with hers. Imogen marched towards the door, leading him behind her, a serene smile on her face. They were done with this party.
When the door had closed behind them, and they'd gotten a little way down the corridor, their pace slowed. Imogen turned to face him, and he scratched his neck, suddenly sheepish.
"Sorry if that was a bit–"
She couldn't let him finish such a ridiculous sentence. She silenced him with a kiss, a hand on either side of his face.
"That," she started, his face still in her hands, "was the best thing I've ever seen."
He chuckled, and she released him. "Well, alright then."
"Come on," she said, taking up his hand again.
He matched her pace. "Where are we going?"
She smiled, side eyeing him. "You'll see."