@davidselwyn Slug Club Welcoming Party. Professor Slughorn’s Office, Hogwarts.
The clinking of glasses accompanied the swirl of something jazzy and vibrant through the air, a celebratory vibe pinned to the lavishly decorated surroundings that seemed determined to drown out the gloom of the world outside. Gilderoy, empty glass in hand and thoroughly in his element, had just eluded Slughorn’s clutches (“My dear boy, such a shame you were never my student.”) and slipped past a gaggle of students who smiled and giggled when he waved at them, in search of the closely watched bar.
Brandy was not his drink of choice but it was a good one, so he poured himself a few fingers, grateful for the momentary reprieve from Slughorn’s chatter as he stepped away and almost immediately swung back, guarding his drink, to avoid the certain collision with the lanky creature who popped up in his path. At least he hadn’t spilled his brandy. “Scusi,” he laughed out, staring quizzically at the man as if trying to place him. It usually wasn’t difficult at Slughorn’s soirees, he wasn’t one for cultivating mediocrity, but this was a face he couldn’t put a name to. “I didn’t see you there and as nice as this brandy is, I don’t imagine you’d like to be wearing it. I don’t believe we’ve met.”
His head tilted and he swapped his drink to his opposite hand before extending it towards the stranger. “Gilderoy Lockhart, at your service.”