dinner - @rosekillermicrofic - slightly NSFW - word count: 231
“Crouch! Rosier!”
Half the Slytherin table looked up as Professor Slughorn made his way down the aisle between tables, eyes on the two seventh-years who were trying and failing to look innocent.
“Yes, Sir?” Evan muttered, his response nearly lost amongst Pandora Rosier’s giggles.
“I noticed that both of you missed dinner last night,” Slughorn said jovially, giving Evan and Barty a boyish grin. “Not up to any trouble, were you?”
It was silent for a few moments as Regulus, Pandora, Evan, and Barty all digested exactly what type of trouble the two were no doubt up to before Barty smirked and spoke up. “No, Professor! We just decided to…er…eat out.”
Regulus’s loud snort into his food was the only indicator that Barty was being anything other than serious, as Slughorn’s face worked through a variety of emotions while he processed the words. “Eat…what, you snuck into Hogsmeade?” he asked, brow furrowing. “Not good, boys, you could have gotten caught! Come here next time, yes?”
Barty’s smile was huge and shit-eating. “Yes, I’ll make sure to come quickly next time. Rosie, too.”
Slughorn’s satisfied expression just made it that much harder to fight to keep straight faces, but they all managed to until the older man lumbered off.
Then, as one, the four of them burst out laughing, tears rolling down their cheeks.
“Absolutely vile,” Regulus muttered appreciatively, rolling his eyes.
A List of All the Clothing Items Harry Potter Likes
(a list of all the clothing he doesn't like would be much, MUCH longer)
1. The Weird Sisters' Concert Outfits
"black robes that had been artfully ripped and torn"
2. Bill Weasley's Whole Look
Bill was — there was no other word for it — cool. He was tall, with long hair that he had tied back in a ponytail. He was wearing an earring with what looked like a fang dangling from it. Bill’s clothes would not have looked out of place at a rock concert, except that Harry recognized his boots to be made, not of leather, but of dragon hide.
A very unusual level of detail from Harry (normally only present when describing outfits he hates.) He's paying attention to the specific material of Bill's shoes, and seems to be drawn to a rock-and-roll sort of look.
3. The Cursed Opal Necklace
a magnificent necklace of opals, Caution: Do Not Touch. Cursed
4. Madame Maxime's Opal Necklace/Ring Set
many magnificent opals gleamed at her throat and on her thick fingers.
I guess Harry likes opals.
5. The Bulgarian Minister's World Cup Look
splendid robes of black velvet trimmed with gold
Harry has been known to be a bit of a magpie when it comes to gold things. Like snitches, and that solid gold cauldron Hagrid wouldn't let him buy, and that solid gold set of gobstones Hagrid also wouldn't let him buy.
6. Yaxley's Ministry of Magic Robes
magnificent, sweeping robes, which were embroidered with much gold thread.
+
a long-haired wizard wearing magnificent robes of black and gold
Yaxley's robes are apparently identical to the Bulgarian Minister's robes.
7. Mrs. Weasley's Gold Necklace
spectacular golden necklace
he likes gold things okay
8. Dumbledore's Start-of-Term-Feast Look
magnificent deep green robes embroidered with many stars and moons.
9. Dumbledore's Purple Velvet Dressing Gown
He was wearing a magnificently embroidered purple-and-gold dressing gown over a snowy-white nightshirt
“Nice suit, sir,” said Harry, before he could stop himself, but Dumbledore merely chuckled
Honorable mention because of Harry not meaning to say that, and Dumbledore thinking the exchange is funny. Young!Dumbledore is wearing "flamboyant" head-to-toe plum velvet, and Harry is either being sarcastic, or trying very very hard not to say, "That's gay."
11. Slughorn's Funeral Look
magnificent, long, emerald green robes embroidered with silver.
12. Draco's Dark Green Robes
a handsome set of dark green robes that glittered with pins around the hem and the edges of the sleeves
SO WHAT HAVE WE LEARNED?
~ Harry's style profile is either "rock star" or "elf prince"
~ He likes shiny things, and appreciates jewelry
~ I think his favorite color might be green?
~ Dumbledore can put together an outfit.
~ Harry should get some black-and-gold robes.
~ Harry prefers more of an "elf prince" look on Draco
Summary: A party night turns unbearable thanks to McLaggen. Luckily, an accident and some pineapple juice transform the evening into the best one ever
wc: 2.1k
Masterlist
Nobody could deny it, Slughorn had outdone himself this time. What was once a dusty, old classroom now shone like a diamond; every chandelier, curtain, and centerpiece seemed designed solely for that night.
You would have been grateful if they had put the same effort into the invitations they sent out. Most of your friends hadn't been invited, and those who had came down with a horrible cold that made them sneeze bubbles—a strange and sudden illness that didn't even give them time to warn you that you would have to go alone.
Perhaps you would have had better luck if you had also caught the cold, and you wouldn't be standing here with shoes that pinched your feet, a ridiculous dress with irritating seams, and with McLaggen in your ear ranting about the one sport you disliked the most in the world.
“It's just as I'm telling you,” your companion said arrogantly. “Many believe the Seeker is the most important on the team, but they're wrong! It’s actually the Keeper! That’s why I chose that position.”
You nodded in response, thinking that maybe if you didn't answer, he would get bored and go bother someone else. But Cormac seemed more verbose than usual today.
“That’s why I chose not to join the Gryffindor team, they're amateurs,” he explained. “I wouldn't be able to reach my full potential.”
“I thought you failed to catch a quaffle,” you mentioned distractedly.
McLaggen snorted in annoyance. “What are you talking about? It's just as I told you, if I were in Gryffindor, I'd have to lower my abilities to match the team’s level.”
“Drinks?” a voice offered from behind you.
You barely turned to grab a cup of an unknown liquid from one of the trays. In one quick motion, you drank the entire content without breathing, hoping it would help you not to tear your ears off if you had to keep listening to Cormac talk.
“Oh, you must have been very thirsty,” commented the same person who had given you the cup. “If you want, I can bring you another one.”
The familiar voice caught your attention. Neville was standing behind you, holding a silver tray that was now empty. You turned around completely, unable to hide your huge smile, your heart swelling with excitement upon finally noticing him. You saw his cheeks flush slightly at the intensity of your gaze.
“I didn't know you would be here tonight,” you said, still smiling.
“Uh… yeah, you know… I didn't know you would be here either,” he stammered, already a bit nervous. “I'm just here to bring the drinks.”
“Waiter, bring me another drink too,” Cormac stretched out his arm very close to your face to leave his empty cup on the tray. Neville stumbled slightly, trying not to let it fall. Seeing McLaggen’s gesture, other boys were quick to imitate him, filling your friend’s tray almost to the brim. He looked terrified they might fall.
“I'll bring your drinks right away,” he said without taking his eyes off the glasses, which threatened to topple with every trembling step he took. You watched him disappear into the crowd.
“What a weird guy,” Cormac said, his brow furrowed. “Just like all Hufflepuffs.”
You looked at him, not understanding. “Neville isn't in Hufflepuff, he's in Gryffindor, just like us.”
“Oh, right, the one who's always having accidents,” he replied, shrugging it off. “Yeah… It's a hazard that he's in charge of the glass cups! He's going to end up killing someone.”
You took a deep breath, trying to control the violent impulse starting to spread through you. Yes, Neville could be clumsy and prone to accidents, but Cormac was nobody to talk about him like that.
“Oh, come on,” he complained upon seeing the change in your expression. “Don't tell me he’s your friend?”
You didn't respond, just gave him a cold look, hoping he would understand that he needed to shut his mouth. But of course, that was nearly impossible.
“The one who lost his eyebrows from making a cauldron explode? Don't make me laugh.”
Just then, Neville arrived at your side with his tray, this time reloaded with drinks that seemed to be tilted dangerously. Extremely focused, he took one of the cups, which seemed to have a different drink than the others, and offered it to you.
“I know you like this one better,” he said in a low voice. “They weren’t serving it tonight, but I thought… you know.”
“Thanks, Nev,” you couldn't help but smile as you tasted the pineapple juice. It was as if your chest hadn't been bubbling with rage just a few seconds ago. Every time you spoke with him, it was as if the world around you disappeared.
“Oh, I was dying of thirst!” Cormac exclaimed.
With a rough movement, he took one of the cups, and with feigned clumsiness, he blatantly pushed the entire tray toward Neville. The sticky, cold liquid completely soaked your friend's robes and the floor around him, and the glasses that had miraculously survived shattered against the stone floor.
Neville stumbled back in surprise, slipping on the liquid and falling to the floor, flushed and soaked. The loud noise caused the entire hall to fall silent, watching the scene with obvious disapproval.
“It was obvious.”
“Who was the genius who gave Longbottom the cups?”
“How clumsy.”
You heard these comments from the crowd of students who watched everything with curiosity. McLaggen covered his mouth with his cup, hiding his stupid laughter. You were about to lunge at him, but seeing Neville on the floor, you chose instead to help him up, being careful not to slip yourself.
“There’s nothing that can't be fixed!” exclaimed Slughorn, making his way through the crowd, and with a skillful flick of his wand, he made the cups reappear on the table, repaired, and the floor sparkle clean. Everyone celebrated the action, but your companion was still completely soaked.
“I… I'm sorry… It wasn't my intention,” he tried to excuse himself.
“Don’t worry, lad. That's all for today,” the professor interrupted. He patted his arm in an attempt to comfort him, but upon feeling that it was sticky, he quickly pulled his hand away. “Now go take a shower.”
Neville just nodded silently. You looked for his gaze, but he quickly lowered his head and rushed out of the hall.
“Do you still like him?” McLaggen muttered mockingly. You clenched your fist, ready to punch him, but held back. You would probably be punished immediately, and your priority right now was elsewhere. In the morning, you could deal with the jerk.
You quickly walked after Neville, shouting his name, but he seemed to ignore you as he continued on his way. Annoyed that you couldn't run, you took off your uncomfortable, stupid shoes to chase after him.
You had only taken three steps when something sharp jabbed forcefully into the sole of your foot.
“OW!” you yelled, unable to hold it in. Neville stopped dead in his tracks to look at you. Hopping on your good foot, you took a couple of clumsy jumps until you leaned against the wall.
It seemed that a tiny piece of glass had gotten stuck on Neville's suit, falling onto the hallway floor, and you were the lucky one to step on it, barefoot.
“Are you okay? Does it hurt a lot?” he asked worriedly, rushing to your side.
“A little,” you lied, trying to hold back tears.
Neville knelt down in front of you without hesitation. You couldn't make out the color of his cheeks in the dark hallway, but you imagined they were just as flushed as yours. He carefully took your foot, moving your dress out of the way to get a better look.
“I can't see the glass,” he murmured, frowning.
“But I can still feel it,” you complained.
“We have to go to the infirmary,” he sighed. “I can't carry you, I'm soaked… Do you think if I crouch down, you could get on my back?”
“What?” you asked, surprised. The night seemed to be turning around.
“Yeah, you're right… It's a silly idea,” he scoffed. “I'd better go get a professor.”
“No, no, no, no, wait,” you managed to grab his robe. “It's not silly at all,” you smiled at him. For a moment, you forgot about the glass embedded in your skin. “But if we fall down the stairs, I don't want you to blame me.”
He turned his back and crouched down slightly. With a small jump, you managed to climb onto his back.
“You can rest easy,” he said, straightening up. “You're not a cup, I'm not going to drop you.”
“The cups weren't your fault, it was that jerk McLaggen,” you interrupted.
“Yeah, but I ruined it, I was distracted.”
“You didn’t ruin anything, the cups were repaired, and no one was hurt.”
“You’re hurt.”
“Yeah, so what? Now I’m getting a ride on your back at Hogwarts. The night is only getting better.”
Neville let out a nervous laugh, making his back vibrate slightly. He was about to say something, but at the last second, he closed his mouth again.
“What were you going to say?” you insisted.
“I imagined it would be better if you had gone with McLaggen… you know… you looked very entertained.”
“Are you kidding me?” you asked, annoyed. “If I had stayed there for five more minutes, they would have been carrying me away too, but to Azkaban! For murder!”
You heard him laugh again. You wrapped your arms around his neck, careful not to choke him. He adjusted his hands on your legs before starting the climb up the stairs.
“How did you know I liked pineapple juice?” you asked curiously.
“You always have it for breakfast,” he said casually. “You're the only one; everyone else prefers pumpkin juice. They practically make it just for you.”
“So… how did you get it for tonight?”
Neville fell silent. For a moment, you thought you had pushed him too hard, but finally, with a sigh, he answered, “I had to go down to the kitchens to have them make it for you… And then bring it to the hall.”
“Does that mean you went down seven flights of stairs just to get my drink?” you asked, surprised.
“…And then came back up. Yeah.”
“You’re so sweet, Nev.”
“It was nothing,” he brushed it off. “It's just juice.”
“Pineapple juice,” you corrected him. “And now you're carrying me up the stairs to the infirmary. You are my Prince Charming, Neville.”
The words came out of your mouth before you could process them. You felt him squeeze your legs a little, nervously. For a moment, you thought your face would catch fire from embarrassment, then you realized you were at the door of the infirmary. Neville helped you down from his back, careful not to let you put weight on your injured foot.
“The cups were my fault,” he confessed. “Cormac pushed the tray, but I was so distracted… I was watching you so intently, that dress looks perfect on you.” His confession left you completely speechless; your heart skipped a beat with excitement. The night just kept getting better. “I know you probably don't feel the same way, but I just had to say…”
You didn't let him finish before crashing your lips against his. Neville didn't react, completely frozen. You carefully took his face in your hands. “I couldn't imagine a better night,” you said, close to his lips.
This time, he took the initiative, bringing your lips together. It was a clumsy, rushed kiss, but it made you completely forget about his sticky suit, the stabbing pain in your foot, and the idiot McLaggen.
When you separated, still breathless, Neville looked down and murmured something you could barely hear, “Sorry… I never… I'm sorry.”
“Don't worry,” you hurried to say. “I'll teach you.” And you wrapped your arms around his neck. With a little more confidence, Neville placed his hands on your waist, pulling you closer and increasing the intensity.
Just then, the infirmary door burst open, causing you both to jump apart in surprise. Madame Pomfrey looked at you with a raised eyebrow and gestured with her head for you to come in.
“I don't have all night, young lady.”
“Oh, yes… yes, of course,” you murmured, still feeling dizzy, and you entered with small hops. Neville was about to follow you when the nurse's voice cut him off.
“Not you, Longbottom,” she declared. “Yours can be solved with a shower. Go to your room.”
You saw him hesitate. He gave you a look before leaving under Madame Pomfrey's watchful eye. You couldn't hide the huge smile tattooed on your face.
“Now, girl, tell me how you did that,” Pomfrey began in a formal tone.
slughorn’s parties were always too warm. the air shimmered with perfume and laughter, and the chandeliers burned low enough to cast everything in gold. you weren’t sure how you’d been roped into coming perhaps because everyone did but you felt strangely out of place, clutching your glass of butterbeer like it was a lifeline.
“you look like you’re plotting an escape,” a voice drawled.
you didn’t have to look to know who it was. mattheo riddle always had a way of finding you, as if the two of you were tethered by some invisible string.
he stood a step behind, in formal black robes that somehow looked both careless and deliberate. his tie was loose of course and his smirk was barely there, almost fond.
“maybe i am,” you murmured, turning to face him. “do you usually attend these?”
“only when i’m dragged,” he said, eyes flicking to your dress. “though i suppose tonight’s worth the trouble.”
you raised an eyebrow. “flattery doesn’t suit you.”
“who says it’s flattery?” he countered, tilting his head. “maybe it’s just an observation.”
his gaze held yours a moment too long. the kind that made your heart flutter despite your best efforts to stay steady. slughorn’s gramophone switched to something slower, the melody rippling through the room like spilled starlight. couples began drifting toward the center of the floor.
mattheo extended a hand, palm up, the faintest smirk tugging at his lips.
“dance with me.”
you hesitated, for reasons that had little to do with embarrassment and everything to do with how your chest felt suddenly too tight.
“i don’t dance with slytherins who use charm as a weapon,” you said softly.
“then think of it as self-defense,” he murmured, eyes glinting. “one dance. nothing more.”
you gave in of course you did and placed your hand in his. his grip was warm, sure, grounding. he led you into the rhythm with surprising gentleness, one hand at your waist, the other guiding yours.
you tried to keep your eyes on the room the laughter, the shimmer of lights but somehow, your gaze always found its way back to him. he was watching you, not in that usual amused way, but as though he was memorising something.
“you’re staring,” you whispered.
“i’m allowed to,” he replied, so quietly you barely heard it.
the song slowed, a lingering final note hanging in the air. no one seemed to notice the way you both had stopped moving, still caught in each other’s orbit.
mattheo’s thumb brushed against your knuckles.
“you can leave now, if you want,” he said, voice lower, rougher.
“and if i don’t want to?” you breathed.
his smile faltered, just barely, softer, realer. “then i’ll have to kiss you before anyone else gets the chance.”
and he did — gentle at first, tentative, the kind of kiss that could’ve been a mistake if not for the way you leaned closer. the warmth of the room seemed to fade, replaced by the steady beat of your pulse and the taste of butterbeer and cinnamon.
when you finally pulled apart, the music had shifted again. the crowd had blurred. only the two of you felt sharp, real.
“one dance, you said,” you murmured.
“i lied,” he said quietly, brushing a strand of hair from your cheek. “you’ll forgive me, won’t you?”
