Party Night

Party Night

The sound of the party was seductive, even this night, even for him. It stirred memories, wraiths of another life.

He could hardly believe he was here, again.

Shrugging them off with a determined scowl, he quickened his pace along the path towards the manor, his weight crunching the gravel.

But they were persistent, the wraiths, the echoes of the past, despite the fact that they clamoured after the recognition of another man.

Who he was not, any longer, and had not been for some years.

Only in nightmares.

He realised he had stopped, gazing across the lawn at the fiery windows and shadowy figures within. The mark on his arm pulsed so subtly he found he could ignore it most of the time, but his mood seemed to enhance the sensation. His guts felt like ice.

'If you can,' Dumbledore had said. It was almost an insult to suggest he could not, or would not. Severus Snape had made a commitment. There was no 'if'. There was only 'how'.

How, indeed, was he going to do this? These people had been his friends for many years, yet by and large he had managed to avoid them, so they would not see how much he had changed, how he was no longer one of their number.

Unlock the past, let in the wraiths.

It wasn't as if he wasn't used to being someone else. It was just that he had go back to being this someone else with his friends, slipping on the skin of the man he used to be. After thirteen years, it did not feel so easy.

As he approached the door, it opened, to reveal the master of the house. Lucius liked to greet his guests personally.

"Severus," he purred as he drew him inside, his gaze appraising. He held out his hand for his guest's robe: robes were just not done on party night at Malfoy Manor.

"Fashionably late," he began.

Lucius brushed aside his comment as if it was an excuse, eyeing the stoppered bottle Severus offered with open disbelief. "No! Surely not!"

"I had to construct a new still, and it has been a while." Severus could hear the others, talking and laughing in a distant room.

Barring a few notable exceptions, he had never felt less inclined to join a party.

"We'll crack it open later, shall we? Hmm, handsome jacket," he said, brows arched as he fingered the cloth. Lucius liked to touch, it was his way of affirming that he could invade the personal space of a lesser being.

"Malkins," he replied, noting the contrast between the light hairs on his host's inclined head, and the thread of vibrant red that surely belonged to Ignatia that curled across the fabric of his shoulder. He could have plucked it off, but he didn't. Leave that for Narcissa. The faint scent of a feminine perfume tickled his nose.

"Really? From the top shelf, no doubt. The cut suits you."

He followed Lucius down the warmly-lit hallway, past the ornately-framed Malfoy ancestors, to whom he respectfully inclined his head, and e rather pretentious and relatively recent portrait of the current inhabitants of the manor.

"It's good to have you back here ," Lucius said. "I think it's many years since you attended one of our parties."

"I'm watched, as you know," he replied.

Lucius made a noise of understanding and sympathy, and pushed the door of the Red Room open.

His senses were assaulted by light, sound, smell and taste. Unlike the idle chatter of the staffroom or the uncouth chaos of the Great Hall, there was something about a collective of pureblood wizards that exuded grace, style, elegance, breeding. Despite the fact that was indeed Elinora Jugson downing the last mouthfuls of what was probably fire whisky from a shoe.

Severus took in the scene in an instant, and the mild churching if his guts rose and fell again: they stood in a circle, facing inwards, someone's wand suspended at eye level in the centre, tip pointing towards Elinora, who was sluttishly wiping a stray dribble from her chin with the back of her hand.

Oh, bring on the Dark Lord, he thought to himself. Some things just didn't change.

"Severus!" He was propelled forwards by a gentle shove to the small of his back by Lucius, into the warm, slightly clammy grasp of Hugo Crabbe. His name echoed around the circle, and the powerful familiarity of it all felt as if a hot hand clenched his stomach.

Elinora steadied herself with a hand on Narcissa's shoulder as she slipped her shoe back on. "About bloody time, Sev," she said, her smile reaching her eyes. "We thought you weren't coming."

"For the thousandth time," Samuel remarked, arching a brow, but again smiling, nevertheless.

People either side of him patted his shoulders and others murmured their welcome.

"You know full well he finds Saturday nights almost impossible," Lucius said, smoothly, pressing a lead crystal glass into his hand. Severus raised it to his hand and inhaled the fumes: Ogden's and water, equal amounts. So Lucius was not intent on getting him too drunk too quickly. That was a good sign.

He raised his eyes to his watching friends, then raised his glass. "To the Dark Lord."

"The Dark Lord." The name rippled around the room like the sound of dry skin across silk.

"And absent friends," said Lucius, which received a slightly more genuine, if not altogether enthusiastic, response.

They are frightened too?

"You've missed a turn," said Narcissa, a smile playing on her lips. "Have a spin."

He went for his wand.

"Wandless."

"Use your dick, Severus," Jeremiah snickered, slurring his words slightly.

"Behave, Ivan," Lucius laughed.

"I've heard that about him," Severus heard Guinevere murmur.

"From who?" Walden scoffed.

"It is so good," Severus said, allowing his lips to curl into controlled sneer, "to be back among all my friends."

He sucked in a sharp breath and blew at Lucius' suspended wand, to cat-calls of "Cheat!" It spun on an invisible axis, took only a few seconds to stop with the tip pointing back at himself.

There was a split-second of dead silence, then a riot of laughter. He felt the blood high on his cheeks. Hugo slapped him on the back and almost pushed him over, slopping his drink over his fingers.

"Double dare!" Merle howled.

"You bastards," he snarled, flicking his wet fingers at Hugo's pink, sweaty face.

"I think he should be made to snog Hugo," Walden smirked.

"Octavia doesn't even snog Hugo," he retorted.

In the end, his forfeit was to down only four fingers of firewhisky, thankfully from a glass. As he drained the last drop to the approving and amused comments of his peers, he saw Lucius eyeing him with a slight upturn of one corner of his mouth signifying his satisfaction.

So much for not getting me drunk.

"I'd like a cup of tea," he said, croakily, to Narcissa as she took his glass for a refill.

She smiled, indulgently. "We have a heady Burgundy breathing," she said as she turned away, colliding with Merle. "Avery!"

Merle slapped an open palm against her buttock, laughing as she dodged gracefully away from him. "Severus, it's good to see you here."

"If only to supply the entertainment," he replied, archly.

"Hmm," the other man said, his heavy lidded eyes watching Narcissa as she walked away. Then he snapped his gaze back to Severus, and looked him up and down. "You don't look too bad. Hogwarts agrees with you."

"By contrast, you look awful," he remarked, taking in Merle's shiny eyes with their quick, flickering movements, the hollows beneath them, an old scratch across his jawline. He wondered what potions he was using: whatever they were, they weren't good enough.

"Fuck you," his friend laughed, pinching his cheek.

"I believe I've already said no," Severus replied, disengaging himself as Narcissa returned with a glass of red wine, "on several occasions."

"Come through to the sitting room," she said. "I think we've had enough games for the moment."

"We're not talking shop tonight, are we?" Merle complained, swaying a little as he eyed her up and down again.

"Not tonight," she replied, linking arms with Severus. "Tonight is just fun." She gave him a quick smile.

Ah.

It was a smile between friends, but he knew her better than that. And how these parties normally ended.

And how.

Narcissa took him through the partition into the sitting gold room, large and stuffed with settees, chaise longues and many half-drunken Death Eaters.

He felt the firewhisky beginning to unravel his edge. He really, really felt that he wanted to leave. His throat felt a little tight, the hairs on his neck were on end, his ears picked up snippets of every conversation in the room.

" - great time, really, and -"

" - up the stairs with his suitcase and - "

" - wanted to say something at the time but -"

" - that he's out for the blood of anyone who -"

" - makes my hips look big -"

The night wore painfully on. Wine and spirits were consumed in large quantities. Conversations degenerated. Postures relaxed. Clothing was loosened. Voldemort's finest got very drunk.

He talked to each of his friends, even if it was only for a few, brief -in the case of his conversation with Jeremiah, surreal - moments. And he talked to the wives, too.

Not strictly true. He endured the small talk with a rising sense of panic, much as he had on all the other Saturday nights, thirteen years ago. And he kept the one-way conversations just as short.

But he discovered something that had not been apparent thirteen years ago. That he was suddenly ... prey.

Be honest: you have always been prey of a sort.

But this was different. It took him a while to work out how and why, and even then the hypothesis was loose. Everyone in this room had shagged every member of the opposite sex at least once. He reckoned about half had shagged some members of the same sex, too. So, he was fresh prey.

It was disconcerting, to be a sex symbol. Even a pseudo one. He was uncomfortably aware that he was in a room full of people who were drunk, whilst harbouring the suspicion that the palest, skinniest, greasiest, beakiest misanthropist, who had spent years carefully cultivating the most unpleasant, anti-social personality and rumours of committed abstinence, gruesome malformity and incurable impotence, had suddenly become top of everyone's 'to shag before I die' list.

Then they must really feel close, he thought, with some satisfaction. How does it feel for you, my friends?

He was paid the most special attention by everyone. He felt like a star - Merlin, Potter likes this? - or a goose being fattened for the feast.

Indeed.

Someone was crying. The room had grown suddenly quiet. Eunice Nott sat with her face in her hands. Most of the others looked on with expressions of alarm, distaste or discomfort. Narcissa, the perfect hostess, made to go to her, but her husband's thin, reedy voice, laced with danger, cut past her. "Pull yourself together."

Eunice's shoulders shook.

"Time for some music," Lucius drawled, flinging open the French windows. He caught Severus' eye, and winked. "And dancing!"

Severus saw Narcissa slip from the room, pulling Eunice with her, and also the greedy expression on Avery's face, that quite turned his stomach.

The less you talk, he told himself, the more you see. The less you care, the more you understand.

The elf quartet was summoned to the terrace outside, and the strings began to sing across the lawn. Lucius danced with Ignatia: anyone could see they were lovers, in the way he held her very close and the way she looked at him and shook her hair out, the way she obviously considered hexing both Agatha and Elinora when Lucius favoured them with a dance.

Walden, on the other hand, had swiftly disappeared into the topiary garden with Guinevere, which Elinora didn't appear worried about at all. She became aware of him watching her from the shadows of the terrace, and walked a determined, if drunken, path towards the small canopy of honeysuckle he stood beneath.

"Join in, you miserable bastard," she purred, good naturedly, holding out an elegant hand. "Have a good time, for once!"

"I am," he replied, quite blandly, "so don't spoil it." He looked past her to the small gaggle of drunken friends still dancing. Lucius stalked over to the quartet, smacked one of them around the head, and barked a command. Abruptly, the music changed, became slower, more seductive, spreading across the lawn into the silvery gloom.

Elinora moved so close to him that he could smell fire whisky mingled with her musky perfume: always far, far too much, and too heavy a smell for her to suit. His expert nose picked out the faintest trace of an aphrodisiac. She fluttered her eyelashes up at him. "Sev. I'll be frank." Her hand came to rest on his hands, which were clasped together before him. "You're a marked man tonight. You need to commit."

He arched a brow. "I'm not the marrying type."

Her other hand grasped his too, firmly. "You know what I mean. It's fucking nice to see you, after all this time. But we need to know, that you're with us." She gave his hands an extra squeeze. "All the way. Solidarity. We need that strength. We haven't got time for hangers-on."

He hoped his expression was inscrutable. Then out of sheer habit, he gave a slight smirk, but before he had chance to respond with a clever phrase, a pale figure rounded the honeysuckle. "Your drink, Severus." It was Narcissa, holding two glasses of red wine.

"Avery's looking for you," Elinora said, with only a slight edge.

"Is he," Narcissa replied, evenly, smiling at him and offering him a glass. "May I cut in? Would you walk with me, Severus?"

At that moment, she was the least predatory of the two women, and he could hardly say no. They struck out towards the topiary, outlined in the silver of the full moon.

"Was she giving you a hard time?" Narcissa asked, finally, as they passed the two-headed dog.

"Are you all so tired of each other that even I am a welcome diversion?" he mused, sardonically, and sipped his wine. It was passable.

"Yes," she replied, with a small gasp of genuine laughter.

"Then we are doomed," he muttered.

"Not at all," she said, lightly. They came to a gap in the hedge, and there was a strong scent of roses on the air. Narcissa stepped through, leading him in among the roses.

"Everyone is worried," he remarked.

She paused, reached out and cupped a large head in her hand, and breathed in the perfume, eyes hooded. Her flirtation was subtle. He found himself almost impressed. "Yes."

"This is not how it should be."

He watched in amazement and mild alarm as her demeanour crumpled. The moonlight caught the tears on her cheeks, but her sobs were, thankfully, silent: sound carried across these gardens, especially at night.

A memory rose unbidden from the shadows. Games with Muggles. He shuddered, and banished it.

She tore the rose head off the stem, screwed it up, threw it down and ground it into the sandy path with her expensive shoes. Then, just as quickly as they had come, the tears stopped. He saw the effort it took, the child Narcissa had been, who cried and discovered that tears not only made her ugly, but that, in her family, they had reaped no rewards.

"He's back," she said, softly, staring at the crushed bloom.

"You're afraid."

She kicked the flower under the hedge. "Aren't you?" She looked at him. Her face was stark in the light. "What happened, when you went to him? Because I heard Lucius say that you weren't there, when he .... when Pettigrew .... Diggory's son ...."

For a moment, he closed his eyes, then forced them open against the memory. "I am still alive."

She studied him shrewdly, then walked on. He fell into step beside her. "I hate these parties, you know. I know you do. You hardly ever come to them."

"Crabbe and Goyle are dullards. Jugson is a maniac. Avery is twisted. Jeremiah is obsessed with torture. Need I continue?"

"So why do you come?"

"They are my friends."

She laughed. "Avery is twisted, alright. But you said nothing of Lucius."

"Tactfully so, I thought."

She laughed again, tucking her arm through his. "I want to ask a favour of you."

"I do not grant favours."

"Hear me out," she said. "There's something in it for you."

"Or succumb to bribery."

"I wondered," she continued, obviously ignoring what he had said, "if you would share a room with me tonight."

He gave a long, loud sigh.

"Severus, I really don't fancy you one bit," she said, earnestly. "It would be for convenience sake."

"You wound me," he murmured, acidly.

"Come off it! You never get off with anyone -"

"And why should I break the habit of a lifetime?" Yes, the boredom in his tone was pitched just right.

She frowned up at him. They had come to a halt by the small iron gate that led back onto the lawn. A fountain splashed somewhere in the shadows. "I don't think you understand," she began.

"You wish to explain?" he asked, now with mock curiosity. He opened the gate for her and she stepped through. Closing it behind him, he said, "I sleep alone, Narcissa. Without exception."

She stared at him with a tight, closed expression. Then she hurled her glass at his feet, where it smashed, and stormed off.

He watched her go, with the distinct feeling that he had not won, despite his feeling of relief. His hand moved to shake the folds of his cloak, but he realised he did not have it on. He took a mouthful of wine instead.

"Turned you down, did she?" a voice called from behind him. He spun around, startled, despite himself. It was Avery, seated alone on a small stone bench in the shadow of a willow tree, a bottle of wine beside him. "She's an infernal tease."

He regarded Avery for a moment, before crossing the grass to where he sat. "I had not noticed."

"No," his friend said, with a slight smirk, "possibly not. You really don't care much for women, do you, Severus?"

He sipped his wine again, thoughtfully: regardless of how drunk, Avery was an unerringly sharp observer of human nature. "There are better uses for potions than as beauty products."

"You think they are shallow and fickle?"

"I suppose I do."

"You think any woman with an interest in you would simply have her eyes on your potions cabinet?" Avery laughed. "Blast! I thought it was just because you didn't much like yourself."

He gave his best disarming smile. "I'm just very discerning, Merle."

"Of course," his friend grinned, "which is why you're after my Narcissa."

He narrowed his eyes. "You are welcome to her, Merle, although I believe her name is Malfoy, and will remain so." He turned on his heels and strode back towards the manor.

"Perhaps I could persuade her to have a threesome," the voice laughed behind him.

He gritted his teeth and walked on. He rounded a rather good Centaur and bumped straight into Elinora. His wine slopped over his hand and cuffs as he dropped his glass. Elinora took the opportunity to grasp hold of him under the pretence of stopping herself from falling.

"Sev," she said, breathlessly. She raised one hand and parted his hair back from his face and, before he could stop her, snaked a hand round the back of his neck and pulled him down into a kiss. Her lips were plump and soft. The faint trace of aphrodisiac he had detected earlier assaulted him and, to his horror, his body began to respond. To his further chagrin, her wandering hand discovered this, and she gave a small moan of delight.

In an instant, he had disengaged himself. The expression on her face, however, was of a woman who had been proved right. A faint smile played on her lips, and he could see the hard outline of her nipples through the bodice of her dress.

Do not panic.

But the aphrodisiac was in his body, in his brain. Repulsed by his false desire, which was having entirely real symptoms, he sneered, "Would you not rather be with a man who actually thought you were desirable, Elinora?"

"You do," she said, softly.

"If I did, it does your cause no justice to use potions as cheap as your perfume." He walked past her towards the manor, feeling the wave of her hurt engulf him, and not caring in the least.

The fuzzy edge of his desire and the hardness in his trousers had reconciled themselves by the time he reached the marauding crowd of drunken Death Eaters and their spouses. The music had stopped, and they appeared to be playing a version of the children's game of 'tig', with the house elves as prey.

Lucius met him. "Sev," he said, draping his elegant arm around his shoulders, drawing him into the crowd. "I was thinking you'd left!"

I wish. And wishes are for nitwits, which I am not.

"You haven't got a drink."

"I lost it," he said.

"Ivan! Get Sev a drink, there's a good chap. Join in the game?"

Severus watched Agatha, Richard and Walden chasing an elf across the lawn. Agatha reached it first and touched it with her wand, whereupon it collapsed with a small shriek, and lay trembling.

"It looks far too energetic for me," he remarked, quite truthfully, watching Agatha jumping up and down and whooping in victory.

Ivan brought him more firewhisky. He took a sip, but Lucius tipped the base of the glass with his hand, and forced more down. "We'll have to crack open your special brew soon, you're obviously not drunk enough!"

"For what?" he gasped, catching sight of Narcissa. She was sitting on a chair on the terrace, listening to Arabella, her eyes on him. She saw she had caught his eye, and turned her head back towards her friend.

"Stop acting like a frightened virgin," Lucius said, suddenly serious. "There's a couple of people interested. In you. For later. And don't say you're not staying. I insist." He patted him on the back, and turned away.

Oh, fuck.

Yes, precisely.

Ivan regarded him solemnly for a moment, then leaned in, and muttered, "Touch my wife, and I'll Cruciatus your bony arse all the way back to Hogwarts, Professor."

"Promises, promises," he sneered back.

Ivan narrowed his eyes and, for one thrilling moment, he thought he was going to get thumped, but Ivan just said, "You don't fool me."

So what? I only need to fool the Dark Lord. He stared back, unabashed. There was a short, uncomfortable pause. Then Ivan added, very softly, "I heard about the way you got your jollies with that witch from Moscow." He suddenly grinned and punched him lightly on the arm. "You old dog! But not with Eunice. Right?"

"Right," he replied, somewhat bemused as to how the deliberate rumour, which had started out with him loosing his testicles in a duel with a wizard from Warminster, appeared to have ended up as a sordid clinch with a Russian witch. Or was that a different rumour? Well, it certainly sounded more exotic, if not entirely erotic. He was relieved that this was all Ivan was concerned about.

The evening wore on, with more of the same. During the next half-hour, he was propositioned by Arabella and felt up by Guinevere and Avery, the latter who smirked in his direction at every opportunity. On the positive side, Narcissa cast him cold stares each time he accidentally caught her eye, and Elinora, thankfully, ignored him completely.

He was, however, becoming more and more convinced that he was at the centre of a conspiracy to get him laid.

Then Lucius cracked open the bottle he had brought himself. He hadn't wanted to brew it, but he knew it was one of the things expected of him that evening, and so he had. Well, its introduction would wind the evening up fairly quickly, he was certain. It would also send them all off their heads before it did.

He did not plan to have any himself. He was moderately drunk as it was. He hated being drunk. It did not happen to him very often, only at Lucius' parties, as it happened. It was an unpleasant sensation. His eyelids felt heavy and his thoughts were becoming slightly random and irrational. His Pepper-Up Potion was in his pocket, but he had only brought a small phial, and he did not want to open it in front of anyone else.

So, he just perched on a the sill of an open window just off the terrace, in the embrace of a rampant honeysuckle, idly twirling his wand between his fingers in an attempt to look relaxed, integral to the general proceedings, and slightly dangerous, whilst actually staying out of trouble.

I'm any -enib -enbriat - pissed. Oh, fabulous. Perhaps I should consider alcohol among the potions to which I must maintain a high degree of resistance. All the Dark Lord needs to do is get me drunk.

As he was wistfully considering his Pepper-Up Potion, voices in the dark room behind him invaded his relative peace.

"- stands apart, Lucius."

"He always stands apart, Walden, always. It's his way, it has always been his way."

A third voice, Ivan, said, "The rumours say that he is too close to Dumbledore."

With an impatient hiss, Lucius said, "Of course he is! The Dark Lord wishes it that way, doesn't he? He has meted out his punishment, and Severus remains our friend."

"Then why are we having to keep an eye on him?"

"And how do you know we do not also have to keep an eye on you, Walden, Ministry boy?" Lucius snapped. "Give the man a break."

"I'll be happy as long as he doesn't sleep alone tonight," Walden said, sullenly. "Otherwise, he really isn't entering into the spirit of things, as far as I'm concerned."

Lucius said, "I've got a couple of people willing to sacrifice their usual tastes and ensure a good time is had by all. Well, I've got better things to be doing. Namely Agatha. Take your partners, gentlemen, and goodnight."

All three men left. Their words echoed around his head and he fingered the phial in his pocket. None of it was particularly unexpected, but he could feel a vague, distant sense of panic stirring in a corner of his mind. He took the phial from his pocket and flipped the stopper out.

Out of nowhere, a figure stumbled into him. The potion flew out of his hand and vanished into the darkness.

"Severus!"

He glared at Narcissa, and licked his fingers: not nearly enough.

"I'm ever so sorry," she said, stepping back quickly.

For a moment, dizzily, he wondered if Lucius had sent her, if he had encouraged her to follow him, ensnare him: I've got a couple of people willing to sacrifice their usual tastes...

She had half-turned away. Her hair looked slightly mussed, and her clothes in slight disarray. A raised welt scored her collar bone above the pale rise of her beasts.

Breasts. She has breasts.

Oh Merlin, Eli's aphrodisiac ...perhaps not as cheap as I thought ...

"Severus," she said, quietly, "I beg you-"

"Do not!" He held up a hand. His arm felt like lead.

"Severus," she said, again. Her eyes were wide, glassy under the moon, pleading. He felt an intense flood of dislike and annoyance for her.

And desire.

His arm fell to his side. He closed his eyes. The inside of his head was spinning. The honeysuckle was very strong. And the scent of her. He opened his eyes and found she had drawn closer. She looked very sad. Why did she come back to him for more abuse, were there not men aplenty here who could do a much more thorough job?

He wanted to vocalise this, but found his ability to speak impeded.

"A chaste bed," she whispered, "I promise, I will not lay a hand on you. I promise, Severus. I promise."

He felt ill. He needed to sleep. A bed. Cool sheets.

A chaste bed.

... I've got a couple of people willing to sacrifice their usual tastes...

She was looking almost fearfully at him, as if he was scowling at her; then he realised, he was.

"If you try anything, I will slip you a potion that - will make all your hair fall out," he snarled.

She nodded.

He straightened up, thrusting his wand into his jacket, then trying again, with dignity. "Your room, or mine?"

She cracked a weak, relieved smile, and took his arm. They walked through the living rooms into the hall, passing some of their friends along the way, most of whom looked as if someone had stunned them. Lucius was not among them, and he was glad. Avery was, looking openly resentful.

Well, aren't I the stud, he thought, smirking at Avery; in fact, smirking at everyone. I have a secret!

Get a grip on yourself.

He was still very aware of Narcissa's presence at his side, her body against his, as they mounted the stairs. "I don't suppose you have any Pepper-Up Potion?" he whispered, feeling desperate to regain some self-control.

"I can send an elf for some," she replied, equally softly, "but it will stop you from sleeping."

He caught a suspicious look on her face, and his stomach fell. "Yes, forget it," he said, dismally.

Narcissa's rooms were stylish and neat, and very pastel-pale. He felt like an unnatural thing amid the pink and cream and gold; a huge, ugly black rent in the beautiful façade of te surroundings.

Good, he thought, because you do not belong in pretty places like this.

He heard the click of a lock behind him, and a soft snuffling noise. He turned, unwillingly: she was, indeed, crying again, her fist against her lips.

Finally, he cleared his throat and said, "Narcissa, you can stop crying. Nothing bad will happen tonight."

She cast him a rather melodramatic look. "Don't talk to me like I'm one of your students, Severus." She turned her face away, probably so he could not see the damage her hysterics had done to her immaculate features.

He let the edge back into his tone. "Certainly I would not need to speak to one of my students like that," he said, with an air of vindictive pleasure.

She glanced up, shocked, and something in her features altered very subtly, as if a veil had been drawn. "I suppose this will be much easier for both of us if we keep the conversation to a minimum," she remarked, coolly, and went through to the bathroom, closing the door.

That was my line, he thought, and actually smiled, before he remembered himself. He closed his eyes and pinched the bridge of his nose, then rubbed his cold palms up his hot face. Too much to drink. He glanced around the bedroom. The bed was large enough for a handful of people. As long as Narcissa didn't want to snuggle .... Merlin ....

Narcissa appeared from the bathroom, retrieved her nightgown from under her pillow. Unfortunately, there didn't look to be much of it. She vanished again behind a door that she closed, quite snappily.

Good, he smirked: get your venom back. He rather enjoyed Narcissa in a bloody mood; it was much more satisfying.

He suddenly realised he had no night clothes. Now the reality of his situation was sinking in, and he found himself wondering if this was such a good idea.

The bathroom door opened and Narcissa appeared. Her pale nightgown was indeed flimsy. He looked away. He heard her opening a drawer, and the whoosh of something flying through the air before it hit his head: a pair of white silk pyjamas.

"Have you nothing in black?" he asked, staring at them.

"I'm sure the white suits you much better," she said, smiling, padding past him towards the bed.

"Touché," he muttered, scooping them up and heading for the bathroom.

The bathroom was white and pink, and very feminine. He made a cursory examination of the various bottles in the cabinet, then got changed, hanging his own clothes behind the door. The silk felt nice next to his skin, but he scowled at the vision of himself in white in the mirror. She had left a toothbrush out for him, but he couldn't be bothered.

He cautiously stepped back into the bedroom. She had extinguished all the lights but the moon poured in through a gap in the curtains. He could see her outline under the bedclothes on the left side of the bed. She didn't speak. He walked quietly to the right side of the bed and edged himself, with great care, under the sheets. He was half-way in when she said, "For Merlin's sake, Severus, I'm not asleep. Just get in."

He lay on his side, facing away from her. The sheets felt cool and the bed was firm, not too soft as he imagined it might be. He pressed his hot, aching head into the pillow...

... he awoke feeling uncomfortable. He was lying on his back. With a vague sense of horror, he realised there was someone draped across his arm, with their arm across his chest and their hair in his face. He remembered it was Narcissa. He couldn't be bothered to waken her and, uncomfortable as he was, he felt he couldn't move....

... he felt himself being sucked from a dark, dark dream, and struggled to open his eyes. Disorientated, it took him a moment to remember where he was. The moonlight had turned an insipid pre-dawn grey. Narcissa was outlined against it, sitting up in bed, head angled so he knew she was looking down at him.

"What?" he croaked, with a mouth as dry as parchment.

"You woke me. You were shouting."

He struggled over on to his side, facing away from her again, closing his eyes. The bed moved as she lay down beside him ...

... sunlight streamed across the bed covers and into his eyes as he turned over. He struggled to it up. He needed water. He staggered to the bathroom and drank several glasses of water. His head was thumping.

Pepper-Up, I need Pepper-Up.

He turned back into the bedroom and realised he was alone. He rang the bell for an elf and approached the window. It looked out onto the rose gardens and a fountain. A blonde woman was sitting on the lip of the fountain, gazing into the water.

He gave his short, but particular, list to the house elf. Then he looked down at himself and realised he was still in white silk, and went into the bathroom to change. He consumed the ingredients that the elf had left for him, whilst watching Narcissa, who was still seated on the fountain.

He had come to the party to maintain the illusion that he was still part of the group. He had done that. Moreover, now everyone would be happy he had broken his cardinal rule, and finally had it off with someone.

Except that I haven't.

He frowned over his cup of tea. He needed Narcissa on his side to maintain the illusion. He would have to find a way to solidify this, the thinnest of collaborations. He would have to speak with her, as a friend.

The trouble was he didn't know how to play friendship, he only knew himself.

That will have to do.

He finished his tea, thoughtfully, then made his way to the gardens.

THE END

of

'Party Night'

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