Revenge is Sweet

Chapter Three

Victory--or Defeat?

Ah, yes, the party. Parts of it I will never forget. Unfortunately, the parts I want to remember are the ones I can't.

The students were away from Hogwarts on an "extended surprise field trip"-- Dumbledore had wanted them away from the school in case the fighting spread that far. So, at the request of Harry Potter, the celebration was held in the Gryffindor common room.

I'd never been in Gryffindor before. It looked much cozier than Slytherin. Draco made some comment about it being "too red", but the color scheme didn't bother me all that much. I felt out of place, though. Draco and I had always been separate from the rest of the Order. It made sense, I guess, since we wouldn't normally associate with those people in real life. Those restrictions were a thing of the past now, but I still felt awkward in a room of strangers.

Draco, of course, was no stranger to me; unfortunately, he was also no stranger to parties, and was currently making himself comfortable in the middle of a group of girls. I found a comfortable corner by the window and prepared myself for a long night. Let me put that last bit in plain English: I secured myself a glass and two bottles of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey (which I stashed behind the easy chair) and prepared to drink myself into oblivion.

I wasn't alone for long, though. It was only a few minutes before Ron Weasley approached me, glass in hand, and said loudly, "Hi Bulstrode, Harry wanted me to make sure that you didn't feel left out." He added, in a whisper, "Actually, I really want to keep away from Hannah Abbot because we just broke up two days ago. You don't mind a little company though, do you?"

"No," I replied, feeling a bit stupid. I couldn't decide which was worse: talking to a complete stranger or being completely out of the loop.

After a long and uncomfortable silence, Ron said, "So...what sort of job do you have nowadays?"

"I work for Puddlemere United," I said tersely.

"Ooh, what position?"

I rolled my eyes. "Ticket seller, okay?"

I thought he would laugh. He didn't. He grinned; not an evil grin, mind, but an excited one. "Wow. I bet you get to see a lot of games!"

The talk was all Quidditch for a while. I refilled our cups with Firewhiskey when they ran out (which they did all too frequently) and we chatted comfortably. Quidditch was something I'd lived and breathed all of my life; as long as we stayed on that topic, I'd be fine.

Then the music started. They'd turned the volume up terribly loud--I guess some people enjoy dancing only if they can feel the beat. Ron and I were shouting at each other: "What was that? I didn't hear you!"--"I just asked you to repeat yourself, I didn't catch your question!"

Finally he grabbed what was left of the Ogden's--just a bottomful in one bottle--and gestured for me to follow him. So I did. We went upstairs, into a room marked "First Years".

"This was my room for seven years," he said, slamming the door to block out the music. "That was my bed over there. That was Harry's. Neville, Dean, Seamus," he continued, pointing to the three beds across the room. Then he walked over to the window. "Come here, check out the view. Bet you didn't have a view like this from your dormitory."

"No," I said, taking in the sight of the moonlit grounds. "We had a porthole looking into the lake. If we were lucky, one of the giant squid's tentacles would be slapped up against it when we opened the curtains."

His arm wrapped around my shoulders. He was just the right height to do that comfortably. I looked at him and realized that I could look up at him--I'd never really done that to a man before. For once I did not feel too tall.

His other arm was wrapped around my waist now and he was pulling me closer. He kissed me eagerly; I kissed him desperately. It had been far too long since I'd been alone with a man.

I wish I could tell you that I enjoyed the rest of the night. Maybe I did. Frankly, I don't remember anything else from that point on.

What I do remember is waking up the next morning with a splitting headache. I was naked, and right next to me was a very naked Ron Weasley. He looked pretty good--I wouldn't have minded another go with him--but I figured he probably wouldn't want me unless he was dead drunk, so I dressed and left. I hoped he wouldn't regret spending the night with a girl who looked like a hag.

In any case, I thought that was the last time I'd see him. I was wrong.