The Annals of Terry Boot

Said, "Come on, kick me again."

Said, "I'm so drunk,

I don't mind if you kill me."

Come on, you gutless,

I'm alive, I'm alive,

I'm alive and how I knew it.

But for chips and for freedom,

I could die.

~Franz Ferdinand, from "Jacqueline"

May 1st

9:36--Mayday!

That can either mean "springtime holiday of May first" or "HELP!"

In this case, it means both.

It's the first Hogsmeade trip since Blaise and I started "going out," so it'll be the first time we'll actually be, well, going out.

And tonight's the glo-o-orious drinking party where Malfoy will hopefully drink a lot of margaritas and publicly humiliate himself.

Plus, there's always that ever-so-slim possibility of passionate, drunken love, and I'm not too sure what I think about that. On one hand, I really do like Blaise, all things considered, but on the other hand, having been just a bit of whore somehow makes the idea seem cheap and even more debasing. On the other hand, I am a sixteen-year-old and I do have my fair share of hormones.

Either way, I have my first two official dates with Blaise today and I don't know what I'm expected to do.

I'm almost as nervous as I was the first time I had Hermione up to the Tower to work on our report. God, that seems ages ago. Back when I was young and foolish.

But it gives me an idea.

9:41--Tracking down Seamus.

"Finnigan! Get over here!"

He tears himself away from Thomas and Potter and comes over to me.

"Look, Seamus, Blaise is supposed to meet me here in ten minutes and I don't know what I'm supposed to do."

"Your first official date?" I can't quite read his expression.

"Yeah. Any advice?"

"Don't play practical jokes. That's part of the reason Lavender and I never had a second date."

"You didn't? But I thought you two were constantly going off together all through fourth year . . ."

He sort of blushes and mumbles something.

"Well, that's not the point. I just wondered if you wanted to give me any advice." Because he'd been plenty eager to give it before.

But maybe there's a difference between Hermione and Blaise.

"Look, there's Blaise. You'd better go over there and just wing it. Unless, of course, you'd like to show him your beautiful David Bowie poster." He smiles winsomely.

Why is my winsome smile such an utter disaster?

9:59--Off to Hogsmeade!

Blaise smells nice. Actually, he smells kind of like cigarette smoke, but on him it's nice.

"The Gryffindors have dibs on leather," Blaise says.

"Pardon?" What was I supposed to make of that statement? He might as well have said, "The Hufflepuffs are giant cheese."

"The Gryffindors are all wearing leather tonight. They're buying it in Hogsmeade. Because they're strange and kinky and have money to burn, except, of course, for Weasley, who will be relying on the kindness of others."

"Tell me, Blaise--You do have a web of informants, don't you?"

His arcane Slytherin smile spreads across his face. "I have more than that."

10:31--Clothes shopping.

In some bizarre little shop down a side street. The shop clerk has a green mohawk and eyebrow piercings.

I personally don't see why I can't wear my school uniform.

"Because you don't have to," Blaise explains, "ergo, no-one else will."

He's not one to talk about what "everyone else" does.

"And how, Blaise, are they planning to sneak this party under the faculty's noses?"

"They aren't. Virtually the entire sixth and seventh years are going, and do you think that they're going to bother to verify who was there and who wasn't? It'll be impossible. And, even if it were possible, do you think they'd be able to punish us all? They've got bigger problems." He looks self-satisfied. "And I'm running the Charms on the room."

"But only seventh years are planning--"

"That's what they think. But I've concocted Charms to keep the teachers away until four tomorrow morning."

"Clev-er." I roll my eyes and pick up a pair of black flared pants with gold embroidery.

He makes a face. "You'd look like Zorro going out to disco."

Something tells me there's no point in even asking who "Zorro" is.

Blaise picks out some black robes with chains and buckle for me, but I veto the idea: "I'd look like a Death Eater off to a heavy metal rock concert."

He makes some witty comment about the Dark Lord rocking out to Kevadra and Marilyn Manson, and arches an eyebrow at me. "You do realize that all you really own outside of you uniform is a pair of Muggle jeans that were probably used to scrub a dead mountain troll, and a tee-shirt that's basically a rag with arm holes?"

I keep forgetting that he's one of the very few people who've seen me outside of school on a fairly regular basis. Sometimes I wish he wouldn't remind me.

"Ooh, look!" I cry, seizing the first article of clothing I lay my hands on. "How about this?"

Blaise gives me a strange look. "Well, it's not really what I would have chosen . . ."

I glance at what I'm holding. A short full skirt of shiny scarlet taffeta and black crinoline. "Well," I flounder, "I do wear lipstick."

Blaise smiles that awful predatory smile. "Good point. All right. That's what you're wearing."

I gape. "Bloody hell no. I wasn't serious."

Blaise's smile grows. "I can think of two reasons. One: It would delight me entirely and, like you said, you're already wearing lipstick, so what's the big deal? And two: A skirt would be much more easy-access than pants."

I try not to smile. "Well, since you're paying for it. But I expect to get some fishnet stockings to go with it."

He chuckles. "Terry, dear, you really are a whore, aren't you?" He slips his hand into mine and squeezes it. "But you're my whore."

"And that's supposed to make me feel better?"

But I might as well humour Blaise. Me in a skirt might be the closest he ever comes to straight.

8:36--Showtime!

There are not words for Michael's reaction to my clothes. I just never knew it was possible for anyone's eyes to bug that far out of their head.

I'm rather fond of my new black shirt and red vest, though . . . And the boots. The boots are very sexy.

There are perks to having a rich boyfriend with nothing better to spend his family's ill-gotten money on.

And the skirt is interesting. Kind of fun to twirl around in.

All the teachers are at a staff meeting, and Michael urges to me to "drop the fucking eye pencil already and get going before the meeting ends and we all get caught because if we do, it'll be your fault, you fairy."

It's nice to have such wonderful friends.

Anthony's drowning himself in cologne. All for Mandy, I suppose. Maybe he's thinking that if he knocks her out with his mighty musk-scented fumes, he can drag her back to the cave. Very neanderthal.

And what the hell is musk?

Blaise is waiting for me in the hallway outside, wearing . . . Well, I'm not sure what to call it. He was all in black, with a sort of loose ruffled shirt like Shakepeare or a pirate or something, shiny boots with lots of buckles and zippers, and tight, tight, very tight leather pants.

He smiles crookedly at Michael. "Scrape you jaw off the floor, Corner." He glances at me. "You too, Terry." Doing a bit of a double-take, he adds, "And that skirt is really short."

"You bought it," I remind him cheerily. "And I thought Gryffindors had dibs on leather."

"Well, they did. But they ended up with denim jackets and cowboy hats." Pity. In some dark corner of my mind, I'd been rather looking forward to seeing Seamus in leather. Blaise nods towards Anthony. "What did he drown in? Bubotuber pus?"

I shrug, still rather hypnotized by the leather.

"Terry, are you going to stop staring, ditch the Goon Squad, and come to the party? Or will I have to leave without you? You don't see me staring at your fishnets . . . Oh, wow. Never mind."

Exit Anthony and Michael, stage left.

9:01--Room of Requirement.

After a quick snog behind a tapestry and stop to the bathroom to fix my lipstick.

Sometimes the whole makeup thing seems more trouble than its worth.

But then where would I be?

The Room of Requirement is--how shall I say?--no DA anymore. A bar runs across one entire wall and it takes me a few seconds to realize that the duo serving drinks is the Weasley twins. One is chatting up the Patil twins, while the other watches Seamus and Finch-Fletchley arguing over records.

"They're back for a bit of a visit," Blaise mutters, when he sees where I'm looking.

Macmillian is taking down names for karioke. Seamus has put on one of his David Bowie albums and about twenty kids are dancing to a song about "I could make a wild mutation as a rock-and-roll star."

Others are sipping at luminous blue drinks and laughing.

I never quite understood the lure of parties.

Then again, this is my first one.

"What now?" I ask.

"Would you like me to get you a drink?"

"A shiny blue one?"

He smiles. "How about a butterbeer?"

"Blaise, my dear boy, I'm not twelve." Really. Even Chang was having one.

"Terry, look at it this way: How drunk do you want to get?"

"I don't care. I want a blue drink."

Blaise gives me a you're-being-difficult look and crosses over to the Weasley twins. "Give the boy with blue hair a diable bleu," he orders the twin watching Seamus and Finch-Fletchley

The twin tears his eyes away from Blaise's leather and pours out a tall glass of the glowing liquid.

After getting himself some red wine, Blaise returns to my side.

"I think Malfoy's on his third already," I inform Blaise under my breath.

Malfoy's getting just a bit too friendly with Weasley, who looks close to beating the ferrety Slytherin to a pulp.

Blaise's face lights up. "I'll be right back."

He goes over to Finch-Fletchley and says something to him. Macmillian hurries over with his karioke list, and Blaise glances back at me. I smile and wave, taking a sip of the whatever-it-is.

Oh, yum. Kind of minty. But it stung my throat when I swallowed and made my tongue tingle.

I tried again, swallowing a whole mouthful and trying not to gag as I felt it rushing through me as if were going all the way to my fingertips.

Finch-Fletchley changes the record.

Blaise returns, looking satisfied.

As the opening notes of the new song blare out, Malfoy seizes Weasley by the shoulders and says emphatically, "I love this song!"

Weasley shoves him away and he stumbles into Potter, who had been about to take a shot of firewhiskey.

"Dance with me!" Malfoy orders, tugging on Potter's sleeve.

I snicker into my drink and drain the rest, while Blaise picks a bit of cork out of his wine. "Blaise, can I have another?"

"You mean looking at Malfoy isn't an object-lesson?"

"I have no idea what that means, Blaise . . ."

He pulls me onto a sofa and signals to a Weasley for another what-did-he-call-it.

Diable bleu.

9:44--Still on the sofa with Blaise.

I'm trying to get him to let me have a third blue thing, but he's still barely touched his wine.

I can't quite keep my hands off his leather pants, off his thighs, off his hips . . .

A new song begins and Blaise says, "Finally. I told Finch-Fletchley to play this song when Malfoy's on his fifth . . ."

"What is it?"

"Billy Idol. 'Dancing with Myself.'" Blaise smirks a bit and gestures towards a table at the far end of the room.

Oh. Sweet. Jesus.

How horrifying.

How humiliating.

How strangely attractive.

Malfoy must have been to a lot of strip clubs to know how to dance like that.

And, speaking of stripping, he's slowly unbuttoning his shirt . . .

9:53--Goodbye, Malfoy's shirt!

It lands on Longbottom's head and Longbottom shrieks in horror.

Now Malfoy's undoing the zipper on his pants . . .

9:55--The Weasley twins intervene.

Just as Malfoy's hooking his thumbs onto the elastic band of his boxers.

Damnit.

Seamus catcalls as one of the twins tries to convince Malfoy that it would be a good idea all around to put his clothes back on. The twin then gives Seamus a Look.

Macmillian jumps in and starts up the karioke with the Patil twins doing "R-E-S-P-E-C-T."

That awful scary Slytherin Millicent girl orders Blaise to dance with her. He mumbles something about her "mean left hook" and goes off with her. I doesn't look like he'll be back anytime soon, so I get unsteadily to my feet and go over for that third drink.

10:08--Blaise is still dancing.

I sip at fourth drink.

At least, I think it's my fourth . . .

10:12--Chang and Mandy do some "white-wing dove" song.

I feel very lonely on this couch.

And Seamus is downing a firewhiskey and laughing with Thomas.

Seamus's hair is so pretty. I want to lick it. I think.

I think I need another drink . . .

10:16--Chang and Mandy give up.

Macmillian reads the next name on his list: Seamus Finnigan.

Looking a bit self-conscious, and just a bit tipsy, he starts singing something about, "When I wake up, yeah, I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who wakes up next to you--"

He has a very nice voice. Like chocolate and cream and--I know! Seamus sings like an eclair!

I think I might eat him.

Yum.

"When I go out, yeah, I know I'm gonna be, I'm gonna be the man who goes along with you . . ."

Seamus catches my gaze and winks. I feel my face going very warm. A little voice in the back of my mind tells me that I never blush, but it drowns in the four (or was it five?) glasses of diable bleu. Maybe six? I really don't know anymore . . .

"But I would walk five hundred miles, and I would walk five hundred more, just to be the man who walked a thousand miles to fall down at your door . . ."

Seamus is singing to me. He's singing to me because he loves me. That's it! He loves me!

Blaise is gone. He probably left with Millicent to have wild Slytherin sex and reclaim his heterosexuality.

I don't care! Seamus Finnigan is singing to me and he's an eclair and I think I might be drunk.

10:23--Seamus comes over to my sofa.

"Hello, Terry."

"Hello, Seamus! Come hither so I can . . ." I almost finish with "fuck you like an animal." But I think that's from one of Michael's Muggle songs . . . Not a bad idea, though.

He sits down beside me. "You . . . look . . . very cool. Bowie would approve." He's talking very slowly. I think he might be drunk, too.

But he was singing me a very nice song . . . A very nice song about how he'd walk five hundred miles. And he's an eclair because . . . Oh, I don't remember why, but it's not important.

"I like eclairs," I tell him earnestly.

"I like daffodils," he returns.

"I love you, too!" I cry, and throw my arms around him.

He looks surprised, but before he can say anything, I kiss him smack on the lips, very wetly and messily.

10:26--Passionate, drunken love!

I've got Seamus pinned under me as I straddle him and attempt to snog his brains out.

I unbutton his shirt with one hand as I twist the other into his sandy hair.

He puts his hands on my hips and pulls me closer.

Our tongues slide into each other's mouth and--

"Am I interrupting something?"

Blaise is standing over us, trying to look nonchalant.

Seamus shoves me away, and opens his mouth to say something.

"Spare me the sordid details," Blaise tells him. Then looking at me, he says, his voice strained, "Good-bye, Terry."

He brushes past Hermione and Weasley and is gone.

Looking at his list, Macmillian says, "Next, Blaise Zabini is going to sing ''Til There Was You.'"

I hate myself.

10:46--Hating myself.

I manage to find my way back to Ravenclaw Tower and curl up in an armchair to stare into the fire.

Trust me to get utterly smashed for no good reason.

Trust me to be so stupid as throw myself at Finnigan . . .

Trust me to lose the only person who really mattered.