EIGHTY TWO

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Gryffindor's parties have always been celebrated as one of the house's defining features. Nobody glanced at their impressive history of victorious Quidditch games or their primitive stories of past bravery and strength — people instead focused on the wild, inebriated bacchanals that Gryffindor hosted.

Genevieve had yet to attend one of these parties. It was a miracle she had even survived this long without going to one. Sirius had tried to persuade her to go at every chance he could, talking about the memories made and the key scenes he found hilarious, but she remained unmoved. That was until now. Sirius had been ceaselessly bugging Genevieve to go to the party Gryffindor was throwing in celebration of their victory. There was a method to his madness after all - he managed to get Genevieve to say yes just so he would shut up.

"You're going to get sooo drunk," Marlene told Genevieve as they got ready in the dormitory, a grin on her face at just the thought. "Stop blinking, you're going to ruin your eyeliner," she scolded.

"I can't help it, I keep thinking you're going to take my eye out," Genevieve nagged, "and I'm not a bloody idiot; I'm pretty sure I can handle a drink or two."

"You said that about the bottle of tequila," Lily reminded, reminiscing about their drunken night back home.

"It's different now. I have nothing to be sad about." She couldn't tell if that was a lie or not. Genevieve just knew that she needed some release from the unwavering sense of anxiety that being so far away from home during dangerous times gave her - and she knew alcohol could do just that trick.

"You don't need to be sad to get drunk," Alice said. "You'll see that soon enough."

Alice was right. When Marlene finally released Genevieve from their makeover session, dressed up in a red mini dress and Go-Go boots, the party held in the common room had been alive for a total of ten minutes. Already there were teenagers dancing around the room and clutching bottles of Firewhiskey like their lives depended on it.

One of these people was Sirius, who made sure to rush to her side the moment she descended the dormitory stairs and link arms with her. It was hard to distinguish his sharp features in the dark lighting of the room, but his silver eyes were still noticeably gleaming with a sense of fun. "First party, Silvy," he said, already too cheerful to be sober. "How are we feeling already?"

"Like I need a drink," Genevieve replied, shouting over the booming music.

Sirius's lips tugged into a wicked grin, almost as if he were proud of her for saying such a thing. "The drink table is over there. Peter's there controlling the music, I think." He pointed to the corner of the room. "You look good, by the way. A spitting image of Cher!"

Genevieve wanted to say thank you, but Sirius had already gotten distracted by a dark-haired boy and was following him as quickly as he could. Peter was where Sirius said he was, guarding the party food they had snuck from the kitchens earlier. In one hand he held a slice of pizza, and in the other he clutched tightly onto a bottle of Butterbeer. "The two necessities," Genevieve said as she approached.

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