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It was a terrible idea, really. Eighth year was supposed to be about forging new friendships, and repairing old relations. And, sure, they were trying to do that. Except, they just had to add a healthy dose of partying, drugs, and sex.
There weren’t too many that decided to return, a fact that didn’t affect Ginny all that much, but bummed Harry. Not that Ginny really cared too much if Harry was bummed. And– well, that was mean, but if Ginny were being honest, she was still properly mad about him dumping her. She was probably, definitely, absolutely, angrier about the fact that he then went on to date Malfoy , of all people. But, again, that’s mean. So, Ginny tries her best to look wholly unaffected when she catches sight of them together.
To be fair, though, she’s mostly shucked her feelings for him, at this point. So, really, it’s alright.
Back to their terrible no-good idea, then. They decided to have a party– and despite the fact that Ginny was actually a seventh year, she and everyone else who fought in the war also went.
Which, of course, includes all the Slytherins that, for some unknown reason, decided to return for their eighth year. Draco Malfoy wasn’t all that concerning, as he was mandated to come by the Wizengamot. What was interesting was the other Slytherins that came back. Ginny thought that, surely, they would stay far, far away from Hogwarts. Especially Parkinson, considering she quite literally tried handing Harry over to Voldemort smack in the middle of the sacred castle. But no, here she was, in all her bobbed-hair glory.
Actually, now that Ginny was looking at Parkinson, she realised the girl was smoking weed, with none other than Neville Longbottom. Ginny shrugs, she doesn’t really have a problem with it. She would worry about Ron having a problem with it, considering he was the most Gryffindor , and Ginny means that in an insulting way, out of the lot of them.
But, when Ginny seeks out his flop of red hair, the same as her own, she finds him snogging Theodore Nott in another corner. And, well, if even Ron can be civil, or more than in his case, with the Slytherins, then Ginny is just fine.
Not that Ginny really needed any encouragement to mingle with the Slytherins, seeing as she had been shagging one for months.
A few wild hours later, the party dwellers have dwindled in numbers, until there are only a few of them left. Harry and Malfoy, Ron and Nott, Neville and Parkinson, Luna, who’s chatting with a pretty scarred-up Lavender, and Blaise Zabini, who’s high out of his mind, and splayed out in one of the Eighth year common rooms' various armchairs.
Ginny moves to one of the couches by the fireplace, and she realises belatedly that it wasn’t the greatest idea to have a lit fire around a horde of drunk and otherwise inebriated teenagers.
Ginny drops down onto the plush purple couch with ease, her body sinking into its softness and a satisfied groan leaving her pursed lips. Despite its less-than-ideal colour, it really was quite comfortable. Ginny will never understand why Headmistress McGonagall decided to make the Eighth year's colour purple , of all things. Sure, she understood why it couldn’t be red, green, yellow, or blue, but still. Purple? Ginny would’ve gone with, maybe, amaranth , or cream , or taupe , or maybe even ivory.
Ginny giggles, and realises all at once that she is really, quite drunk. At least drunk enough to be debating colours in her head, and isn’t that a funny thing. Just six months ago she was shaking and terrified, fearing for her boyfriend and brother's life, and for her own. Just five months ago she was getting crucio’d by her own friends, under the Carrow’s orders. Just four months ago, she was battling a group of nasty Death Eaters. Just three– And now, she’s giggling and musing about different colour options. What a world she lived in. Honestly.
And then, in the next moment, Ginny’s dropped off into a dead sleep. Soon enough, her peers follow her lead, and they all gather around to sleep.
Harry is the first to wake. He rubs his eyes and yawns, his mouth stretching almost painfully as he does. He ruffles his hair, and instinctively reminds himself he’s alive , his friends are alive, Voldemort’s dead, and he’s okay.
After that, Harry finally, finally , looks around. His head is pounding, and he vaguely remembers the party from last night. Ron is curled up right next to Harry, and they’re pressed tightly to one another. A byproduct of all that time spent trauma bonding in that tent, on the hunt for Horcruxes. They usually gravitated towards each other at night, in a desperate, life-confirming kind of way.
Draco is pressed to Harry’s other side, and it’s shocking, for a moment, to see the very posh Draco Malfoy, curled up on the floor. Of course, they’re laying on an incredibly fluffy and thick fur carpet, but still.
Looking up, Harry takes in the sight of the rest of his friends. Blaise has claimed one of the armchairs, and is spread across it confidently, loud snores sounding from her slightly open mouth, and suddenly Harry realises exactly what woke him.
Pansy has claimed the other armchair, but she’s curled into it more conservatively. Theodore Nott, who hasn’t quite warmed up to Harry just yet, is also sleeping on the floor, surprisingly. He’s also sleeping sitting up, his back pressed against Blaise’s armchair, and his head tilted back to rest on the plush armrest of the chair.
Neville and Luna, who seem to have gotten a lot closer since the war, are curled together on one of the two couches. Lavender Brown is, oddly enough, also sleeping contently in their little puppy pile, and Harry can’t help but smile. Despite all the.. Odd , pairings that have come up this year, it seems most everyone found a familiar face to sleep by in their vulnerable, drunken states.
Harry can’t contain his huff of amusement as he finally catches sight of Ginny, who’s laid back and completely covering the other couch in the common room. Her red hair is fluffy and is sticking up in various places, clearly from her tossing and turning, and her shirt is rucked up slightly. And when Harry finally presses his glasses on, he can spot some shiny drool on her lips. She always was a messy sleeper.
Harry misses their friendship, in a deep way. He felt terrible when he broke up with her, it was one of the hardest things he’d ever done– and that includes killing a man that murdered his parents, and tried murdering him. It’s just– his gaze flickers to Draco, who curled into Harry’s warmth, his nearly white hair creased and fluffy.
Regardless, Harry is confident that they’ll be close again– he just needs to give it time, and give Ginny space.
The next person to awaken is Dracom unsurprisingly considering Harry’s been shuffling about, in search of his glasses. “Haz?”
Harry hums, reaching down to pet at Draco’s hair. Draco grumbles some more, and Harry laughs lowly. He’s moved to a sitting position, legs crisscrossed, and Draco uses the opportunity to crawl forward so he’s half-laying over his thighs.
“How do you sleep with Blaise snoring so loudly?” Harry whispers the question down at Draco, who he isn’t expecting to answer, assuming he’s already fallen back asleep.
Draco groans. “He’s always snored like that. You get used to it, eventually. My head’s bloody killing me.” Draco’s voice is thick with sleep, and he blinks blearily up at Haryr, who coos at the sight.
Draco pouts, “Stop giving me that look, I’m not a pygmy puff, I’m a very terrifying Slytherin, I’ll have you know.” Harry has to suppress the laughter threatening to bubble out of his mouth. “Right. You, threatening.” Draco slaps his stomach half-heartedly.
Draco moves to a sitting position, before pushing himself up into a crouch. “I’m gonna go grab some hangover positions from my room.” Harry waves him off, giving him a quick peck on the cheek before he goes.
Harry leans back and watches in amusement as everyone else quickly rises from sleep, groans and grunts sounding throughout the room.
It’s Ron who speaks first. “Bloody hell, someone shut him up.” His voice is muffled, as he’s pressing his face into his pillow. Neville moans in agreement, and even Luna voices agreement.
“Merlin, he’s so bloody loud .” Lavender’s voice is rough from sleep, her curly hair falling in knotted troves as she sits up suddenly, rubbing at her eyes aggressively, a glare fastened on Zabini.
“How the hell are those two still asleep?” Ron, who’s finally sat up to join the others in conversation, points at Nott and Parkinson. Harry shrugs, before his eyes naturally drift over to Ginny. Only to find her.. still asleep?
Harry’s eyebrows furrow in confusion.
“Eh, they’re just used to it. Trust me, Theo and I used to wake up every night back in first year, eventually, you just start sleeping through it. Kinda like those muggle machines that play soothing background noise, like waves or whale sounds. Except it’s not pleasant at all, and makes you want to rip your hair out.” Draco enters the room again suddenly, carrying a few vials of liquid in his hands.
Neville jumps up immediately, moving forward to pluck one of the vials from Draco’s arms. “My saviour,” Neville murmurs the words sarcastically, despite the genuinely thankful smile he sends Draco. Draco smirks, and passes out more of the vials to the myriad of hungover teenagers.
“I wonder how Ginny is still asleep.” It’s Lavender’s question that reminds everyone of Ginny’s presence, and they’re all quick to turn their gazes to the girl, who is, in fact, still asleep.
“Huh.” Ron grunts, his head tilting just slightly as he observes his sister. “Is she a heavy sleeper?” Neville offers the explanation, the clear answer. Ron shakes hsi head. “Nah, not really. Actually, one time I dropped a notebook while she was napping in her room, and it woke her up. She came in to screech at me like a crazy bat. It was pretty funny.” Ron laughs as he tells the story, not quite understanding the hole he’s dug himself into.
Neville throws his head back and laughs boisterously, his eyes glinting with mirth. Lavender, Harry, and Draco are quick to join in. Ron’s eyebrows dip in confusion, and he casts his gaze around the room, looking at everyone imploringly.
“What? C’mon, guys. What?” Luna hums pleasantly from where she’s sitting, her hands tucked under her thighs to, presumably, keep them warm. ‘They’re laughing because Ginny is shagging Blaise.” Ron nods for a moment, before spluttering suddenly.
“WHAT.” Ron stands suddenly, swaying slightly as his vision goes spotty. “My sister is not shagging a Slytherin.” Harry stands to steady Ron, and gives him a look .
“Ron, you were tonguing Nott last night. I don’t think you have room to talk, mate.” Ron flushes a bright, embarrassed red, a colour that nearly matches his red hair.
“That’s different,” Ron grimaces. “Zabini is older than Ginny! He’s– not my baby sister!” Ron gapes as he stares at the, still-sleeping, Ginny.
Harry pats Ron’s back as he blubbers and whines, muttering about ‘Slimy snakes’, ‘older boys’, and ‘no good Zabini’s’, under his breath.
Ginny stirs, and her eyes flutter open. “Good morning.” It takes her a moment or two to fully wake up, and realise everyone’s looking at her. Neville’s face is red from laughter, a playful smile on his lips, Luna is giving her a knowing look, Lavender has an eyebrow raised curiously, Harry is.. Consoling? A teary-eyed Ron.
The only one that doesn’t seem to be watching her is Malfoy, who’s bent over a sleeping Blaise. A snoring Blaise.
“Damn, he’s loud,” Ginny mutters the comment, and for some reason, the whole room bursts out in barks of laughter. Ginny eyes everyone with confused, bemused eyes.
“It’s too early for this.”
Malfoy swoops by a moment later, dropping a potion in her hands.
“It’s a hangover potion. Should make you feel better. Oh, everyone found out you’re shagging Blaise, by the way.” The sentence is almost normal, until it’s not, and Ginny chokes on her saliva.
There’s another round of roaring laughter, and Ginny can only groan and drop her head in shame.
Of course, she still has no idea how exactly they all found out, but still, it’s rather annoying.