𝐒𝐄𝐕𝐄𝐍

" slughorn's party "

✤ ✾ ✤

. . . DECEMBER, 1975

THE BITTER TASTE of the Invigoration Draught was Maeve's near-constant companion.

It was glorious. Her assignments were turned in nearly all on time, and her marks were slowly improving. She hadn't fallen asleep in the common room in two weeks. The downside was the crash that came on the weekends when all she wanted to do was sleep. But it was all worthwhile, especially after she had received that coveted invitation from Slughorn.

She had never had interest in attending Slughorn's famous Christmas Party. It was a networking event meant to keep the talented witches and wizards on the level of the elite. To his credit, Slughorn didn't discriminate based on blood status. In his eyes, talent was the true measure of success.

Every year, she listened to Aoife rave about what Maeve envisioned as a boring sea of students clinking crystal and chortling about the Ministry of Magic. Now, however, her eyes had been opened. If she could impress this woman, she might have a real chance at attending a Muggle University. It would no longer be conjecture and a pile of what-ifs. This would make it real.

The party came in the middle of the week before most of the castle left for the Christmas holidays. Maeve had already turned in the last of her assignments, so there was nothing left to fill her thoughts with but the future. She and Elara sat alone in the common room, wasting the afternoon after History of Magic had let out early. Professor Binns had lulled himself into a long nap while talking about the witch hunts of the 14th century. The entire common room was lit by the bright light of the winter sun, and the stone fireplace at the center of the room roared.

"So this woman that Slughorn wants you to meet," Elara said as she flipped a page in her book. After she had run out of Jane Austen material, she had moved on to Muggle Irish writers at Maeve's suggestion. "Do you know anything about her?"

"Only that she went to Oxford," Maeve sighed. She stared out the arched Gothic window they were seating in front of. Snow was whirling past as if they were stuck in a snowglobe. "I don't even know her name."

"So she could be made up."

"Made up?" Maeve huffed. The thought had already crossed her mind. "I don't think Slughorn would make something like that up."

But Slughorn had also been incredibly vague. The invitation said next to nothing about the dress code, and she had to pester Aoife for outfit advice, which was rather low on the list of things she enjoyed doing.

"Was this in your ten step plan?" Elara grinned.

"It was a seven step plan," Maeve sighed. "And I can't believe I ever thought it would be so simple."

Remembering the invitation also brought her thoughts to Sirius. Ever since that day in Potions, he had laid off her. He no longer sought her out in the corridors or tried to make eye-contact with her in the Great Hall. Peter and James had followed suit. In fact, it seemed as if they were no longer interested at all in acquiring her help. Maeve should have been glad for it. To become an Animagus was an enormous risk. But, for all of that, she couldn't help but know that part of her wanted to say yes.

Switching the subject, Elara asked, "Do you know what you're wearing yet?"

Maeve and Avanti had already vetted her wardrobe for potential outfits. Avanti was brutally honest and had declared nearly everything that Maeve owned to be inappropriate for the party. "No idea."

"That's interesting," Elara said thoughtfully. "I think you should wear my red dress."

"Alright," Maeve agreed. She picked at a loose thread on the couch. "But why is that interesting?"

Finally, Elara closed her book and gave Maeve her undivided attention. "In Divination we're working with crystal balls. And I thought I saw you, but you were wearing a blue party dress."

Nearly all of Elara's Divination predictions were pure chance. For all of the logic and science that she had read about, there was no concrete evidence to prove that looking into a crystal ball meant anything. Still, Elara was always compelling enough that it made it easy to think it might all be true.

"What was I doin' in the blue dress?"

Elara hesitated. Her fingers gripped the cover of Ulysses a bit harder. "Oh, that isn't important."

"It is, actually," Maeve prodded, leaning forward in the high-backed chair. Elara just shook her head. "Elara."

"Maeve."

"You can't just not tell me!"

"The thing about Divination is not all futures are set in stone. Sometimes it's only a possibility."

Maeve groaned. "You really aren't making me feel good about this."

"You were crying," Elara told her. "But you weren't at the party. You were in the hallway. It probably didn't mean anything, just don't wear blue tonight. And try to avoid hallways."

Maeve stared straight ahead. "Stellar advice."

Hours later, their bedroom was a mess. Maeve had lost track of the hour and suddenly it was nearly time to leave for the party. Music was echoing from Maeve's battery-operated record player and they ran around the room to the sound of The Rolling Stones. Elara couldn't find the red dress, one of Maeve's platform boots was missing, and Avanti was chasing Maeve down with a palette of eyeshadow.

"Hold still!" Avanti told her with a huff. Maeve tried to sit up, but Avanti just shoved her back down onto the edge of her bed.

"I need to find my shoe–!"

"Found it!" Mimi bellowed from the other side of the room, holding it up like it was a fresh-caught trout.

"And I found the dress!" Elara sang, emerging from the pile of clothes she had created on her side of the room. It was a deep burgundy, the color of cranberry sauce.

"I can't believe you're going to all this effort to impress a woman you've never met before," Avanti sighed, brushing a small bit of shimmering powder onto the corner of Maeve's eyelid.

"It's the holiday spirit!" Elara cried, holding the dress to her chest and waltzing around the room as 100 Years Ago began to play. Mimi took Elara by the hands and joined in, laughing.

"Well," Avanti said, leaning back and admiring her work. "You look stunning."

Maeve felt like the daughter of three proud, overbearing mothers as she was shoved out the door and whisked off on her way.

✤

THE walk to the party was not lonely. At this hour of night, the castle felt hers for the taking as she walked on alone. The heels of her brown boots clattered evenly against the stone floors as she walked along, enjoying the generous sweep of the knee-length dress. Her hair had been twisted back from her face and pinned with garnet pins from Avanti's jewelry box. It was expensive. She felt expensive. Tonight, she could do anything.

Lily Evans was walking down the stairs that lead up to Gryffindor tower just as Maeve approached. They had barely spoken to one another since the incident in Hogsmeade. Lily too was dressed for a party in a green dress. As Slughorn's favorite student, there was no question as to why she had been invited. The girl glanced once over her shoulder with a look of disgust, but when she looked up to see Maeve, her face lit up.

"Maeve!" she called excitedly. She sidled right up to Maeve as if they were old friends, which seemed to be a common occurrence with her.

"You alright?" Maeve asked.

Lily frowned. "James Potter. He's been asking if he could come as my date all week. He was reciting a sonnet he wrote about me while I was trying to leave."

"And how did the sonnet start?"

Lily cleared her throat. "Your eyes are green like fresh spring grass, Your smile is like sunshine through window glass."

Maeve stifled her laugh with a cough. "What a gobshite."

"Gobshite," Lily repeated with a wicked grin. "I'll have to remember that one. How did your Bludger hit heal up, by the way?"

Maeve operated under the assumption that Sorcha had duped anyone she came into contact with into believing her side of the story was the truth. "It's alright now."

"Sorcha's a complete bitch," Lily muttered.

Maeve nearly tripped over herself. "Come again?"

"Who in their right mind hits a Bludger after the game's been called? And the worst part is, half of Gryffindor was defending her for doing it! I swear, the likes of James Potter will go to such incredible lengths to justify something in the name of Quidditch," Lily ranted.

"I thought you were friends with Sorcha, like," Maeve told her.

Lily just shook her head. "We tolerate each other, but we've never gotten along. Especially after I became Prefect this term. I know she resents me for it."

"Oh, she definitely does. She was upset for days after she found out she hadn't been named Prefect."

"Is it bad to say that brings me joy?"

Maeve grinned wickedly. "Not at all."

They continued on in comfortable silence until Lily spoke again. "So, tell me. Why is it that Slughorn invited you to the party? I've never seen you at one before."

Maeve was surprised by how blunt the girl's question was, but she felt no malice in it. "He wants me to meet one of his former students."

"Hm," Lily said thoughtfully as they turned down another hallway. Maeve had a sense that Lily had another set of questions for her, but she refrained from asking. Up ahead, similarly dressed students were walking in pairs and trios. "I think you'll find it rather enjoyable. The people watching is spectacular at these sorts of things."

As they entered the room, there was certainly no supply of things to look at. Several enchanted Christmas trees glittered with golden twinkle lights and real snow. The ceiling of the utterly transformed classroom was covered in hanging snowflakes and garlands of pine and holly branches. A long table was heaped with food: several roasted hams, plum pudding, parsnip and carrot puree, pavlova, trifle, and tens of other dishes. There was also a table serving drinks, and judging from the ruddy-faced boy leaning against it, the champagne and mulled wine were real. All around, Slughorn's selected students and alumni gathered in a mix of expensive suits, robes, and new dresses.

"Is that your sister?" Lily asked.

Maeve's heart jumped in her throat. However, Lily was only gesturing towards where Aoife stood talking to her best friend Ana. The two of them were nearly attached at the hip. If Aoife wasn't with her boyfriend Sean, she was with Ana.

"There you are," Aoife drawled as Maeve and Lily approached. Aoife was wearing the black dress she had bought at Switzers during the summer. Maeve only remembered it because it had cost nearly all of Aoife's savings. "I was wondering when you were going to get here. Who's this?"

"This is Lily," Maeve introduced.

"Ah, Lily Evans," Aoife surmised as she sized Lily up. "Slughorn talks about you all the time. His star pupil." Lily flushed nearly as red as her hair.

"I love your dress," Ana told her. "It looks lovely with your hair. I'm Ana, by the way."

Maeve was desperately searching the room. She didn't know if she was meant to find the woman, or if the woman was going to seek her out. Her palms were beginning to sweat.

Aoife leaned over and handed Maeve a glass of champagne from a passing tray. "Smile a little. You look constipated."

Maeve glared at her sister. All of the well-healed people and mannerisms and social rules were so simple for Aoife. It would be easy to believe that Aoife had been born into it, even though they had both been raised on the same small farm in Ireland. Aoife was the beauty, the elegance, the grace. Maeve had always fumbled along behind.

"I heard you're supposed to meet with one of Slughorn's alumna," Ana coaxed.

"Supposedly." Maeve took a long sip of her champagne. It was rather sweet for her taste.

Aoife looked at her with wide eyes. "Easy on the drinks, Maeve. The last time you had too much, you ended up half a mile down the road."

Lily let out a large bark of laughter. "Did you really?"

"She's a runner when she's had too much," Ana confirmed. "You'd better keep an eye on her."

The last time Ana had stayed with them, they had all snuck out and gone into the city. It had ended with a ferocious set of headaches. "At least I didn't end up throwing up in a rose bush. You kept asking us to bring you a toilet."

"I did not!" Ana said, shaking her head furtively.

"You did so," Aoife told her.

Ana rounded on her. "How could you even remember? You were pissed before we even left the house!"

"I was not!"

Maeve laughed. It had been a long time since she had enjoyed herself this much. Nothing had felt so simple since the term started. The room was entirely festive and it felt like a gold-hued film scene. Not a worry crossed her mind until Maeve saw Aoife narrow her eyes at something over her shoulder.

"Sorcha," Aoife said. It wasn't a question or a greeting, but rather a surprised statement. "I didn't know you were invited."

Maeve turned slowly and dread coated her insides. She half hoped it was a joke and she would turn around to find no one there at all. But Sorcha was there indeed. The only consolation was that Sorcha looked equally upset about the situation. Maeve hadn't spoken to her at all since the Bludger incident, and she knew her sister would never apologize.

Lily looked between all of them. "I think I'll take a walk about the room."

"Mind if I join?" Ana asked, already peeling off from Aoife's side to join Lily as they practically ran away.

"I wasn't invited," Sorcha answered Aoife. "Marcus asked me along as his date."

They all turned to look at the boy who stood several feet behind Sorcha. Aoife raised an approving brow at him. He wore a freshly-ironed dress shirt and trousers. "Nice lad?"

"Slughorn likes him." Sorcha shrugged absently, looking around at the spread. Marcus kept trying to catch her eye, but Sorcha hardly paid him mind. He looked like a puppy begging for attention. "I only said yes because I was curious about Slughorn's Christmas party. I've heard the gossip for years, but I've never seen it for myself. This is quite the display."

And it was.

"I've only ever heard of how amazing this party is," Maeve remarked, swiping another glass of champagne off of a tray that one of the kitchen elves was circulating through the room. "All the rumors were true."

"It's like this every year, if you can imagine," Aoife told them. "Apparently, it used to be in Slughorn's office, but then it got too lavish for even that, so he started renting out a classroom instead."

"Best Christmas party I've ever been to," Sorcha decided.

"Oh come on, you can't forget about Aunt Millie's party last year," Maeve reminded her. "That was spectacular."

Sorcha burst out with genuine laughter, which shocked Maeve to her core. She couldn't remember the last time she had made her sister smile. "If by spectacular you mean mortifying, then sure. I can't believe Ma forced us into those matching jumpers."

Aoife shuddered. "I'm never playing piano at a party again."

"Danny had a wonderful time," Maeve reminded her. Their cousin had gotten drunk, as he always did, and had terrorized the rest of the party for the entire night.

"He asked me to play Seven Drunken Nights three times before Nan told him to knock it off," Aoife lamented.

"I do miss when we used to do our song routine when we were little," Sorcha admitted. Aoife and Maeve just stared at her, unable to hide their shock. Since when had she become sentimental? "You both playing music and all of us singing. Have you still been playing guitar?" she asked Maeve.

Maeve blinked and nearly dropped her glass. "I haven't had much time."

"You're so good at it. I always wished I could play an instrument like you two do."

"Are you feeling alright?" Aoife asked, shocked at the compliment.

Sorcha looked at her funny. "What do you mean?"

Aoife shrugged elegantly. "Nothing. Enjoy the party, you two."

Maeve glared daggers at Aoife for ditching her. They watched her go before falling into awkward silence. Through all their fighting as it ebbed and flowed, Aoife had been the glue. She refused to take sides. Without her there it just felt plain odd.

"So, did you come as someone's date, too?" Sorcha asked her.

Maeve tried to maintain her composure. "No, Slughorn personally gave me an invitation. There's a witch here who also went to Muggle university that he wants me to meet."

"You're still on about the Trinity thing?" Sorcha clearly still saw it as the lowliest of pursuits.

"Where do you think I was all summer? I don't enjoy working for Declan, I was only bussing tables so I can afford the tuition."

"You never told me that."

"Well you didn't exactly ask, did you?" Maeve said, exasperated. Their conversations were always like this. Stilted, awkward. She never knew why they even tried to be civil anymore. Might as well break out the Bludgers now.

Across the room, Slughorn had begun to talk to their sister. Aoife laughed at something she said and pointed over to where Sorcha and Maeve stood.

"You should be careful about Aoife," Sorcha said.

Maeve's blood ran cold. "Why?"

Sorcha scoffed as if it were obvious. "Because she's a Slytherin. I wouldn't trust her further than I can throw her. Didn't you hear about what that cousin of Sirius Black's did to Mary Macdonald last week?"

She looked quite funny standing there in the candlelight, prettily smiling after saying the worst words Maeve had ever heard her say. It was ridiculous. Maeve only had one sister who had tried to kill her, and it wasn't Aoife.

"And what does that have to do with Aoife?"

"I know you read the Daily Prophet, you hear what those Slytherin maggots whisper about. They enjoy the terrible things their Dark Lord is doing."

"And your own sister? You would put her in the same category as those ridiculous extremists?" Their sister, who cried when she saw dead animals on the side of the road. Their sister, who wanted to be an Auror. Their sister, who volunteered her summers away knitting scarves for patients at St. Mungo's.

But Sorcha was oblivious to it all. "She was put into Slytherin for a reason."

"You disgust me," Maeve spat, recoiling at the idea that she and Sorcha had ever been inseparable. Her desire to be friends again fully unfurled inside her, no longer tightening its grasp on her heart. It was remarkably freeing.

Sorcha had the decency to look surprised. "What? Every wizard who's ever gone bad was a Slytherin."

"Open a history text," Maeve told her, gripping tight to her glass of champagne, "you'll find that there were plenty of Gryffindors blinded by their own prejudice who did things just as horrible as any Slytherin."

Sorcha's red lips parted to retort, but Slughorn was making his way over to her with a kind-looking witch in tow.

"Miss Byrne!" He said excitedly, stepping right in front of Sorcha as if she wasn't even there. "This is Katerina Collins, the woman I most hoped to introduce you to. Katerina was a most remarkable student of mine, but she chose to attend a muggle university instead of making something great of herself in the wizarding world. I hope you will find conversation with her most interesting!"

By the time Slughorn had left, Sorcha had already stalked off to find her date again.

"Slughorn tells me you want to go to Trinity?" Katerina said. She had the beginnings of smile lines around her eyes, but looked mature in the chic way that Maeve had always idealized. Even the woman's gingery perfume smelled stylish.

"I plan to," Maeve told her. She tried to clear her mind of all traces of Sorcha. "I believe Slughorn said you went to Oxford?"

"I did, I studied law and now I'm an attorney in London."

"Slughorn seemed–" Maeve didn't finish the thought, but luckily Katerina understood.

"Disappointed in me? Don't let Slughorn fool you; I might not have met his expectations, and it seems he's still mystified by my choices, but it was the best one I ever made. My husband went to Trinity, actually. I met him when he was on exchange."

"Did he enjoy his time there?" Maeve said, trying to tamp down her mounting excitement.

"He loved it. He's a Muggle, but naturally he knows about the wizarding world because of me. You might be surprised how many of our kind have attended Trinity. Look at Oscar Wilde. Wrote a bloody book about a magical portrait and got away with it because everyone took it to only be a metaphor."

Maeve opened her mouth to respond, but all that came out was a hiccup. She clapped her hand over her mouth and tried to swallow it down.

"Too much to drink? Slughorn is always heavy-handed with his pours at these parties."

Maeve shook her head. It felt important to assure Katerina that she was responsible and could hold her alcohol, but the only thing coming out of her mouth was a hiccup. This was her one chance to impress this woman. But Maeve couldn't speak, and it was nearly difficult to breathe.

"I didn't–" hiccup "I can't–" hiccup.

People milling nearby were beginning to stare at her. Someone laughed, and Maeve turned to see it was Marcus Bryan, Sorcha's date. Next to him, Sorcha slyly slipped her wand back into the waistband of her skirt. A hiccuping hex, Maeve realized. Once Sorcha's wand was out of sight, Maeve's breathing returned to normal.

Katerina lifted a brow. "Are you quite alright?"

Maeve took a deep breath and reset her expression into a pleasant smile. "I am, thank you–"

Maeve's champagne lurched from her glass and into the air with a wonderful pop of fizz. For a moment, everything was silent except for the small fountain of charmed champagne that puddled on the floor. Marcus now burst out laughing, elbowing Sorcha who clearly hadn't been finished with her fun.

Maeve now had the attention of the entire room. Even the music had gone silent, replaced by the splattering of champagne on tile. Mortification burned on her cheeks.

"I–I'm so sorry," Maeve told Katerina, who was staring at the fresh stain on the front of her dress.

Katerina was at a loss for words, stuck between confused and annoyed at whatever had just happened. Maeve couldn't have been the only one that had seen Sorcha lift her wand, but it seemed that she was.

Maeve set her empty glass down on the pressed white tablecloth and did the only logical thing she could think of. She shoved through the crowd, desperate for an exit. Only when she was back out in the cold air of the hallway did her heart rate begin to slow.

Beyond the dark windows snow was drifting to the ground. The snowglobe world whirled on, oblivious to her sorrows. Tears of frustration began to fill her eyes, and all thought of Trinity evaporated from her grasp. She should have known Sorcha would try something.

Even, lazy footsteps echoed down the hall. Maeve whipped around to find the last person she wanted to see sauntering towards her. Sirius was dressed in a suit and a sixth-year Hufflepuff had her arm linked with his. She was staring at him with such intent lust, she nearly tripped and fell from the distraction.

"Quite the hypocrite you are," Maeve said bitterly, unable and unwilling to quell her anger. He was an easy target. "What happened to being so above the blood purity party?"

Sirius was nearly unaffected. "I was made a tempting offer." The Hufflepuff girl giggled.

Maeve felt more nauseated than before. The two of them looked sufficiently rumpled, and she could only guess that they had been off in a closet necking for a brief interlude before returning to the party.

"I'll meet you inside," he told the girl, who paid almost zero mind to Maeve as she brushed past. It was as if she didn't even exist. Sirius, however, was staring at her very intently. "What happened to you?"

Fury rippled through her. "I have my answer for you. I'll do it."

Paltry pranks and jeers at Sorcha no longer seemed worthy of her attention. She imagined Sorcha still in the party, eating rich cakes while laughing with her friends. Maeve's stomach rolled with embarrassed agony. Let James and Sirius and Peter concoct whatever they could come up with.

He was floored. "You will? You aren't messing with me, are you?"

"I'm perfectly serious."

"No, I'm Sirius–" he began to joke, but quenched his grin with an awkward cough. "Where is this all coming from?"

Maeve shook her head. She would not let him see her cry. She would not suffer another embarrassment on this night. "It doesn't matter. Just hold up to your end of the deal. Make Sorcha's life a living hell."

"But I thought–"

"Don't make me change my mind," Maeve told him hoarsley. She felt ridiculous standing there in her beautiful red dress and her boots that she had considered so carefully. None of it meant anything anymore.

At that moment, Lily Evans ran out of the party and into the hall. She stopped with relief when she spotted them. "Maeve? Are you alright? I saw what happened, Sorcha had no right."

Maeve just stared at Lily, admiration flooding over her for the red-haired girl. "I'll be fine," she told her softly. Sirius looked imploringly between them, searching for the explanation he would never receive. "But I think I've had enough of the party for tonight."

She felt foolish and spent. Behind her, she heard Sirius pestering Lily and asking, "What on earth happened?", but Maeve didn't turn back around again.

Her tears began to fall as soon as she turned down the corridor. Elara's crystal ball had seen the future after all. 

✤ ✾ ✤

a/n Maeve is sooo 'curiosity killed the cat' and my favorite thing is that absolutely nothing Sirius did convinced her to help, it just all worked out on its own lmao. Thank u Sorcha! And a little bit of a seer moment for Elara, which may be important later on 👀

More Christmas fun with the Byrne household up next! I have this disease where I want it to be fall as soon as it hits June, so writing these cozy weather scenes is healing something in me.