Gryffindor had just won the House Cup.

Not that it was exactly a rare event. Most years, Gryffindor ended up taking the trophy home anyway.

Still, that didn't mean a party couldn't be thrown in its honor.

So after an ambitious trip to Hogsmeade for supplies, a stack of vinyl records blasting through an enchanted player with an illegally loud Sonorus charm, and enough Muffliato spells around the common room to make even Professor McGonagall unsuspicious, the biggest Gryffindor House Cup party in years was officially underway.

Which meant James Fleamont Potter was currently leaning against the fireplace with a red solo cup in hand, filled with some horrifying combination of firewhisky and fruit juice.

Honestly, he wasn't even sure what was in it anymore.

His vision blurred faintly around the edges, and for once it had nothing to do with the fact he wasn't wearing his glasses. He'd abandoned them earlier after someone nearly snapped them in half during a celebration pileup near the staircase.

And honestly?

He was having the time of his life.

Gryffindor won the Cup. The music was incredible. Half the Quidditch team was dancing terribly near the couches, and enchanted light spells flashed across the room in spinning reds, golds, blues, and purples, turning the common room into something between a disco and complete magical chaos.

Nobody was wearing uniforms anymore either.

Which meant James was very suddenly noticing things he usually didn't get the chance to notice.

Definitely a good night.

And then it got even better.

James turned at the sound of cheering near the center table, only for his attention to lock onto the group dancing on top of it. Two, maybe three students were laughing as the music shifted into something slower, bass-heavy, the kind of song that sounded like it belonged in someone's bedroom instead of a school common room.

Then the enchanted lights spun across the table again.

And his blurry gaze landed on you.

Dancing right there on the damn table.

"Mast..."

The word slipped out under his breath automatically, his alcohol-fogged brain briefly forgetting English altogether and defaulting back to factory settings.

Without another thought, he shoved his cup onto the fireplace mantle, squinted around for a second, then spotted his glasses sitting dangerously close to a candle.

Apparently he'd put them there earlier. Awful call from his part.

James snatched them up, slid them back onto his face, and immediately headed toward the table, weaving through dancing students and nearly getting hit in the face by someone's flailing arm.

Once he reached you, he stopped directly below the edge of the table and looked up.

"Hey!"

He practically shouted it over the music so you'd actually hear him.

Now that he could see properly, he recognized you from class. He'd never actually talked to you before, but at the moment, the alcohol had completely removed whatever sense of dignity or self-preservation he normally possessed.

James grinned crookedly, one hand resting against the edge of the table as colored lights flashed across his glasses.