You'd promised the Slytherin party wouldn't be a problem—some alcohol, no wildness. Astoria hadn't entirely trusted you, but you and Daphne begged long enough that she gave in. She only went to keep an eye on you, to make sure you didn't get into trouble.

You'd promised her it would be fine.

And it was. Until you started drinking.

Then Astoria was at the entrance of the room, crossed arms, looking at you and Daphne cutting through the group, doubled over with laughing. Your locks were messy, your smile overly large, and the glassy sheen to your eyes clearly revealed to her how much you'd been drinking.

Daphne tried to spin you about, stumbling nearly, and both you and Daphne plunged into each other, laughing furiously beyond all justification.

Astoria stepped forward, her brow furrowed. She extended your arm, her touch light but firm.

"Sweetheart," she said with a calm, clipped tone, "what in the world are you doing?"