Quote:It was difficult, but not impossible, to smuggle alcohol into Hogwarts. The best time to do it was during the holidays, when the professors emotionally checked out from their responsibilities and half the student population returned home. Justice had figured that out in fifth year, when a small package from the orphanage had arrived from who he assumed was the sneaky revolveress who always seemed to have more than she could afford. "Got you a bit o' raspberry for the season. Go easy, or you'll have yourself a bit of a daisy-five-'o-clocker tomorrow," this year's said, similar to last's but less subtle. It wasn't as if anyone would check on him, anyways; he was a prefect, and a senior one at that. He was completely trustworthy. Completely. Apart from the one time he'd been caught playing pantry-politics with the house-elves in an attempt to leave the common room while off patrol duty in the middle of fifth year (for something of actual importance), he'd never been caught abusing his privileges, and he wasn't about to start.
He settled down by the fireplace with his glass of firewhiskey, enjoying the silence. From what he'd heard through the grapevine, most of the students who remained at school had taken the day off for an extended nap. Justice couldn't blame them. Between the exams, projects to finish, and late-night patrols, he'd been feeling a bit afternoonied himself. The stretch to the holidays was the next thing to judgment day.
But now it was over. The snow had settled on the ground, the decorations had been hung, and everything was quiet. He was alone. For maybe three minutes. He spluttered on his firewhiskey as the sound of the common room door closing sent him into a panic. Someone asked him if everything was okay. He couldn't respond for a moment; he could only stare with wide, guilty eyes. His reelings about abusing his privileges caught up with him, and it took a moment to find the words. Any words, really.
"A friend pranked me with a gigglemug for Christmas. Told me to open it early," he lied, placing it on the ground beside him—and more importantly, out of view. He was walking on needles and pins and he knew it. He had to remind himself that he wasn't a boy any longer. He was eighteen—a fully-grown man—and he had seniority over Ravenclaw house. "They're a real batty fang, always messing with me when I least expect it."
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— we all know MJ is amazing but DAMN —