I looked exactly like what I was; a teenage, Official Hogwarts wasn’t hiring so I heal Muggles Instead tshirt, hammered on cider but not enough to lose my multitude of inhibitions. They persuaded me to try their garish, hot-pink-fireball lipstick (which didn’t wear off for bloody ages; I went three days with lips that looked like they’d exploded), but even that couldn’t disguise me. I didn’t belong. he girl who gave me the cherrybomb lipstick invited him. She told us what she’d done when we were on the train; flicked it into the middle of the conversation like a schoolboy flicks a bogey, like it doesn’t mean a thing. By the way, I invited Andrew. He’s my dealer. He might beg us some drinks; him and the bartender are in the same gang.