Yes, I'm still on that break. Yes, it is stupid of me to start another story. But, to be fair, it'll only contain seven chapters. I don't know if I'll get to update as frequently as I managed to update my other stories, but I'll do my best.

If you're offended by profanity, however slight, please turn and go away. Cheers.

Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter related, as unfortunate as this may be.

Whiskey River, don't run dry
You're all I got to carry me
I'm drowning in a Whiskey River

Willie Nelson - 'Whiskey River'

1. G L U T T O N Y

"So, Scorpius," began an obviously giddy girl, her high-pitched voice no more than a whisper, "have you caught on with the latest news yet?"

The platinum-haired, pale-skinned wizard sitting on the couch next to her took a sip of his coffee (jet-black, no cream, no sugar – he was a man, in his books at least) and awarded her with a trademark apathy shining in his cold grey eyes. Although a Slytherin, the brunette in front of him had never particularly interested him, and he couldn't see why she would start to do so now. His natural curiosity was instantly dimmed by the fact that the only memories he held of her were utterly dull – as she herself was rather unintelligent (... completely brain dead) and water always found its own level, she only spoke of people who couldn't produce a decent Accio spell. Plus, most of the rumours she spread around weren't accurate anyway – no surprise there.

"Pray tell, Clearwater, but try not to speak faster than your intelligence allows you to," he therefore drawled, knowing that she'd stupidly think it was meant as a joke.

"Well," her square face split into a wide smile, "first of all – Rose Weasley broke up with Lysander Scamander yesterday."

He didn't know what effect she desired. Did she expect him to squeal like a teenage girl, inquiring really, seriously, are you sure that's not a lie? Did she expect him to jump up and hug her, kiss her feet maybe, because she'd been the fortunate messenger, bearer of The Good News?

Because, Jesus.

He was a Malfoy. Malfoys scarcely displayed any kind of superfluous emotion, preferably none at all, attempting at all times to remain calm and collected and enigmatic. The flaw in this family name theory, was that what Clearwater had told him actually did cause something in his chest to leap, to react in a way that was completely inconvenient and unfamiliar to the boot, for Rose Weasley was a Weasley – and Weasleys certainly shouldn't elicit anything in a Malfoy, really, apart from disgust and hatred just for the sake of it.

"And exactly how should this affect me?" Scorpius arched a refined eyebrow, hoping for his sarcastic tone to cover up his inner questioning.

Why Had Hogwarts' Golden Couple Finally Split?

How Torn Up Was She About It?

Had He Cheated On Her?

Had She Cheated On Him?

Capital questioning. It swirled through his head aggravatingly, and it even slightly bothered him that he couldn't just interrogate Clearwater. Though she'd be delighted to tell him, she'd also comprehend (somewhere in that thick skull of hers) that Rose Weasley interested him more than other people generally did, since he virtually never stopped to actually listen to any of Clearwater's stories.

"Oh, come on, everyone thought they were going to get married or something. I think it's big news."

"How exciting your life must be," he muttered under his breath, but when she asked him to repeat himself, he merely shook his head. He figured the sardonic approach was one plausible path to take. "You reckon they hexed each other?"

"Hexed each other?" Clearwater asked, looking at him with a blank expression. "Why would they hex each other?"

Scorpius sighed, refraining from rubbing his temples in impatience. "Just tell me what the fuck happened and then leave me alone, okay?"

The offended look on her face indicated that he'd acted on a senseless impulse, he realised, for he actually needed the information, urgently even, and he'd nearly blown his cover. To anyone possessing the ability to observe, his comment had meant only one thing: that he was only listening out of sheer interest and not because he liked the Clearwater girl. And, unfortunate as this was, that was absolutely the opposite of what he aimed to achieve.

"My excuses," he thus crawled back, "I must say I'm rather short-tempered today. Got back an E on that History test earlier, and you know my father doesn't tolerate poor grades."

Not that an E was a poor grade – not at all. Clearwater had probably never seen one in her entire life. It also happened to be that he was quite sure she didn't know what kind of man his father was – except for Death Eater yada yada yada everyone had heard about – but hell, it couldn't be that complicated to get back into her good graces, now could it?

"Yeah, I get it, I get it," she said, but just when he wanted to be relieved, she continued, "the only thing I know from my sources – " Sources, he thought, rolling his eyes inwardly, " – is that she apparently wasn't in love with him anymore. They parted as friends. Can you believe that? Friends! That's just so typical!"

He had to admit she had a point there. A small feeling of glee shuddered through his stomach, because even though stories about nasty hexes would've amused him, the thought of her no longer being blinded by the Scamander freak amused him just a little bit more. He momentarily relished in the thought of him bawling like a baby in the men's bathroom, but quickly averted his attention back to his housemate, who was staring at him with barely concealed enthusiasm.

"Very true, Clearwater," he said bemused. "As much as I'd like to discuss things further with you though, I have Quidditch practise to attend." He stood up from the comfortable couch, flattened his robe, and made sure his tie was perfectly in place. "I'll see you later, I assume?" Although he really hoped not, with all of his heart.

"Oh, wait!" She called him as his back turned to her. "There's a party in the Ravenclaw Tower this evening and we're invited. That's the second thing I wanted to tell you."

An image of Rose Weasley flashed before his eyes as he nodded at Clearwater. He let the door fall closed behind him as he left, his footsteps on the stone floor echoing through the dungeons. The thought of parties always cheered him up, especially if she'd be present. He smirked to himself, Clearwater's story drowning out everything else.

This definitely had the potential to be fun.

Although Ravenclaw didn't exactly have the greatest reputation as far as parties went, they'd outdone themselves this night – their round common room was swarming with people, yelling, laughing, drinking, and the noise almost made Scorpius' eardrums pop. He arrived when the feast was already in full swing – a habit of his, really, because arriving before things were interesting was just that; uninteresting – and with one swift scan, he noticed a lot of Slytherins in the room. Unwillingly, he sought out a mass of red curls as well, but saw nothing of that sort and decided she'd come later. Then he vaguely wondered how much trouble this party would cause if one of the teachers caught wind of it, but the thought was instantly pushed away as someone shoved a cup of Butterbeer in his hands.

"Good evening, mate," came the greeting of his best friend, Stephano Zabini, who swung an arm around his shoulder. "How's it going?"

Scorpius took in the goofy grin on the good-looking, tanned boy's face and scowled. "Considerably more sober than you are."

"Drink up then," Stephano said, pointing at the cup. "Stuff's for free, man. Merlin bless the Ravenclaws." Then, while Scorpius obliged and agreed, Stephano visibly remembered something. "Did you hear about the Rose?"

It never failed to strike him as odd that Stephano and Rose Weasley were on first name basis. In fact; it quite enervated him, because it was blatant proof that despite their differences, they were perfectly allowed to connect, whereas a 'special bond' between Weasley and him would be completely impossible. Besides the obvious – their families, most especially his grandfather – there was also the sad detail that their personalities were like oil and water. They wouldn't mix. He knew that. Maybe he didn't even want them to mix – but no matter how much he'd tried to deny it in the past, he had developed a strange attraction, physical for the biggest part, for her over the course of six years, because, well, she was fit and intelligent and he was absolutely sure that there was something lurking beneath that Popular Good Girl Persona of hers. Stephano would know, probably, but Scorpius couldn't muster up the effort to be nice to her, for it would be unnatural and out of place. The times he'd talked to her had evolved into rather biting banter, and what could he do, really? Proclaim his love for her when he didn't actually love her in the first place? He just wanted her. There's a fundamental difference between physical desire and love - at least to him.

"Scorpius?"

"Oh, yeah," he broke out of his reverie when Stephano nudged him, "Clearwater felt the need to inform me this afternoon in the common room."

"You reckon she knows you – "

But Stephano's question vanished when a group of students ambushed them, brutally interrupting the conversation with loud laughter and drunken yells. Scorpius recognised them to be from Gryffindor (savages, he couldn't help himself as this word fleetingly crossed his mind) and thought they looked far too happy for him to be happy, so he prepared himself for an all too cutting remark. Before he had the chance to formulate it, however, Andrew McLaggen stuffed a little white ball into his empty hand.

"What the – "

"We're challenging you," McLaggen said, chuckling, "for Beirut."

It greatly pained him to do so, for it implied that these nitwits were somehow ahead of his knowledge in a certain subject, but he still asked, "What in Merlin's name is Beirut?"

"It's a Muggle drinking game," Edward Finnigan, the boy standing next to McLaggen, replied. "You see that table over there?" Scorpius nodded. "Well, there are six cups in a triangle on each side of the table, right?" Scorpius repeated his former movement. "You have to try and throw this ball into one of the cups of your opponent. There are several ways to do that, as you'll find out, and if you do the other has to drink. When you win the other has to drink all of your remaining cups as well, got it?"

Oh for fuck's sake.

His first reaction was that, Jesus, if he wanted to get drunk he'd do so by just drinking – but then, a picture entered his head, a picture of him gloating over those irritating Gryffindors, all sober while they nearly swallowed in their own vomit, proving that, yes, even by a mere, idiosyncratic Muggle drinking game, he could easily outshine them...

"Yeah, got it," he answered, letting his arrogance speak for him.

He followed them to the table, while an audience formed around it as well. He now saw Lily and Albus Potter standing amongst the people, strangely alike and different at the same time, and he vaguely returned their signs of recognition. He knew they'd be cheering on the Gryffindors, but hell, he was a polite boy every now and then.

"We're not playing in teams," McLaggen continued as they faced each other with a table in between them. "Is that okay with you?"

"I'm rather confident about my personal skills, cheers," said Scorpius, a taunting edge ringing through.

McLaggen shrugged. "Let the game begin then," he declared, and threw the little ball towards Scorpius' side. It missed, but only by one third of an inch. The crowd collectively 'Ooooh'd', and Scorpius did his best not to smirk, yet failied miserably. He picked up his own little ball and copied McLaggen's example, albeit more graceful and solid. To his utter distress, he missed the exact same way. The crowd went 'Oooh' again, which made him want to Stun them.

"I'd expected more from you, Malfoy," commented McLaggen casually. "At least I'm drunk."

That did it. After McLaggen missed again, Scorpius' little ball made a perfect bow and landed straight into the second cup of the third row. This time he didn't bother to hide his full-blown smirk while he watched McLaggen downing the Butterbeer. Sadly enough, when he was finished, the loser did manage to throw it in, making Scorpius drink a cup himself, and convincing him he needed a change of tactics. He was a Slytherin, for God's sake! The universe had practically created his kind to lie and cheat, hadn't it?

"Looks like we're equal now, huh," McLaggen grinned for good measure, annoying the hell out of Scorpius.

"Wait and see, McLaggen," you dim-witted moron, he quietly added inwardly. "The fun is only about to start."

And that he meant, because then, through gritted teeth, he silently murmured a Confundo charm, causing McLaggen to look even more dazed than he did before. Scorpius carefully made the next shot, magnificently increasing McLaggen's confunded state by extra alcohol. Needless to say, McLaggen missed the next one, the one after that, and eventually, had to drink all of Scorpius' five remaining cups. As he revelled in the cheers of the crowd, he had to say the scene came dangerously close to what he'd imagined in his head earlier. Lots of different faces patted him on the back, congratulating him (how they could think he'd actually played fair was beyond him), and nicely rewarding him with his new nick name: The Beirut Champion. He, of course, acted as if it was nothing – which, really, was true – and pretended not to care about his victory at all, although one would be blind if he couldn't see the haughty glint in his gaze and the content smirk tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"I want to challenge you again, Malfoy," he suddenly heard, a hoarse voice reaching him from behind his back.

Turning around, he found Rose Weasley standing there, at last, her hands defiantly on her hips, staring at him with a pair of ocean-coloured eyes from under two raised eyebrows, an air of amusement about her. He thought she looked very much delectable – her hair thrown into a nonchalant ponytail, a few strands falling out here and there, her freckled cheeks flushed due to the warmth in the room. She certainly didn't look like she'd been sobbing her eyes out, he noted, which made him quite happy, seeing as Lysander Scamander was far too much of a whimp to cry over.

"I must say," he replied superciliously, "that's very daring of you, Weasley."

"God, how will I ever survive this excruciatingly impossible quest?" she retaliated sarcastically, brushing past him as she went to take place on the other side of the table. The comment, combined with the subtle brushing, reminded him just why exactly he wanted to shag her so badly.

"Fine," he spoke, still in the same tone. "Let's use Firewhiskey instead of Butterbeer then, shall we?"

For a second, insecurity reflected in her features. Nonetheless, she raised her chin, flicked her wand, and there is was – Firewhiskey at its finest. "Does this live up to your grand expectations, Malfoy?"

"Very much so, love," said Scorpius, running a hand through his hair to reinforce his oh so confident demeanour. It would probably only enervate her, but hell, this was playing games at its best. "I'll even grant you the honour of opening the match."

"How terribly kind of you."

She didn't protest. Instead she flung the little ball onto the table, causing it to bounce back right into his first cup. The action rendered him speechless for a moment, until she ever so casually broke it by saying, "I believe this is the part where you drink."

Muttering an oath that would make him mum scrub his mouth out with soap under his breath, he drank. Thank God he was used to Firewhiskey – imagine the burning sensation actually causing him to cough. He'd never live through the humiliation, he was sure. There were, after all, at least fifty fellow students staring down upon the spectacle in front of them – a power struggle between a Weasley and a Malfoy over something as lowly and pathetic as Beirut.

"This is great quality, Weasley. Surely you'll agree with me," he said, and with those words he managed a perfect aim at her first cup. With delicious pleasure, he watched as she drank begrudgingly, studying her every subtle move.

"Yes indeed, you were right," she said, not flinching an inch under his scrutinising and piercing eye. "However, surely you'll have the chance to enjoy it more than I will."

And yes, her little ball flew right into the first cup of the second row. She bowed elegantly for the audience and even winked at him as he was forced drink yet another dose of very strong liquor. The girl was clearly enjoying this as much as he was, but he would gladly take the challenge. The nature of their bond was competitive, and this would be no different. If he'd defeat her tonight, there'd be quite a few eyewitnesses and he'd probably tell the tale to one of his grandchildren when he turned ninety. It occured to him that this was a sad attempt at glory, but hell, he'd embellish it a bit (add swords, maybe, something like that) when he told them.

"That is a very strong statement you're telling the world, love," he countered snidely, but to his misery, he missed the next round. At first he thought the alcohol was getting him a little fuzzy, but then he realised –

"You confunded me!" He exclaimed in disbelief.

She widened her doe eyes innocently. "Of course I didn't!" and then bounced the little ball once again in one of his cups. He nearly howled in frustration when he picked it up, but then he noticed her mouthing something to him, something that was meant only for him, "You did to McLaggen too, didn't you?"

And for the second time tonight, he was at loss for words. Quickly regaining his wits, he mouthed back, "I'm Slytherin!"

She ignored him, and soon victory was hers, with him having drunk six cups of Firewhiskey already, and a loud crowd jumping on her, thumping fists with her, carrying her around. Even after the charm had worn off, Scorpius experienced the familiar dazed state and the hindered eyesight too remained. A warm, fuzzy feeling took over his belly, tingling and nice, and with a completely unfounded confidence, he called to Weasley. "I want a rematch!"

And she turned, away from Lily and Albus Potter, smiling brilliantly, and went back to the place behind the table.

Good thing he managed to Confund her even before the game started.

The least he could do was to give it his best shot to make her as drunk as he was.

Please review, it's always important to hear if there's any interest.

Cheers
Josephine