Author's note: written for the Quidditch League, Tutshill Tornados, Beater 1, prompts "Girls Just Wanna Have Fun," sweater, and grey.

"Lily," Marlene had said hours earlier, "when was the last time you've gotten drunk?"

Lily, head buried in mission reports and eyes aching from Minerva's small, cramped handwriting, had shrugged. "A week, maybe? I'm not sure."

Marlene had sat down across from her at the narrow table in the Potters' narrower kitchen. "I meant together with other people, so it's not pathetic and depressing."

Lily had sighed. "It's been a while."

"That's what I thought," Marlene had said. "So, will you come out with me and Dorcas? We were talking, and according to the papers things have calmed down on the front, so there's no time like the present to get hammered and make poor decisions in a pub somewhere."

And it really had been a while. Too long, really, and she didn't know whether she'd be alive in a week, much less in a year, and when it came down to it, Lily missed Marlene and Dorcas something fierce.

So she'd said "alright then," and had ignored Marlene's stunned expression at her easy acquiescence. "When are we doing this?"

It had all been a mistake. A horrible, terrible, no—good, very bad mistake. Because now Lily was — somewhere. She was somewhere. She couldn't very well be nowhere, even if her mind feebly protested that could be a possibility. She was woozy, and floaty, and a little tingly, and Marlene's grin was even woozier and floatier and tinglier than her brain, and this was going nowhere good.

"No, look, all 'm saying is that — is that you've got to experiment, you've got to try things, and," here Marlene paused to take another swig of her — of her something; Lily wasn't quite sure what it was but it smelled nasty — "and what if you've been an amazing pole dancer all along and you'll die and never know, and think of what a waste that would be."

"Yes, but," Lily said, gesturing, except her hand swung out further than she had expected, and only Dorcas's timely intervention saved both her drink and her sweater. Lily's train of thought, however, was beyond rescue, which was rather a tragedy because she didn't doubt that she'd had something incredibly intelligent to say, only now it was lost to the ages.

"Yes, but what?" Marlene asked.

Lily frowned. "I don't know. Why should I know?"

Marlene looked, for a moment, thrown by this turn of events. "Well, you said that — or at least, I said that —" Her brows knitted. "Someone said something."

"Dor saved my jumper," Lily offered. "That was very kind of her, it's a nice jumper and I like it."

"Maybe you should thank her, then," Marlene said, apparently feeling contrary. "I didn't give it to you, it's a revolting color, and I wouldn't have saved it."

Lily's mouth fell open. "You said you liked it! Dorcas, she said she liked it, didn't she?"

Dorcas, who had been sitting quietly beside Lily for the past hour, smiled to herself. "It's a nice color," she said, "I like the gray."

Lily was triumphant, grinning at Marlene. "See? Dor likes it."

Marlene, defeated, sagged.

"I still think you should have tried pole dancing."

And now.

Now Lily's head is hurting; really, everything hurts, and she's just lucky that she hasn't begun to feel nauseated yet, because throwing up is the last thing she needs. The chair is hard and cold, which is on purpose, Lily knows, because Professor McGonagall is a Transfiguration teacher and more than capable of spelling a nicer chair.

Lily shifts so that the sweater — it's still okay, thank god, but really thank Dorcas — is between her butt and the seat, which helps. She just knows that it's going to get all stretched out, though, and if there's one thing that magic can't fix it's clothing. Another is, possibly, those times when you're a huge disappointment to one of the few people who genuinely cares about you.

"I cannot believe," McGonagall is saying, "I cannot believe that the three of you would be so incredibly irresponsible as to go to a Muggle pub during a war."

McGonagall is pacing behind the desk, so unable to sit down that she doesn't seem to be able to sit still. She looks as pissed off as Lily is pissed.

"You should know better than this. All of you should know better than this. The information that you know would be more than enough for He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named to totally destroy any chance we had of winning the war."

She collapses into the desk chair, glaring all the while. "This is the single most irresponsible, foolish, ridiculous act that I have ever had the misfortune of witnessing. I expected better from you, all of you."

That hurts. It would hurt more if Lily could feel anything at all, or if she was sure of how many fingers she's in possession of, but the intent is clear.

"Well? What do you have to say for yourselves?"

Lily risks a glance at Marlene and Dorcas. Marlene is sagging so badly in her chair (which looks just as hard as Lily's) that she might soon be on the floor, and Dorcas is staring straight down at the ground, her expression one of mixed shame and anger. It is, apparently, up to Lily as usual to clean up this mess.

"I'm very sorry," Lily says, summoning up all her memories of being sober and apologetic. "It's just — it's been so, so long since I've been out, and it was — you know how bad of a bartender Alice is, when we have drinks, and —"

"We just wanted to have some fun," Marlene adds, entirely unhelpfully, before she at last reaches the floor and falls completely out of the seat.

"You just wanted to have some fun," McGonagall says, incredulous. "When Dumbledore said that he'd be recruiting recent graduates to fight, I admit that I had my doubts, but this —"

Dorcas interrupts her with a snort, finally looking up. "With all due respect, Professor, don't you have anything better to be doing?"

McGonagall raises her eyebrows, and Lily fights the urge to hit her head against the table only because then she would definitely throw up. Leave it to Dorcas to say nothing during the ordeal, not even attempt to get them out of trouble, and then damn them all with her admirable, if mistimed, sense of justice.

"Miss Meadows, is there something you have to say to me?"

"Yeah, I do," Dorcas says, and it's only now that Lily notices that Dorcas is not quite sober, that she never has been as heavyweight as she'd like people to believe. "I was wondering why the hell you're giving us a talking-to, or whatever the hell this is supposed to be, when you should be wondering why we were desperate enough to do something so," here she puts up air quotes and drawls, "'irresponsible.'"

McGonagall blinks. "I'm not entirely sure you want to be having this conversation with me right now," she says, sitting up straighter at her desk. She's already reaching for a pen, reaching for a piece of paper on which she's going to write Dorcas's infraction, the fourth of five that are going to get her kicked out of the order, and Lily — well, Lily can't.

Dorcas opens her mouth, and Merlin, she's absurd and foolhardy at the worst times, but she's also Lily's friend, and Lily does what she has to do.

Dorcas says, "I think I do, actually," and then Lily vomits rum and chips all over the carpet.

"You had no right to do that," Dorcas says, which Lily knows means thank you.

She can't really argue right now, though, not when her mouth tastes like hell and her head feels worse than that, and all she wants to do is sleep.

"They're going to mess it up," Dorcas says, when Lily drops her off at the door, a mostly unconscious Marlene drooling on Lily's shoulder. "They're going to kill us all."

"Maybe," Lily says, and tries to shrug but can't find the strength.

Dorcas stares at her for a moment. "Lily, I'm serious. They — this isn't going to end well."

"I know."

"You don't care? You're just going to go along with it?"

"Honestly, Dor?" Lily asks, pulling off the grey sweater and shoving it at her as Dorcas mumbles what's this for. "I just want to go home."

"I don't think I'll ever understand you."

Lily smiles at her. "Keep the sweater. This was fun."

She goes to take Marlene home.