Phil Collins -Hang-Over
Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter. JKR does. A big surprise to everyone, I'm sure.
I do not own Pasila. It was produced by Filmiteollisuus and it belongs to YLE TV2.
Warning: Rating for swearwords.
AN1: I got the idea for this when I was, once again, watching Pasila (Finnish animation for adults about the (not really) everyday life on a police station), an idea of writing a Marauder –fic based on a single episode of the show was born. Encouraged by my sister, who really should know better by now, I proceeded to translate the Phil Collins –darra into English and then to adapt the storyline to suit my purposes. (Later on, I bought the DVD, and found out that the episode was available there with English subtitles.)
Though I have (obviously) made some major changes, much of the dialogue is directly from the Phil Collins –darra and the storyline follows (loosely) the one of the episode, as well. I would like to repeat that I do not claim any of the dialogue or the plot of the original story. A lot of stuff in this is, however, produced in the diseased mush I like to call brain, and I really am quite proud of this one.
AN2: This is the second and edited version of this fic. It's (hopefully) also better than the first version. Why don't you tell me what you thought?
Chapter 1 − The Morning-After
The first of November was dawning bright over the Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Extremely bright, to be more specific.
In the Gryffindor tower, the current Head Boy, James Potter, groaned incomprehensibly as a ray of sunlight found its way through a gap of his four-poster –bed's hangings.
"Mmmlph," James mumbled and attempted to muster the strength to roll over a bit, so that the light would not hit him directly in the eyes.
What was that bloody light anyway? James' agonised brain felt incapable of producing a coherent thought. He might as well have been swimming in yesterday's oatmeal with and angry, swearing hedgehog crammed inside his skull.
James drew a steadying breath and forced his eyes open.
"Holy fucking-," he groaned and pulled his blanket over his face.
The Sun. His good-for-nothing arseholes for friends had apparently already left, and what was worse, drawn aside the curtains to allow that bloody sunlight in. Since when did the Sun ever shine in Scotland in November anyway?
James wondered numbly what time it was. He was considering whether he should try and sit up, when the decision was made for him. Something with claws had fluttered through his bed-curtains and was now violently ripping James' blanket. The bewildered Head Boy tried to scramble away from the attacker and proceeded to fall off his bed, tangled in bed sheets. Hands shaking, he reached for his glasses, and the screeching, greyish blur focused into a pissed-off owl, which dropped a flaming red envelope on James and flew away.
Professor McGonagall's irritated voice filled the room:
"Why aren't you in the Great Hall already? You were supposed to instruct the Prefects at 7.30! A young man, just lying in bed, sleeping off his hang-over when he should be working! A wussy softie for a man! About to get expelled, too! I can smell the booze all the way to here! A horrible stench of booze is drifting down the stairs! Now, get to work!"
The Howler was reduced to ashes. James' ears were ringing, and the hedgehog inside his head had apparently invited its friends over and they had then taken up river dance. Confused as he was agonised by McGonagall's incoherent message, James blacked out again in a tangle of sheets and curtains, drooling on the carpet.
x~x
"James. James!""
Sirius' voice woke James up. For a while he was puzzled, gingerly looking around for his friend, until he realised that the voice was coming from a mirror under his bed.
James reached for the mirror with some effort.
"Whazzit, Sirius?"
"Now, honestly, James, do come down, before McGonagall blows up."
"Sirius, I have a hang-over. It's a really terrible hang-over. Yesterday, Hog's Head was open. There was booze for sale. It could be exchanged for money. You can guess the rest."
"I know, James. I was there, remember? Come down."
"I'll quit school. I'm so sick of all this routine. I'll sell everything I own and set off – to sea. I'll move to Guatemala and start to paint pictures. I'll eat only grass, that'll be enough for me. It's settled now."
"Oh yeah?" On James' opinion Sirius sounded entirely too amused for a person, whose best friend was in horrible pain. The mutt's grey eyes sparkled with poorly concealed mirth as he continued: "And when do you plan on leaving?"
James was silent for a moment. Then he sighed:
"Well – okay. I'll come downstairs, but I can't do anything today. I have a hang-over. And I can't come by myself, either."
Sirius rolled his eyes.
"Fine. I'll ask Remus to come and get you."
James spent some time disentangling himself from his sheets and then he turned his Wizarding Wireless on. He was half-heartedly trying to locate some semi-clean clothes, while listening to the morning show. Why exactly he listened to it was a bit of a mystery, since it was probably meant for the middle-aged (or over), whose lives were about as eventful and exciting as a bowl of porridge.
"Really sunny, wonderfully frisky morning again to the entire nation. And good morning especially to you, adventurer and social-life instructor, Gilderoy Lockhart." The host's soft voice was unusually high for a man and it gave the impression that he was talking to a bunch of cranky idiots.
"Morning!" the guest answered, in an overly energetic fashion that annoyed James immediately.
"Mor-ning," James said sarcastically.
"Gilderoy, your brand new book is called: Sometimes It Is Good to Climb a Mountain. Gilderoy, this is rather a trail-blazing book."
"Thank you."
"Thank – you," James spat, more annoyed by the minute.
"This book was born from an observation that arguing is a safe way to approach another human being," Lockhart said.
"Quite an exciting theory."
"Quite an exciting theory," James repeated mockingly, unaware of how ridiculous his behaviour was for a boy of seventeen.
Lockhart continued:
"In my own life I have noticed that when somebody gets angry with me, I'll right away become, you know, curled up. That is, that's what happened before I understood that the people are not the problem. The other one is just plain wrong."
"So arguing is a process?"
"It is a process."
"How wonderful that it is a process."
"My motto to everyone is: 'You can dare!'"
James had listened to the conversation with an accumulating desire to vomit or destroy something. He attempted to turn the Wireless off, but the blasted thing sprouted legs and skittered away from his reach.
"You can dare, you have to dare to dare!"
"I want to dare, too!"
"You can dare!"
James lunged at the Wireless, but missed. He threw an empty bottle at it, but that failed to silence it.
"How wonderful that I can dare. Everyone can dare!"
"Not everyone can dare. You'll have to dare to talk and listen, too. To both directions."
"Don't say street!" James hissed.
"Communication is a two-way... sort of like..."
"Don't say that street!" James nearly screamed, throwing a huge transfiguration book at the Wireless, which had continued to skillfully elude him. He missed with over a foot, a thoroughly embarrassing performance from the best Chaser Hogwarts had seen in ages.
"...Street."
"He said 'street'!" James howled and slumped to the floor out of sheer exasperation. His fingers met something round and wooden.
"And that it is, exactly." The host was obviously more taken with this Lockhart person that would have been strictly speaking healthy. "Gilderoy, let's talk about the first chapter of your book. It's called: In Our House, We Argue And We Love."
James' alcohol-soaked brain realised what the wooden object was. In a split of a second he had grabbed his wand and blown the Wireless to a million tiny pieces.
x~x
Remus entered the dormitory to find James sitting on the floor, his head resting against Peter's nightstand. The dormitory looked even messier than it usually did.
"Morning," Remus said cheerfully.
"Mning," James mumbled and struggled to his feet.
"That morning-show ruins my life," James said as they descended to the Common Room.
"Why do you listen to it, then?" Remus asked.
"It's sometimes good. My Wireless broke down. Oh how, you ask. Well, I broke it. Blew it up. Accidentally. How are you doing?"
"Is your hang-over that bad?" Remus' expression was hovering somewhere between amusement and concern.
"I don't have a hang-over," James snapped, and then winced. He had better not to move his head too quickly. "I just had a little lie-in. Wasn't exactly the first time. Overslept a bit. I don't have a hang-over. Talking on and on for my own amusement. Well, yeah, I do have a hang-over, stop preaching about it!"
Remus' expression settled for 'concern' and he decided not to say anything. James was clearly having a bad day. On the other hand, the situation was rather hilarious. Remus climbed out of the portrait hole and hid an evil snigger from his even-more-than-usual dishevelled friend.
"Hey, you!" Remus yelled sharply.
"What, what, what, what?" James whimpered, rubbing his temples.
"That girl just threw a dung-bomb down the corridor."
"Oh come on. There's no need to lecture her." James was leaning on Remus rather heavily.
"She threw a dung-bomb down the corridor," Remus repeated, struggling to keep them both upright. It was quite clear that James did not want to waste energy to standing by himself, if he had Remus to do it for him.
"We won't persecute people for just one mistake," James said. "I'm sure it was an accident. She was probably just lost in thought. There's a lot to think about in the world, these days. Fear of Voldemort is gnawing her head."
"But she threw-"
"It's just some miserable no-life. If you take away her dung-bombs, there'll be nothing left in her life. A little compassion, Remus, I thought you of all people would have a little compassion." James decided to support his own weight for a chance and started to pull the smaller boy along the corridor.
"You are just hung-over and lazy," Remus grumbled, but gave over nevertheless.
x~x
"Bloody hell, WHAT are you doing?" Remus yelled.
"What are you doing?" James squealed.
"That bloody idiot is flying like 100 miles per hour flinging around... what... paint-bombs!"
"Who is?"
"Whom do you think? Sirius, of course! Open your eyes!" Remus snapped.
James opened his eyes. The corridor, and the unfortunate students in it, had been bombed with rainbow-paint that changed colour every few seconds.
"So you say it was Padfoot?" James asked.
"Yes! We've got to give him detention for this."
"And chase him down? On foot? Don't be ridiculous."
James pulled the two-way mirror out of his pocket.
"Sirius. Hey, it's me. What the hell do you think you are doing, flying around the corridors throwing paint-bombs at people? People could die, Sirius! Well, yeah, I understand, with a new bomb brand and- What? That new? What's the trick? Won't come off? For how long? Seriously? Not bad!" James noticed a steely glitter in Remus' eyes and hastened to add:
"Well, no more flying inside or throwing those bombs at people. Promise? Can't promise, but you'll try? I always valued your honesty, Padfoot. See you." James pocketed his mirror and turned to Remus.
"See? He obviously learned his lesson."
Remus shook his head.
"People turn just like you when they are hung-over. Completely indifferent."
"Let's not argue."
"I'm not arguing. I'll still give Padfoot detention when I see him, though." Remus grinned somewhat involuntarily. "There's no way he'll ever learn his lesson, but if he's been punished already, there's a chance McGonagall might not splatter his Earthly remains all over the castle..."
x~x
"I need food," James muttered as he and Remus arrived in the Entrance Hall.
"Um, James... It's nearly 9 o'clock. The breakfast has been cleared off ages ago," Remus replied.
"Bloody hell!"
"To the kitchens, then," Remus interpreted James' exclamation.
They reached the fruit-bowl –painting remarkably quickly. The prospect of food had apparently given James a reason to move his feet. Remus tickled the pear and they entered the kitchens. The house-elves gathered around them.
"What would young sirs want?" one of them asked.
"A greasy sandwich," James answered.
A dozen house-elves sped to grant his wish. Someone screamed shrilly.
"Goddammit," James groaned, covering his ears.
Remus' jaw dropped. One of the house-elves had abandoned his toga and was now spurting around the kitchen jabbering something very fast. Someone screamed again.
"Please, don't scream so loud," James whimpered. "Have you got any idea of how easily rooms in this castle echo?"
"What on Earth is going on?" Remus found his voice again. Surely Sirius had not, could not have been right about the house-elves' orgies...
The elf who brought James a plate of sandwiches explained that apparently a group of students had given the hyper-elf (by the name of Bonny) chocolate-treats, which had included whiskey. James practically inhaled a sandwich and then he muttered a quick spell. Bonny fell asleep on the floor mid- tap dance –performance. The other elves looked rather grateful and hurried to cover up and move aside the now asleep victim of alcohol.
Remus assured the upset elves that Bonny would be all right, though probably very hung-over when he woke up.
"I can relate," James muttered and grabbed one more sandwich for the road. "20 points from Slytherin," he added as an afterthought.
"Why? Didn't both Lily and McGonagall scream to you enough already for docking points off Slytherin for random reasons?" Remus wore his all too familiar 'You are my friend, all right, but your behaviour is thoroughly unacceptable' –expression.
"Oh, come on, Moony. I'll bet my broomstick this was done by those pathetic little Death Eater –wannabes. Besides, you've wanted me to sharpen up the whole day, anyway. What do we have first?"
"Charms," Remus replied simply. Taking points from Slytherin without proof was unfair, but he inwardly agreed with James on the culprits, so he let it pass.
x~x
"There you are! Awake at last. Totally hung-over, too," professor Minerva McGonagall snapped sharply to James, who had attempted to pass her unnoticed. James turned to face her, cringing visibly.
"You bring shame upon the entire school," McGonagall ranted. "Shame and pain. Pain in the finger. Around the joint. Under the nail and in the knuckle. My finger hurts."
"What?" James was dumbstruck. He suddenly recalled McGonagall's more-than-strange morning greeting. Her eyes seemed to be somewhat out of focus.
"It's time to take your medicine, professor," Remus said politely.
"Oh, indeed." She swallowed a pill. "Thank you, Lupin, you may go. Back to the business, then. Excellent job, Potter! Everyone is proud of you."
"What?"
"My finger got better, too. Continue!" McGonagall strode down the corridor without another word.
"What the fuck was that?" Remus breathed.
James shook his head, in loss for words.
x~x
AN3: Please review and tell me, what you thought about this. Even if your only thought was that I ought to be locked up somewhere without my magic mushrooms.
(And to those who got the joke about the swearing hedgehog: Kiroileva siili doesn't belong to me, either.)