DISCLAIMER: None of the characters belong to me. They belong to J.K. Rowling. I'm not making any money off of this-don't sue me.
I really want feedback, but PLEASE no flames.
1 Bottle of Vodka
By Harmony Griswold
Harry Potter sat between his two best friends, Ron Weasly and Hermione Granger, on the Weasly couch. The rest of Ron's family had left several hours earlier to see if the effects of the twin's most recent invention, the trunk turning trunk, were reversable, and they were yet to return.
"I'm so bored," Ron complained, glaring at the wall. "And I'm hungry. Hermione, would you conjour something up for me?"
Ron!" Hermione scolded. "We aren't allowed! Besides, if you'd pay attention in counjouring class last year, you'd know how to do it yourself!"
Ron scowled. "Fine," he grumbled. There was a short silence before he spoke again. "I'm getting food," he declared, stood and left into the kitchen.
Harry sighed and listened to Ron moving about in the kitchen. To tell the truth, he was bored too. They had been playing catch on broomsticks earlier, but when it had started raining they had to stop. Hermione was under the challenge to go a full day without books or studying, so it wouldn't be fair for Harry or Ron to read. Even the wizard television had grown dull.
"Hey!" Ron reentered the living rom and moved to stand in front of the couch, one hand behind his back. He was grinning broadly. "Guess what I found?"
"Food?" Harry ventured, trying to see around his friend.
"Nope," Ron said, his smile growing even wider. With great flair he drew a large bottle of clear liquid from behind his back. "Vodka." he announced, displaying the off-white lable. "We can play a drinking game!"
"Ron, no!" Hermione protested before Harry got a chance. "We could get in trouble! We could get drunk!"
"Oh come on Hermione!" Ron plopped back into his seat. "You make it sound like a bad thing!"
Hermione gawcked for a moment. "I make it sound like a bad thing?! It isn't-"
"Stop being such a wand in the mud," Ron interupted her. "It'll be fun!" He glanced over at the young wizard sitting beside him. "How 'bout it, Harry?"
Harry frowned. "Well....I'm-"
"Great!" Ron uncorked the bottle. "You're both playing." Both Harry and Hermione opened their mouths to object, but Ron continued. "We'll play to a Quiditch match....Here are the rules: Whenever a point is scored; a players hit with a ball (not necessarily the Bludger); if the Seeker chases the Snitch; or a penalty shot is awarded, we each take a sip. If a player is knocked off his broom; a fight breaks out; or someone gets carried off the field, we each take a chug. If the Golden Snitch is caught, we each take five chugs and if that doesn't win the game, we finish the bottle between us. The last one to pass out wins, okay?"
Once again, both of the fiery haired boy's friends tried to object, and once again, Ron ignored them, turning on the tellie with his wand. He found a game of Quidditch without too much trouble-two semi-local, non-proffessional teams playing against each other.
"Ha!" Ron said, grinning. "Hey Harry, I bet you a gulp," he shook the vodka bottle for emphasis. "That red'll beat yellow."
Harry sighed and gave up resisting his friend. "Sure," he said, sounding resigned.
"Harry!" Hermione exclaimed, and gained looks from both boys, she cringed slightly and fell silent. "We start," Ron announced, turning his attention back to the TV. "now!"
Harry, Ron and Hermione watched as the Quidditch players swooped about on their broomsticks, listening to the commentary that accompanied it.
"And Johnswart's got a Quaffle.........he's gonna score, he's gonna score.....Ohhh....and he's hit by a Bludger!"
"Ha!" Ron took a swip from the vodka bottle, and then handed it to Harry. "First drink!"
"Oh, the Dodgers weren't doing their jobs there!" The announcer added, as Harry took a sip of the liquor. His face scruntched up as the fiery liquid burned it's way to his stomach. He passed the bottle to Hermione, who stared at it without moving. Ron glared at her and she meekly took the smallest of sips, her nose scruntching in distaste..
"And there's Arbonne, going for the snitch.....followed closely by Saltern!"
"Two Seekers going for one snitch!" Ron announced happily, taking another swig from the bottle. "Two sips each!" He passed the bottle to his friend.
"And, oh man, they collided! That had to hurt.....Saltern is pulling up quickly, but Arbonne seems to be having trouble.....there, he made it!" the announcer gave a sigh of relief. "That was close, and-oh! thirty points to yellow! Terwig certainly took advantage of that little mishap...."
"Hey, Hermione," Ron said, leaning over Harry. "Three more sips while your at it, then pass it back up here, k?"
Hermione sighed and reluctantly did as told.
"So the score is red, fifty; yellow forty, as the yellow seeker dodges a buldger-and the red captain calls a time out!"
"Hmph." Ron mumbled. "We should give a sip for time outs too...Harry, would you-"
"No." Harry said, his head already feeling fuzzy. "Nuttin more."
"Oh come on," Ron pleaded. "hermione? Please?"
Hermione giggled. "Ya know," she slurred. "Tha stuff doesn' tase so bad anymro...." Harry and Ron stared at their friend in astonishment as she wavered to her feet, still giggling.
Ron laughed. "Your drunk, Hermione!"
"Am not!" his friend argued, looking at the TV. "Ooh! Red scored again! Gimme tha!" She snatched the bottle out of Ron's hands, took a sip. Harry took the bottle from her hands as she stood wavering for a second. "Oh.." she mumbled. "I thin I shou' si'back dow..." she passed out onto the couch.
"Ha ha!" Ron exclaimed. "You loos!" He turned his attention back to the TV as the sound of cheering reached him.
"Arbonne has the Snitch!" The announcer cheered. "Yellow wins!"
"Five chu's, 'Arry!" Ron gave his friend the partially filled bottle.
"'Up." Harry slurred in return, taking a sip. "An' a exra one fro you caus re' los'!" He took another sip, but as he raised the bottle to his lips for a third one, his hand drooped and he slumped back in his seat.
"Ha ha!" Ron took the bottle from Harry's fingers. "You loos toe! I wone!" He settled down, feeling victorious, to finish the rest of the bottle.
The bright light of morning and a headache like no other woke Ron. He growned and turned over to find that he was in his own bed. He ran his leaden toungue over the inside of his dry mouth and sighed. His breath tasted horrible, and he felt ill.
He suddenly recalled the evens of the night before, his eyes flew painfully open. Hovering above him was his mother, her arms crossed over his chest, a wand held in one hand, foot tapping.
"You are in big trouble, mister." She growled.
Ron moaned and closed his eyes, knowing that he wouldn't be rid of the hangover for a while.
THE END
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