A.N.: The third chapter is here! I appreciate all the follows and favorites and reviews that I'm receiving. I'm very glad that you all like the story so far. Anyways… here goes. Enjoy!

Disclaimer: Nope, still not in possession of the rights to HP…

Three: This is Where Hangovers Leave You

Al's first thought as he awoke on the floor of the common room was fuck. His head was pounding, and his throat had that burned, dry, bad taste that came with drinking excessive amounts of firewhiskey. Not to mention, his shirt was unbuttoned, and he was entangled with a girl in possession of a pair of scantily clad tan legs. He faintly recalled her name, she was a sixth year named Laurel, or Lyra, or something with an L. At least they hadn't shagged. As drunk as he may have been, Al doubted that he would've had sex on the floor of the common room, for all to see.

"Whatime izzit?" Lau-whatever her name mumbled, blinking her eyes open. She cracked a coy smile, her pink lipstick smudged from kissing.

"Dunno," Al shrugged, wincing as the movement earned a sharp soreness in his shoulders. Although he had already been on the team, James had made everyone participate in try-outs. Which meant that the whole team had been put through an excessive amount of conditioning the day before. To say that it had weeded out possibilities for the two new players had been an understatement. At least, Al supposed, his brother wanted the best and only the best.

"You're a good kisser, you know," the girl continued, trailing her manicured hands down his bare chest, drawing him out of his reverie.

"Anytime," Al replied smoothly, pushing himself into a standing position, doing his best to maintain his balance.

"I'm Launa," the girl added, attempting to follow suit before lurching over, one hand clasped over her mouth, her other arm around her stomach. Al blinked and turned away, heading towards the fifth year boys dormitory. He knew from experience that it would only be more embarrassment for the girl if he stuck around while she was sick in the rubbish bin.

The dormitory was home to five teenage boys, and even with the help of the house elves, it was still messy. Trunks were open, and textbooks were scattered here and there. The whole place smelled like cologne, with an underlying air of sweaty Quidditch robes, thanks to Al's discarded scarlet ensemble that he'd hastily chucked into his wardrobe the previous afternoon.

Not bothering to be quiet, he knelt down and dug through his trunk, searching for the clear bottle of a hangover cure that he'd stockpiled over the summer. Nicked fresh from Ginny Weasley's potion cupboard, it was still sealed and full. He took a quick swig, doing his best not to gag as he swallowed. The liquid was unpleasant and bitter; nevertheless, he could feel the pounding in his head reside slightly.

He glanced at his watch. It was barely eight in the morning, everyone who was awake and able to walk would be eating breakfast. Exchanging his clothes from the night before for a clean pair of jeans and tee shirt, he pocketed his wand and left his friends behind in the dormitory. Past experience had taught him not to wake a sleeping Connor MacDonald—especially not when he'd most likely had too much to drink the night before. And Kevin was about as friendly as a grizzly bear when he woke up before ten. It didn't bother Al much. Unlike James, his popularity made him uncomfortable and annoyed at times. Perhaps it had something to do with the striking likeness between him and his father.

As expected, the Great Hall was awake, with the easy laziness of the Sunday morning apparent in the slowness of the conversations. The mood was increased by the clear blue sky above. He spotted Rose and Roxanne at the end of the table, accompanied by a now put together Launa. As he approached, Launa got up, flashed him a sheepish sort of smile and brushed past him, leaving traces of strawberry perfume in her wake.

"Morning," Rose said softly. Her hair was pulled back from her face in a neat French braid, and she was wearing a neat green sweater and jeans. She picked slowly at her porridge in front of her.

"Morning," Al replied, and Rose winced visibly.

"Keep it down, yeah?" Roxanne scowled. "I have a headache that's killing me. No loud noises."

But Al wasn't listening. He was observing his other cousin carefully. There were dark crescents beneath her eyes, and her movements were careful, calculated. "Merlin, Rosie's hungover!" A grin lit up his face and he banged his fist on the table triumphantly. Having grown up with Rose, her voice was practically the whisper of morality in his ear. She had always been the good child, the one who asked the parents for permission, who didn't pull pranks on Lily and Hugo, the one who helped clean up after dinner. The only ones in their family more apt to their goody two shoes image were Molly and Lucy, Uncle Percy's daughters, both of whom were in Ravenclaw and were strict rule abiders.

"No need to shout," she snapped stiffly, her face flushing with embarrassment. "I don't really want the whole world knowing, thanks."

"I'm not going to tell the whole world, Rosie-Posy. Wait until Scorp hears…" Al trailed off, laughing as he helped himself to a plate stacked high with eggs and bacon. "How much did you drink?"

"A shot… or three?" Rose guessed uncertainly. "I'm regretting it now. Makes me remember why I don't do it a lot. Not to mention, Roxy here was throwing herself at Niall. It was all he could do to keep her from jumping him. Fred saw some of it too. I reckon he's going to give Niall a reeming out."

"He can't control everything I do. He's a prat for thinking being my older brother gives him veto power over who I want to hook-up with," Roxanne interjected furiously, brandishing her fork in a dangerous manner. Al leaned away from her, eying the silver utensil warily.

"Relax, would you?" he advised.

"Yeah, take it down a notch. It's much to early for that," Dom interrupted, sliding into the seat next to Rose. She was wearing holey jeans and a cropped black shirt, a pair of round black sunglasses over her eyes. "My brain can barely function."

"Can it remember what it's owner did last night?" Roxanne inquired, resisting the urge to giggle. "Say, climb up on a table and dance before going up to the seventh year boys' dormitory with Lor—"

"Shut it, Roxy. And yes, I remember. Bits and pieces at least," Dom added begrudgingly as an afterthought."

"You shagged?" Rose inquired, raising her eyebrows, looking a bit concerned.

"Who shagged?" A newcomer cut in, sounding decidedly awake as he sat down next to Al, before reaching across to help himself to a taste of Rose's nearly untouched porridge. It was, of course, Scorpius Malfoy. He completed the quartet of best friends, between Rose, Roxanne, Al and himself. Despite the past between the Potters and the Malfoys, their sons had been best friends since first year. He was blond, tall and a bit lanky, holding a strong resemblance to Draco; the exception being his blue eyes and wide smile that he'd gotten from his mother. "Tell me it wasn't you Rosie. Because if it was, I'd be in considerable debt, and I think Al and I would need to get ahold of him and beat his face in."

"No," Rose snapped quickly, before she widened her eyes. "Wait, you bet on me sleeping with a boy?"

Scorpius waved his hand through the air dismissively. "Doesn't matter. So if not our innocent Rosie, it's got to be Dom in question. I know Al probably woke up naked next to some hot girl, since he always does, and Fred would kill any guy that got with Roxanne, so it's obviously not them."

"I was clothed, thanks," Al corrected, rolling his eyes at his friend.

"The Devil's in the details," Scorpius tutted, laughing.

"Malfoy, I will not hesitate to jinx you if you don't shut up," Dom told him sharply, flicking a stray piece of egg at the blond boy. She turned to Al. "How is it that you're so chipper, Al?"

He shrugged, resisting the smug expression that threatened to creep onto his face. He'd thought he'd done a good job, but apparently, Dom had caught the twitch his mouth had given.

"You prat, you've got some hangover cure, haven't you?" She didn't wait for his reply. "Aunt Ginny won't be pleased when she realizes it's gone. Godric, Al, be a doll and give me a teaspoon of it, won't you? Pretty please?"

"I think I should save it, thanks," he shrugged. "You know, it does come in handy."

Dom peered at him over her sunglasses and glowered. Al just smiled smugly in response before standing up.

"Well, I have an essay to finish," Rose groaned, standing up to leave.

"Crap," Roxanne groaned. "I have to finish that too. And then I have those questions for Potions…" she trailed off, letting her head hit the table.

"This is why I don't do parties," Rose reminded her as she strolled out of the Great Hall, her auburn braid swinging behind her.

"I'd say I'd join you, Roxy, but I already finished that essay Friday night before tryouts," Al said, nudging Roxanne to get up and follow Rose. "Rose will probably proofread the paper if you hurry."

Roxanne gritted her teeth and slouched after her cousin reluctantly, looking like she'd rather dip her hands in undiluted bubotuber pus than write her Charms essay.

"Well, boys, it's been lovely, but I daresay I have things to attend to," Dom told them briskly, readjusting her shades and raking her fingers through her strawberry blond hair. She tossed them one last signature smile and strutted over to the table that some other seventh years had occupied. Al didn't fail to notice Scorpius's eyes follow his cousin.

"Stop drooling, please, it's going to make me sick, mate," he said, and Scorpius looked away, sloshing his pumpkin juice.

"Huh?—oh, sorry. You've got to admit that Dom is definitely one of the fittest girls in her year. And her ass—"

Al held up his hand to silence his best friend. "I don't wanna know the end of that sentence. And yeah, Dom's pretty, but she's my cousin. So, if you're planning on ogling her, don't tell me." He sighed a little, but Scorpius knew he wasn't really mad. If he was, practically the entire male population of the school would've been hexed at least once.

"Don't worry, she doesn't go I'm bored, mate. If you don't have any coursework, how do you reckon we spend this fine afternoon?" Scorpius asked lazily, glancing up at the blue sky.

"Well, we could go to the lake. Girls will be out there. Or…." Al trailed off, grinning. "Fancy a trip to Hogsmeade?"

His best friend's face split into a smile to mirror his own.

"Perfect."

The sky outside was beginning to darken as dusk fell. Fred was out with Jane Wilson, doing Godric-knows-what, and James was getting tired of perusing the Maurader's Map aimlessly. His dormmates were scrambling to do last minute homework, or cram in studying in the library.

He glanced out the window. It was a pleasant fall evening, if a little chilly. He could see the Quidditch pitch in the distance, still bathed in the last rays of sunlight. Hastily wiping the map clear and folding it, he stowed it in his pocket with his wand, grabbed his broomstick and left the deserted dormitory behind.

Many students found the castle to be slightly eerie at night, especially the first and second years, who were still newer to the school. But James had always liked it; it seemed to be the hour when all the fun commenced. After all, it was the ideal time to engineer most pranks. He strolled through the corridors with a practiced ease that came with having attended Hogwarts for six years prior. Navigating it was second nature to him now.

He stepped onto the manicured green grass of the pitch five minutes later, inhaling the cool, fresh air of the Scottish countryside. It filled his lungs easily, and he squinted against the sunset. Mounting his broom, a Firebolt (gift from his parents last year, when he received the captainship), he kicked off the hard ground and shot into the air easily, wind rushing past his face and ruffling his hair.

It took seconds for him to realize that he wasn't along. There was a small, lithe figure at the other end, silhouetted against the sky, circling the goal hoops, maneuvering complicated loops and feints. James urged his broom forward gently, but he stopped when he was within about a hundred feet. The figure crouched over a broomstick had long, dark brown hair pulled back into a loose ponytail, a few stray pieces framing the girl's face.

Anna Wood. Of course.

James paused to watch as she chucked the Quaffle and dove after it, snatching it a few feet from the ground and spiraling upward skillfully. There was something graceful about her, in the fierce quickness with which she moved, as if she was born to flu. Which, if you looked at her parentage, was a given. She was born into a professional Quidditch dynasty; with Wood and Bell blood in her veins.

"Fancy seeing you here, Potter," she called, and he blinked, surprised. He handn't realized she'd known he was there. Before he could reply, she chucked the Quaffle at him, full force, and he caught it; barely. It slammed against his chest as his fingers grasped it, the red leather familiar beneath his hands.

"I could say the same to you, Wood," he replied. They were both Chasers in their final year at school, and the unsaid competition between them was as high as ever. For years, they had gone head to head; who could score more points; who made the best passes; who could take a hard hit and not drop the Quaffle. At the start of sixth year, it had been who would get the Captainship. It had turned out to be James. And there was a part of him, deep down beneath the seemingly indestructible ego that came with being effortlessly popular, that hoped it wasn't just because he was a Potter that he had been chosen to lead the team. Because he knew Anna had been a worthy candidate for the badge too. He also knew that she was mad she hadn't gotten it, even though she refused to say it out loud.

He passed it back to her, and she caught it easily, tucking it under her arm as she brushed her hair back from her face. "Weak pass," she informed him, cocking her head to one side.

"I'm not trying to kill my teammate, Wood," he answered smoothly. "I can't say the same for all of us," he added, the corner of his mouth threatening to twitch into the famous James Potter smirk.

"Yeah, I'm definitely thinking of taking you out with a hollow leather ball," she retorted, the sarcasm dripping from her voice. James could've sworn he saw her roll her eyes.

"You were practicing?" he asked, deciding against falling into their usual banter as he received her pass. This one was considerably gentler, not as much spiral on it.

"Yeah. What were you doing out here? Not practicing, surely. That's only for the amateurs." The next pass James threw at her was harder. She was infuriating, in the way she didn't even need to think to formulate her sharp replies; they just rolled off her tongue naturally.

"Oooh, angry now are we?" She teased, throwing her head back and laughing as she passed it back. James felt a jolt in his stomach that had nothing to do with the ferocity of the pass. There was something about the way the setting sun seemed to light her hair on fire, turning the dark locks a burnished sort of gold, and shadowing her face. The thing that stood out most was her smoldering gaze that bored deep into him with a casual sort of dismissal.

"You think you can bait me that easily, Wood? And here I was thinking you were the queen of comebacks," he said, shaking his head as he sat back on his broom. They gazed at each other for a few moments, before her face split into the snarky expression reserved just for him.

"Please Potter. The only one who thinks of himself as royalty is you." She gave him one last intense look and sped towards the ground, landing easily. She tucked the broom under her arm and stalked off the field, disappearing into the castle.

James watched her go, before slowly drifting to the ground. For him, the pitch was either a battlefield or a place of complete solace. And now, as he stood alone, he couldn't place which one it was this time.

Third chapter down! I hope you liked it! I've given you a glimpse of Albus's character, and you've finally seen Scorpius. I'm trying to decide who's going to fall for one another first; if it's Rose who likes him, or he likes her… That's still up for grabs and if you have any opinions on it, include them in your review! But anyway I kind of pictured Albus as an unintentional man-whore. There's also some one on one interaction with James and Anna. I'm in no rush to establish a real relationship between them, but as you can see there's sexual tension. Anyway, thank you so much for reading, and please review. Love you all!

-xoxoNotsoSugarQueen