Lorcan woke up with a pounding headache, very glad it was a Saturday, and he wouldn't be required to stumble to Charms in this state.
He rolled out of bed, moaning something about never touching another drop of Firewhisky. He lay there for a while, before Raphi entered and obligingly pulled him up, sat him down in a small armchair in the corner of the dormitory, and handed him a glass of pumpkin juice and a piece of toast.
'You missed breakfast, mate.'
'Urgh?'
'You were asleep. Tomothy told me pumpkin juice might help with a hangover, so…'
'Urfgh…'
'Come on. You better recover quickly; we've got to revise for our potions test.'
Soon enough, Lorcan was sprawled across a bench in the common room, gangly legs hanging off the end, copying out notes on the Draft of Living Death.
Lorcan and Raphi spent the remainder of the day busy with revision, until they were called to Professor Flitwick's office.
'I wonder what this is about?' Lorcan mused aloud.
'Probably in trouble for last night…' Raphi replied, absent-mindedly.
When they reached the tiny room, built for a man of elf height, with purple curtains swaying around the door, and tiny fireflies in jars levitating all around, a grinning Flitwick greeted them.
'Do come in, boys, do come in. Don't look so worried! Good news!'
They sat down, the chairs they were indicated towards were spindly, and far too near the ground to be comfortable, but they politely did as they were told.
'Now! As some of the most talented students I have ever taught, you have been chosen to mentor some of the more difficult children coming into first year this year. I know that this will be difficult for you, on top of your NEWTs, but it will be an invaluable experience, and really help you develop as people.'
