The sixth of 26 short stories with Hermione, Ron and the kids during their younger years.
F is for Firewhisky.
It was the morning after the night before. Rose and Hugo awake to find Uncle Harry and dad sprawled upon the sofa in a tangle of limbs. Sighing softly Hermione heads into the kitchen finding two hangover potions. The mushy pea green, thick liquid would taste vile but helped with the sore head and balance issues associated with drinking. Only after the drinker had thrown up a few times would they feel better. Hermione couldn't decide what was worse; having to drink the potion or the throwing up. She places the two large vials upon the coffee table before ushering the children into the dining room for breakfast.
"Mama, why is Uncle Harry here?" Rose hops into her chair, shoving her curls out of her face with a flat hand.
"Because, Sweetie, daddy and Uncle Harry were out at The Leaky Cauldron last night. Something to do with the European League cup final." She shakes her head lightly, she barely followed the sport.
"Quidditch!" Hugo yells, throwing his hands up in the air stopping suddenly. "Mama, who won?" he whispers as Hermione shushes him to quieten him little.
Groans erupts from the adjoining room. Hugo's outburst had disturbed the two men. With wide eyes Hugo darts to his father and uncle. Today Hugo had a pj top on; a navy blue Puddlemere one just like his Uncle Harry's whose jersey was askew. He bounces on the balls of his feet as the two men chug the gloopy liquid, both pulling faces. It would take around five minutes to work. Hugo's head alternates between the two. "So?" He prods Harry's arm impatiently.
Harry chuckles at his nephew. "We won." A grin spreads across Harry's face as Hugo bounces around the living room punching the air and chanting "Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes. Yes."
Ron simply groans; he'd bet Harry that Wimborne Wasps would beat Puddlemere.
They had started off with a couple of butterbeers, watching the game on the screens inside The Leaky Cauldron. The bar was packed primarily with the male wizarding population who couldn't get to Dorset for the game. At half time both teams were even; Ron had then bet Harry a barrel of Ogden's finest that the Wasps would win. As each team scored they both downed another glass of the amber liquid. By the time the final whistle had been blown they were having the bar prop them up. Absorbed in a sea of mud brown and navy jerseys were singing loudly the two joining in tone deaf while the black and yellow stripes were drinking to commiserate. The score two hundred and ninety to two seventy.
Harry and Ron were able to tell Hugo this just before dashing off to the bathroom. The potion had taken effect. Badly hidden laughter could be heard from the two females; Hermione would not give them sympathy. Alcohol and its side effects were purely self-inflicted. Although she did enjoy a large glass of red when time allowed, especially with a book, a long hot bubble bath and scented candles. Simple pleasures.
Rose and her mother join in Hugo's dancing and celebrating while the men could be heard retching from upstairs. They appear in the doorway looking a touch pale and clammy but less unsteady on their feet. The kids and Hermione take one sofa, Ron and Harry the other. They take them through play by play, tallying up the total amount of alcohol consumed.
Too few butterbeers and far too many whiskys. The hangover potion really wasn't worth it, although it was better than suffering the muggle way. Ron owed Harry the barrel, grudgingly given later in the day.
Firewhisky and a Quiddtich Final were a bad combination.
