This ain't no self-insert fic.
This ain't no slash fic neither.
This is Top Dog.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Arriving at the car park, Hermione had a look around to see if she could spot Ben; she spotted Michelle first, and headed for the bouncy half-Kenti in the assumption that she'd be with Ben. This assumption rapidly proved correct; Ben Chaos was leaning against an obnoxiously large bright orange car.
"You needing a lift?" he asked, seeing Hermione jogging over. Now she was closer, Hermione could see Fred and George in the car's back seats.
"Please." She said. Ben grinned and let her into the car. It was just as big inside as out, and had that 60's American look.
"Nice car." She said, tucking herself into the central back seat between the duo of Weaselys.
"Thanks, sheila." Ben said, grinning broadly as he shut the door and leant in through the open T-top. "She's a 1968 Dodge Charger RT, fully authentic, somewhat modified. Her name's Big Boss; Dad gave her to me as a congrats prezzie after I passed me Trial."
Michelle popped through the passenger window and dropped into the seat. Ben grinned and waggled his eyebrows, then likewise came popping in through the window; he turned the key as soon as his butt hit the seat.
The car came to life with a roar like rolling thunder, the supercharger sucking air with an audible slurp; the bodyshell began gently rocking from the immense torque of the gigantic V-8 engine under the front.
"Man, she still sounds just as wicked!" Fred shouted. Hermione caught Harry's bike appearing in it's grid-lines fashion. There were the roars of more engines coming to life around them.
Ben leant out of the window.
"LAST ONE THERE BUYS THE FIRST ROUND!" he yodelled, put the hammer down, and dumped the clutch. Big Boss's back wheels were spinning almost immediately; the grinning New Aussie nutcase guided the big car to slide neatly round and, just as the tyres gripped, catapult out of the gates.
Michelle triggered the stereo.
There was a roar, and Harry's bike blasted past standing on it's back wheel, fire blasting from it's exhausts, Harry standing up in the saddle with Lavender clinging to his back.
"Wicked machine." Ben remarked, kicking up a wheel as the car charged through the sharp dog-leg before the gates; they was out onto the road to Hogsmeade with all four wheels in midair as the car cleared the rise.
"This is fucking cuckoo!" Hermione complained.
"No worries sheila!" Ben shouted. "Doc Washuu fitted her patent crash survival shields, she'll be right! You couldn't total this car even if you stuffed her into the front of a road-train at two hundred kays per aych!"
"That's the only reason they ever let Ben drive." Michelle helpfully provided, not in the least perturbed by the way the car seemed to perform a barrel roll as Ben slalomed it around a passing bus.
"I'm not that bad!" Ben complained.
"Who got banned on six different planets?" Michelle checked.
"I dunno sheila, it can't have been me, I never had a license on one planet, never mind six. Crikey, can't that bloke see I'm driving here?"
"You are completely fucking insane." Hermione repeated.
"No worries sheila!" Ben yelled, ramping the car over a sheep.
"Crikey mate, that's one startled sheep!" Michelle said.
"Their dad once went so insane he thought he was a tram." Fred remarked. "Ben's just plain bonkers, and Michelle likes everyone."
"The Chaos family are crrrrrraaaaazzzzzy people!" George agreed.
"I've met one bloke I didn't like, that New Atlantean ambassador bloke, he was creepy." Michelle said.
"That's because he was busy refusing to believe you're sentient." Ben told her.
"Watch out for the deer!" WHACK!
"No worries sheila, that's what roo bars are for. Move over, Bambi!"
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Arriving at the local pub, an establishment by the name of the Crown and Anchor, normally known as the Clown and Wanker, Big Boss disgorged two blasé Chaoses, two hyper Weaselys and one frazzled Granger, who were met by Harry and Lavender, who already had beers.
"Took your time." Harry remarked.
"Crikey mate you're fast!" Ben boggled.
The others arrived in closely-spaced dribs and drabs, with the Walkers last in their mangled old ute.
They trooped inside, commandeered a table, the latecomers bought a round (and gave Harry the fiver for he and Lavender's beers) and many people lit up smokes. S'tarak'hai thoughtfully contemplated Harry and Lavender. As well as being wind-blasted by the motorcycle wild ride, the blonde girl seemed a bit dazed, had an oddly smug expression and had been walking a bit strangely.
"You never change, do you Johnson?" the big catman asked, ducking under a ceiling beam and seating himself at the table they'd selected.
"If it ain't broke, don't fix it." Harry said. "If it works, it ain't broke."
"You're a randy bastard." S'tarak'hai said, and took a slug of his pint. "And a spawny git."
Harry shrugged. "Guys gotta do what a guy's gotta do."
"What are you two talking about?" Bruce asked, sounding a touch narked.
S'tarak'hai indicated Lavender's dazed-but-smug demeanour.
"The expression on her face. It's not the first time I've seen it, and it won't be the last. While he was staying in R'harash'gai't'rath, we used to go out drinking every night. Every fucking night he scores some random bird, often a landwarrior who really ought to know better, and the next day they've all got the same slightly dazed-but-satiated expression. Sometimes as many as three girls in one day. We used to call him Shai'terata Johnson."
"Sex Bomb Johnson?" Tara asked, highly amused.
"Johnson doesn't just have a girl in every port." S'tarak'hai told her. "In most ports he's got several girls. In some ports he's got all the girls."
Hermione looked at Lavender.
"Um, you know about this, right?" she asked, puzzled.
"Of course." Lavender said.
"What do you take me for, Granger?" Harry complained. "Look, not being up-front about something like having up to thirty girlfriends at a time is only going to cause a headache. When Lavender here started trying to get into my pants, I was like, here's the deal, like it or lump it."
"And I'm cool with it." Lavender said, taking a swig of beer.
"So anyway, enough about my sex life." Harry said, slapping the table. "We've got a bleach-blonde bastard to plot the downfall of. First off, I say we coordinate our efforts. For example, glueing his socks and shoes to the ceiling would have been better independent of my swapping his hair gel and deodorant. How about this; I take the odd days, you guys take the even days."
"Works for me." Fred and George chorused.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Disclaimer:
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Top Dog: Enter the Fnords
Book 1: Harry Johnson and the Headmaster's Socks.
A Doghead13 / United Galaxies fanfic
Written & produced by Calum J 'Doghead13' Wallace
Brought to you by Hairy Scottish Git Productions, GMBH
This is not a drill.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Chapter 11: A darker shade of white
(In which some colours are shown)
"Albus, may we speak?"
Dumbledore looked up from his paperwork, seeing Snape calmly watching him from the doorway.
"Ah, Severus, I was just thinking about you; come in and take a seat, do. Lemon drop?"
"No Thankyou." Snape said, sitting down on one of the available sofas. Dumbledore had got them from a Hogsmeade pub that had closed down some years before; they were red leather and battered to perfect comfort.
"Albus," he said, "I earlier overheard a rather interesting conversation between Mr Flint, Mr LeStrange, and several of their friends, in the Slytherin common room. It would seem that they have the distinct good judgement to be as unimpressed with Mycroft's teaching as I am."
"And I too, Severus. Sadly, he was all we could find." Dumbledore gloomily admitted. "With the rather dire reputation the post has gained…"
"Albus, I-"
"No, Severus. I need you too much in your current post."
Snape sighed and shook his head.
"Anyway, I wanted to talk to you." Dumbledore said. "You really shouldn't push Harry quite so-"
"After my past with that obnoxious little mudblood bastard's father, whenever I look at him all I see is James goddamned Potter." Snape interrupted, his voice flat and emotionless. "I'm sorry, Albus. But that subject is not open for discussion." He sprung to his feet, spun round and marched out.
Dumbledore stared after him, absolutely stunned.
"What's wrong with you, Severus? This isn't like you!"
Snape didn't answer.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
After about the third round, the subject had drifted to wild tales.
"That's when Lu Tze says, 'Jason? Where?' and spins round." Harry ranted, waving his arms. "And since he's still holding his vibropike, it goes BANG, right into the back of Jason's thrusterpack."
"Oh crap." Tara murmured.
"So the thrusterpack suddenly goes to full throttle and he goes flying. BANG! He bounces off the side of Old Hellfire, totally out of control, and I've got no idea how the hail of fire the jimcracks were sending his way didn't manage to hit him," Harry continued.
"Oh God I see where this is leading." Alice groaned.
"Then he manages to hit the emergency release on his thrusterpack's straps; it goes rocketing off into the jimcrack rear lines and cooks off it's turbines digging a nice big hole, and Jason is left tracing a parabola right back over the barricades, nearly getting shot down by Jerry who thought he was a missile," Harry continued.
"Gods…" Bruce moaned.
"And SPLAT!" Harry gesticulated wildly. "Head first into the cesspit!"
"I knew it." Hermione muttered.
"Aw yuck." Lavender said. "That's just… nasty."
"Yeah, nobody would stand downwind of Jason for weeks. He still hasn't completely forgiven Lu Tze." Harry agreed. "Your turn, Ben."
"Aw crikey mate… kay, how about the story of the time Dad got drunk at a barbecue and it ended up taking down three planetary governments?"
"You told that one five minutes ago." S'tarak'hai growled.
"I've got one." Hermione said.
"Go for it." Ben told her.
"Well, last year at the Rock and Blues they had unimotorcycle racing, right? Well, my uncle Stan turned up with a trailerload of parts on the back of his hog, with the idea being to make and race a unimotorcycle from them…
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
The night continued; beer flowed, everyone got steadily more and more drunk, and the stories got wilder. Harry and Ben had a head-to-head bullshitting contest, each attempting to invent the wilder story, which Ben won. At midnight the pub closed, and they were tossed out into the crisp cool Scottish night; getting home in one piece became the question.
Eventually, Harry and S'tarak'hai ferried everyone (and everyone's vehicles) home as they were the only two who weren't blind drunk
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Harry laid Lavender on his bed, and bemusedly shook his head. The girl was seriously pissed; normally when he had a woman in this state on his hands he'd take her back to her place and put her to bed, but he didn't actually know which was Lavender's room.
"Joy. I just hope she doesn't spew." He grumbled. "Man, if I'd realised she was such a lightweight…"
"You're used to your resistance to booze, Master." Carla remarked. "Duh."
"Don't take that tone with me, girl." Harry grabbed a box off one shelf, opened it, selected a vial, sat down beside Lavender, pinched her nose causing her mouth to flop open, and poured it down her throat.
She groaned. "Eeeurffd! Thad's disguzdig! Leggo ob by dose!"
Harry chuckled and let go of her nose.
"That's alcohol nullifier potion." He said. "Didn't want you spewing, you were fucked out your brain."
"You should have ravished me while you had the chance." She replied, pulling a face. "Egads, that stuff tasted awful!"
"I've still got a chance." Harry said, putting the box back on the shelf and advancing menacingly on her, a playful grin putting the lie to the menacing posture.
Someone knocked on the door.
Harry grabbed his E-Mag, aimed it at the door, said, "Come in." and rolled silently sideways to the other side of the table.
The door opened, and in walked Albus Dumbledore.
"You? What the bloody hell do you want at this time of night?" Harry asked, not lowering the gun.
"Please stop aiming that firearm at me, Harry." Dumbledore said.
Harry snorted.
"It's quarter to midnight and you decide to pop in. How do I know it's really you, old man? Assassins seem to have a thing about this sort of time."
"Well, I do in fact know your actual identity; Harry James Sirius Logan Fawcett Evans-Potter." Dumbledore said. Lavender went completely slack-jawed and pop-eyed; Harry sighed and put the gun back in its holster.
"And thanks for blowing my cover. OK, I'll bite. What the bloody hell do you want at this time of night, old man?"
"I believe we need to discuss something sooner rather than later, Harry." Dumbledore said.
"Oh?" Harry asked.
"Yes. Why exactly have you brought nuclear-level warheads into the Collegium? Aren't things dangerous enough already?"
Harry stared at him for a long moment.
"I beg your pardon?" he asked.
"Those 50mm mass-energy conversion bombs." Dumbledore said.
"Do I look stupid?" Harry asked.
"What? No." Dumbledore said, puzzled.
"It's just you seem to think I'm a moron." Harry said. "Let's get this straight. I have a few mass-energy conversion warheads. Somehow you know about them, and I don't appreciate being spied on, but let's leave that for a moment. We're talking about devices equivalent in explosive force to a thousand tons of nitro-glycerine, and you think I'm stupid enough to leave them laying around where any fuckwad could steal them? Those things don't come with arming codes; you pull the safety pin out of the detonator, load them into your big gun, fire, and BOOM, instant mushroom cloud. Do I really look dim enough to risk those things getting stolen?"
"I see."
"No you don't. You're just like all those anti-war fuckwits. Some of us understand the simple realities of this universe, old man. Let he who would have peace prepare for war."
Dumbledore shut his eyes for a long moment; remembered pain stained his face, and he looked like a tired old man when he opened them.
"I am not from Earth." He said. "I am from a planet by the name of Ryanev, in a disputed system on the south-western frontier between Kenti and New Atlantean space. The Nalfers dropped an anti-matter planet buster on the planetary capital city during my final year here in Hogwarts; they blew the entire biosphere into dust. Out of my home system's entire population only I and my twin brother Aberforth survived. The next day, I signed up; I was a Third Legion spellwarrior in the fifth war between the Thousand Kingdoms and New Atlantis. I am the most highly decorated non-Kenti in the history of Her Radiant Majesty's Armed Forces. When my tour of duty was over, I was offered a job as Assault Magecraft tutor here in Hogwarts; I accepted at once. I remained in that post until 1922, whereupon I became headmaster on the retirement of the previous incumbent. In 1938 I was recruited by Abraham Van Helsing to assist in the war against Hitler and Himmeller, both of whom I am sad to say were alumni of this Collegium. I personally killed Himmeller, the man also known as Lord Grindlewold, earning myself the Victoria Cross, and using now illegal mind control techniques I made Hitler kill his own family then himself; that was the year before the Imperius curse was made illegal. I am ashamed of what I did to Hitler, but you must understand, his minions used the Imperius to make my wife kill herself and all but one of our children; our eldest son Radanel was later shot down and killed by the Luftwaffe over Normandy. No, Harry. I understand the truths of war just as well as you. I am not vastly bothered by your possessing those warheads, though I admittedly wish such weapons had never been created. What concerns me is their presence in a college building. I understand your reasoning, but please, make damn sure nobody can get at them. Some of your fellow students are frankly idiots."
Harry snorted.
"You're not going to leave me alone until you're satisfied, are you? They're in a portable hole that Carla's currently wearing."
"… I beg your pardon?"
Harry snorted. "I've got several portable holes. One of them is built into Carla's skirt. She's a top-specification military-grade killer doll; guarding my most dangerous possessions is what she exists for."
"I see." Dumbledore said, standing up. "And one other thing, Harry; make sure you don't get any of your fellow students pregnant."
"Get the fuck out of here, old man." Harry said in a level and dangerous voice. "I am not a little boy; you made fucking sure of that. Get the Hell out of here before I cap you."
Suddenly realising how much he'd pissed Harry off, Dumbledore hastily withdrew.
"What was all that about?" Lavender asked. "Harry… have you really got nuclear bombs?"
Harry glared at Carla.
"Cellar." He commanded. She hurriedly got out the portable hole; a few moments later, Harry had a bug-sweeping kit in his hands.
Having checked the room, he sat back with a frown on his face.
"Shit. Now I need to find out which of those two grassed on me."
He selected a bottle from the shelf of such in his portable cellar, measured out two precise quantities into small vials, and dropped them into his left outside pocket, then cleaned the measure and repeated it with another bottle; these two went into his right pocket.
"Both of you stay here." He ordered, and with that he prowled out, a hunter in search of his prey.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Hermione was finishing a book before bed, glad she'd only had a small amount to drink. Ron was probably not going to enjoy Thursday's classes. Tara was already passed out curled up in a little bundle.
Hearing a knock, she called, "Come in."
The door opened, and in came Harry.
"Hi, Harry." She said, then noticed his expression. "What's wrong?"
Harry sat down opposite her and put a small bottle on the table.
"This is veritaserum, Hermione." He said. "Someone's passing on the contents of my private conversations to the old fart. You are one suspect, Ron Weasely is the other. He asked me about things only you and Ron should know about, and yes I did check for bugs. Veritaserum is a powerful truth serum. I want you to take it, and then I will ask you some simple question. If the answer is a no, I will then give you the antidote."
"There aren't any side effects are there?" she asked, dubiously picking the serum up.
"Nothing major. You'll have trouble lying for a few days, perhaps three tops, but that's it." Harry told her. She nodded and drank it without hesitating.
Harry's frown cleared a little.
"Did you tell anyone about my conversion bombs?" Harry asked.
"No." Hermione said.
"Did you write anything down about my conversion bombs, perhaps in a diary or journal?"
"No, my diary is just keeping track of homework."
"Did you mention nuclear weaponry in connection to the AV-DRKS sniper rifle at any time?"
"No, and I'm not really sure what an AV-DRKS is."
"Did you discuss my heavy weaponry with Ron?"
"Only the brief conversation we had with you."
Harry smiled briefly and handed her another vial.
"Thanks. That's the antidote." He stood up, muttering darkly.
"What are you gonna do now?" Hermione asked.
"Find Ron Weasely and find out what the Hell he thought he was doing. I'm sorry about this. Later."
With that, Harry walked out.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ron surfaced, finding himself laying on a table in what looked to be an abandoned lecture hall. His jaw was sore and he felt a bit dizzy as well as drunk; Harry was sitting on the next table over and glaring at him.
"Oww, you didn't need to punch me out, man." Ron grumbled.
Harry snorted.
"I don't know that yet, Weasely. Someone ratted me out to the old fart. It wasn't Hermione, and you're the only other person who was there. Drink this; it's veritaserum."
"It wasn't me." Ron said, accepting the vial, the drunkenness suddenly unpleasent. "I promise it wasn't me." He drank the potion.
"Did you tell anyone about my conversion bombs?" Harry asked.
"No." Ron said. "I don't backstab my mates."
"Did you write anything down about my conversion bombs, perhaps in a diary or journal?"
"No, don't keep one."
"Did you mention nuclear weaponry in connection to the AV-DRKS sniper rifle at any time?"
"Yes, whenever me and the twins have a gun argument someone is sure to bring up the fact that the AV-DRKS can chamber conversion warheads."
"Did you discuss my heavy weaponry with Hermione?"
"Only if you count that chat we had with you."
Harry nodded and handed him another vial.
"Here; the antidote" He said. "Sorry about that… goddamnit, how the Hell is that bastard spying on me?"
"It could be the house elves." Ron suggested, rubbing at his jaw. "Jeez, you really slugged me one."
"Sorry. I thought you'd ratted me out to Dumbfuck." Harry paused. "Ron, you're drunk. Come on back my room, I've got something you can use to sober up and avoid getting a hangover tomorrow."
"Yeah? Cool." Ron said, lurching a bit as he got up.
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Lavender watched bewilderedly as Harry came in with a semi-aware Ron half-draped on his shoulder. The youngest Weasely brother was obviously as drunk as a skunk.
"Oh dear." She said.
Harry deposited Ron on the sofa, collected the box, extracted a vial, put the box away, and poured the contents of the vial into Ron's mouth.
"EURGH!" Ron complained, awake and sober. "That tastes like barf!"
Harry chuckled.
"Wages of sin, Weasely. Think you can find your way to bed?"
"Yecch! Yeah, god man, isn't there something that can stop that tasting so bad? Yeah, I'll be okay now."
"Get yourself to bed." Harry advised; Ron grinned and departed, rubbing at his somewhat tender jaw.
Harry turned and contemplated Lavender for a moment. "We can no longer trust anything said within this room to stay private." He told her, sitting down on the bed beside her. "I don't know how, but the old man's spying on me. Shit, I know for damn sure only Granger and Weasely heard me talking about the kiloton shells – how the hell did that old bastard find out about 'em? But I digress. Which room are you in?"
"G304, why? Do you really have nukes?" Lavender asked.
Harry nodded. "The ones in question are some 50mm grav railgun shells, each rated at one kiloton, for when you absolutely positively have to make a huge fucking hole."
"The headmaster was right that it's scary." Lavender told him. "Harry… are you really that Harry?"
Harry nodded.
"Yeah, that's me." He said. "Chalk up another reason for me to be annoyed at the old man."
"No." Lavender admitted. "Harry, you… you're really Harry Potter?"
"Yeah." Harry repeated. "Not what you expected, am I?"
"I… wow." She smiled shakily at him. "I mean, it's cool having like the biggest hero in Clanspace for a boyfriend, even though I've got to share. You know, polygamy isn't that unusual outside of mundane Earth, and I'm interested."
"Especially for us Thousand Kingdoms citizens." Harry told her. She looked shocked all over again; he pulled a passport out of his pocket and showed her it.
The picture showed him, head cocked slightly, staring at the holocamera with a maniacal grin on his face; it was indeed a Kenti passport, and it even listed his home planet as Kendarat.
"How did you get a real Kenti passport?" Lavender asked.
"I was given it by Queen Rialia R'harash'gai the Twelfth herself." Harry told her. "I helped rescue her youngest daughter from the Nalfers a couple of years back; she was somewhat grateful. But anyway, I'm just as aware of the galactic marriage traditions as you are. If or when I get a first wife she will not be you; I've got K'tarag'jal R'hara'tath trying to marry me off to one of his many exceptionally dangerous daughters and I've said 'yes but not yet'."
"Wow." Lavender said, even more impressed. "You're amazing… you really should watch out, you're likely to completely overawe girls with all those names you drop… or is that the idea? Harry, why haven't you accepted the offer from the R'hara'taths? Just, you know, wondering."
"It's because I'm a mercenary." Harry said. "I mainly work for the Thousand Kingdoms and I won't work against them – I like those people – but I've been known to do work for all sorts of people. Marrying into Prathi R'hara'tath would intrinsically join me to the Prathi's structure, thereby limiting my available customers."
Lavender nodded.
"You'll have to decide some day, you know." She said. "It's obvious you and S'tarak'hai are best friends; I think you should eventually let them talk you into becoming family."
Harry looked at her for a long moment, then chuckled. "I may have to talk to your parents about the possibility of purchasing you."
"Most girls would be freaking out right about now." Lavender told him.
"I take it you're not most girls." Harry said.
"Not really." Lavender admitted. "I mean, normally I'd be completely freaked out, but I know you're kidding."
Harry let out a low chuckle and looped an arm around her shoulders.
"Whatever helps you get to sleep at night." He said, casually picking something up. "I'm sorry, Lavender, but I don't trust you with my identity; that information could get us both killed and you're a ditzy chatterbox, so I'm going to have to erase a small portion of your memories. I'm afraid in the morning you'll wake up in your bed with no idea of what happened after the fifth beer; after all, you were paralytic drunk."
Lavender suddenly got it as she realised what he was holding; a spiral pendant carved from New Zealand jade.
A spell focus.
"Please, no!" she gasped, trying to pull away; but the arm round her shoulders became vice-tight, keeping her down. "I won't-"
"Petrificus Totalus. Diffindo. Oblivius."
Harry stared at the paralysed, unconscious girl with the hole in her memory for a long moment.
"Sorry, kid." He murmured. "But I didn't have a whole lot of choice."
"So… are you going to have that chat with her parents?" Carla asked.
Harry chuckled quietly.
"Perhaps." He picked Lavender up and slung her across his shoulder. "Stay here; I'll be back in a moment."
End Chapter.
Next – Classes resume as Dumbledore tries to digest what he's heard.
AN – Whelp, short chapter. I needed it to start and end where it did, and couldn't get it to stretch any more. Oh well.
To imagine Ben's car, one must do the following;
Step 1 – Take the car from 'Dukes of Hazzard'.
Step 2 – Remove the stickers so it's painted plain orange.
Step 3 – Fit a fully-blown roo bar in place of that mini bullbar.
Step 4 – Put the supercharger off Mad Max's car on the top of the engine.
Step 5 – Fit a T-top.
Step 6 – Give it to a New Aussie nutter Jedi.
You have Big Boss.
The Crown and Anchor is actually one of the two pubs in Findhorn. It is not a good pub, thus the nickname 'Clown and Wanker'. Oh, and it's the only pub I've ever heard of where the landlord got banned from his own pub.
Smoking in pubs is illegal in Scotland. However, that's only been the case since mid last year. Back in '96, the no-smoking nanny law was a decade off.
Here in the UK, 'Randy' means just the same as 'Horny'. Offline I know an American guy called Randy Klinger. Least fortunate name in Morayshire.
Gun arguments are a form of bullshitting contest myself and my brother used to take part in. It would start with one of us saying something stupid. The other would turn round and go something like, 'Bang, 9mm Beretta'. The other would go, 'Uzi.' Then back to the other; 'M16'. The whole point was to stay about that close together in terms of firepower and be the one who referenced the biggest possible gun; the wider the range of weaponry you referenced the better your chances of being the one who got to the ICBM. It was utterly pointless and usually engaged in while drunk, and often came to a halt by passing the trailer ('See that trailer? It used to be Dad's!') or arriving either at the pub or home.
No this is not a Harry/Lavender fic. Note that Harry didn't wipe any part of Hermione, Artemis or Blaise's memories; this is not a mistake. Besides, there aren't that many people who began a lifetime relationship in their teens. The fact of the matter is that Harry is only interested in Lavender as a sex object.
