Chapter Four: Invitations and Hangovers

Moaning in pain, Harry rolled onto his side and looked despairingly at his beside table. The vile of hangover cure he usually kept there seemed to have mysteriously disappeared.

'Stupid Ron,' Harry thought miserably.

There wasn't even a glass of water on the table to quench his thirst or get rid of the horrible taste in his mouth. Realising he would have to get up, Harry rolled out of bed and landed on the floor with a dull thump.

"Ow," Harry moaned painfully, clutching his aching head in his hands. His temples pounded so ferociously Harry thought his head might literally explode.

Desperate to get rid of the pain, Harry forced himself to stand. Spots of white light flickered in front of his eyes and he swayed on the spot for a moment before he took a calming breath and managed to make his way to the bedroom door. He groaned all the way to the kitchen, with his arms curled loosely around his stomach.

As he drew closer to the kitchen, he picked up the scent of bacon and his stomach rolled violently. Fighting the urge to heave, Harry staggered into the kitchen where he met an annoyingly chirpy Ron.

"You look like shit," Ron said amusedly, by way of a greeting.

"Thanks," Harry muttered darkly.

Smiling evilly at Harry, Ron flipped out some bacon onto a plate and asked, "How do you feel?"

"Seedy… And you're not helping," Harry whined, looking at the bacon in disgust.

He pulled open the cupboard closest to him and grabbed a vile of hangover cure. Not stopping to even check the use by date, Harry gulped down the contents quickly. It tasted awful and Harry gagged a little but he forced himself to take in every last drop.

Dropping the vile on the bench, Harry sank into on of the chairs around the kitchen table and waited for the potion to take effect. After a minute his stomach stopped churning and his headache eased. His incredible thirst and the revolting furry feel in his mouth were the only reminders of his excesses, once the potion finished working.

"Bring us the pumpkin juice would you, Ron?" Harry said, unable to muster the energy to get to the fridge.

He heard the clattering of cutlery and the slamming of the fridge door before Ron said, "Here." He placed the bottle in front of Harry and then slid into the seat opposite.

Harry lifted his head tiredly and picked up the bottle of pumpkin juice. As Ron hadn't thought to bring him a glass, Harry whipped off the lid and drank straight from the bottle.

"Feeling better now?" Ron asked around a mouthful of bacon and toast.

Still gulping from the bottle, Harry nodded in reply.

"Where did you go last night? I thought you were just going to stay at home?"

"Ahhh," Harry gasped, putting the empty bottle back on the table. Licking his lips, Harry waited for a moment and when nothing happened a small smile appeared on his face; he was completely cured. Thank god he was a wizard, Harry thought happily, he didn't know how muggle's could still get drunk when they had to endure their hangovers.

"I was going to stay at home but your brother came over to drag me out to a club."

"Fred?" Ron asked amusedly and he grinned when Harry nodded. "Did you have a good time?"

"Ummm," Harry chuckled quietly. As far as he could recall he'd had a great time but then he was a little sketchy on the details. A series of images came back to him from the night before. He remembered being followed around by a strange man and he remembered dancing… Harry groaned, had he really danced on the podium?

What stuck out most in his mind however, was Oliver. How could anyone forget him? A picture of the man appeared in his mind and Harry grinned, Oliver really had got exceptionally good looking since finishing school. He'd always been cute, but now… Pity he had a girlfriend, Harry thought and his smile deflated a little.

Remembering that Ron had asked him a question, Harry replied quietly, "It was good yeah… How was Lavender?"

"Same old, same old," Ron said, getting up from the table. "She kept hinting that I should ask her to marry me," Ron muttered, rolling his eyes skywards as he dropped his plate carelessly into the sink.

"Are you going to?" Harry asked, knowing the answer already.

"No! I'm nineteen Harry – that's far too young to get married… If we're still going out when I'm thirty, I'll marry her but until then I need to be a bachelor."

"If you're going out with her all that time, it'd sort of defeat the purpose of being a bachelor, wouldn't it?" Harry teased. "It's not like you'd get to shag anyone else is it?"

"Ohh don't think I haven't tried to get her into that – I have and she got really mad at me, for some strange reason," Ron muttered, throwing the rest of the dishes and pans into the washbasin.

"I'm not surprised," Harry said, chuckling quietly to himself. "I'm going to go shower," he said, in a louder voice, "Start up the Playstation would you"

"Gladly," Ron grinned, clapping his hands together excitedly his problems with Lavender apparently forgotten.

______________

Feeling fully refreshed after his shower, Harry settled in the beanbag next to Ron's and watched his friend try to pass one of the missions on Grand Theft Auto III. They sat so close to the obscenely large television, they had to keep turning their heads as the character ran across the screen.

"Run you little barstard, Run!" Ron yelled hysterically.

He always did that, Harry thought amusedly. Ron always panicked when someone, be it the police or someone else from Liberty City, chased the little man. Harry had to admit, when he was in control his heart tended to beat faster –as though it were he and not the character being chased – but Ron was by far the worst. 

Happy to watch Ron play, Harry wriggled in the beanbag until he was comfortable. It took precision and skill to get the beans to sit just as he wanted them to but it was worth all the effort. Beanbags might very well be tacky, as George frequently informed them, but when you got them just right, they were they best chairs on earth.

Ron and Harry both agreed on this simple point, as they had on so many of the issues regarding the house. As far as they were concerned the beanbags would remain a core part of the décor as long as they lived together in Harry's house. They had however, after George's incessant complaining, agreed to buy a couch for visitors. Harry and Ron though, never sat in it as most of the time it was piled with the odds and ends they dumped in the lounge.

Ron and Harry had been living together since finishing school two years ago. Sirius Black, Harry's godfather bought him the house as a congratulation present for doing well on his NEWTS. It was a small house with just two bedrooms and Harry loved it dearly. It was a home, his first real home.

Employed as the manager at one of Fred and George's London stores, Ron finally had enough money to buy what ever he wanted and that seemed to make him happy. As did Lavender, his girlfriend of three years. Although they fought a lot and Ron complained about her constantly, they were a great couple. Harry seriously doubted Ron would make it to thirty before they got married.

As for Harry, he didn't have a job as such. He lived off the money he got from investing in Fred and George's company during the early days. With the success of the twins' company, the small percentage of the profits Harry received was more then adequate to provide a comfortable existence.  One day soon, he told himself, he would find a career. He just had to work out what he wanted to do for the rest of his life.

Unlike Ron, he didn't have anyone special in his life but most of the time he didn't feel as though something was missing. Harry was content to just enjoy what he did have; the rest could take care of itself.

The only less than perfect aspect of their lives was the absence of Hermione, their best friend. She lived in Bulgaria, with her boyfriend Viktor, and rarely came home these days. They missed her a lot but whenever she did come home, their friendship seemed to pick up where they left off. Sometimes however, Harry thought it would have been nice to have her there – even though she probably wouldn't have gotten into the whole Playstation thing.

"Oh shit, oh shit! It's the police Harry. You have to take over," Ron said frantically, pausing the game quickly and passing the controller to Harry.

"You always give it to me when the bloody police are after you," Harry muttered, and took the game off pause. Chased the whole way by police, Harry made the car drive through the city until he got to paint and spray. Once the car was repainted, and the police were unable to recognize it, Harry continued unhindered.

"You always do that," Ron noted, watching Harry back over a pedestrian till the car tyres were all bloody.

"At least I don't hit the little old lady with a baseball bat," Harry said. He grinned madly as he took out another pedestrian.

"Hey! It's the closet thing to a wand in the whole game," Ron said, doubling over with mirth at his own joke. His laughter subsided when a loud screech sounded from outside and a persistent tapping started against the lounge room window.

Looking up Harry saw a cute owl and he smiled when he saw that the parchment strapped to its leg was luminous orange. He didn't recognise the owl, so he had no idea to whom it belonged or whether the letter was for Ron or himself, but he liked the eccentric choice of parchment.

"I'll get it," Ron said, getting up awkwardly. Harry grunted in response and then returned to playing the game as Ron dealt with the owl.

"Oh its for you Harry," Ron said, sounding slightly disappointed. He slammed the window shut – they really needed to repair that one, it had the tendency to get stuck – and then he retuned to his beanbag. "Here," Ron said, dropping the letter on Harry's lap as he wriggled in the beanbag, forcing the beans to mould comfortably around his bottom.

"You take over then." Harry handed over the controller. "And avoid the police this time. I want to get to the other island today."

Ignoring Ron's muttering about Triads, fish vans and impossible missions, Harry opened the envelope. Inside was a card just as bright as the envelope. On the front it had a moving picture of a drunken pirate, stumbling around on a peg leg. Smiling, Harry flicked open the card and read the invitation, it said:

Dear Harry + Friend,

You're invited to Oliver and Jackson's House Warming

Date: 15th November

Place: Flow and Apparate to 'The Pirate Ship'

Feel free to come dressed as a pirate and don't forget to bring us a present.

Harry smiled when he saw the handwritten addition at the bottom:

Ps – Harry we don't really live in a ship. It's just the name of the house. What can I say? We love pirates. Hope to see you there,

Oliver

When Oliver had mentioned the party the night before, Harry hadn't thought he was serious about inviting him along. Whenever he bumped into acquaintances from school, they would always promise each other that they would get together but nothing ever came of their plans. So he was a little surprised to actually receive Oliver's invitation. Oliver hadn't just been making polite conversation.

Glancing sideways at Harry, Ron asked interestedly, "Who's it from?"

"Oliver Wood," Harry said slowly.

Pausing the game, Ron turned to look at Harry through wide eyes. "What does he want?" Ron asked eagerly.

"To invite me to his house warming," Harry said, knowing his casual tone of voice would annoy Ron. His best friend loved Quidditch and consequently, held Oliver in high regard now that the boy played for a professional team.

"How come I didn't get one?" Ron whined, looking at Harry almost accusingly. "Here give me that," Ron said, dropping the controller and all but snatching the invite from Harry. He read over it quickly and then smiled brightly at Harry. "You know it says 'plus friend' here," He said, hinting unsubtly.

"I know! Who am I going to take?" Harry teased, pretending to think it over.

"Harry, if you don't take me, you aren't going," Ron said, assuming a parental tone of voice.

"Imagine how many Quidditch players are going to be there," Ron continued awestruck, "I know he plays for Puddlemere United but do you think there will be any Chudley Cannon players there?"

"I don't know Ron. I don't know much about Oliver," Harry said, shrugging his shoulders.

"So how come you're invited then?" Ron said, face scrunched in confusion as he stared at Harry.

"I bumped into him last night," Harry explained. "We talked for a bit and then he invited me to his house warming."

"Hmm, I'll have to ask Fred then. He'll know for sure. He sees Oliver quite a bit," Ron said thoughtfully.

"What am I going to wear?" Ron muttered after a moment, more to himself then to Harry.

What was he going to wear, Harry thought. He couldn't go dressed as a pirate, he didn't know the boy's well enough to know if they were serious about the whole 'come dressed as a pirate' idea and the last thing he wanted was to be embarrassed in front of Oliver. He knew he didn't stand a chance with the other man, he'd seen a girl hanging off Oliver's arm quite clearly the night before, but he couldn't help wanting to look his best.

"Maybe we should go shopping?" After all, they did have to buy a house-warming present. What harm could a new outfit do?