Nnnnggghhhuuurrrrjhklugghh

Disclaimer: It was all a terrible mistake! Albus and Lily should have married and had Harry! James should have been headmaster of Hogwarts! Severus should have killed Voldemort with a Christmas pudding and a bicycle horn!

…All right, I know this is fanfiction. So should you.

AN: This was so much fun to write. Tell me if it's as much fun to read!

WARNING: Implied slash Albus/Severus, implied het Albus/Lily. Featuring drunk!Albus, hungover!Albus, and Sev-snogging!Albus.

Albus knew that life wasn't fair. He had often told himself and others exactly that. All the same, he was finding this particularly painful.

Lily Evans – his Lily, the Lily he had always thought of as the daughter he never had – was marrying James Potter, one of the worst trouble-makers Hogwarts had ever seen. And, though Albus was loathe to admit it, he wanted Lily with her parents, but now, to see Mr Evans giving Lily away to James Potter, and to hear the oaths, was incredible torture. Albus felt like if he made it through this simple wedding ceremony, he would be able to survive anything the world threw at him, from Dementors and the Cruciatus Curse to lack of sherbet lemons and Minerva's disapproving glares.

"Speak now, or forever hold your peace."

Utter silence, something never heard in Hogwarts, filled the church. Albus would have dearly loved to stand up and take Lily away for himself, but he couldn't. It wouldn't be fair.

And then James was kissing Lily – his Lily – and various female relatives were crying, and Sirius was standing to one side looking awkward as numerous bridesmaids hugged him, and Albus- managed. He always managed. It just wasn't fair.

A spy in the Order. The words chilled Albus to the bone. Someone was spying for Lord Voldemort. He looked at his own spy.

A spy in the Order. The words chilled Albus to the bone. Someone was for Lord Voldemort. He looked at his own spy.The words chilled Albus to the bone. Someone was for Lord Voldemort. He looked at his own spy.

"Are you sure?"

Severus met his gaze levelly. He didn't even have to nod.

Albus shuddered. A spy in the Order. What if they harmed Lily?

"And so, perhaps you would accept making me your secret keeper." Albus hoped and prayed that James Potter, Lily's husband now, would agree, but he didn't look convinced.

"I'm sure we can trust Sirius," he declared. "But thanks, anyway." He glanced at the clock on the mantelpiece. "I'd better go – Lily'll be wondering where I am. Thanks for the offer. Bye!"

"Goodbye," Albus called at the green flames.

Another chance to get closer to Lily ruined.

He sighed, and started writing a letter to lily, suggesting that he be their secret keeper.

'I'm sure we can trust Sirius.'

That was what James had said. That was why Sirius had been made the Potters' secret keeper. That was why everyone was so horrified when Sirius handed the Potters – and Lily, who would always be an Evans to Albus – to Lord Voldemort.

Nobody was particularly surprised, though, except James and Lily. Who died for it.

Severus had reported that a man of Sirius' general build joining the Death Eaters around the same time as Albus started finding the Order betrayed under certain circumstances. Circumstances which tended to be dangerous, but which Sirius tended to escape from unharmed.

At the time, Albus had put Severus, observation down to jealousy of Sirius' success with his Auror training, but now…

Now, Severus, we find that you were right all along.

Bitterness rose up in Albus like bile. This… man…had not only spied for Lord Voldemort, he had spied on the Order, he had killed thirteen people – one of them being his best friend, and he had betrayed James and, more importantly, beautiful Lily. And Lily – Albus' Lily, the Lily he had loved, and still did love – was dead.

Albus, suddenly dizzy, groped his way to his private bathroom and was sick several times.

Minerva McGonagall knocked down her superior's door to get into his office. She knew something was wrong – Albus had missed dinner, something he never did – and the last time the house-elves had seen him was when he ordered several bottles of Firewhisky, three hours ago.

Something was indeed very wrong.

Minerva had never seen Albus drunk, never mind this drunk. He sat dazedly in a pool of Firewhisky and his own sickness. She didn't even try to count the empty bottles beside him – there were too many, and this stuff was strong. He had been drinking for at least three hours; probably more, since Minerva knew that Albus kept a stash of Muggle drinks in his office, and she could see from here that it, too, was empty.

This was bad news.

Albus raised his head and peered blearily at Minerva.

Minerva stared back in shock and horror. He was in a bad state – tears, spilled Firewhisky, and sickness dribbled down his chin and into his beard. His eyes were red and vacant, and his hands were groping around for another bottle. His wands lay forgotten on the table beside today's Daily Prophet.

"Nnnnggghhhuuurrrrjhklugghh."

Minerva was worried. She had seen people getting drunk, but never this drunk, and never Albus. She summoned some house-elves and set some of them to cleaning Albus and his office. Somehow, Albus had crawled over to her at some point and latched onto her arm, getting in everyone's way and making life very difficult for the house-elves. Minerva shook her head.

"Here," she told one of the house-elves, "give me that cloth, and I'll clean Albus up myself. You can help the others with the office. Thankyou."

She started to wipe some of the mess off Albus' face, treating him like an overgrown and rather hairy baby. There was dribble there too, now.

It didn't take long before the teachers arrived. Not many were awake this early – only Sybil Trelawney, a rather wet blanket if ever there was one, and totally incapable, in Minerva's opinion, of anything; Professor Sinistra, who taught Arithmancy or Astrology – Minerva always got the two mixed up – and Professor Snape, the young Potions teacher (Minerva had actually taught him Transfiguration herself).

Professor Trelawney, who was unlikely to be any use, was set to collecting the empty bottles and putting them on the table. Meanwhile, Sinistra went ahead to make Albus' bed and Minerva and Snape tried to levitate Albus through to his room.

He would not let go of his hold on Minerva's robes. They tried everything, from cajoling and pleading to threats (which Minerva made Snape stop immediately, since they upset Albus even more). Finally, they succumbed to the inevitable, picked Albus up, and carried him.

Sinistra had the sense not to comment when Minerva and Snape struggled through the doorway with Albus wrapped round Minerva's neck and Snape trying to support some of the Headmaster's weight, admittedly rather awkwardly.

Albus was sobbing, now, and Minerva resigned herself to a night by Albus Dumbledore's bed.

"Severus, would you ask the house-elves to get me a chair, please?"

Albus had known, when he started getting drunk, that the morning after would be awful, but he hadn't expected it to be this awful.

"Nnnnggghhhuuurrrrjhklugghh."

He squinted round the room, trying not to look directly at the blinding white light coming from the direction of his window. Minerva, for soe reason, was sitting in a chair on one side of his bed. She was fast asleep, the position of her head making it look like her neck was impossibly long and flexible. A small snore escaped her lips.

Albus decided to let her sleep. After all, there would be a holiday today to celebrate the defeat of Lord Voldemort. That brought it all back.

Albus winced as he remembered the events of the night before, and again as he set up. He called for a house-elf, and held his head to try and stop it from spinning. His voice was horribly loud. Another wince.

A house-elf appeared, and Albus wondered why, why, why did house-elves have to have such squeaky voices? It was the last thing he needed this morning. What he needed was a hangover cure.

Albus told the house-elf so, and as it vanished to squeak at Professor Snape, he attempted to stand up. He was sick all over the floor and his knees refused to hold him.

From his helpless position on the bed, Albus Dumbledore looked into the upside down face of Severus Snape.

"Ah… hello, Severus."

"Headmaster."

Albus winced. "You don't have to shout."

"Sorry, headmaster. I have your hangover cure here."

Albus tried to sit up.

"Tell you what, Severus," he whispered. "Why don't you pour the cure down my throat?"

Severus didn't look very happy. He knew what the side-effects of a hangover cure were, and he'd been planning on Minerva taking the consequences. But he couldn't see any polite way of getting out of it, so…

"Yes, headmaster." Severus let a few drops fall into Albus' mouth and braced himself.

At first, nothing happened. Albus groaned a bit.

"Nnnnggghhhuuurrrrjhklugghh."

Then a light came on in Albus head and he bounced upright. Severus backed away.

Everything was so clear! He could think again! Noises didn't hurt any more! He could see that it was a cloudy day outside!

He could see Severus.

Severus could see him, and was trying to make a run for it.

He was too slow for this new, energized Albus, who caught him after four steps, spun him round, and planted a soggy kiss on his lips.

Severus' mouth fell open, and Albus tongue invaded.

"Nnnnggghhhuuurrrrjhklugghh! Nnnooohhurghhmmmmm… Mmm…"