Summary: 14 lucky contestants will be locked into the Room of Requirement for 2 weeks. Who will be the last one remaining, winning 1,000,000 galleons? The rules are simple…

Disclaimer: Harry Potter and all characters/places are copyrighted to JK Rowling, and I own absolutely nothing.

A/N: Thanks ohsoverymuch for the reviews! I'm sorry about my lack of updates, and also that I took down this chapter for editing.

On a side note, just so you guys know, there will be absolutely no Harry/Ron. (Slash fans: Booooo! You suck!) Some of you took it a little too seriously, pfft.

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Unfortunately, there was nowhere to run, seeing as they were locked up in a small room that seemed to be growing smaller by the second.

Everyone looked at Harry, Savior of the Wizarding World.

He seemed to be paralyzed with shock. "Ngghmmble," he said. Harry cleared his throat and tried again, in a horrified whisper. "What… what are you doing here? I'm warning you, Voldemort, I have a full arsenal of hexes and curses, plus a black belt. And we've got a plan, too," he lied.

The others straightened up and tried to look as if they did have a plan and were fully prepared for a Death Eater attack, which of course they didn't and they weren't. (Excepting Snape, who once again pulled out his popcorn, pointing with gleeful laughter.)

Hermione gasped. "Harry, the Malfoys- they've been in on it! They snuck him in!"

Her theory was disproved immediately. The Malfoys were completely and totally bewildered.

Lucius was shocked to the point of incoherency. "Guhhh- but- but, My Lord, what are you doing here?"

"Surprised to see me, are you?" Voldemort smiled cruelly. "You are a huge disappointment to me, Lucius." He poked the elder Malfoy in the chest with his wand.

Lucius hastily wiped away a small smear of eyeliner and reasoned desperately, since Malfoys didn't beg, "I know I have my- my tendencies, but I have always done what I could for you, My Lord, you know it is so…"

"Liar. I called your house when you were supposed to be on vacation and you answered, 'Hello, this is Jeffrey's Pizza Place' and hung up on me."

Lucius tried to hide his look of guilt. It was not effective.

Just then Dumbledore strolled in with a platter of tea and crumpets. "Hello, all, I see we are getting along quite nicely- oh, Tom, do put your wand down." Smiling amiably, he popped a mini scone into his mouth.

"You!" Voldemort gave a small howl of anguish and disbelief. "What is WRONG with you? Are you trying to torture me? Why did you put me in a room with these psychos?"

Harry considered that this was a bit ironic, coming from Voldemort, but seeing as Harry had essentially the same question on his mind, he didn't say a word.

Snape tried not to look surprised. "Dumbledore, you invited him?"

"Well, yes. But Lord Voldemort poked Mr. Malfoy in the chest with his wand, and I'm afraid it will have to be confiscated. This is your first warning, Tom."

"Do not call me-" Suddenly, Dumbledore flicked his own wand and Voldemort's flew up in the air, where Dumbledore caught it easily.

"That's not on at all!" Voldemort looked sort of small and not very intimidating without a long pointy stick to accent his 'Maniacal Dark Lord Coming Through, Get Out Of My Way' manner.

"That'll be all?" Dumbledore nodded pleasantly and stepped out of the room, slamming the door. The sound of a lock was heard.

Voldemort stood there, looking sort of stunned for a moment. Then he began to beat wildly at the door. "Let me OUT of here these people are INSANE I refuse to stay in here with them for another THIRTEEN DAYS."

"Unbelievable," Draco said loudly, staring after him. "Really unbelievable." He gave his father a withering look where he sat, cowering on the floor. "And I used to respect you."

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By nine o'clock that night, Voldemort seemed to have gotten over his fit, and Draco had mostly stopped teasing him about it. Wandless, Voldemort was hardly intimidating. And he stared at the wall in the way of a broken man that was most disturbing.

Everyone had gone back where they'd left off- staring off into distance. Nobody noticed when George quietly slipped out of the room, or when Fred followed.

They did, however, notice when the twins returned with their arms full of butterbeer and a bar on wheels.

"Where did you get that?" Ron asked, his eyes popping out of his head in a most unattractive fashion.

"Ask me no questions, and I'll tell you no lies." Grinning, Fred waved his wand, and the drinks started to pour themselves.

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Around midnight, Draco observed keenly that everyone was completely, totally smashed, with the exception of Hermione, who refused to drink anything the twins were handing out; and Trelawney, who had pretty much been like that all day and was now passed out on the floor.

Snape was currently sitting in the corner laughing vaguely with his martini and talking to Voldemort, who had taken the phrase "drowning one's sorrows in alcohol" way too literally. Watching it made Draco's head hurt.

But that might have just been the alcohol. Draco was trying to remember how many tequila shots he'd done when suddenly he heard a loud roar of appreciation coming from behind him.

"Gahhh!"

Twisting around, Draco was greeted by the horrible, ghastly sight of Ron and Harry dancing on a small stage (when had that appeared? Maybe it was the alcohol.) to "You Charmed The Heart Right Out of Me". Much to his amusement, the Weasley twins were cheering them on, camera in hand while Hermione attempted to simultaneously coax the feeble-minded duo off their platform and scold the twins.

Gryffindors, for the most part, could not hold their drink, he noted with glee. Ginny appeared to be doing much the same thing, not that Potter seemed to be complaining much from his little stage. Of course, the idiot was drunk, so maybe that was clouding his judgment. Draco, for one, was proud to say that freckly redheaded lightweights had never really been his type, tipsy or not.

Draco strolled over to the bar, currently manned by Rita Skeeter (who was also sort of swaying) and contemplated his choices. Hermione Granger accosted him halfway through his important decision- rum and a coke, or another margarita?

"Do not touch that, or I will cause you significant bodily harm," she informed him. "You have had enough tequila already, and your head is going to hurt tomorrow. Your dad is passed out over there," she added. Granger left, presumably to yell at Potter some more since he had now progressed to a mild state of undress and had been joined by Snape. It was burning Draco's retinas horribly.

"Thanks, Granger." Draco wondered why she had to be so damn maternal all the time, but stopped thinking about it long enough to cover his father with a conveniently placed sheet and roll him to the side of the room next to Trelawney where she lay snoring with her sherry.

The night was young.

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Harry stared at the ceiling and contemplated suicide, not for the first time. Nobody had told him that alcohol was going to be this painful. He still felt a little fuzzy, but his head was throbbing too. Kind of like little bunnies were running around in his head with sledgehammers, or something.

He could hear someone making retching noises on the other side of the room. That was going to be Ron. If there were any justice in the world at all, Ron wouldn't remember what Harry had been doing last night.

Unfortunately, Harry most definitely remembered what Ron had been doing, or most of it anyway, up until the part where he passed out in a muddled pile of drunken happiness. He recalled a fierce desire to banish the sight from his mind. But if this was any indication, the desire had not been satisfied.

"Thinking hurts," Harry said aloud.

"Ah, well, that does happen, if you're not used to doing it too often."

Harry nearly screamed, his heart pounding furiously. Draco Malfoy's upside-down, smugly sneering, extremely unwelcome face appeared above him.

"I bet you don't remember anything about last night."

Harry's throat contracted horribly for a second and his mind was filled with images that would probably scar him forever. "Sorry, what?"

"Not like that, Potter, you big drama queen." He looked discomfited. "You passed out sometime around the part when Weasley started trying to give everyone lap dances."

"He's trying to drown his shame in the toilet," Malfoy continued brightly. Brightly for a Malfoy, Harry thought- darkly.

Harry blinked. "Why are you talking to me?" he asked slowly. The room was also bright, too, too bright; and Malfoy's voice was chipper enough to make Harry want to throw something at him. Not that it took a whole lot to get Harry to throw things at people.

"Because you're hungover and this seems to cause you pain. Moreover, I'm bored," Malfoy stated balefully. "Granger is off giving everyone hangover remedies, Snape is still talking to himself, my dad hasn't woken up, and the Dark Lord smells funny. I don't want to talk to him. He scares me. Plus, the smallest Weasley is traumatized and refuses to speak to anyone."

A hangover remedy. No wonder Malfoy was in such a good mood; Harry clearly remembered him taking tequila shots with fervor.

"My head hurts. Do not attempt to contact me again," Harry warned Malfoy, and covered his unfortunate, spiky head with a pillow before falling into a pained sleep once more.

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When Harry opened his eyes again, it was already 3:00 pm. He got up and shuffled slowly over to the kitchen area, rubbing his head. Everybody looked sort of tired, but no longer hungover.

"Took you long enough," Hermione said bossily. "Everyone else got up hours ago." Before Harry could respond, she jumped onto the table and practically shoved what Harry assumed was one of those remedies down his throat.

"What are y- guhhh!"

"It's good for you, you'll get over it." Sometimes, Harry really did not like Hermione. Actually, the remedy wasn't bad; it was just that the fact that Hermione seemed to be constantly forcing him to drink bizarre potions bothered him a little. He had definitely not forgotten the Polyjuice Potion.

As Harry choked the rest of the hot, peppermint-flavored stuff down, he noticedthe conspicuous absence of two faces around the table. "Where're Fred and George?"

Draco cheerfully piped in (the little bugger had been eavesdropping, damn his Slytherin soul), "Dumbledore made them leave after he heard about the liquor. And the dancing, not that I blame him."

"But who told him?" Harry was genuinely confused. While he could understand why Malfoy might not want the twins around, he did not seem to have any aversion to their alcohol and probably wouldn't have tattled. Snape or the older Malfoy wouldn't have cared either way, and Trelawney was way too drunk and fond of sherry to complain.

Rita Skeeter.

Harry was filled even more of that intense dislike he was famous for, and vowed to get her back. No one was going to mess with a Gryffindor, especially not ones that obtained alcohol for The Boy Who Lived.

There was going to be hell to pay.

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A/N: Why, yes, I am aware that I write shamefully short chapters. Plus, I use too many commas. Please, please review!