Author's Note: About this thing that happened between Harry & Ron in the previous chapter, you don't have to worry about it - nothing will come out of it. Nothing like that, anyway.
Big thanks to all my readers & reviewers! You rock, people. :P
Disclaimer: You don't read these disclaimers, do you? So I shouldn't stare at it for five minutes trying and failing to come up with something humorous? I can just say that Harry Potter is not mine and be done with this.
The Founding Of Pigwarts I – Recipe For Chaos
Chapter 7: How To Be Drunk
"I'm bored!" Ron whined, hanging on to his last bottle of Firewhisky like his life depended on it.
"I'm out of mead," Harry said calmly, and looked around for the rest of their supply of alcohol, which consisted of three halves of bottles of Firewhisky and a lonely bottle of Butterbeer lying forgotten on the ground by Ron.
He would have preferred the Firewhisky, really, but he figured that since all those half a bottles of Firewhisky had an owner, and taking away their bottle by force would equal struggle during which the bottle would certainly fall to the ground and break, and then he would not only get his ass kicked (because, you see, drunk people tend to get violent), but be left drinkless as well since the one who kicked his ass would probably go for that last bottle of Butterbeer while he was busy with lying on the ground in a bloody mess.
But he needed a drink, and he needed it soon, for all this thinking was starting to give him hell of a headache.
So he bent forward and reached over Ron for that last and lonely bottle of Butterbeer, which alas! was a bit too far away.
Not in the mood to get up and fall back down, which he was certain would happen if he did stand up, he poked Ron in the shoulder and pointed towards it instead.
"Butterbeer," he said when Ron had spent a few minutes looking in the direction, tilting his head this way and that way, still unsure what he was supposed to see there.
"No, thanks," Ron raised his bottle. "I've already got something."
"No, for me, I meant," Harry explained.
"NO!" Ron screeched and pulled away from Harry, hugging his bottle defensively. "My bottle. My whisky. My precious."
"No. I'm not going to take away your bottle. Nobody is. All I want is you to give me that bottle of Butterbeer from over there."
But Ron didn't listen. Instead he was petting his bottle, giving it the fool-in-love look, and whispering sweet words of nonsense to it.
Harry suddenly felt himself very lucky. He wasn't quite sure, but he suspected that if Ron didn't have the bottle to express his eternal love to, he might have grabbed the next closest object to him, and that happened to be Harry himself.
He shivered and quickly shook that thought away. It was easier not to think, anyway.
"My darling," Ron spoke gently. "My sweetheart. My honey. My munchkin. My sugarloop. My hunny-bunny. My love."
"Let's go swimming!" Harry exclaimed suddenly. He wasn't too sure where that idea had come from, but he supposed it had something to do with the fact that since Firewhisky was liquid and water was liquid as well, therefore water was Firewhisky. Or something like that.
"Perhaps we should call it a night," Draco suggested. As much as he liked the idea of Potter in the bottom of the lake, he had sort of promised to Dumbledore to look after the Trio tonight; besides, in his current state he might be just drunk enough himself to try to save him, and end up in the bottom of the lake as well. With Potter. Ewww!
"I don't wanna call it a night!" Ron shouted, raising his darling bottle to the stars. "I wanna call it a day! Or a hippogriff! And I wanna sing! Sing! SING!"
"You don't want to sing, Ron," Hermione convinced him. "You really don't want to sing. You really don't want to sing. You really don't want to sing. And, like I said before, you really don't want to sing."
"Oh yes I do!" Ron exclaimed happily. "We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine. We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine."
"Yes, Harry, swimming sounds like a terrific idea!" she agreed quickly and stood up.
And fell right down, of course, just like Harry had predicted. Fortunately for her, she landed on Draco.
"Bad idea!" she remarked, although not wholly unhappily since she had, after all, landed on Draco. "I guess we have to crawl then. Where was the door again?"
"You really shouldn't go," the last voice of reason told her.
"But Draco! I wanna go! I wanna go! I wanna go!"
The Slytherin, however, only pulled her closer, and took her hand in his, whispering something into her ear.
"Kuplikene, kata meid."
Just as Hermione was about to return the statement, cyan light erupted from the tip of his wand and slowly formed a translucent dome over and around them.
She looked at it in awe for a moment, then picked up a random cobble and threw it at the newly formed wall, frowning as it bounced right back and she realized what he had done.
But the cupola was pretty lovely. She stared up at it and at the stars behind it, which now were all a little bluish.
"We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine. We all live in a yellow submarine, yellow submarine, yellow submarine, oh-juhh-haa-hey!"
"You can do all this magic, but not a simple spell to shut Ron up?" Hermione accused.
"At least the dome won't kick my ass for me casting it."
She considered the statement and found it true. Not that it made much sense why it should prove his inability to Silence Ron, but it seemed true nonetheless.
"Do you know my Aunt Marge?" a voice spoke into his ear, and Draco was horrified to find Potter sitting by his side, where Hermione had been before she had relocated herself into his lap, and looking at him with puppy-dog eyes.
"No," Draco said warily and tried to move away, which didn't succeed of course since on his other side was tons of solid mass of rock.
"Well, you know my Aunt Marge," Potter continued, paying no attention to Draco's frightened look or his attempts to push himself through stone. "My Aunt Marge, you know, I used to hate her before. Well, perhaps not really hate, but strongly dislike. I mean, she wasn't my enemy #1, at least not after I came to Hogwarts, then I got all these brand new enemies of my own, like Voldy, and Snape... and, well, you, too. Don't take it personally, but I really hated your guts. You know, I think I kind of still do, but that doesn't matter. We were talking about my Aunt Marge. What a great lady she is, really. I mean, she is huge. She was huge even before I inflated her like a balloon, although that look kind of even suited her. But she is a great lady, and she has twelve dogs. I mean, twelve dogs. You really have to be a great lady to have twelve dogs. I mean, you have to be bigger than all those dogs together. Or else you'll end up in a tree with Ripper barking at you. So you really have to be a great lady. Like Aunt Marge. A great, great lady."
"Oh my darling, oh my darling, oh my darling Clementine, you are lost and gone forever, dreadful sorry, Clementine!" Ron threw his empty bottle into the air, gave a stupid smile, and was promptly knocked out as the same bottle landed on his head. No one else noticed. They just felt kind of relieved suddenly.
"You know, Malfoy," Harry said. "You are really not as bad as I thought you would be. I mean, you're quite decent and everything. And Hermione seems to like you a lot. And well, I was thinking here, that for her sake, perhaps we should try to be... you know... civil, or something like that."
"Does that mean you will tell me more about your Aunt Marge?"
"Sure, if you want to!"
"No! Not that! Anything but that!"
"Hmm..." Harry seemed to think. "I promise not to tell you anything about Aunt Marge, the great lady she is, if you give me a mouthful of your drink."
Draco looked at his bottle and back to Harry, more than a little reluctant. He realized very well that Potter had a rather large mouth (his previous behaviour had pretty much proved that) and giving him his bottle would be saying bye-bye to it.
"You know my Aunt Marge, don't you?" Harry began again. "Well, my Aunt Marge is a really great lady. She has twelve dogs, too. And she's really great. I mean, she is huge. But she has to be for all those dogs, you see. To control them, you see..."
Draco quickly handed his bottle over. After all, in the end he could convince Hermione to let him have some of hers, or simply kiss her when she has just taken a sip.
Harry grinned and proceeded with his newly required drink.
"And about that civility, Potter..."
"Nah, forget that," Harry spoke quickly between two gulps. "It was just a hoax to get that bottle from you. I never thought you would give it up so easily."
"You seem to have Slytherin tendencies, Potter."
"Sure. And you have Gryffindor tendencies."
"I don't know about tendencies," Hermione spoke before he could object fiercely to that. "But you do have a Gryffindor girl in your arms. One that would like to do a blondie right now."
Harry choked on his Firewhisky, coughing and spitting it out.
"No more for you today," Draco tried to keep his voice level and pry the bottle away from her fingers.
"What?" she asked, clearly confused and surprised.
"Yes, Hermione. That's enough for you. Don't you have this thing the day after tomorrow?"
"Nope," she shook her head, and didn't let go of her drink.
"Yes, you do, Hermione. You do have that thing the day after tomorrow. You do have that thing the day after tomorrow. You do have that thing the day after tomorrow. And, like I said before, you do have that thing the day after tomorrow."
"Save it, Harry. It didn't work with Ron, it isn't going to work with me. Besides, why do you act like this? All I said is that I'd like to do a blondie right now. Don't you?"
Harry chocked on air this time.
"Hermione, you clearly don't know what you're saying right now..."
"What? What's so awful about some white wine?"
"Nothing," Harry shook his head and then regretted the action. "But what has white wine to do with anything?"
"I want it. That's what I said. You know... blondie... white wine... white... blond..."
Harry felt himself burst with relief.
"Oh! So when you said you wanted to do a blondie, you meant you wanted some white wine?"
"Of course, Harry. What else could I have meant with it? What did you think I meant with it?"
Harry blushed. Fortunately for him, it was too dark for anyone else to see it.
"Nothing," he said quickly.
And when Hermione didn't turn her evil and suspicious glare away from him, he decided to use his Slytherin tendencies once again, since last time they had worked wonderfully.
"But Malfoy here was having dirty thoughts about you."
"Really?" Hermione turned towards the blondie, who gulped and tried to look innocent.
"That's sweet," she cooed. "And I'd love to. But not here and now, all right? I mean, all these dreams I've had about this, Harry and Ron were never present."
Harry choked on nothing.
And Draco paled. But since he was pale anyway, nobody noticed.
"Now what?" Hermione questioned after a little while.
"What about the school?" Harry offered, glad about the change of subject. "Have you figured out yet which colour goes together with yellow?"
"Erm… no," she admitted. "But we got the teachers sorted out."
"Well, that's good," Harry said.
"And House-Elves," Draco added.
"None of those, I suppose."
"On the contrary."
"You convinced Hermione to have House-Elves?" Harry was shocked. "How the hell did you manage that?"
"Malfoy charm."
"Oh," Harry nodded. "That explains why we never got so far."
"How about yellow and brown?" suggested Hermione, who had spent the last couple of minutes thinking about that and therefore had missed all the House-Elf stuff, and saved Harry and Draco from long lectures about 'appreciating and respecting the elves for their hard jobs'.
"Like a bee?" Harry wondered.
"Like a sunflower," Hermione smiled.
"Like a bee, then," Harry concluded.
A/N:
Kuplikene, kata meid - Little cupola, cover us
Don't worry about Ron, he's not hurt, just knocked out. He might have a killer headache when he wakes up for that, but it doesn't matter since he is going to have a killer headache anyway for all the alcohol he drank.
Big thanks to my beta for first pointing out that the Trio plus Ferret were not acting like drunk people and then providing me with a list of nine points of how people act while drunk. I didn't use all of them, but I don't think I could have come up with 'doing a blondie' without her help. So, GI, this chapter is for you. ;)
REVIEW !
