A Warlock, a Witch, and Elvis
Chapter 001 – Only In Vegas
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After Sirius fakes his death, he gets Harry emancipated, sending him to Vegas to "meet him" (ie: get him some fun). With fake ID in hand, and possibly a glamour or two, and Moony as a 'responsible adult', the three take the town. However, in true Hangover fashion, Harry has too much to drink and blacks out, waking up a day or two later...with a wedding ring of course.
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As Harry started to wake up, he could tell three specific things:
His mouth tasted like ass.
His head felt like someone had used it for soccer practice.
Lastly, he was not alone in the bed.
While normally, the third topic would be ringing all sorts of warning bells, the first two topics were causing enough pain and distraction that he could've woken to find himself naked in the Great Hall, and he wouldn't have cared.
Moving slowly, he crawled out of bed from the unoccupied side, and proceeded to hurry to the bathroom incase Sirius' demonstrations of hangover-induced vomiting came true.
As he shut the bathroom door, he had to wonder how much his bedmate had paid for the room; it certainly wasn't his place after all.
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As the dark-haired witch slowly returned to the world of the living, she hissed at the pain between her legs. Based off the feeling, it would likely ache for a while. Wait a minute…
Opening her eyes suddenly, she groaned and slammed them shut as the Sun decided that it wanted to become her mortal enemy, right behind her father. Going slower this time, she glanced around to take in the bed, the room, the clothes strewn everywhere…and her state of dress, or lack of it.
Taking all of this in, she held no qualms against her next action.
"Fuck."
As she sat in bed, wonder how things could have gone THIS far off the rails, she heard the shower running in the bathroom. Deciding to be dressed for when whoever he was came out, she started picking up her clothes…only to run across a particular piece of paper. Glancing it over as she hooked her bra off the fan, said fan proceeded to suffer destruction via implosion in an aura of black as her brain computed what exactly the paper stated.
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After making sure that he wasn't about to become an acolyte of the porcelain god, Harry proceeded to wash the horrendous taste from his mouth before taking a much-needed shower. Wrapping himself in a towel afterwards, he started drying his hair as he walked out… right into the sight of the fan exploding as his previous bed-partner (Drunk-Harry had good taste, he thought to himself) stared down at a piece of paper. Somewhat distracted by her breasts, his upper brain slowly connected the dots. Vegas…alcohol…sex…paper…uh oh. Looking down at his hands, a sound not unlike a gerbil being stepped on escaped his mouth at the sight of the ring.
Yep, this was bad.
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May be expanded, maybe not. You know who the female is? Should be easy enough…