Harry Potter and the Seventh Serpent
Summary: Follows directly on from the end of book six – the search for the Horcruxes
Fandom: Harry Potter
Pairings: Bill/Fleur, Lupin/Tonks, Ron/Hermione, Hermione/OC, Ginny/OC, Harry/Ginny, Gabrielle/Harry…some surprise pairings I don't want to spoil, and more I've either forgotten about or haven't decided on yet
Warnings: Bad language, violence, character death…and probably slash, knowing me
Disclaimer: I own the plot, and any OCs who appear. Harry and Co belong to JKR
Chapter 4 – The Stag Night
Wherein Harry and Ron get extremely Drunk, and Fred is found in a Compromising position
As it got dark on the Saturday night, every male Order member between the ages of seventeen and seventy who was present was getting ready to go. Oliver had insisted they wear Muggle clothing so they could visit Muggle pubs as well. Harry and Ron had decided on a simple jeans and t-shirt combination, given the chances of someone throwing up and/or spilling drinks on them.
"See you tomorrow morning," Mrs. Weasley said with a hint of a disapproving frown as they filed out of the door.
"Tomorrow afternoon," Fred corrected her with a grin, "If tonight's any good, you'd need an unsticking charm to get us out of bed before twelve tomorrow." He fled before she had the chance to scold him.
"Where we going first?" Ron asked brightly, and Harry grinned at his best friend's expression. The two of them were enjoying being legally adults.
"The Drum and Monkey," Oliver said; "It's a Muggle pub…" he trailed off, eyeing Harry and Ron critically; "If anyone asks, you two are eighteen, okay?"
Ron began to ask why, but Harry cut him off; "Okay."
It was a Saturday night, and the Drum and Monkey was packed to the rafters with people in varying states of drunkenness. Oliver led the way to a table at the back and they sat around it, looking around the crowded pub with interest. "I'll get the drinks," Lupin said and disappeared into the crowd.
Ron turned to Harry; "Why do we have to say we're eighteen?"
"Because you have to be eighteen to drink in Muggle pubs," Harry explained quietly, careful that no-one overheard.
"Everyone act normal," Charlie reminded them; "We'll go to Sinick Alley when we start getting really drunk so we don't have to worry about being discreet."
"Good idea," Fred and George approved as Lupin came back with the drinks.
"Next round's mine," said Bill.
Three glasses later, Harry still wasn't sure what the mysterious blue liquid he was drinking was supposed to be, but he had decided that he rather liked it anyway. The more experienced drinkers among them were tossing it back like water. Harry drank his rather more slowly. He bought the fourth round, silently thanking any gods who happened to be listening that he'd finally gotten round to changing some of his galleons to Muggle money. They – particularly Harry and Ron, who weren't used to it – were starting to get pleasantly tipsy when Oliver suggested they move on to a nightclub called the Cathouse. They had managed to get in near the front of the queue just as the doors opened, and as he stepped inside Harry found his ears assaulted by the loudest music he had ever heard in his life. It was the sort of Goth/Punk music his aunt and uncle had always violently objected to, and this had predisposed him to like it, even when Mrs.-Next-Door's daughter had been playing it at three in the morning. Ron was looking a little bewildered – and more than a little drunk – but Fred and George in particular seemed highly impressed. And the drink just kept on coming.
Everyone in the club, even the scary-looking ones with multiple piercings and leather clothing, was surprisingly friendly, and Harry ended up dancing with three random people he had never seen before in his life, plus Charlie and Marc. They didn't leave until the club closed at two in the morning.
"I hear the girls are having a Hen night," commented a surprisingly sober-looking George as they made their way to the Silver Dragon. Bill had recommended a pub called the Dungeon in Sinick Alley as their next stop.
"May…m'be w'll meet'm…" slurred Ron, who was the main reason they had decided it was no longer safe to be among Muggles.
"Aw…" Fred cooed; "Ickle Ronnikins can't take his drink…"
"Lucky we started 'im out on Muggle stuff," smirked Charlie, despite looking none too sober himself; "He'd be comatose by now if we'd let 'im have Firewhiskey."
The Silver Dragon was larger and rather rowdier than the Leaky Cauldron. At the back was a long stone corridor ending in a large courtyard. The courtyard itself was dominated by a large archway leading to Sinick Alley, but it was also lined with fireplaces, all crackling merrily with green flames. Occasionally someone would appear from a fire on the left, or disappear into a fire on the right.
Oliver and Bill – leaning against each other for support, Harry noted – led the way to the Dungeon.
It was Saturday night, or technically Sunday morning, rather, and the patrons of the Dungeon were still partying like there was no tomorrow. Harry was a little surprised at such unrestrained life after the events of his last term at Hogwarts. But then again, the tiny part of his mind which had thus far evaded the dousing in alcohol reasoned; maybe it isn't so surprising. Can you blame them for wanting to have fun while they still can…?
Harry looked around for familiar faces. Fred, George, and for some reason Marc, were sitting at a table in the corner, laughing uproariously. Not wanting to intrude, he made his way instead to the bar, where Oliver was standing talking animatedly to a short, brightly-dressed girl Harry vaguely recognised.
"Hey, Harry," Oliver said; "This is Alix – she was in my year at school. Alix, this is Harry."
"Harry Potter?" Alix said, trying and very nearly succeeding to hide the excitement in her eyes; "Ooo, it's so nice to see you! I don't think we ever talked in school."
"Uh…hi," Harry hazarded. Alix's outfit would have put a rainbow to shame, but he had to admit it suited her tanned skin and hazel eyes. Her brown hair brushed her shoulders, and her glasses were on the point of falling off. She was talking a mile a minute, but she didn't seem drunk, just happy and hyper. She brightened up even more – Harry was amazed to find this was possible – when George came over.
"Hi!" she said delightedly; "Uh…George?"
"Right first guess, have a cookie."
"I'm not taking anything from you, Merlin knows what it'd turn me into," she retorted.
George ordered another round of drinks and looked slyly sideways at Harry, who was staring at Alix. He leaned over to whisper in Harry's ear; "I wouldn't waste my time, mate. Alix's fancied Oliver for as long as I've known her."
"I wasn't-!" Harry objected, but gave up when George just grinned; "Ever had Firewhiskey before?" George asked innocently, handing him a glass. Harry took the glass and eyed the contents dubiously. He had to admit that the liquid was a very inviting shade of amber. He raised the glass to his lips…
Harry didn't remember much more after that.
XxXxXxX
Harry buried his head in his hands and weakly cursed the world in general. He felt like someone had used a Permanent Sticking Charm to attach his tongue to the roof of his mouth, and apparently a swarm of Cornish Pixies had crawled into his skull through his ears and were using his brain as a trampoline. Someone groaned, and Harry managed to crack open an eyelid.
It took him a moment to realise that he wasn't in his and Ron's room. After some thought he finally decided that he was probably in one of the guest rooms…possibly the one Fred and George were sharing? Yes, that was their new owl Mercury in a cage on the windowsill. He sat up and immediately regretted it – he just made it to the bathroom in time to throw up.
Once he had emptied the contents of his stomach he felt a bit better. He took a drink from the tap and spat into the sink to clear the foul taste from his mouth. Head still pounding, he soaked a hand-towel in cold water and slapped it across his forehead…ah, blessed relief. Harry about managed to make his way back through to the bedroom and sat down heavily on Fred's trunk. Ron was sprawled out in the middle of the floor, and Charlie was asleep in a corner with his head on George's shoulder. Bill was lying, still fully clothed, on one of the beds; the second bed was occupied although Harry couldn't see who by.
Since everyone else was still comatose, Harry decided to take advantage of this fact and have a quick shower. He was just pulling his jeans back on when he heard a startled cry and a burst of laughter from the bedroom.
Ron and Bill had apparently been woken up by the noise, and were both blinking in sleepy bewilderment. The cry of surprise seemed to have come from Charlie, and George was almost paralysed with helpless laughter. The source of the disturbance was immediately obvious; the second bed had contained Fred, who was uncharacteristically at a loss for words, and Marc, who was swearing under his breath in French with his head in his hands.
"Something you've been meaning to tell us, brother dearest?" George enquired merrily.
"Go to hell," Fred snapped, throwing his shirt (which had been draped across the bedpost) at his twin. George just kept laughing.
"You…" said Ron, who looked frankly nauseated; "…you didn't…"
"Of course we bloody didn't!"
"No, you just happen to have woken up in bed together with your clothes strewn around the room," George smirked.
"Fuck off!"
"Well," said Bill, looking faintly amused; "Mum'll be delighted to have a new subject to have kittens over…"
"I don't care if it's your wedding day; I will hex you to within an inch of your life if you breathe a word of this to Mum!"
More laughter.
"Oh, fuck all of you," he muttered and stormed out of the room – showing that he was at least still wearing his jeans. Marc followed shortly afterward, blushing furiously and looking as if he wanted nothing more than to disappear from the face of the earth. There was a brief silence. Eventually Charlie whistled; "Some party, eh?"
"There's probably a perfectly reasonable explanation for this," Bill offered weakly. They all shot him sceptical, 'yeah right' looks.
"'Now, just because someone sees, you know, two naked people in bed together, it doesn't necessarily prove sex was involved. It does, however, make for a very strong case'," George said. It sounded like a quote.
"Hey, where's Oliver?" Harry asked, noticing his absence…admittedly more to change the subject than anything else.
"He went home with that Alix girl," George said with a sly smile; "Seems dear Freddie wasn't the only one who got lucky last night…"
"Urgh, stop being a perv," Ron said, looking rather ill. Bill rolled his eyes and threw a pillow at his youngest brother. Harry couldn't help but grin – the wedding looked set to be very interesting. He walked to the door and winced as the movement made his headache return with a vengeance. Food first, he decided, and made his way to the kitchen.
Hermione was sitting on the counter, and she grinned as she saw Harry. She hopped down from her perch and walked over to a bubbling cauldron. The liquid inside was murky and strange-smelling – Harry eyed it with suspicion when she handed him a glass; "What is it?"
"Hangover Potion," she told him; "It'll make you feel better." He gaped at her in profound thanks for a moment and downed the contents in one gulp. He regretted it instantly.
"Argh! That tastes worse than the Polyjuice Potion!"
"Trust me, it works."
As a matter of fact it did, and soon he felt perfectly fine. Getting drunk had been enjoyable – if only someone had thought to warn him in advance about hangovers. He grinned at Hermione and thanked her profusely for the potion; now, finally, he felt ready to face the wedding.
You review, I update. It's not a complicated arrangement…
The phrase George quotes is from Velvet Goldmine