Chapter Twenty-Eight: Drunken Decisions

Disclaimer: I do not own Harry Potter.

All too soon, the holidays were at an end and Harry was going to be going back to Hogwarts. It was still early enough that he was having some difficulty remembering that this was 1992 now and not 1991 but he'd remember in time.

Harry was not exactly looking forward to going back to school. It's not like he didn't like school (because he did) or miss his friends (though it had only been a few weeks) but he didn't want to go back to all of the homework and classes, either. He was sure that Hermione was but then again there had always been something not quite right about that girl.

Gilderoy hadn't bothered to come see him off as they would see each other either that night or the next day but Sirius and Remus did come to bid him goodbye. He did try to be a little sensitive since they wouldn't see him for another five or so months but to be honest he just wanted to hurry up with that and go see his friends again.

They let him go without too much fuss, probably remembering how they felt during their own Hogwarts years. It might have seemed forever ago to him but it wasn't really all that long in the grand scheme of things.

The first person he saw was Neville and so he sat in a compartment with him.

"I'm mad at you," Neville declared.

Harry frowned. "You are? Huh."

Neville's eyebrows shot up. "Aren't you even going to ask me why?"

"I could," Harry agreed, "but then I would be revealing a gap in my knowledge and giving you the upper hand in this conversation."

Neville rolled his eyes tolerantly "Can you stop being a Slytherin for five minutes?"

"You sound like my godfather," Harry told him.

Neville's mouth dropped open in faux-horror. "Oh no! Anything but that!"

Harry laughed. "If you would like to talk about why you're mad at me, feel free."

Neville nodded. "I will, thank you. You and my mum talked a few days ago."

Harry frowned again. "Yes, we did. Are you jealous or something?"

Neville shook his head. "No, of course not. That would be silly."

"Then what is it?" Harry asked curiously.

"Her telling you all about your parents made her get caught up in the past and she and my dad spent the rest of break reminiscing," Neville complained.

"Am I supposed to apologize that me getting to hear something about my long-dead parents – and a reasonably unbiased account, for once – meant that you had to listen to stories about your own parents who have raised you since you were born?" Harry asked incredulously.

"…I will admit that, when you put it like that, it does sound ridiculous," Neville said, wincing. "But yes, yes I would. Would you mind?"

Harry grinned. "Not at all. I'm so sorry that my need to find out any scrap of information about my parents inconvenienced you in anyway."

"Apology accepted," Neville said graciously.

"Seriously, how bad could it have been?" Harry asked curiously.

Neville groaned and closed his eyes. "Oh, if only you knew…"

"Well," Harry replied, "I am asking so I will know if only you tell me."

Neville's eyes snapped open. "Good point."

"I do make those sometimes," Harry said modestly.

"But rarely enough that we still have to take note of it when it happens," Neville insisted.

"I'm getting better!" Harry insisted.

"That might be the saddest thing of all…" Neville said, shaking his head at him.

Harry just rolled his eyes. "About your terrible rest of break after I spoke to your mother?"

"Ah, right. Well, it all started when my mother found her old Hogwarts uniform that either still fit her or she magicked to make still fit her," Neville said. "And so I had to hear the story of how my parents first met, which was when they happened to sit next to each other at the welcoming feast, as it happened. And then there was the story of how they started dating."

"What happened there?" Harry inquired, mostly just to be polite.

"Your dad – your biological dad – was apparently annoyed that he couldn't get your mum to go out with him so he looked over at my parents doing homework together one day and snapped. He said that everyone knew that they wanted to be snogging each other and so could they please put everyone out of their misery," Neville revealed.

Harry laughed. "How romantic."

Neville made a face. "Oddly, they seemed to think so. I guess I shouldn't complain too much. I mean, without their mushy love story – and your dad being annoyed at love – I wouldn't even exist, after all."

"Give yourself some credit," Harry urged. "You can both be grateful and annoyed at the same time."

"You're right," Neville realized, beaming. "I just need to have a little more faith in myself, that's all."

Gilderoy was normally very careful about how much he drank in front of other people. After all, everyone knew that drinking lowered your inhibitions and made you think it was a good idea to say things that, in reality, you should never ever say. And even if Gilderoy hadn't had an important secret he was keeping at all costs, he wasn't fond of the fact that it made you act like an idiot, either.

Still, he was so pleased to be back at Hogwarts and – more to the point – away from Sirius Black (would that man never stop with the hostility?) that he decided to have a few in the staff lounge. He figured that it would be fine as long as he made sure to remember to speak as little as possible and not to say anything about himself.

Unfortunately, since he did not get drunk often he did not know very much about himself while drunk and did not know whether or not he would find it worthwhile to stick to his plan or even remember the plan at all. Some people were very talkative when they were drunk and he hoped that he was not one of them. He also wished that he could cast a silencing spell on himself or something but he knew better than to try it. He might do some damage, need help fixing it, and have to explain what exactly happened. Super-famous dark creature hunters did not miscast silencing spells, after all.

The fact of the matter was that he didn't even like the taste of alcohol. It was just one of the foulest things he had ever tasted. And it all reminded him of communion wine. Yes, all of it. He'd never been fond of it when he was younger and he had never gotten used to it. Still, he wasn't about to make himself the odd one out by refusing to drink socially and so – after hours of practicing in front of a mirror – he had gotten the hang of drinking at a normal rate without grimacing.

Fortunately, wizarding alcohol (while still disgusting) was preferable to muggle alcohol, probably because they had access to magic. His parents used to tell him that if he didn't like alcohol then he could try to get a flavored drink that disguised the taste but if the taste was going to be hidden then what was the point of drinking alcohol in the first place? The effect it had on people? That effect was dangerous, especially for one such as him.

But that night he chose not to worry about it. As usual, he was having the snobbiest drink available because it would simply not do to appear low-brow and maybe sometimes he overcompensated a little.

All the staff was in there, enjoying the peace that the end of the holidays brought and trying to prepare themselves for classes tomorrow.

Well, that was what most of them were doing.

Snape just appeared to be in the mood for complaining.

"Can you not see what an insult this is, Headmaster?" he demanded, pacing back and forth in front of the fire.

"I must confess that I do not, Severus," Dumbledore said calmly, not looking up from his Sudoku puzzle. "Young Harry seems to have given you a very thoughtful gift."

"He got me more hair products than even he could possibly use," Snape said, throwing a disgusted hand in Gilderoy's direction.

Gilderoy felt that he should probably say something to defend himself or Harry but he was extremely drunk at this point and he remembered his plan to not say anything. It was hard, though, when Snape was being so boring and stupid.

"And how did you manage to take a remarkably generous – and expensive – gift and interpret it as an insult?" Dumbledore asked, mildly curious. He frowned and erased a few numbers.

"Isn't it obvious what he is doing?" Snape demanded.

"I wouldn't say so, no," Dumbledore replied mildly.

"He's just like his father, poking fun at me about my hair," Snape ground out lividly.

"I don't believe that," Dumbledore told him.

"You never believed it of his father, either," Snape bit out.

"Harry is not his father, Severus, we've been over this," Dumbledore said patiently. "Harry seems to truly like you. You are his favorite teacher, after all, for all that you somehow think that that is proof that he doesn't like you."

"If he likes me," Snape said disdainfully, "then why this insult?"

"It's not an insult, Severus, it's a present," Dumbledore insisted. "And one of Harry's friends, young Mister Zabini, is quite concerned with the effect that potions fumes have on the hair, as you may have noticed. Gilderoy has a bit of an interest in the subject himself. This seems like a perfectly reasonable gift."

"He didn't get anyone else something so…specific," Snape pointed out.

"Alas, none of us spend enough time around potions fumes to necessitate such a generous gift," Dumbledore said sadly. "We did all get some nice, thick woolly socks, though. I am very pleased to get a little variety this year. The more years pass that I get nothing but books the more likely it becomes that I will get one that I already possess and that does get awkward."

Severus said nothing.

"And be honest, Severus: how would you have reacted if Harry failed to get you a present?" Dumbledore asked reasonably.

"He could have gotten me socks," Snape said flatly.

At that point, Gilderoy totally lost interest in their discussion and a quick glance around the room showed that no one else was paying it that much mind, either.

There was, for some reason, a bowling ball resting on the floor near Flitwick's feet. Maybe he was a bowler. Maybe somebody else had put it there. Maybe it was transfigured. Maybe it really didn't matter.

He wasn't supposed to talk, sure, but that didn't mean that he couldn't try a little silent magic. Usually, Gilderoy was pretty terrible with silent magic and had enough of a problem with spoken magic and he rarely practiced in front of an audience. Now, though…now if he just barely poked his wand out of his sleeve and didn't say anything to draw attention to himself or make it clear that he was the one trying to cast the spell then things would surely be fine.

It took Gilderoy a minute to even remember what the spell was to levitate things. He could have picked a different target but for some reason the bowling ball had his attention and was not about to let go of it so easily.

It also took him awhile (not that he knew just how long as he pointedly refused to look at a clock) to actually get it to move. And he had been staring so intently at the bowling ball that he actually missed when it began to move and only realized that he had moved it when he realized it was no longer in his line of sight.

Gilderoy's head swung around wildly looking for the ball when he finally spotted it floating about a foot and a half from the ground…right over Snape's feet. That wasn't good. It seemed that at some point he had stopped pacing and was now standing directly in front of Dumbledore. He tried to get it to move away from its precarious position but the moment he tried the bowling ball hurtled to the Earth.

"Once again, Headmaster, you fail to-" Snape was saying before the bowling ball hit. Snape tensed up and let out a muffled cry.

Gilderoy couldn't help but be impressed by the man's pain tolerance as he closed his eyes and pretended to be asleep. They couldn't possibly blame a sleeping person for this debacle, after all.

There was a lot of scrambling as the staff likely stood and congregated around Snape.

"I think his feet are broken," Madam Pomfrey announced. "Both of them."

"How can Gilderoy sleep through this?" Sprout wondered idly.

Well, his cover was fooling at least one person, then. He very carefully didn't react.

"That is unfortunate," Dumbledore said and Gilderoy imagined that he was frowning. "I'm so sorry, Severus. Do you have any idea what happened?"

"A bowling ball fell on my feet, sir," Severus said, his voice remarkably free of any kind of emotion or pain. Okay, now it was getting kind of weird.

"Yes, I gathered that. And I had noticed it earlier. But how did it get from the floor to hovering above your feet?" Dumbledore wondered. "Filius, is there any chance that there was some sort of enchantment on your ball?"

"It's possible, Albus," Filius said doubtfully. "I had it checked for the standard hexes when I bought it and I've never had a problem with it but it could be the case."

"Poppy, would you mind taking care of Severus in the Hospital Wing?" Dumbledore asked.

"No, absolutely not," Madam Pomfrey said, her voice firm.

"Why not?" Dumbledore asked, bewildered. "Severus is a Hogwarts professor injured at Hogwarts. What would be the problem with him being treated here at Hogwarts?"

"Professor Snape," Madam Pomfrey sniffed, "is a terrible patient. And if it were a matter of him dying if I did not treat him then I would, of course treat him. Mercifully for us all, his life is in no danger and he can go to St. Mungo's."

Snape scoffed at her but said nothing.

"Are you sure?" Dumbledore asked, deeply disappointed.

"Yes, Headmaster. This is the last thing I need to start off the new term with," Madam Pomfrey insisted.

"Very well," Dumbledore agreed. "Severus, shall we?"

"I hardly need an escort, Headmaster," Snape said coolly.

"Perhaps not but since I was right in front of you when it happened and failed to notice your, er, assailant then I feel responsible and I would be much more comfortable if I were permitted to accompany you," Dumbledore told him.

Snape sighed heavily but made no further protest.

There was a rustling and shortly afterwards, Dumbledore cried out for St. Mungo's. A moment later, Snape did the same.

"That was rather childish," McGonagall said reprovingly. "You really couldn't treat him?"

"I pity the poor fools who have to," Madam Pomfrey said grimly. This was rather serious. And since he didn't want a hang-over in the morning (even for just as long as it took to take a potion to rid himself of said hang-over), he should probably go to her for a cure to his drunken condition once he felt enough time had passed to make it plausible that he had really been asleep.

"It c-can't be that b-bad, s-surely?" Quirrell asked uncertainly.

Madam Pomfrey laughed darkly. "Oh, you have no idea. Maybe it's Slytherin pride and maybe it's something else but the man will never admit to being in pain or needing to be treated at all. He keeps trying to sneak out of the Hospital Room and he keeps making suggestions about how to improve all of the potions!"

"That doesn't sound so bad," McGonagall remarked.

"It wouldn't be if all of his suggestions weren't the sorts of things that need a potion's master to make," Madam Pomfrey grumbled. "It makes me feel inadequate and I know that he does it on purpose to try to convince me to let him leave earlier."

"There's that, certainly," Flitwick said slyly, "or perhaps he just wants to be included. You really should be more considerate of Severus' delicate feelings."

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