Chapter 2: Blood and Alcohol

Harry's luck had been rotten all night, and the latest round of cards had done nothing to improve his situation. Folding his hand quickly, he glanced around the crowded pub and attempted to stifle a massive yawn.

"Get a load of these, tosspots!" Seamus slurred triumphantly, laying four jacks face up on the table and reaching forward to claim the pile of galleons a foot in front of him.

"Again, Seamus?" Neville groaned, surveying the mountain of cash Seamus had gone face down into while laughing maniacally. "He's killing us, Harry."

"No argument there, mate," Harry replied, watching Seamus with amusement, then flipping open his wallet to display its barren contents to Neville.

A boys night out had seemed a brilliant idea at the time, but that had been thirty galleons ago. Banned from the Burrow for the evening-Ginny and her mum were discussing wedding dresses-Harry had chosen the pub over an evening on his own or watching his two best mates hang on each other at their place.

"Good thing Ginny doesn't love you for your money, mate," Neville said amiably, clapping Harry on the shoulder.

"It's for your massive knob, eh, Potter?"

Seamus was half pissed already and had emerged from the pile of galleons to smirk at Harry and take a long pull from his bottle of beer. Neville grinned broadly at his comment while Harry just rolled his eyes.

"Well, drop trou, mate, and let's take a look," Seamus suggested blearily.

A faint pop sounded in the dimly lit pub, and Harry jerked his head in the direction of the noise, grateful for the distraction. He could just make out the back of a familiar head at the other end of the cramped but crowded space.

"Ron!" Harry yelled across the room, standing up to wave his friend over. "I thought you were tucked up with the wife tonight," he shouted, as Ron turned in his direction.

"When isn't he tucked up with the wife?" Seamus snickered into his beer.

"At least he's got a girl," Neville said, extricating the half-empty bottle from Seamus's hand. "I'd say that's enough for you, mate."

"Ron just got back from a mission. That's why they're joined at the hip tonight," Harry said by way of explanation as he sat down. Joined at the hip or elsewhere, he snickered inwardly.

"You!" Ron bellowed red-faced as he spotted Harry and began to make his way through the throng towards their table.

"What's with him?" Neville asked, prompting a shrug from Harry. And what was the prat doing out at a pub at half ten in his pajamas, Harry wondered.

Spotting the three of them, Ron pushed his way forcefully across the room leaving a string of cranky-looking manhandled patrons in his wake. Then suddenly he was before them and hauling a startled-looking Harry forcefully from his chair.

"Ron, what-" Harry had begun when Ron's first connected solidly with the left side of his face and his glasses went flying. The next thing Harry knew he was on the floor, staring groggily at the dust bunnies under the table.

A second later he was being hauled to his feet again when another pop rang out, followed by the sound of Hermione yelling.

"Ron, STOP!" she demanded. "That's enough!"

Harry felt Ron's grip on him slacken, and he managed to wriggle away, backing up several feet.

"Ron! Cool it!" It was Dean's voice Harry could detect now through the pea-soup fog inside his head. Dean had emerged from the loo and was restraining Ron from behind as Hermione stood immediately before him, both her palms flat on Ron's heaving chest.

Harry reached down and groped around on the floor a bit until coming upon his glasses. He straightened up and pulled them on, noting with relief that both the lenses were unbroken.

Ron had remained stationary but was continuing to glower at him, his blue eyes appearing nearly black with anger. He shook off Dean's grip suddenly and pointed a menacing finger at Harry.

"If you ever try anything with Hermione, or even think about stepping out on Ginny, it's the end of us. Understand?!" Ron's words were slow and deliberate, his eyes boring into Harry's as he spoke.

Comprehension dawned, and Harry nodded.

"Ron, your hand!" Hermione cried out suddenly, lifting his battered right hand with care.

"It's fine," Ron said, still staring at Harry.

Hermione dragged her gaze from Ron's bruised and bleeding knuckles and looked with concern at Harry's face. "You okay, Harry?" she asked.

"I'll live," Harry said flatly, using the edge of his sleeve to staunch the flow of blood now running down his left cheek.

"Do you need to go to St Mungo's?" Hermione asked worriedly.

"Blimey, Granger!" Seamus interjected. "It's a fist fight, not the bleedin' war!"

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry replied, relieved to see that Ron was now staring daggers at Seamus.

Ron whipped his head back around suddenly so he was facing Harry again. "And you're telling Ginny, Harry," he said in a sudden non-sequiter. "You're telling Ginny, or I will."

"Okay," Harry said simply, nodding.

Satisfied, Ron slipped his arm around Hermione's waist and used his good hand to take hers.

"You'll look after Harry, then, Neville?" Hermione asked. Neville was standing silently a few feet away, gaping at them.

"'Course," he managed to say, still staring.

"I'm not six years old, Hermione," Harry grumbled. He wasn't the one who went around slugging people in pubs after all.

"Hey!" Ron snapped at him, his eyes blazing. "Easy."

The murderous look on Ron's face made Harry instantly regret his words. But with Hermione wrapped around him and Dean nearby, it seemed unlikely Ron would hit him again.

"You've got until Monday to tell Ginny," Ron said flatly. "Got it?"

Harry nodded, and Ron turned to Hermione saying wearily, "Let's go home." An instant later, they were gone.

Seamus and Dean rushed forward, forcing Harry's hand away from his face in an attempt to get a good look at the damage. "You're going to have a hell of a shiner there, Harry," Dean noted with half a chuckle as he inspected him.

Standing a few feet away, Neville was staring at Harry, looking puzzled.

"What was that all about?" he said finally, his astonishment clear.

"Ancient history, I think," Harry said with a sigh, bringing his hand up carefully to his bloodied face.