A/N: Coming to you live from the Quality Inn in South Bend, Indiana, it's Harry Potter and the Final Battle!
(No more Malibu for me at the hotel bar.)
The various Muggle and Wizarding drinks alike that appear in this chapter are courtesy of DrinksMixer.com, and my dear mathiasgranger, who spent quite a few hours with me coming up with new drinks. The Hippogriff Hammer, Iced Pumpkin Schnapps and the Redheaded Slag are entirely his creations. Matt, you are awesome, and for your incredible fantasticness, I dedicate the insanity that is the alcohol content of this chapter to you.
By the way, the Avada Kedavra is actually a shot. The way I make it is sour apple liqueur, tequila, and Fireball. And in our muggle world, Firewhisky sort of exists. Dr. McGillicuddy's Fireball Whisky Shooter is as close as it's getting, and I think I love it now. It's like Goldschlager, but more whisky and less liqueur.
Anyway, this chapter is a whole ton of silly drunken fun. It's not really too much plot development, or necessary to the story for that matter aside from selecting a drink, but given everything that's happened as of late a little bit of silliness seems in order. Very little fluff but it's a bit difficult to have sex when you're this tired and pissed, so… enjoy!
Disclaimer: If I owned Harry Potter and his world, I'd somehow become Hermione Granger and snog him senseless in the common room after hexing Ginny. But I can't. So clearly it's not mine.
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Upon arriving at the entrance to Gryffindor tower, Harry and Hermione were greeted by the stern face of Professor McGonagall.
"I trust you gained a fair bit of knowledge from Albus' portrait?" she asked, her face lined with worry.
The young couple nodded at McGonagall, their minds reviewing the interesting things that Dumbledore had told them.
"Normally it is not my business to pry into the affairs of students, as I firmly believe that you two are capable of sorting things out on your own, but I have to ask if you chose to accept the offer of staying here at the castle for a period of time." The stately witch's hands fiddled with the sleeve of her tartan robe, almost like a school child that was being scolded.
Harry and Hermione exchanged looks, unsure of what to say to the new Headmistress.
She sighed when they had not responded for several moments. "I can see that you are still thinking it over. However, I would like to impress upon you the importance of this offer. I am afraid that I must inform you that Hogwarts is unlikely to reopen on the first of September. The Board of Governors thinks that Professor Dumbledore's death has proven that the castle is not safe for Britain's wizarding youth."
"But Professor Dumbledore said that it was for the holiday," Hermione said sceptically. She suddenly suspected that McGonagall wasn't telling them the whole truth.
"I must admit that Professor Dumbledore is not aware of my intentions for the two of you, which is perhaps why his offer is a touch different than the one I'd like to make you." McGonagall said, eyeing her two favourite students.
"Well, go on," Harry prompted, interested to hear what the current Headmistress had to say.
"As both of you are aware," she began, "I will be needing to select the Head students for the year-that is, if the school is allowed to re-open, of course. I had decided long ago that the two of you would be offered those positions if Dumbledore had agreed, and with recent events taken into consideration, I hope you can understand why it is even more important now than it was before. Should the parents and other students learn that the two of you-especially you, Harry-are returning to Hogwarts, I feel that it will boost their confidence and Hogwarts will remain open."
"Wouldn't Ron be in line for Head Boy more than I would be? He's been a prefect the last two years," Harry pointed out.
"True enough, but as Professor Dumbledore himself told you, he would have much rather made you prefect, and chose not to because he felt that you had enough to deal with already. Unfortunately for Mr. Weasley, his marks have been slipping, and I cannot continue to allow his position as prefect. He is also at risk of losing his position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team if he doesn't straighten himself out this year. I believe that you are capable of acting as Head Boy in addition to your usual studies and activities, whatever they may be. And if there is ever a time where you would feel overwhelmed by your duties, I would hope that you would come to me for help." McGonagall took a deep breath, and gave the pair a hopeful look. "I suppose saying please wouldn't help, would it?"
Harry tried to stifle a laugh as he saw Hermione's reaction to being offered the Head Girl position. It struck him as particularly amusing for there had never been any doubt of her obtaining the role, and yet she seemed more excited than a child on Christmas morning. He could tell that it was killing her on the inside not to immediately accept McGonagall's proposal, but she managed to restrain herself for Harry's sake.
"We'll discuss both yours and Professor Dumbledore's offers this evening, if you don't mind. To be honest, both Hermione and I had not intended on returning to Hogwarts at all in September, as we had intended on completing the mission that Dumbledore and I started." Harry admitted, watching as the Headmistresses eyebrows shot up in curiosity. "I have to admit, it's not entirely safe, and it will take up most of our time. We wouldn't be able to take regular classes and whatnot while still carrying on like we intend to."
"I'm sure I could adjust your schedules accordingly, if necessary," McGonagall offered, nodding in concession to the two teenagers.
"Professor," Hermione began, controlling her excitement, "Harry and I will have an answer for you in the morning. Right now we're off to Hogsmeade to take up on a suggestion we received from Professor Dumbledore."
McGonagall smiled at them with a twinkle in her eye, much like that of the late Headmaster. "Very well then. I'm sure I don't need to remind either of you that school rules are not in effect as it is the holiday, and you are both currently of age. I trust I shan't see you at breakfast."
With that, the stately witch left them alone at the entrance to the tower as she returned to her office.
Harry looked at Hermione with a grin on his face, which quickly faded into a look of frustration.
"Harry, what is it?" asked Hermione, noticing the change of expression.
"She never told us the password," said he, eyeing the Fat Lady in her portrait.
Hermione restrained the urge to lecture Harry for not paying closer attention. Dumbledore had said there was no password.
Upon mention of something that was in direct relation to her, the Fat Lady immediately perked up and made her presence known. "Well, of course she didn't tell you the password!" she said gleefully, taking delight in knowing something that Potter didn't. "It's the holidays, for Merlin's sake! Why would there be a password? Well, go on! I'm not going to hang open here all night, you know," she encouraged, giggling the entire time.
Harry edged his way around the portrait, carefully avoiding the edges of the gilded frame. Hermione followed suit, and they breathed a sigh of relief when they were inside of the common room. It looked just as it had when term had ended, except perhaps a touch cleaner. They sank into a comfy sofa, and put their feet up.
"So now what?" asked Harry, his eyes darting around the room. The tower was empty, and it was a strange feeling. At that moment he wanted nothing more than to unpack and lay back on a bed for a few minutes to gather his thoughts.
"I suppose we unpack," said Hermione, taking her miniaturized trunk from her pocket.
Right. Where? Harry thought, trying to determine whether Hermione would choose between the girls' dormitory or the boys', with him.
Hermione pursed her lips thoughtfully, giving Harry's unspoken question careful consideration. "Well, Professor McGonagall did say that school rules don't apply right now. You can't very well stay with me in the girls' dorm, and I do suppose I could stay with you in the boys' dorm and we could enlarge the bed because I sure don't plan on sleeping alone, but then there's-"
"Hermione, take a breath!" Harry laughed, stopping her rambling. "I see why you'd be concerned with staying in the boys' dormitory, because McGonagall could walk in at any moment, but really, I don't think she's that daft," he said with a chuckle.
A portrait on the wall to the right of the portrait hole entrance cleared his throat loudly, demanding attention.
The teens swung around to discover a portrait of an elderly gentleman who appeared as though he belonged in a muggle cowboy saloon. There were a pair of shot glasses on a table next to him with an overly large bottle of a dark liquid, and he was sporting a cowboy hat and a bolo tie.
"Can we help you?" asked Harry, looking quizzically at the portrait. In his six years at Hogwarts he hadn't ever noticed the figure in the painting before.
"Quite the contrary, young sir. I do believe that I can help you," he said in a clipped British accent, which was far from what either Harry or Hermione had been expecting. An American southern drawl would not have surprised them, but apparently there was more to the man than either of them could see.
"And you are?" Harry inquired; somewhat surprised that Hermione hadn't immediately offered a name and biography of the man in the portrait.
The man stood from his stool, lifted his ten-gallon hat, and took a deep bow. The brim of his brown hat brushed the edges of his portrait. "Dr. Ogden McGillicuddy at your service." The man stood, and winked.
"Ogden? As in Ogden's Old Firewhisky?" Hermione asked, wide-eyed. She had always thought that the name was strictly that, a name. As it was Wizarding alcohol and generally of no interest to her, she had never pursued the issue in the library, either.
"Aye, one and the same," he nodded, pouring himself a shot. "But who I am is of no real importance to you. I can help you with your rooming situation," he winked, downing the shot in a single go.
Hermione eyed him curiously. "If you suggest we get pissed, fall asleep in the boys' dorm and not worry about it…" she threatened casually.
The old, Western-looking wizard chuckled as he shook his head. "No, no, no, though getting pissed is a right fine idea. I was thinking more along the lines of offering you the Heads suite."
Harry and Hermione exchanged a furtive glance. "The Heads suite?" inquired Harry.
The cowboy hat on the wizard's head bobbed as he nodded his head. "Never would have guessed than someone such as myself would be guarding the entrance, would you? The Weasley twins were the only ones that ever did, but then again, they are two of the very small numbers who realize that I am Ogden McGillicuddy. Not to mention that they managed to smuggle in an abnormal amount of Firewhisky in their years, but that's a story for another day," he grinned, pouring himself another shot. "As I was saying, you're welcome to use the suite if you'd like. Just say the word."
"But Dr. McGillicuddy, we don't know the password," Hermione reminded him. "I know the Fat Lady doesn't need one because it's holidays, but wouldn't the Heads suite need one anyway?"
"Nonsense!" the wizard proclaimed, downing his second shot. "Ahh, it still burns on the way down, even when I'm in a portrait." He grinned, a small hiccup escaping his lips followed by a puff of flames. "Now, as I was saying, why on earth would I bar the rightful inhabitants of this suite entrance just because they haven't accepted the position and the fact that it's summer holiday?" He winked at them, and proceeded to fill his shot glass for the third time. "Besides, you can always say I was royally pissed."
With a laugh the portrait swung aside, allowing Harry and Hermione access to the Head's suite.
Harry stumbled through the portrait hall, pulling out his trunk and enlarging it. "Merlin, watching all those shots he drank is making me right thirsty," he admitted, sinking back into a sofa.
The entrance from the portrait hole brought them into the common room of the Heads suite, which was much like a smaller, cosier version of the Gryffindor tower common room. There were two bedrooms, one on either side of the common area, and by a quick glance inside of the doors, it was clear that there would be no twin-sized beds present for the remainder of their Hogwarts careers. Each bedroom was decorated in scarlet and gold, with a queen-sized mattress resting on a four-poster bed frame. Framing each side of the bed were two small nightstands in matching mahogany wood, with an armoire off to one side. Quite frankly they were the nicest bedrooms either Gryffindor had ever seen in the castle.
"Harry, I don't think that we should waste any time in getting to the task Professor Dumbledore has set out for us," Hermione interrupted his surveillance of the room. "Shall we head to Hogsmeade?"
Harry chuckled as he got up from the sofa. "Why, Miss Granger, if I didn't know any better I'd say that it sounds like you're hoping to get me completely sloshed and have your way with me!"
Hermione looked affronted. "Mister Potter, I would hope that you had realized by now that it doesn't take alcohol, wizarding or muggle, for me to have my way with you!"
With several peals of laughter the young couple left after depositing their belongings in the Heads suite, and made their way back out through Gryffindor tower. Choosing to simply walk from the Hogwarts gates into the village, Harry and Hermione held each other's hands as they continued along in silence. When they arrived at The Three Broomsticks a somewhat withdrawn Madam Rosmerta, who couldn't help but smile at their presence, greeted them warmly. She was still a tad shy around Hogwarts students after her run in with an Imperius curse that had landed Katie Bell in St. Mungo's, but for the Gryffindor golden couple she was all smiles. She knew that Harry would never hold her actions against her as she was under an Unforgivable Curse at the time.
"So, what'll it be, luvs?" she asked in greeting, gesturing to the wide variety of liquors that decorated the bar behind her. "I know that you're of age now, Harry, and you'll be lucky if all the older witches in here can keep their hands off ya! Might as well celebrate a belated birthday with a few rounds, on the house of course."
The pretty, older witch grinned as she began to mix herself a drink while she waited for them to make their selections. Hermione watched in fascination as she pulled out a Muggle blender from under the counter. When Madam Rosmerta noticed that Hermione's attention was drawn to the electrical appliance, she couldn't help but smile at her.
"This isn't Hogwarts, now is it? Just because we're in a wizarding village doesn't mean I can't have a plug or two. No one's firing off any spells in here so other than protective wards there's not much magic going on to disturb it." She explained as she added some ice to the blender. Reaching behind her for a bottle with a sparkly blue label. "Ogden's Old French Kiss," she winked at Harry, pouring a liberal amount in with the ice. "Vanilla schnapps," she clarified for Hermione as she pressed the button to start the blender.
The metal blades whipped the ice and liquor together into a frothy consistency, and Rosmerta added a healthy measure of pumpkin juice to the mixture. When it was all blended to her satisfaction, the barmaid poured her drink into a tall frosty glass that she had conjured. With a dollop of whipped cream and the addition of a straw, she was happy with her concoction and proceeded to down it.
Harry looked a tad nervous. "Should you, um, be drinking on the job?" he asked.
Rosmerta laughed gaily. "Harry, we're in a bar. People would think me strange if I didn't!"
"What's it taste like?" Hermione asked eying the frothy beverage.
"Technically it's called an Iced Pumpkin Schnapps, but if you ask me, it's just like a chilled pumpkin pie." Rosmerta answered, offering her glass to Hermione. "Want to try a sip?"
Hermione eagerly sucked on the straw, her eyes widening in delight, as she tasted the blended beverage. "It doesn't taste alcoholic at all!" she proclaimed.
"Aye, but that doesn't mean it ain't!" Rosmerta smiled, downing another gulp. "There's quite a bit of schnapps in there, and it being another Ogden's recipe, I can assure you it's just as potent as Firewhisky without the dragon breath."
"Then what's the side effect for Ogden's Vanilla Schnapps?" Hermione asked, not realizing she'd mistaken the name. She took another sip of Madam Rosmerta's drink, a bit more this time than the last.
"Ogden's Old French Kiss," the witch corrected with a saucy wink.
Hermione's eyes widened in surprise. "You mean-?" The wizarding alcohol began to take its effect on her as she pulled Harry in for a good snog.
The barmaid chuckled merrily. "It's a bit nicer than breathing fire, don't ya think?"
Pulling away from Harry in a bit of a daze, Hermione had a lovely grin plastered on her face for a few seconds. "Why yes, yes it is."
Not that Harry was about to complain, but he couldn't help but wonder. "Madam Rosmerta, if it's such a powerful effect that Hermione just kissed me, how come you haven't lunged at any wizards yet? You've had more than she has!"
"I've had far more than the both of ya put together, and you're the ones that came in here for a drink!" she spouted, quickly pouring Harry a shot of Firewhisky and adding some more French Kiss and ice to the blender. "Come along, Harry, drink up. Another shot and I'll have another drink whipped up for your Hermione here, and then we'll all get good and right pissed together," she proclaimed as she poured more pumpkin juice into the blender.
Not seeing room for an argument, Harry accepted the shot glass and downed it quickly, pretending not to notice that Rosmerta had poured him a double. As the noise from the blender permeated the silence of the bar, Harry looked around at the other customers who seemed perturbed by the grating sound. "Uh, Madam Rosmerta?" He tried to get her attention.
She quickly finished up Hermione's drink and snapped her wrist expertly so that it would slide across the bar and stop directly in front of the girl. "Mmm?" she looked up at Harry, sipping further at her own Pumpkin Schnapps.
"You mean that the three of us will get pissed together, or just Hermione and I?" asked Harry, watching as another shot of Firewhisky appeared in front of him.
"Why, the three of us of course! You've been such a fantastic customer for so long, Harry, and I'd have to be crazy not to allow you to celebrate your birthday! And I must admit, it's much more fun to partake in the drinking than it is to watch." She replied, finishing off her first drink.
"So what about the other customers?" he inquired before swallowing his second shot. Hermione was still sipping at her own beverage, seemingly enjoying the taste of an alcoholic pumpkin pie between kisses with Harry.
Madam Rosmerta seemed to consider his words for a few moments as she mixed herself a new drink. "Good point, Harry," she conceded, grabbing her wand. She muttered an incantation and pointed the wand at her throat. "Oi! You lot!" her voice boomed loud with the Sonorous charm, "Clear out, would ya? Private party, so scram!"
Moments later the few patrons of The Three Broomsticks miserably made their way to the front door, many of them grumbling about not getting to finish their drinks. With a wave of her wand, Madam Rosmerta closed the door behind the last wizard, nearly catching his arse and coattails in the process.
"Now, where were we?" she said gaily as she continued to mix up a new concoction. "Ahh yes. We're going to get right pissed, now aren't we?" she grinned.
Harry and Hermione exchanged looks that seemed to say `What have we gotten ourselves into?' but they remained silent.
"I've got just the thing to do the trick. A Hippogriff Hammer," the barmaid declared, holding up another frosty glass, this one with a dark amber liquid.
"What's in that?" Harry eyed her curiously.
Madam Rosmerta snorted as if Harry had just asked her the stupidest question on earth. "Firewhisky, of course."
Hermione didn't much care as she'd just finished her Iced Pumpkin Schnapps, and held out her hand for the glass, quickly tossing it back and draining it.
"It's one of the twelve uses of dragon's blood, too." She smiled knowingly.
"What else?" Harry asked, watching out of the corner of his eye as Hermione finished the last drops of her drink, her eyes watering.
"Ew, I just drank dragon's blood?" she exclaimed.
Harry laughed. "Should've waited for the explanation, luv," he chided her.
Madam Rosmerta quickly mixed up another Hippogriff Hammer for Harry and sent it flying across the top of the bar. He bravely took a gulp, finding that he couldn't really discern the metallic taste of the dragon's blood from the overwhelming alcoholic potency. "On the bright side you get completely sloshed," she admitted, blending a third Hammer for herself.
"Well, I'd certainly hope so if I just drank blood!" exclaimed Hermione. "There'd better be something good about doing that."
Chuckling to herself, Madam Rosmerta continued her explanation. "It also has some nice aged single malt scotch and, of course, a touch of butterbeer to take the edge off."
"How does butterbeer take the edge off of dragon's blood?" Hermione screeched, making a grab for a nearby bottle of Voldie's Vodka to scour the taste from her mouth. As she slammed the bottle back onto the counter after taking a good, long swig, she burst into giggles at the label.
"Came out just after the big Ministry fight," Rosmerta acknowledged.
Hermione took another long pull from the bottle of Voldie's Vodka to effectively sanitize all traces of dragon's blood from her mouth. Harry just took another large gulp of his Hippogriff Hammer as Madam Rosmerta toasted him.
"Hey, if you can survive drinking Polyjuice potion that has boomslang skin and lacewing flies with essence of Millicent Bulstrode, you can handle some dragon's blood and butterbeer," admonished Harry as he patted his girlfriend on the back. Hermione was apparently discovering just how potent Voldie's Vodka was as her body was wracked with loud coughs.
Madam Rosmerta chose to ignore the mention of the restricted potion and continued to sip at her drink.
"I turned into a cat from that potion!" reminded Hermione as she took her third swig from the vodka bottle, ignoring the burning sensation it offered as it made its way down her throat.
Harry laughed. "But you were so cute as a cat, `Mione!" Hermione was not impressed with the reference. "You need to drink more," Harry exclaimed.
She glared, almost daring the bespectacled wizard to conjure up an image of her with pointy cat ears and a tail.
Harry's eyes flicked over her appreciatively as he did just that. "I think that outfit might be better left for the bedroom," whispered Harry smoothly as he planted a kiss on Hermione's neck.
SMACK!
Apparently Hermione was not impressed with that idea, either.
"Well, I think you need another Hippogriff Hammer, and then you can chase it with another shot of Voldie's Vodka to get rid of the blood," Harry suggested, rubbing at the red mark on his cheek.
"I will NOT have more dragon's blood!" Hermione exclaimed, her eyes flashing dangerous emerald fire at her boyfriend.
Harry chuckled as he drained his drink and took Rosmerta's latest proffered glass. "Bottom's up!" he winked at her as he slapped her bottom.
Hermione glared at him in outrage as she grasped at her bum, but that was the moment that the effects of the Hippogriff Hammer and the large amount of Voldie's Vodka began to take effect. Having started with Iced Pumpkin Schnapps hadn't helped her either, as her head was now beginning to feel extremely dizzy. She made a move to swat at Harry's arm in retaliation, but her coordination was becoming further off than she expected, and she lunged forward as her outstretched hand met with empty air.
Madam Rosmerta had finished her own Hippogriff Hammer in the wake of Hermione's attempted slap, and was now sliding shot glasses across the bar at both of them. "Liquid Fairy Dust," she proclaimed, downing her own shot before she started to sway. "Ever heard of the Muggle shot liquid cocaine?"
Harry nodded. It was something that Dudley had taken a liking to the past summer and would often come home reeking of Goldschlager and Jagermeister after a night out with his friends.
"Same concept, but it's one part Goldschlager, one part Old Ogden's French Kiss, and one part fairy. I'm not quite sure which part went into yours, really, it's just a fairy concentrate but y'know…"
Hermione nearly spat out the shot seconds after she'd downed it. "First you serve me dragon's blood and now you're serving me liquid fairy concentrate? What the sodding hell kind of establishment is this?"
"The best kind," Harry winked at her, downing his own shot.
Before Hermione could go off on a tangent about fairy rights and how they shouldn't be juiced for wizarding beverages, Madam Rosmerta calmed her down.
"Relax, Hermione, have another swig of that vodka you seem to love so much. It's not like anyone crushes up the fairies or milks them or anything, I was joking about which part you got. It's fairy tears. Pretty damned high priced item too, if I say so myself, but nothing but the best for Harry and his girl." She explained, mixing a large batch of a bright red drink and straining it through an indiscernible piece of fabric.
"Whuzzatone?" Hermione slurred, feeling effectively sloshed. She was about to refuse the glass that Madam Rosmerta slid to her, but Harry clinked glasses with her and started to drink. Shrugging her shoulders and muttering something to herself about `If you can't beat them, join them,' Hermione took a tentative sip.
"The Red-Headed Slag." Madam Rosmerta said proudly, clinking her glass with theirs and taking a large swig as she proudly displayed the fabric she'd strained the drink through.
Harry's blurry vision focused just enough for him to make out the scrap of fabric Madam Rosmerta was holding.
"Are those…knickers?" he asked, nearly choking on his drink.
A girlish giggle escaped Madam Rosmerta's lips as she nodded. "Don't worry, Harry, they're brand new. I'm not like Aberforth over at the Hog's Head, who's daft enough to use an actual slag's knickers to strain the stuff though. If it'll make you feel any better pretend it's like straining something through cheesecloth when you're cooking."
Harry's experience in the kitchen and his inebriated state led to his brain's conclusion that this explanation made perfect sense.
As Hermione finished her drink and slammed the glass back down to the bar, she declared in a bit of a slur, "That's the one. That's Ginny. The Red-Headed Slag."
Madam Rosmerta's eyes went wide at Hermione's proclamation of Ginny's promiscuity, but her wandering thoughts were cut off by Harry's words.
"Right, this one'll muck up the spell," Harry agreed, finishing his own drink. "Can we get a recipe for this one?" asked Harry politely, grasping the edge of the bar to steady himself.
In messy handwriting Madam Rosmerta scribbled down the recipe. One ounce each of Firewhisky, peach schnapps, and raspberry liqueur, with a topper of Voldie's Vodka. Harry was amused at the last ingredient and found it greatly ironic, but Hermione racing for the bathroom quickly disturbed his thoughts.
He rushed after her, tripping over a few chairs and knocking some tables down in the process, but he arrived just in time to hold her hair back for her as she vomited into the bathroom sink. She hadn't even had time to kneel in front of the loo.
A few coughs and splutters later, Hermione said, "I guess dragon's blood doesn't agree with me."
Harry chuckled. "I guess not."
A few mild sobering charms and a long walk later, the young couple had left a relatively sloshed Madam Rosmerta after locking the door of The Three Broomsticks and found themselves in Gryffindor tower. They were still stumbling as they entered the portrait hole to the Heads suite, ignoring the amused chuckle of Ogden McGillicuddy as he recognized their inebriated state for what it was.
Though Harry and Hermione's magic was usually spot on, it helped if the person performing the sobering charm was, in fact, sober. Their terrible coordination and slurred speech thanks to the immense amounts of alcohol they had consumed had led to slightly off spells, and the results led to their still being relatively drunk, but sober enough to walk home without falling into any ditches or the likes.
As they collapsed together on the sofa of their common room, Headmistress McGonagall entered the suite.
"I trust you found what you were looking for?" she asked gently, placing two bright blue bottles on the table with a note.
Harry nodded as Hermione's eyes drifted shut. "Red…headed slag," he managed to get out before passing out.
McGonagall chuckled to herself, remembering when she had been their age and the antics she had gotten up to. Without another word she exited the portrait hole and hoped that they wouldn't be too hung over the next morning to overlook the potions she had left behind for them.
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