1: When All Seems To Be Going Right

Disclaimer: Kids, we're going to break it to you gently: We never owned it. We never will. They would never in a million years be this naughty or have this much fun in canon. And we can prove we don't make any money... from this or anything else.

WARNING: This is potentially funny. Eat or drink while reading it at your own risk.

Authors' Notes: Feel free to amuse yourself further by guessing who wrote which sections. (Answers are at the end of this chapter.)

Chapter 1: When All Seems To Be Going Right

---

The Great Hall was abuzz with preparations for an impromptu party; in the infirmary, not a creature was stirring save Madam Pomfrey. And if only she could get enough potions into her charges, she could be stirring elsewhere.

"There. Drink this down, dear, you'll feel much better." Poppy Pomfrey was bustling from patient to patient, administering a sleeping draught and always repeating the same words, while thinking, and you'll sleep till dawn so I can finally get out of here!

Poppy Pomfrey wasn't normally one to desert her post like she was about to. But all her charges were cared for and either down at the party or would be unconscious in a few minutes courtesy of a sleeping draught, including those infernal Weasley twins of course. They would be all out cold and should stay that way for the rest of the night.

To tell the truth, with all this fighting and Death Eaters everywhere, all she wanted right now was a drink. Nothing too strong, mind, for she was technically still on duty. A sherry perhaps. Or two.

At least that You-Know-Who business is now over and done with. Honestly. What is the youth coming to these days?

She could still remember young Tom Riddle back when she was nothing more than an Apprentice Matron with old Matron Teafeather, who had been quite the shrew. Riddle had always been so very charming...

But, of course, full of evil and up to no good during his whole time at Hogwarts. Like the Weasley twins. Little demons, all of them. Children, pah! she thought while patting Fred encouragingly on the head, smiling beatifically.

She turned away to her next patient and therefore didn't notice Fred spitting out his mouthful of potion with a disgusted expression on his face. All of her patients had done so as soon as her back had been turned, having other plans for the night than simply sleeping.

"Yuck!" Fred whispered, trying to be as quiet as possible.

She turned to her next patient after giving the twins a stern look. Those two. Always up to no good. Thank heavens I don't have to deal with them on a daily basis anymore!

Then there was Hooch to consider, who had given her quite a meaningful look before the Quidditch instructor had left her to tidy up the hospital wing and tend to her patients.

Now there is a fine piece of... Poppy blushed faintly at the thought while stoppering the vial of sleeping draught, all her patients taken care of for now. And this behaviour at my age!

Looking around the ward one last time, it seemed all her patients were already asleep. Now was the time to leave. So it was settled. She would go over to the Three Broomsticks for a drink and would come right back. No dallying about. Really.

As she tiptoed to the door of the hospital wing, she was followed by a dozen pairs of eyes, which were fixed on her form until the door closed itself quietly behind her.

So Poppy Pomfrey snuck out of the hospital wing, and subsequently out of the castle, with a skill to make even the Weasley twins proud, and headed to Hogsmeade.

In the hospital wing, several forms sat up and threw their covers to the floor.

---

Harry wondered if hindering students from snogging (and more) came naturally to Hogwarts' professors, or if it was something they were trained to prevent. He strongly suspected he wasn't the only one who would rather be looking for a spot of privacy right now instead of having a party, especially since he never had gotten the hang of dancing. But McGonagall had steered him towards the Great Hall...and away from Ginny, who had wanted to see Fred and George up to the infirmary. While Harry waited for her to return from tucking her brothers in, he debated taking bets as to how long the twins would actually stay in the infirmary. Neither he nor Ginny believed they were as hurt as they had pretended to be.

It took a special sort of person...or pair of people...to guess at the password, 'I solemnly swear that I'm up to no good.'

"Potter, a moment... if it fits into your busy schedule, that is?"

With considerable effort, Harry restrained a sigh. As good as it had been to have Malfoy and his oversized shadows on their side rather than with the opposition, he still didn't exactly find them charming company. Even when Malfoy wasn't saying something specifically nasty, he seemed about as able to refrain from speaking in an obnoxiously snide tone as a skrewt was able to refrain from emitting noxious, incendiary vapours.

Harry was aware of the expression, 'Into each life a little rain must fall;' but as far as he was concerned, the forecast called for it to be pissing down Malfoy, Crabbe, and Goyle inordinately often.

That made it a bit of a surprise when he turned to find Malfoy quite alone, with only his longer-than-usual hair to hide behind. There was an odd sort of tension about him, as if he felt like he needed to be ready to run at any moment.

Probably nervous, going it alone while his bodyguards stuff their faces.

"I think I'm free for now...but if you want a duel, you'll have to look elsewhere." Harry couldn't imagine for a moment where that sarcastic remark had come from. Well, he wasn't surprised at the sarcasm, but why was duelling the first thing that came to mind?

"I do owe you one, don't I? I think, though, since I didn't make the original offer in good faith, honour might be better satisfied if I withdraw it." He hesitated before adding in a quiet, strained voice, "Sorry."

It would only make his head ache to attempt to figure out why Malfoy was apologising for that particular incident. After all, he'd amassed a thousand or so other things to apologise for between the day they met and the trauma on the Astronomy Tower...though admittedly, nothing worse than the odd snarky comment over the past two years. So Harry refrained from analysing it and decided to accept the apology with as much grace as he was able.

"Okay, sure. I'd just as soon not have to duel anyone again. Besides," he said, fighting down the awkwardness that seemed to take over every time he opened his mouth, "I think I owe you a handshake." There. That was something he could deal with by simple, straightforward action rather than by tripping over his own tongue.

For a slightly tense moment, he wasn't sure Malfoy would take his hand. It was impossible to tell what the other was thinking, hidden as his face was behind an icy blond curtain. Hesitantly, Malfoy's hand slipped forward, strikingly evoking the image of a white snake gliding along the ground with its leaf-shaped head slightly elevated. Harry was almost tempted to say something in Parseltongue, but he managed to take the collection of delicate fingers and knife-thin tendons coated in blue-veined white flesh into his own solid, squarish hand without flinching or saying anything foolish.

For a handful of seconds that felt like forever, Harry wondered why Malfoy seemed to be trembling, his pale skin turning slightly pinkish where they were touching, as if Harry were rubbing off colour on him. By the time Malfoy slipped his hand free, brushing their fingers past each other and uttering a shaky, "Thank you," then fleeing as if a flock of Hippogriffs was after him, Harry was as confused as all hell.

"Harry!" Hermione's voice indicated that she was preparing to launch into lecture mode. At least that much was back to normal. "I hope you were being civil to him. I know Malfoy is still mostly a pillock, but he really has done everything possible to redeem himself over the past two years. And you promised to set the past aside."

"Hermione, I know what he's done and what I've done over the past two years," Harry said, exasperated. No wonder Ron and Hermione lasted all of one month. At times he must have felt like he was dating his own mother! That was a shudder-worthy thought. "We were actually apologising for some of the stuff before that."

"Oh..."

Harry decided all his confusion was worthwhile just to see Hermione so at a loss for words.

"Well... Good! Oh, I think Headmistress McGonagall is calling me. Have fun, try to stay out of trouble!" she babbled before scurrying off in response to McGonagall's beckoning.

Hermione's absence cleared the way for a gaggle of giggling sixth-year girls, emboldened by their recent experiences in battle (and the fact that they were all of age due to the one year the school had been closed) to advance on him en masse. Fortunately, it didn't come to either duelling or an ignominious retreat on his part; they skittered off upon seeing Ginny approach with a fierce look in her eyes.

Weird... they ran off in almost the same way Malfoy did.

He didn't have time to ponder the implications of that as Ginny pulled something from behind her back...a bowl, piled high with...

"Is that what I think it is?" Harry couldn't keep the glee from his voice.

"Chocolate Snitch ice cream," Ginny said, smiling. "And two spoons."

He kissed her impulsively, neither of them mindful of the bowl of ice cream between them until a spot of cold wetness soaked through each of their shirts.

"Oops," Harry said, sheepishly fishing for his wand to take care of the mess.

"Never mind that...let's get some punch before we eat this. I'm thirsty, and it won't taste right after the chocolate." He followed her willingly, thinking that chocolate would do until they could find some time to be alone.

---

Minerva McGonagall wished, for approximately the two hundred and ten thousandth time in two years (not that she was keeping count, mind), that Albus was still alive and Headmaster.

She missed his sense of humour, as odd as it had been. She missed his wisdom, though his judgement hadn't always been perfect. She even missed his damned sweets (although only in a detached, nostalgic sort of way). But what she missed the most was the fact that the only way to get the man out of a party...no matter how raucous and immature the party...was by ending it. It had meant that she never had to feel bad about taking a nice, long, leisurely break from the combined din of adolescent revelry and angst, and from the wafting clouds of pubescent pheromones. She couldn't even take perverse pleasure in guarding the punch bowl against spiking, as...

"Severus!" she gasped softly to herself. "I'm so sorry...I forgot ye for a moment, lad." Minerva glanced about the room. There appeared to be a full complement of professors on duty in the Great Hall. In particular, she noted that Pomona was in the vicinity of the punch bowl, and Filius was arranging Charmed musical instruments and several responsible ghosts to supervise them. Everything was perfectly under control...no reason why she couldn't look for him.

Still, there were precautions she should take. "Miss Granger! Mr. MacMillan! A moment, if you please." She issued a few crisp orders to her dutiful Head Boy and Girl before setting off for the dungeons.

Fortunately, Severus was in the second place she looked for him...locked in his office. Unfortunately, a great deal of knocking, yelling, unlocking spells, direct orders and assorted threats later (Minerva knew better than to bring up sacking...it would have had quite the reverse of the intended effect), he was still in his office.

"Please come out, Severus. I'm not asking you to join the foolishness upstairs, I just want to talk to you. Face to face," she amended hastily.

Severus' voice sounded strained. "Can't you leave a bastard to drown in peace, Minerva?"

She sighed. Bloody melodramatic Slytherins. She decided to take a different tack. "At least tell me you're not drinking cheap Firewhisky. That isn't death by drowning, it's slow torture of the taste buds."

A muffled glugging sound and a distinct 'thunk' of glass on wood was the only reply.

"Will you step out for a moment if I offer you a bottle of the decent stuff? If you're going to be drunk, at least do it correctly, lad."

"Prove it's the genuine article."

"I'll take that as a 'yes,'" Minerva said and set off briskly for the nearest exit. The last thing she wanted to deal with were a bunch of house-elves trying to jam their hands in doors in case there was nothing of the sort to be found in the castle. If Severus was going to be difficult...so be it. She would march right into Hogsmeade and get a bottle of whatever Rosmerta's finest happened to be.

And if that didn't convince him to come out willingly, she'd blast the door down. By the time she got back, he should be too drunk to put up a fight.

---

Sparkling fairy lights, fairly loud music, people in constant motion...perfect conditions for two Disillusioned master pranksters to sneak up to the unguarded punchbowl and make their contribution completely unnoticed.

George was certain this was one of their most brilliant inventions, not only in design but in execution. Anyone who could earn an OWL in Potions might eventually have been able to modify a Calming Draught into a potion that actually reduced shyness. It took an actual genius to turn the resulting potion into an almost flavourless, colourless suspension that would linger in the bottom of the punchbowl, slowly releasing a steady dose of the miracle elixir into the target potable all night long.

Still, he had one small misgiving. "I don't know about this, Fred. I think we should have held off until after Harry and Ginny had their share. There's no telling what might happen."

"Yeah, you're right...maybe he'll loosen up enough to actually dance with her. Come on, brother, we had to do it while McGonagall was gone. Do you really think the bowl will be so vulnerable at any other time tonight?"

George had to admit that his twin had a point...though he wasn't going to do so with unreserved enthusiasm. Ginny loved to dance, and unless Luna happened to let go of Neville for more than two minutes at a time, she would end up sitting everything out with Harry yet again.

"All right, point taken. But let's keep an eye on them while we wait for the professors to take their doses."

"You watch them, I'll watch the bowl. We should at least wait until McGonagall, Sprout, and Flitwick have had some of the potion before we reveal ourselves and give our fellow escapees from the infirmary the 'all clear' signal."

"You do realise, brother of mine, that we're the best examples in the universe of the idea that two heads are better than one."

"Definitely."

---

Thud.

Thud.

"Rolanda?"

Thud.

"What's wrong?"

Thud. Thud.

"Do you really want to know?"

"No, I'm just pretending so you'll stop abusing that table."

Silence.

"For heaven's sake, Hooch, sarcasm? Ever heard of it? I wouldn't have asked if I didn't want to know!"

Hooch sighed, head still resting on the table.

"It's Poppy. She's driving me insane."

"Why? Does she want to poke you with something?" If that was the case, Sprout could commiserate. She hated needles. What were potions for after all? Sadistic Muggles and their infernal inventions.

Hooch looked up at her and eyed Pomona strangely.

"No, she doesn't. But I want to poke her, if you know what I mean."

What the hell is she on about? Why would anyone want to... Wait, Hooch wants to poke.... Poke. OH!

Sprout did her best to hide her blanch. Well, she certainly hadn't seen that coming! She'd never have suspected either Hooch or Poppy of being lesbians. Not that there was anything wrong with it.

"Well," was all that Sprout got out at first, then added with an exaggerated smile, "Then what's the problem?"

Rolanda looked at her as if she was not quite right in the head.

Hmph. I'm only trying to help.

"I don't know if she likes me back, of course," Hooch lamented miserably, head banging against the tabletop again. "She probably hardly knows I'm alive."

Thud. Thud.

"Well."

She definitely needed to work on her eloquence. This wouldn't do at all. With an internal rolling of her eyes at herself, she edged closer to the distressed Flying instructor and patted Hooch awkwardly on the back. Hooch responded by hugging Sprout...tightly.

Hooch either didn't notice or ignored the way the Herbology teacher tensed up before patting her awkwardly on the back again. Oh, dear, I hope she is not 'coming on' to me now as a replacement! Sprout thought, panicking.

When Hooch finally released her, Pomona immediately put some distance between them, smiling nervously. What to do? Maybe inventing a crush of my own will help?

"Don't worry, I'm sure she likes you. And if not, you shouldn't fret too much. You're not the only one with unreciprocated feelings."

At Hooch's interested look, she elaborated quickly, "Well, not anyone here at the castle. He works in Hogsmeade, you see," she explained, but felt that her putting so much emphasis on the 'he' had been too obvious.

"Really? Oh, spill, who is it? I told you who I like, now it's your turn."

This was getting too adolescent for her taste, but Pomona had to admit she couldn't get out of this gracefully. She had to invent someone and quickly. Just not...

"Aberforth, actually." Sprout cringed even as the words slipped out of her mouth.

Oh, no! What have I done? Am I absolutely crazy?! Why, oh, why did she have to confess the all too real crush of hers? And it is just a crush, mind. It's bound to go away sometime. Just because it hasn't gone away in the past three years doesn't mean anything.

Hooch looked at her strangely again, and no wonder. Who wanted to be in love with someone famous for a fixation with goats? She certainly didn't! Not that her feelings ever listened to her mind.

"Aberforth! Well, I never..." Hooch started to say, completely surprised, voice unusually deep for once. "And I thought I had a problem."

"Well, thank you so much, Rolanda. Now I'm feeling much better," Sprout replied, sarcasm fairly dripping. But she was also slightly hurt. She had taken the whole lesbian thing rather well, she thought, and Hooch had made fun of her.

"No, I didn't mean it that way. I meant here I was fretting about Poppy, and I see her every day. But you only see him on weekends, don't you?"

"Not really. I try to avoid him as much as possible."

"Why?" Hooch asked, genuinely confused.

"Do I have to mention the goats? That's enough of a reason for me to avoid him. Honestly, goats! Why couldn't it have been a nice flesh-eating monkey tree? That would be understandable at least. They can be very prickly, but if they are treated right, they can be devilishly charming!" Sprout was babbling, and she knew it, but stopping had been out of the question.

Now it was Hooch's turn to pat the woman's back. "There, there, goats aren't that bad. It could have been a Flobberworm. Now that would be a problem. Imagine that thing in your bed?"

Sprout gaped at Hooch. "I don't do bestiality, Rolanda! That's the main problem! Not which species! Are you out of your mind?!"

"Well, I don't think it's that bad. If you're not in the mood, he could just visit his goat. A definite plus if you ask me," Rolanda remarked thoughtfully.

Sprout couldn't manage to close her mouth. Rolanda couldn't actually be serious about this?

"Besides, I don't think the rumours about those goats are really true. If you remember, they are quite vague; more like he was experimenting on them with spells or potions or something, rather than actually having sex with them."

"Well..." Hooch had a point. What if she had misjudged him because of a simple rumour? Pomona felt very guilty all of a sudden, but also a twinge of hope resurfaced from where she had kept it hidden all these years. Since he had first helped her out with acquiring some Clabberts for her flesh-eating monkey tree, she'd been completely enamoured with him.

"Maybe you're right, Rolanda." Change the subject, Pomona, change the subject...

"You know, come to think of it... Poppy is always talking with you about this or that after all, and she's always sitting beside you during meals... and always cheering you on at Quidditch games," Sprout finished, palming her face in dismay at the realisation of what had been going on directly in front of her. It had been all so obvious, and she had spilled her guts... unnecessarily. Great.

"So you can be sure she doesn't hate you. She probably even likes you back by the looks of it."

Hooch's head whipped up and looked at Sprout hopefully. "Really? Do you think so?"

Pomona nodded with a slightly bemused smile on her lips.

"You know, we could go to Hogsmeade to see if he's there," Hooch replied much too nonchalantly, studying her smooth fingernails. "Then you could ask him yourself. And we could have that drink we'd been talking about earlier. There are more than enough teachers left to deal with the party. It's about time we did something about these crushes of ours, don't you think?"

"What about Poppy? She's bound to stay here with her patients."

Hooch blushed delicately, which looked very strange on the robust Flying Instructor. "Uh, I checked the infirmary already. She's gone. To Hogsmeade, probably. So, what do you say?"

Sprout blushed as well at the thought of seeing Aberforth again and maybe finally doing something about her long-buried feelings for the long-bearded man. She didn't even notice that she sighed wistfully at the thought.

"All right."

Hooch smiled conspiratorially and said, "Follow me."

And so Hooch and Sprout set out for Hogsmeade on a mission for love.

---

It was a merry bunch that clustered around in a semicircle, giggling as they passed around a couple of bottles of butterbeer. Jenkins, a sixth year Ravenclaw, shook a bowl with some folded squares of parchment and held it out. "Your turn now, Micklethwaite." A rather skinny boy with an unfortunate haircut stood up and grabbed a slip, read it, then started to make odd gestures to the others.

"Okay, so it's one word with... two syllables"

"It's a Magical Creature? Big or Little?"

After the standard signs to set up the rest of the charade, Micklethwaite stood for a moment with a blank look on his face (it was a face suited to such looks) before launching into a series of frenetic gestures. After waving his hands at his audience with both two and one finger salutes, he went on to bend over and wiggle his bum as he looked over his shoulder and winked suggestively.

The others all looked puzzled, although the suddenly shouted guess of 'Firenze!' after this last raised an eyebrow or two. The strange gesticulations continued with things like loosely curled fingers shaken with a rapid wrist movement, a forceful pelvic thrusting and a fist raised sharply with a bent elbow, the opposite hand holding the bicep. Whilst the gestures had raised a few laughs, no one seemed to have any idea what animal the boy was trying to mime.

Micklethwaite paused for a moment, then started to make slinky body movements, sashaying up and down in front of the bench. He smoothed his hands back over his hair and then made movements over his nose and chin to indicate a pointiness. From in the huddle came a small cry, "Veela?" A girl shot up, waving her hand. "I know, I know! Draco Malfoy!"

There was a peal of laughter, then someone else called out. "That's four syllables. Besides, Malfoy isn't a Magical Creature."

"Oh, I don't know," someone else drawled. "Although perhaps Divine is a better description?"

After the giggles and 'ewwws' died down, Jenkins stood up. "As we haven't a clue, I think it's time to invoke the 'Hufflepuff Ordinance'." He turned to Micklethwaite. "You can now add an audible clue to the charade, so long as you don't directly tell us...something like a snatch of song that reminds you of the animal, or the mating call or something." He sat down again as Micklethwaite's face scrunched up in thought.

"Bum, boobs, knickers, twat." His audience sniggered, and he grew more adventurous. "Arse, tits, merde, prick, shit." As the giggles grew, the audience still seemed none the wiser, so he continued. "Wanker, fuck, *$@#~+*."

A boy called out, "That last one was Gobbledygook, is it goblin?" which gave rise to the expected comeback.

When the laughter began to die down, a girl called Veronica had a flash of inspiration. "Jarvey! Is it a Jarvey?" It was with great relief that the now red-faced Micklethwaite indicated the correct guess, and he was passed a bottle as he took Veronica's place on the bench.

---

Professor Flitwick's desertion wasn't planned. At least not at first. He'd simply wanted to make a quick trip to the loo. On his own. Away from this racket. And away from the dares!

Why didn't students get any more imaginative with the passage of decades?

Always the same. First they get a little lively. Then the punch is spiked. Next some couples decide to test out various corners, niches, and the solidity of various surfaces, while the ones without a partner start the games. When they get bored with that, the dares start. Usually something silly like impersonating teachers or stealing someone's knickers. Honestly.

No one ever fancies a nice card game anymore.

So he fled to the loo at first.

Due to his diminutive size, it was quite easy for Filius Flitwick to sneak out of the Great Hall.

Passing through the doors of the Great Hall and around the corner, Flitwick ducked into an unoccupied alcove, waiting. When no one came looking for him after a few moments, he heaved a sigh of relief and scurried quickly down the hallway and up a flight of stairs in the direction of the staff bathrooms.

Once inside the men's bathroom, Flitwick sighed in relief and went to the wall opposite the sinks. He took care of business the usual way, with a little stool, taking care not to step on the tentacles of the...

Well.

It was a little-known fact that up until 1866, Hogwarts had no toilets. Only then were some installed because a few teachers had protested against the waste of lesson time it always took for one of the students to wander out to the Forbidden Forest to relieve themselves.

Not to mention the frequent accidents.

But although it was a very useful invention, they were only installed amid loud protests from upset parents and teachers alike, complaining about one thing or another. Flitwick couldn't imagine why.

It's such an advancement, not to mention a very practical inven...

Flitwick sighed, then yelped and swatted away one of the tentacles.

So as a sort of compromise, only the student lavatories had been remodelled; all private quarters and the staff bathrooms had been left as they were and kept on the Wurly Worms.

Although it was surely a fascinating creature, it was no wonder no one (save Hagrid) ever wanted to study Wurly Worms.

While they were highly effective and lived to a high age (no one really knew for sure, but a hundred to three hundred years was the best guess so far), their function wasn't exactly an appropriate conversation topic.

Not to mention the fact that those tentacles have a habit of grasping things they shouldn't!

And they smelled unnaturally of honeysuckle.

So when Flitwick freed himself from the tentacles' grasp, he'd really had enough of all this racket.

He was ready to call it a night. Let some of the others run after those unruly children for once! He would go and get himself one of those nice colourful drinks with an umbrella and relax. After this whole war business, he'd deserved it. And all of the other teachers were still in the Great Hall.

He snuck out of the staff bathroom and down one of the staircases far away from the Great Hall. Then he edged around a corner, looking left then right before he left through a side entrance heading to Hogsmeade.

---

"Luna, what are you doing?" Neville asked as Luna Lovegood took his hand in a remarkably strong grip, considering her willowy dimensions.

"I'm taking you to the punchbowl so you can get me something to drink," she answered in the same gentle, matter-of-fact voice she used to explain that Ron was saying unkind things. "I'm not terribly thirsty, but I thought we should get it out of the way so that you could ask me to dance. If that's all right with you."

Neville allowed himself to be dragged to the punchbowl, thinking that life would be much easier if all girls were as direct as Luna.

---

At last it was over. After almost two decades the war against Voldemort and his Death Eaters was over.

Remus didn't really know whether to laugh or cry. It was certainly a time to rejoice, but so many had lost their lives in the process. All of his best friends, Dumbledore, Hagrid and many others.

But he knew that the survivors deserved a night of celebration, Harry and his two best friends most of all.

Harry... James and Lily would have been so proud of him, Lupin thought as he was looking at him now. Sirius, Dumbledore and Hagrid, too. And they should be.

He had exceeded their wildest expectations in fulfilling that deadly prophecy in such a unique manner. It had bothered Remus more than just a little to think that Harry, a nice and still fairly innocent boy, or rather man, would actually have to kill Voldemort. But he needn't have worried, it seemed. Harry found a way to defeat Voldemort without actually committing murder, thus sparing himself the agony and responsibility for the villain's death.

All of us have done more than enough to bring the end of this war about, so let them have their night of harmless fun, Remus thought, smiling indulgently at the crowd of students celebrating loudly, with his back to the punch bowl. The cleanup and the trials of Voldemort's followers will have to begin soon enough. They can forget responsibility for one night.

The thought of forgetting responsibilities called to mind Nymphadora, and how they could celebrate later on. His smile broadened. Nymphadora.

He had been so stupid to try to resist her. She was a force of nature, one who brightened his oftimes lonely existence. He couldn't imagine living without her anymore.

He watched some students passing, laughing loudly with glasses of punch in their hands. He hadn't had any yet. Punch was normally not to his taste. He much rather favoured a good elf-made wine. Madam Rosmerta usually had the best for miles. But he had to chaperone of course, and at the rate this was going, the party would continue till dawn.

Usually he only splurged on elf-made wine on very special occasions. But if winning the war against Voldemort didn't count, then what did?

He sighed. That elf-made wine sounded really good for celebrating later with Nymphadora... in his quarters... preferably in his bed.

For a split second a scowl over-shadowed his face at the thought of being trapped with hormonal adolescents all night long without being able to celebrate properly with his girlfriend.

But it vanished as soon as the thought appeared. They had a right to party. He just wished he could as well, and wouldn't be stuck here to make sure they didn't do things they shouldn't.

Still, they were all legally adults and obviously capable of taking care of themselves. They even seemed to be getting along rather well at the moment.

What would be the harm in a quick trip to Hogsmeade? He would be right back after getting some of that elf-made wine. And all the other teachers were there after all. It wasn't like anyone would miss him if he left for a bit.

He could see at least... well, there was Ernie and Hermione, this year's Head Boy and Girl. And the other teachers had to be around somewhere. Ah, wasn't that Filius he heard? Then the others wouldn't be far away either. They were very responsible and took chaperoning duties very seriously indeed. Snape and Trelawney had to be around here somewhere as well, and Filch was always patrolling the corridors. So there would be really no harm in leaving for a bit. And he'd be right back.

With his conscience admitting defeat, he crept out of the Great Hall and out of the castle to make sure the preparations for Nymphadora's and his private party later would be taken care of.

---

After Ron accompanied Fred and George to the infirmary and made sure they were more or less all right, he made his way down to Slughorn's former quarters. He was tempted to stop in the Great Hall first, to see if anyone would take the bet that his brothers would escape the infirmary in less than an hour. But Ron had a mission; besides it was a safe bet anyway.

Until they arrive, the party in the Great Hall could use some livening up, he thought with a smirk.

Which was why he was now up to his elbows in the private stores that the former Potions professor had left behind in his hurry to flee. They hadn't been cleared out yet for some reason.

What treasures!

Crystallised pineapple (now gone), the finest firewhiskey fudge (he hiccupped), a large selection of Honeyduke's finest, some delicious-looking but curious-smelling fruitcake and some dried Billywig wings which were supposed to be a rare delicacy, but the smell of which made his stomach churn, although that could have been the Fizzing Whizbees earlier, and the alcohol, of course.

Wines, meads, Firewhisky, icevodka, some minty liquor that had him breathing mint leaves, as well as various other potent beverages. All of them very delicious, he thought with a smack of his lips as he licked the remnants of the alcohol off.

Ron didn't know much about alcohol even though he was already nineteen, thanks to his mother, but here was a stunning array of some of the best stuff he'd ever drunk, which admittedly didn't prove much.

"Now what to use to spike the punch?" he muttered thoughtfully under his breath, surveying the treasures. He was so deep in thought about this weighty issue that he didn't hear the approaching footsteps until it was almost too late.

He started and whipped his head around in a panic, almost hitting his head on the open cupboard door and decided to just pick one... hm, why not two? Or perhaps three? random bottles and the sack of Honeyduke's finest before scuttling over to the door.

Just as he had managed to flatten himself and his loot against the wall beside the door, it opened. It only barely avoided hitting him squarely in the face as it revealed Nymphadora Tonks walking determinedly toward the cupboard he'd fortunately flicked closed with an unencumbered finger as he fled.

He shook his head in combined disbelief and dismay that someone else had the same idea as him; and that it was Tonks, of all people! It had been such a good idea, too.

Ron shook that thought off quickly and, edging around the door as quietly as possible with his heavy load, he escaped with Tonks none the wiser.

---

While Remus was still busy convincing his guilty conscience into leaving for the Three Broomsticks, Tonks had done some exploring on her way down from the infirmary and had found Slughorn's special stash in his quarters.

She hadn't been looking for it. Uh-uh, not her.

He must've been in quite a hurry when he left, Tonks mused as she surveyed the cupboard full of sweets, rare delicacies and some very fine wines and meads from all over the world. Of excellent vintages, she noticed to her delight. She couldn't imagine the teacher who was best known for indulging in creature comforts abandoning his treasures otherwise.

It's not as if he's going to miss them... she thought, looking at the bottles greedily. After all this hubbub, he won't ever set foot in the castle again. Thus she saw no harm in taking one of the mead bottles out of the cupboard while partaking of some really excellent firewhiskey fudge.

"Mmh..."

While not the bravest of souls, Slughorn had some really good taste.

Her mission accomplished, she made her way in the direction of the Great Hall, sampling some of that excellent mead on the way. By the sounds of it there was already quite a party going on.

She loved parties. It was a shame that throughout the war most of her friends hadn't been in the mood to celebrate. Not very logical in her opinion... when would they need their spirits lifted more? Only the Weasley twins seemed to agree with her on that.

Oh, well. But now that it's all over, we're all free to enjoy ourselves a little again. Splendid! Mmh, that mead is really tasty, you gotta hand old Sluggy that.

With that thought in mind, she only just managed to round a corner. But instead of entering the Great Hall, she found herself in a dark tunnel.

Intrigued and more than a little tipsy, she had already forgotten what she had been about to do. She decided to follow said tunnel instead. Could be great fun!

---

Ginny thought it was funny, in a way, that she felt so flattered and excited that Harry was escorting her to the punch bowl and filling her cup for her. They'd spent nearly a year on the run once he'd broken down and let her help with the Horcrux hunt, been in several battles together, and shagged at least twice (though Harry probably still thought it had been three times; she wasn't about to disappoint him by confessing they hadn't, um, interlocked completely during one of the attempts). Still, walking across the room together...unmistakably together...in front of all those eyes was actually sort of thrilling. Hmm, the punch was quite good tonight. Not overly sweet, and with a nice sort of tingly aftertaste to it.

"Come on, let's sit down. I want to get to the ice cream before it starts melting and the chocolate snitches fly away." Ginny was surprised at where, exactly, he meant for them to sit.

"Why are we at the High Table?" Granted, he'd chosen a spot at the end, but still...normally, Harry didn't like to be so conspicuous.

"Why not? I have the right to show off the fact that I'm with the prettiest witch in the entire castle, if not the world," he said, grinning at her through punch-stained lips.

"Who are you, and what have you done with Harry?" she asked, only partly feigning shock. He just laughed and fed her a spoonful of ice cream.

"Let me find one of the snitches for you," he offered, picking around in the creamy pile with his spoon...only to have his search interrupted by Ginny handing him his cup.

"We should finish this first...don't want it to taste off, remember?"

"Right." They clinked their cups together and downed the rest, the liquid going down warm.

She scarcely gave him time to set the cup down before she pushed a scoop of ice cream, a partially free chocolate snitch waving one buzzing wing above the creaminess, into his mouth. It left a smudge on his lips, which she wiped with her finger. Impulsively, she sucked the chocolate from the digit in question, wondering at her own boldness and delighted at the way he watched her as she did it. "I think it tastes better on you," she breathed.

"That bears investigating." He fed her some more, then carefully licked the real or imagined drips from around her mouth.

About halfway through the bowl, the goal seemed to be to get as much chocolate as possible on each other's faces so as to have an excuse to nibble it off. "Are you cold?" she asked, noticing him shiver.

"Maybe a bit. But I'm sure you could warm me up," he said, curling his arm around her waist.

Ginny settled herself into his lap, past caring why Harry was acting this way and noticing that, far from being cold, he was quite deliciously warm. Even hot. "Who are you, and what have you done with Harry?" she asked again, purring in his ear. "Not that I'm complaining, mind."

They separated just long enough for her to slip another spoonful of dripping chocolate into his mouth. Then they sealed their lips together and caught the fluttering, melting snitch between their tongues.

Which made it seem all the more appropriate that everyone in the Hall who witnessed it was cheering.

---

Authors' Notes:

The charades scene is courtesy of DawnEB.

The scenes with Poppy, Filius, Remus, Tonks, Ron, Hooch, and Sprout are all courtesy of shalimar1981.

The remaining scenes...student follies, Minerva's mission, and the spiking of the punch...are courtesy of dracontia.

Thanks to lux_astraea and ladyinthecloak for Britpicking!