7: When It’s Safe To Assume No One Would Recognize Wrong if it Bit Them in the Arse

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Chapter 7: When It's Safe To Assume No One Would Recognize Wrong if it Bit Them in the Arse

---

Back in the greenhouse, Neville and Luna were laid out on the potting table, snogging the living daylights out of each other. Neville had no trouble finding his Gryffindor courage (or adolescent randiness) and his hands where wandering over Luna's breasts, albeit on top of her jumper. His hair was a mess and hers was no better, their clothes rumpled and their shoes discarded. The Daffodils launched into a smooth jazz chorus...if it had been a phonograph album, the track could have been titled, 'Music to Shag By.'

Luna suddenly sat upright with a gasp.

"What's wrong? Did I do something wrong?" Neville asked, sitting up beside her.

"No, I just saw a Nargle! It's in my hair." She reached up to touch her hair. "Can you see it? It's really small and a bit like an insect." She was talking fast, not at all like her usual dreamy pace. "Please find it! They're quite dangerous sometimes...especially when they attack as a group."

At the word 'attack' Neville shook of the haze of lust clouding his brain and started looking with more deliberation. He moved so he could see better and pulled aside her hair. "Hang on... I think I can get it...." Whatever it was, it was moving fast, and looked a little like a small insect of some sort.

"Aaah! I can feel it," she said with a squeak. "Hurry, Neville!"

"Got it!" Neville clamped his hands carefully around the insect-like creature.

"Oh, thank you, Neville!" She turned and hugged him, his clasped hands between them. "If it'd had the chance to call its little friends, we could have been in trouble."

He looked into her beautiful grey eyes bulging adoringly up at him, and it occurred to him that he could look forward to being very appreciated indeed!

"Luna, I'll just, erm, dispose of this, shall I?" Neville said hesitatingly, gesturing to the sealed furnace in the corner of the room, which was always lit.

"We can't kill it...we need it as evidence! I'll get a jar. A Nargle... how unusual. They usually infest Mistletoe, in groups." She wandered off to the cupboard to find a container.

Neville sighed. Well, that was the mood ruined. It was going so well, too, he thought to himself. The Nargle in his clasped hands wriggled, tickling him a little. "Well Bob," he said, "thanks for ruining my chances."

"What chances?" Luna asked.

"Oh, um, nothing," he mumbled, embarrassed.

She took the Nargle from him, sealing it into the jar and spelling a couple of tiny holes in the lid. "Bob... I like that name," she said.

Putting it down on a side bench, she returned to her seat next to him. Neville sighed. Well, there was the hope of a 'reward' for rescuing services rendered gone.

"Neville?"

"Yes, Luna?" Neville turned to her, a slightly wistful smile on his face.

She grinned cheekily, "This." With that, she kissed him.

Maybe I was wrong, Neville's sensible side thought. The rest of his brain was happily shouting, Yippee!

They kissed, things heating up quickly and soon they were soon lying back on the table, Neville's hands firmly under her top this time around. He pulled her over so she lay on top of him, and she sat up, straddling him.

"It is warm in here or is it just me?" he asked, a bit too breathlessly for it to sound like the joke he meant it to be.

"Well, it is a greenhouse, Neville," she said in a serious tone. Then she laughed at how his face dropped and leant down to kiss him once more, before sitting up again.

"Luna?"

She smiled and raised her arms, taking her jumper off. Neville smiled back. I love this girl. She leaned in, their faces now mere centimetres apart. "Well? Your turn."

Neville lay still for a moment before rolling them over, Luna giggling as he did.

"Oh, Neville, the stars are so beautiful tonight," Luna said, looking up at the night sky.

Neville looked at them briefly, and then removed his jumper. "Yeah."

"But that's not why we're here," she said with a wry grin. "Kiss me again, Neville."

---

Blaise took the time to sip his second cup of the punch. It really was powerful stuff, and there was a strange undertone to it he couldn't quite put his finger on. By the time he'd got halfway down the cup he had decided it was probably something like fruit juice corrupting the brew.

Looking around for somewhere a bit calmer to sit and watch the celebrations--a good Slytherin didn't miss a chance to gather something that might be used to influence someone at a later date--he found himself draped against a wall on the far side of the High Table. Nearby, a relatively quiet group were discussing Quidditch good-humouredly. Blaise eavesdropped idly whilst taking a few mental notes of the antics unfolding before him.

"Hey, Zabini!" Blaise was instantly alert, despite the numbing effect of the punch. He realised that most of the group had turned to look at him and one of them, a Slytherin named Harper, was waving him over. Easing himself up, Blaise strolled across in a suitably nonchalant fashion to indicate that he saw no reason to comply with the request, but would indulge Harper this time. It had the added benefit of allowing his forward progress to remain upright and free of unsightly weaving. "We need to settle a friendly dispute, and you're just the man to do it. Which Chaser scored most goals in their first season, Vaisey there," he indicated the young man just in front of Blaise before nodding towards another to his left, "or Zac Smith?"

Zabini smiled as he snagged an empty chair. He had been keeping a book on the Hogwarts Quidditch games ever since his second year, and had an almost encyclopaedic knowledge of the matches and players since then. He thought for a moment. The scoring power of the Chasers to win a game was the often overlooked. Seekers were the Glory Boys, swooping in to grab the Snitch and end the game, but the 150 points would be for naught if the opposing teams Chasers had racked up enough goals in the meantime. It paid Blaise to keep their statistics in mind.

"Vaisey's first season saw him put away a total of 103 goals in the inter-house games; Smith had 107 in his." Blaise pronounced after a moments thought. There was a round of good-natured backslapping and joshing, and someone handed Blaise the bottle of mead that was doing the rounds. He found himself being drawn into the general conversation, which was based around Quidditch and flying. He took note that most of the group was players from all four houses. They had all taken part in the aerial manoeuvres that had proved so effective in the recent battle, the attacks and harrying from above doing much to help distract the opposing Death Eaters and their allies.

As was inevitable, the talk of game moves moved onto some of the daredevil tricks and near misses during the Final Battle. There was a lull in the conversation, until Bradley, a Ravenclaw Beater, piped up. "I saw the damnedest thing on the way back to the castle. You know how we were flying ahead of everyone for a while? Well, as I was about to turn back, the weirdest looking beast stepped out of the trees! It was black and bony, with what looked like wings folded up on its back. I thought for a moment it was something that Voldishorts and his lot had conjured up against us, but before I could do anything it turned and disappeared."

Blaise nodded knowingly. "Thestrals."

"No, it's the truth!" Bradley blurted defensively.

Blaise gave a rare laugh. "No, you prat, I meant the beast was a Thestral." The smile slowly dropped from the Slytherin's face. "Don't you remember the Care of Magical Creatures class back in fifth year? Winged horses, usually invisible. Hogwarts has a huge herd of them...they pull the carriages to and from Hogsmeade Station. You can only see them once you've seen death." A silence fell on the whole group. Blaise sat in a kind of reverie for a few moments before he took a deep swig of the bottle he found by his chair and leaned forward. "They tend to keep to the Forest and the far side of the grounds as they are shy of people, but there's a small group that lingers close by Hagrid's hut that are a bit more 'friendly'."

"I suppose that means we could all see them now," said Vicky Frobisher. The others all nodded sadly. Vicky, having failed to get on the Gryffindor team the previous year, still played a good game, and had more than played her part in the fighting. Blaise noticed she also seemed to have her eye on the Hufflepuff, Smith. She spoke again. "No, I mean we could all see them now , go out and look for them!"

Before he knew it, Blaise was showing the ragtag bunch of them down the path to where he knew there would be Thestrals.

---

If someone had approached Harry yesterday and intimated that Malfoy was a screamer, he wouldn't have batted an eye. Had that person suggested Malfoy might swing both ways, Harry would've shrugged. However, had said hypothetical gossip stated, 'Draco Malfoy is an insatiable cuddler,' Harry would've made an emergency Floo-call to St. Mungo's on their behalf.

What a difference a day makes.

"Want to stay with you. Both of you." Draco's voice was tiny and vulnerable, breathy in the aftermath of pleasure. "I don't like to be alone."

All three lipped sleepily at each other's faces, nuzzling noses, brushing lips across eyelids, sighing across each other's skin. "You're not alone," Harry reassured him, thinking how nice it was that Ginny's breasts were quite generous enough that they could nuzzle side by side without running out of pillowy goodness. Ginny seemed to think so as well, humming her approval as she played with their hair.

This couldn't possibly get better. Ginny had tossed off all that 'scarlet woman' baggage and was more than living up to the passionate potential of her hair and figure. Snakey, ferrety Malfoy had changed into Draco, who was sort of fragile and pretty and...hmm, ferrets are warm and fuzzy... And, the happily smug thought arose, I'm apparently quite enough to satisfy both of them. Though it's rough on the knees.

"Want you to," Ginny murmured, turning to Draco and kissing him as if he were the only kissable human being on earth. "Stay with us."

When she was done, Harry claimed his lips, kissing the remaining breath from Draco's lungs. "Yes... promise we'll take care of you, pet."

Draco made a sort of purring sound. "I like the sound of that. Will you walk me? Feed me? Rub my tummy?"

Harry snorted; Ginny giggled. "Anytime, so long as you wear your collar," she said, stroking the tender row of love bites. "Mmm... my turn in between."

"Ooh... Page 113, right?" Harry made a clumsy search for the lubricant as they rearranged themselves accordingly. Then they all went a bit boneless, rather forgetting what they'd intended to do.

"Pansy always ran off to take a shower, after," Draco murmured sulkily, evidently back to his abandonment issues. "She'd take her clothes and not come back."

"Doesn't sound as if the bed would've been any warmer with her," Ginny said, and Draco rewarded that tart analysis with small laugh and an appreciative nuzzle.

"If I fancy a shower, you can come along. Right now, I want to... rest my eyes," Harry said, swallowing a yawn.

Ginny relaxed back into the softness of the bed, sighing. Everything was warm and cozy, as she spooned against Draco and snuggled up to Harry. Somehow their arms and legs sorted themselves into a comfortable tangle. "Okay... we have all night... "

"Mmm-hmm," Harry agreed, snuggling up to her and stretching his arm out to embrace both of them. 'Shagged out' didn't begin to express his condition; he'd more than doubled his lifetime tally of sex acts in this one night. "Have all the time we need." Without thinking about it, he wandlessly pulled the covers over all three of them. Something about 'love' was whispered, somewhere in there. More than once, by more than one person.

"Sleep'sgood," Draco slurred. His arm grew heavy against Ginny's side; his hand on Harry's arm went limp.

Harry yawned widely. "Sorry," he said to no one who could hear. He was the last to drift off, his right fingers twining in rich, red tresses and his left ones caressing silky blond locks until sleep stilled them.

---

They stood in a loose huddle at the edge of the sloping lawns, just on the edge of the Forbidden Forest. Blaise called out on the evening breeze, not the odd, shrieking cry that Hagrid used to call them, but a soft whistle. Almost immediately he could make out the dark shapes moving like shadows through the thinning trees, but it was a couple more minutes before anyone else did.

"There! Just there, by the twisted ash. Do you see it?" Summersby called in low but excited tones. The others all moved forward, watching as the gaunt but strangely graceful creatures stepped nervously into the open. They raised their dragon-like heads, scenting the air and pawing at the ground skittishly. Cadwallader, a Hufflepuff Beater, turned to Blaise. "What's up with them? Are they normally so jumpy?"

Blaise shook his head. "It's the blood. Even this far away, they can smell it, are drawn to it, but they can sense the Dark magic too." He pulled a tiny penknife from his pocket and started to prod around at the heel of his thumb, finding a spot that would yield a little blood. As a small amount welled up he held his arm forward, and one of the Thestrals moved towards him, holding its head low. As it lipped the blood like any other horse would take a sugar cube, Blaise reached forward and scratched the surprisingly warm, soft skin between its ears. "Tenebrus. It's good to see you again," he murmured, too quietly for the others to hear.

As the dark creature nuzzled familiarly against Zabini in the manner of all equines, the others found their courage and stepped towards the rest of the small herd. Blaise saw that some had pulled out knives or pins and were trying to prick their fingers to encourage the winged horses closer. He considered leaving them to learn their own lessons, as he had, but he felt generous in the aftermath of the Final Battle and with the nightmarish yet gentle beast leaning against him. "Don't prick your fingers, they bite! Try the heel of your thumb, or the flesh at the base of your fingers."

The nods of understanding were replaced with winces as efforts were made to produce a little blood, but soon the witches and wizards were moving amongst the gently milling horses, scratching, patting and stroking and being nuzzled and bumped in return.

A sudden commotion drew everyone's attention as two young stallions began bickering. A space cleared around the pair as they each sought to establish their place in the pecking order. The teens watched in wonder as the horses suddenly rose into the air, kicking, biting and buffeting each other with their wings in a display of aerobatics before they subsided as if nothing had happened, the outcome unintelligible to the humans.

Vicky Frobisher looked at Zac Smith and said in an awed voice, "Wow, they look so thin, but they're really powerful. I wonder how it would feel to fly on one?"

Zac nodded. "Yeah," he said thoughtfully, "I was thinking about what it would be like to play Quidditch with Thestrals." Vicky, Harper and Bradley nodded in agreement with the idea as they shared a bottle, until Vaisey spoke up.

"Yeah, but how'dya get 'em on a broomstick?"

---

Mrs Norris' provocative strut was occupying all of Crookshanks' attention. Feeling all his senses tingle with the pleasant promise of an impending mating, Crookshanks could only follow her, his bottle-brush tail cocked at a most jaunty angle.

Mrs Norris suddenly stopped her progress through the castle and turned around to face him. Pulled out of his lascivious reverie by the abruptness of her actions, Crookshanks performed a quick nose lick to cover his confusion, then tried to nonchalantly adopt that pose which only an utterly confident, self-absorbed Tom could manage. Of course, he was The Male, divine to any female in radius of his lusty odour. Of course he was. Really.

Self-doubt is the bane of any Tom's success, so Crookshanks fixated on that sense of confidence as he launched into a loving serenade lauding the somewhat dubious assets of his soon to be lady-love. His off-kilter cacophony of yowls, growls, and something that might almost be mistaken for a sound that had absolutely nothing to do with purring, generated an auditory field of such high-decibel lust that it sent the all the inhabitants of the nearby portraits fleeing for any available picture frame in the farthest reaches of the castle.

Throughout his serenade to her, uh, charms, Mrs Norris simply lounged back on her haunches and gave him that look through half lowered eyes. As his raucous ode came to a conclusion, she curled herself about, rump in the air, waving her tail like a high stream angler who's found religion in the casting of his fly.

---

Between incredibly heated, passionate snogging, Hermione contemplated whether it was more courteous or more chauvinistic of a man to ask the 'are you or aren't you?' question before sex. To his credit, the professor... Severus... hadn't asked with whom... Perhaps it's best to stick with inarticulate noises for the rest of this. An ill-timed, 'Oooh, Professor!' might kill the mood.

Her tipsy musings were interrupted when the uniform shirt fabric covering her breasts was replaced by slightly damp skin. Hermione had expected that he'd be good with his hands; they were pretty incredible-looking hands, after all. His strength was a pleasant surprise, as he picked her up and they continued the kiss with her legs around his waist. He'd obviously drunk enough to spoil his sense of direction, though. They wobbled through the room, missing the bed, and he only managed to get them properly aligned and push in just as she hit the bookshelf.

"Ow!"

He almost dropped her, looking incredibly rattled. "I thought you said you weren't a virgin!"

Hermione had a lot of practice giving males in her life the 'are you stupid?' look. It had become reflexive, and she employed it to good effect on her...well, with their current state of interconnectedness...lover.

However, she restrained her withering comments to, "You slammed me into the shelf and there's a book poking me in the back!"

He reached behind her, tossed the offending book to the floor, and picked up where they left off. It was a testimony to how much he wanted this that he was willing to just throw a book. It was a testimony to how much she wanted it that she didn't 'Accio' her wand and hex him into a turnip for throwing a book. Instead, she lost herself in the sensation of Severus' hot mouth, the peculiarly kinky press of leather spines against her spine, and the sudden stiffening...

The next thing she knew, she was being slowly lowered to the floor and treated to the sight of a panting, flustered, and deliciously embarrassed Severus Snape. "I'm sorry, Hermione. I assure you, I can make it up to you in a very short while."

Hermione wasn't exactly disappointed. Granted, it was all over a good bit more quickly than she would have liked. But it was still pretty good for a half-pissed older man shagging against a bookshelf. She was about to say something reassuring when she noticed the book on the floor. A book which, evidently, was not a book.

She gave him what she hoped was a sultry, slightly challenging look and disentangled herself. Practically feeling his gaze burn into her backside, she bent to survey the contents of the false volume. Hermione wasn't exactly familiar with sex toys. But even to her untrained eye, these seemed quite a nice little collection.

One item in particular caught her eye, the silver metal and green velvet looking both sinister and beautiful. She brought them to Severus, who couldn't seem to decide whether to look at the contents of her hands or the contours of her body.

"So... Care to teach me how to use these during round two?"

---

Filius Flitwick woke as he always did after a night of drinking: with a bottle in his arms and a yelp. The bottle was self-explanatory; the yelp he still hadn't figured out after over a hundred years.

He sat up gingerly. That he even managed to do so was a sign he hadn't drunk quite as much as usual. Few knew how well he could hold his liquor. They all assumed that because he was so small in size that he was automatically a lightweight when it came to alcohol.

He tsked as loudly as he dared and surveyed the scene around him.

Well. That had certainly been an exciting evening by the looks of it. Even without remembering what had happened...which he did...an almost naked Lupin esconced in another tight embrace with the Headmistress, who seemed to be wearing nothing but a Dragon-scale negligee would clarify for even the densest that they'd had one hell of a party. He wondered if Aurora and Septima were still in their room. That had been a bit of a revelation...he could have sworn they'd each shown interest in men at some point. Perhaps they played both sides of the pitch?

A very interesting evening indeed, Filius thought, curiously not because of finding his colleagues in varying stages of undress, but rather because he had found that what he had assumed was a pillow he had been resting his head on was actually a sack full of Galleons, Sickles and Knuts. A very full bag.

He had done it again! He resisted the urge to cheer, and instead jumped from the bench he had been sleeping on and picked up his cloak...the sole piece of clothing he had apparently lost last night. He smirked. Lightweights.

Then he slipped out the door of the private parlour leaving his drunk and much poorer colleagues as they were.

---

In the wee hours of the morning, when all was finally still and quiet on Hogwarts' grounds, a lone figure was marching determinedly away from the Shrieking Shack and toward Hogwarts castle.

She wanted to squeal and dance with joy, but restricted herself to a smug smile and a spring in her step.

I did it! The spirits really spoke to me! Ha! That will teach all the others to call me a fraud! I am that no more! Sybill Trelawney thought on her way back to Hogwarts.

By the time she got to the gates, she'd tossed all thoughts of decorum in the lake and was literally skipping with joy.

---

Irma Pince walked out of the Shrieking Shack, prim expression firmly in place. She patted her purse to ensure that her little souvenir of the evening was likewise secure.

I really must have a night on the town more often. I wonder, should I return these to Argus later, with an invitation... or just keep them as a memento of the evening?

If there was a trace of smugness around her eyes and an enthusiastic briskness to her gait, well, no one on the streets of Hogsmeade at this hour was sufficiently awake or alert to notice. Two people gazing sleepily out of a second story window of the Three Broomsticks were a bit more observant. But even they failed to discern that the scrap of violet silk waving jauntily from the back of her purse belonged to a pair of boxer shorts.

---

Sinistra's eyes bugged out as she happened to glance at the Shrieking Shack once more. "Septima, luv, I wish I'd bet against you when you said it couldn't get any stranger."

"Why?"

"Sibyll and Irma weren't the only ones in the Shrieking Shack."

"You don't say."

"You'll never guess who just staggered out, looking half shagged to death."

"Well, don't keep me in suspense, Aurora, dear."

"Argus."

"No!"

"I kid you not."

"You mean...all three? Together?"

"Did you have to say it?"

"Blimey. None of my calculations even hinted at that."

"The stars didn't give any indication of it, either. I suspect they were looking away."

Vector snorted, looking up at her makeshift chalkboards she'd been filling all night. Calculations covered three walls of the room they'd let from Rosmerta, and it was time to start recording them on parchment. Sinistra found it absolutely stultifying, but Septima seemed to thrive on it.

Sinistra yawned and gave her Celestial Globe a spin, idly noting that it stopped on Leo for the third time since they'd begun their research project earlier that night. She felt vaguely guilty for having abandoned the castle when Minerva no doubt had her hands full getting the students settled down, especially now that she was nominally Head of Slytherin. But she and Septima never had the time to work on their research together during the school year, and this had seemed like a tailor-made opportunity to do so in peace. Analysing the outcome of the war was as good a project as any.

The Arithmancer's voice broke through her musings. "So, what do the stars have to say about last night in history?"

"The stars, I believe, have gone flat barmy." She allowed Septima's laughter to subside before she elaborated. "It wasn't too unexpected that Mars fizzled a bit; after all, it's been burning like a mad Whizzbang for over two years, and the war did end. What surprised me was how active Venus was. Full all night, and in the most amazing conjunction I've ever seen, right in Leo. There was some odd activity below Orion's belt as well...something to do with death and athletics."

"Hmm, that's interesting. It parallels my calculations, actually. My first equation of the night reduced all the chaotic number sequences that have accompanied the Mars issue into some semblance of balance...which lasted approximately 20 seconds before both the Eye of Loki and the Axe of Set popped up on either side of the equation."

Aurora tried hard to keep her eyes from glazing over.

"But they got tied up in an inverse pretty quickly, and nearly everything after that worked out to some function of fortune or sex magic. This is all going to be fascinating when we compile it. I suppose we should do that back at the castle, though. I think we're officially AWOL right now."

Aurora sighed and shrank her globe for easy carrying. It was true, of course. She spent a few minutes longer staring out the window, unsurprised to feel an angular chin come to rest on her shoulder. Septima definitely has her father's chin, she thought.

All she said aloud was, "Knut for your thoughts."

"Are you ashamed to admit we're related because my dad was a Muggle?"

Aurora couldn't have been more shocked if her half-sister had punched her in the gut. "No! I'm not ashamed we're sisters! You know Mum's reasoning behind hiding our family connections. And besides... I think the Slytherin in me likes having secrets."

Septima seemed to relax a little. "Yeah."

"But the war is over...for good, this time. Her reasons don't matter anymore. I have every intention of telling anyone who'll listen that you're my little sister, just as soon as we get back to the castle today."

"Half sister, at least. And who are you calling 'little'?" she asked, grinning down at Aurora.

"Well, half a sister is better than none."

Septima punched Aurora in the arm. "You realize what that means, don't you?"

"Am I about to be treated to another one of your formulas?"

"No. It means you got your sense of humour from your father."

---

Having been up all night tending to the evacuees and such, Kingsley was seriously worried. No news from Tonks or Dung, and he still wasn't one hundred percent sure about what Tonks' letter had said. Stopping his pacing, he approached Auror Dawlish, who was just waking up from a nap.

"I'm going up," he said. "Something's off about this. You're in charge here, okay?"

Still sleepy, Dawlish nodded his agreement, looking around the room. Most people were still sleeping, if a little uneasily. "Sure, take care, sir," he said, getting up.

Kingsley grabbed his cloak. "I'll send word when I can. You know what to do if I don't?"

"Yeah. No problem, I hope it goes well."

Kingsley checked the room one more time and then left, Apparating to the path leading to Hogwarts.

---

Remus shifted in his sleep, rolling over onto his side. Merlin it's cold. Where's the blanket gone? he thought. Am I on the floor?

"Mmm, Tonks, gimme some covers back," he mumbled, reaching out blindly for her. She had a habit of stealing the covers during the night, not that he usually complained.

His hand encountered bare skin, her thigh Remus assumed, and he moved it moved up and down, still searching for the blanket. Under his hand, Tonks moved a little, as if trying to escape his grasp.

"Hmmm, playing that game are you, huh?" He smiled softly, his eyes still closed. His hand moved further up her body, reaching her waist, since when did she sleep in a silky camisole? She usually goes nude...

Slowly his brain started to register that she never did wear anything, or at most a pair of knickers, and that could only mean one of two things...

"EXCUSE ME!?!" came a voice that was certainly not Tonks'. Remus shot upright, wincing as his head pounded and voiced its complaint about the sudden movement.

Turning more slowly now, he opened his eyes to see whom exactly he was laying next to... oh dear, Nimue. Minerva.

"Um," Remus started, then, realising he was only in his boxers (a pair from Tonks, with a funny werewolf pattern on them), he stopped and grabbed the nearest piece of material to cover himself with. It was someone's skirt.

What on earth went on last night? thought Remus and Minerva at the same time.

"Well... I... Remus? Oh dear Merlin, what's going on?" Minerva sat up, clutching a cloak over herself as best she could. "Dear Merlin, my head."

It was quiet for a moment or two. Remus and Minerva both looking around the room, trying to remember what had happened. Only fuzzy glimpses of memories appeared and no details about how they'd ended up here together came forth.

"Oh, we're in the Three Broomsticks," Remus said, as he realised that he recognised the room.

"Hmm," was all Minerva said in response.

Well, this was awkward.

"Erm," Remus said quietly, his head pounding. "We didn't... I mean... I don't think we...." He trailed off as he saw Minerva glaring daggers at him.

"Certainly not, Mr. Lupin," she snapped.

It seemed a Minerva with a hangover and fuzzy memory of the night before was a very grumpy Minerva, Remus realised.

"Do you remember how we, ah, ended up like..." he trailed off as she glared again. She's as bad as Severus is at the breakfast table in the morning, he thought. Well, anytime really, with him.

"No."

"Well, I'll just... erm, try to find my clothes." He stood, holding the skirt as best as he could to cover himself.

Remus looked about the room again; he could see his trousers over on the floor in the corner. Well, that was a start. He walked over, his feet cold on the floor and collected them. Putting them on as best he could, he turned back to Minerva, who was still sat on the floor.

"I'm sorry about that before, Minerva," Remus apologised. "I thought you were Tonks."

"So I gathered," she replied, still a little thin lipped.

"Well, sorry."

"Let's never mention it again, if you don't mind."

He agreed wholeheartedly and nodded his acceptance – even though it did hurt his head.

Slowly, he and Minerva found their clothes, which were scattered all over the room. Remus passed her hers turning his back as she dressed. But not before he caught a glimpse of her camisole. Pink dragon scale pattern? he thought, bemused.

"Well," Minerva spoke, "shall we see about getting sorted and going back to Hogwarts sometime this year?"

"Sounds like a plan."

Together they put the room to rights as best they could in their rather hung-over state, and gathered the clothes that had been left by the others together for the trip back to Hogwarts.

As soon as they were finished tidying and such, they began making their way up to the castle, things between them were still a little... uncomfortable.

---

Walking at a steady pace, Kingsley made his way towards the gate to enter Hogwarts grounds. Keeping an eye out for anything unusual...Death Eaters could still be about, after all...he stopped as he heard the sound of twigs snapping somewhere in the bushes he had just walked past.

Turning quickly, wand at the ready, he approached the bush. "Who's there?" he asked.

No reply was forthcoming.

Just as the sound had stopped, and Kingsley was beginning to think he had imagined it out of sheer exhaustion, something - no someone - rolled out of the bushes.

"Urgh..." the someone groaned. Kingsley slowly approached, lowering his wand as he recognised Filch, the caretaker of Hogwarts. What was he doing here?

"I think... I think I'm gonna be sick," Filch moaned, rolling onto his front and moving so he was on his hands and knees. Kingsley took a step back. He did not want his nice new dragonhide boots covered in that, thank you very much.

"Bloody You-Know-Who's defeat will be the death of me," Filch moaned, looking decidedly green.

What was that? Kingsley thought. He's dead? Or is Filch so drunk he's making things up?

Just as Kingsley was considering whether to leave him there or help him back to Hogwarts, he noticed a wand sticking out of Filch's back pocket. Why did he have one of those? The man was a Squib as far Kingsley knew. I'd better take it from him for his own good, he thought, leaning down to grab it.

Filch didn't say anything, just burped. Kingsley backed off again quickly, thinking of his new boots. He looked at the wand a little more closely and did a double take.

It can't be.

"Where did you get this?" Kingsley asked, holding the wand so Filch could see what he was talking about. What the bloody hell a Squib was doing with You-Know-Who's wand was beyond Shacklebolt. His first wild thought was that it was some sort of Weasley twins item, but the feel of strong magic around the item was unmistakable.

"Hey, that's mine, finders keepers and all that," Filch said, attempting to get up.

"'Fraid not, Filch...and I do need to know where you got it," Kingsley repeated in his best 'I'm-an-Auror-and-can-arrest-your-arse' voice.

"Found it over there, didn't I," he answered, waving vaguely off in the direction of Hogsmeade.

"Right, because You-Know-Who would leave his wand lying around for anyone to find," Kingsley said sceptically.

"Well, what's he care, now that he's dead? Potter offed him yesterday sometime. Found the wand on my way to get a drink." Filch sat down again, settling himself under the bush he'd appeared out of.

Kingsley wanted to believe Filch...he just didn't think he could. He needed to speak to someone else, verify that it was true. Tonks maybe. She should be about somewhere. Maybe at the castle, if there were prisoners or wounded?

"Have you seen Auror Tonks?" he asked Filch, but the man had fallen asleep. Kingsley sighed and began walking again, his mind on the fact that You-Know-Who could really be dead.

Well, he thought, this wand is pretty good evidence of the fact he is.

---

Thestral Quidditch (all portions) courtesy of DawnEB.

Threesome stuff and the real lowdown on what's between Vector and Sinistra courtesy of dracontia.

Neville/Luna getting down to business courtesy of lux_astraea, with additions by wolfmoonshadow.

HG/SS courtesy of lux_astraea, SS Lupin, and dracontia in chat.

Crookshanks finally getting the go-ahead from Mrs. Norris courtesy of wolfmoonshadow.

Trelawney celebrating and Flitwick getting away with it all courtesy of shalimar1981.

Kingsley's decisive moment, his encounter with Filch, and the Lupin/Minerva morning after courtesy of lux_astraea.