3: You Look Good When I'm Drunk

Disclaimer: Go ahead. Try to sue me. Unless you want blood, or a four-year-old who runs around 'protecting' her baby sister by throwing her toy locomotive at hanging bedsheets yelling "Expecto Patrain!" you'll be getting squat...which is exactly what I get for playing around with these characters.

Chapter 3: You Look Good When I'm Drunk

It took about five minutes to Apparate to the Portkey Station, catch the Portkey to Amsterdam, and arrive to Draco's steady stream of patter about where they were going. That was exactly how much time it took Snape to figure out how much of what Draco had said was truth and how much was bullshit. It helped to start with the assumption that, this being Draco, the balance would automatically be tipped in favor of a large proportion of bullshit. He didn't need to use even a tenth of his interrogation skills to get at the truth.

"I cannot BELIEVE that you actually think I'm going to go along with this absurd farce."

"Merlin's arse, Severus, your witch is a healer...hasn't she managed to convince you of the virtues of relaxing once in a while? Piano wires have less tension in them than you do."

"I wouldn't mention piano wire just now, if I were you."

"That would be a lot more frightening if you hadn't saved my life so many times previously that it would gall you to undo all that work. We're here, and the reservations are made. I mean, Circe's girdle, we have a table near the stage!" His voice was rising slightly, threatening to become the third 'Patented Malfoy Communication Medium' (after the 'Condescending Sneer' and the 'Smug Smirk'): the Whine.

The look with which Snape pinned Draco was one of the best in his repertoire, guaranteed to produce twitchiness, paranoia, and, at the extreme end of the spectrum, abject terror. He kept it trained on the younger wizard until he was satisfied that he'd made an impression. He really, really hated when Draco began whining, which still happened obnoxiously often, as far as Snape was concerned.

Which made it all the more important that the brat not think his actions were remotely acceptable, much less that Snape was actually a bit curious about this place. After all, Le Miroir was the most famous...or infamous...club of that nature in all of Wizarding Europe.

"Considering your instincts for self-preservation, I'll assume you weren't lying about having found a source for those ingredients I wanted." He trotted out his best 'you'd best not have brought embarrassment to Slytherin' voice to say it and felt better immediately. Sweet Salazar, but he'd missed using that voice.

"Absolutely...I mean, the place is nearby. In fact, I knew exactly what you needed, and it's all pre-ordered; we just need to pick it up." Draco was talking faster than usual, the only outward sign that he was thinking of the consequences of failure in the face of that particular tone.

Snape could still look down at Draco...barely. He used that inch or two to full advantage.

"You will pick up the purchases while I have a drink." His eyes flickered towards a café nearby, and Draco nodded. "I will consent to remain not more than one hour in this place you seem so hell-bent on inflicting upon me. Do I make myself clear?"

"Crystal."

"Good."

---

When Ron saw who else was approaching Le Miroir, he wondered if Remus wasn't right about Thursdays after all.

"Of all the rotten, stinking, miserable luck..." he muttered under his breath, hoping he could slip everyone into the club before those two noticed. It occurred to him about half a second too late that he should also have taken steps to ensure Harry didn't notice.

"What are you doing here?"

"What do you think? This is a stag party." With that tone of voice to deal with, Ron wondered how Ginny managed to work with Malfoy without kneeing him in the groin at least once a week.

"Not much of one, from where I'm standing."

"It would pick up, I'm sure, if you would leave."

"Look, this is a good-sized place. I'm sure we can all manage to stay civil, or at least clear of each other, for a few hours."

"Oh, give it a rest, Remus." Bad sign, when Harry got irritable with Remus.

"Yes, after thirty years, NOW you start trying to make peace?" Oh, he could have happily lived the rest of his life without hearing Snape use that voice again.

"What did I do?"

"It's more like what you didn't do."

"For Merlin's sake, can't this wait for another day? One where we don't have expensive front table reservations slipping through our fingers due to wasted time?" Whoa. Malfoy as the 'Voice of Reason'? He'd have to make a note of the date.

"Certainly. Just as soon as Potter gets his arse out of the way."

"My arse was here first, thank you very much."

"I had to call in two favors to get us seats up front. Let's drop it, Harry, so Remus can have his party!" Ron could have added that it was Harry's fault they were having this conversation; had he kept quiet, the glamour that rendered them all nondescript would have prevented them being recognized. He could have mentioned it, but he didn't fancy a fight out on the pavement when there were exceedingly talented witches with nothing better to do than entertain them just inside the building.

Ron noticed Draco glaring at him, trying to get his attention before jerking an annoyed eyebrow at Harry. "You're his friend...can't you sit on him or something?"

"Like you're doing such a brilliant job of keeping Snape under control. At this rate, we'll end up as seconds in a duel."

"Sod that. If you agree to keep Potter out of our sight, I'll keep Severus out of yours."

"Fine by me. And if we end up anywhere near each other, Remus will sit in between."

Draco sneered. "Well, you'll have to slouch then. It's not as if the werewolf is tall enough to block the sight of you otherwise."

"Malfoy, his wand hand is twitching! Look sharp!" Ron hissed, nudging his way in front of Harry and saying loudly, "C'mon Harry, let the bastards go in and get well out of our way."

"Let's go, Severus, before we have to see any more of this ilk," Draco said, using his loftiest tone of voice.

They made their way into the place still under an almost palpable cloud of antagonism. Ron elbowed Harry. "Remember, civil? For Hermione's sake?" Harry still didn't look entirely convinced. "Besides, this party is for Remus...if it doesn't bother him, we shouldn't bother about it."

Meanwhile, Draco was having his own murmured argument with Snape. "Look, you're the one who wants to marry the female head of that red-and-gold hellhound that won't die. You can forget about domestic tranquility if you can't at least keep from dueling with those two every time you cross paths." Snape must have been at least moderately impressed with this advice, as he refrained from cursing Draco (either magically or verbally).

Ron took advantage of the moment to order a round of drinks. He noticed Malfoy buttonholed the same waitress (a very generously endowed witch dressed in nothing but an artistic arrangement of charmed soap bubbles, which periodically disappeared with alluringly audible pops) and also placed an order.

What with the distraction of the girl's costume, it wasn't too surprising that neither he nor anyone else noticed the slight splashing of the alcohol on the tray just before it was delivered.

---

Snape wasn't certain whom he wanted to hex more...Draco or the bloody damned Gryffindors at the next table. Of course the place was packed, and they had to be seated near each other. He eyed his drink balefully. Not having touched alcohol since the rough night during which he finally got around to proposing to Hermione, he wasn't keen to do so again. Still, it was just one glass... and it might make this hour more bearable... and the longer he glared at the glass, the more whiny Draco looked (sodding pest was right about Snape not really wanting to kill him after all the work he'd done in the opposite vein)... so perhaps it behooved him to take just one drink.

Hmm. Quite good, actually. Perhaps the club's reputation for class was warranted.

He could say the same for the dancer who had just come onstage. No lowbrow bumping and grinding here. My. Why hadn't Hermione ever thought of using 'Wingardium Leviosa' in that fashion? And what would be the best way to sneakily introduce the idea without her realizing its origins?

"Let me order you another," Draco said, enthusiastically flagging down the waitress again.

Must have been very smooth liquor, indeed. He almost didn't remember finishing it. He really didn't need another. But it seemed too much trouble to tell that to Draco, who was obviously so very happy to be of assistance. Something didn't feel right about this... Snape was sure he was supposed to be angry. He tried, and failed. Even the knowledge that Potter was less than fifteen feet away (a fact that was impossible to ignore, considering the racket Weasley was making) just wasn't impacting his pleasant mood in the slightest.

Severus wanted to become alarmed at this, but couldn't.

He also wanted to keep track of when their hour was up, but time seemed to have gotten sort of slippery and kept running through his fingers. It didn't help that those beautiful young ladies (twins, if he wasn't mistaken) were doing fascinating things with a flock of butterflies. They were... quite flexible. But he'd be willing to bet a month's worth of his contract pay that they had access to an excellent source of Swelling Solution. Not that there was anything wrong with that.

"I'm sure Hermione could figure out that spell... but I think she'd have to take yoga lessons for the rest." Severus hadn't realized he'd spoken aloud until a hand fell lightly on his shoulder.

"Sev'rus... would it be okay if you didn't mention things like that before we eat?" This was a new wrinkle. Draco was asking for something nicely, his expression of earnestness positively Hufflepuff in magnitude. Something was very, very wrong here. He'd ordered something for them to eat without asking leave, to which Severus should have responded with a good hexing. Instead he said, 'Thank you.' Worse still, Draco hugged him by way of reply. Severus decided he could have lived his whole life without knowing Draco was a friendly drunk.

He also didn't really need to know when Draco needed to use the loo, but was obliged to suffer through receiving that information at a later point in the evening. Not that he was feeling anything remotely like suffering at the moment, particularly with... Wow.

Severus completely forgot that he had anything he should be worrying about, including the inability to worry. He was pretty certain the maneuver the redhead on stage had just accomplished was impossible without the aid of magic. It was also, unfortunately, something he was positive Hermione wouldn't do, even under Imperio.

Speaking of Imperio... Lupin had taken Draco's vacated seat and was greeting him warmly. What in the name of Merlin's moth eaten robes had brought that on? "I really am glad you're here tonight, Severus."

"Lupin, what do you want?" That wasn't nearly hostile enough. Severus couldn't even feel himself frowning.

"Severus... about all that stuff... back in school... you were right. I've so wanted to apologize. It's been too long in coming. You can't possibly know how sorry I am."

"I've always thought you were quite sorry," he retorted, then blinked in surprise. Huh... wait a minute... why was Lupin putting a hand on his shoulder? And why the hell wasn't he pulling his wand on the mangy beast, or possibly strangling him the good old-fashioned Muggle way?

"Lupin, what the bloody hell are you doing?" Snape managed to ask. He wanted to yell, but it came out amazingly mildly.

"Please call me Remus. I really think it's time we buried the hatchet... made up for the past... got to know each other better..." he said softly, looking at Snape with an almost misty expression. What the fuck? And... good gods, the werewolf was holding hands with him!

"I'm not sure which is making me feel stranger...you offering to get to know me better whilst placing unwelcome hands upon my person, or the fact that I seem strangely unable to become properly alarmed about it. But rest assured, if you do not discontinue this line of conversation and unwelcome physical contact, I will see that what is left of you is returned to Tonks in a shoebox...once I get over whatever the hell it is that is making me too mellow for my own good."

As Lupin sniffled his way back to his own table, Severus wondered at what point he would once again become properly capable of panic. Perhaps he should use the loo, in the event that moment arrived abruptly.

---

"Oh, Harry," Remus sniffed, "Severus just doesn't like me."

Remus was one odd drunk. Harry felt rather glad he hadn't gone drinking with him before, and was beginning to think that perhaps Thursdays weren't a great day for this sort of thing after all. He took another drink. He wasn't sure what it was (after the first one, he really couldn't be arsed to remember), but it seemed to make everything better. "He doesn't really like anybody, except possibly Hermione," Harry said, hoping that would be of some comfort to his sodden friend. "Don't take it personally."

"You know, sometimes you remind me so much of James... it's really wonderful... and so sad..." Remus was sniffling a little less and leaning in closer.

Ron was getting quite raucous...with Malfoy, no less... that was bizarre...and Harry was busy wondering if he could convince their waitress to teach him the charm that made her bubble bikini possible (it would look brilliant on Luna). This was no doubt why it took him a while to notice something odd going on at the other end of the arm Remus had put around his shoulders. Specifically, that the hand at that end was caressing his shoulder in a rather more friendly fashion than he was entirely comfortable with. What the...?

"Um, Remus?"

"Yes, Harry?"

"I know I have a bit of a reputation for being sensitive..."

"I love that about you."

"Er, yes, well, I don't know how to break this to you...but I'm...I'm not that sensitive."

As Remus shrank miserably back into his chair, Harry wondered how much, if any of this, Tonks should know about. Or maybe with the Metamorphmagus thing...

Nope. Not going there. Not even under the influence of whatever this lovely drink might be.

---

Neither shuffling shoes, nor spilled drinks, nor music at volumes that made normal conversation and accurate eavesdropping impossible, would stay Rita Skeeter from her self-appointed mission to find a story that would put her byline back on the front page of the Daily Prophet. Since Harry Potter was always grist for the mill but wore powerful bug repellent charms at all times, she had finally taken to staking out his less wary acquaintances, waiting for such a time when he would happen across her path and provide her with something she could sink her quill into.

It was finally working. In fact, it was better than she'd ever dreamed. The Boy Who Lived and his sidekick had kidnapped a dangerous magical creature and were entertaining him in a sex club, with a couple of kinky ex-Death Eaters, and they were all as bent as a tin Knut. Yes, that was the way to write it up. There was no need to stay until the last dog was hung; it was pretty clear where this party was going, and she wanted to hurry home and write all about it. She was so happy, she began to click her wings as she scurried away across the floor. She never realized she was doing it; it was a sort of nervous tic peculiar to her bug form. It was as if the heavens had opened up on Skeeter, showering her with the exposé of a lifetime.

Then, the heavens really did seem to open up. She was being addressed from somewhere up above, but a terrified glance about revealed no one she could see. The next thing she knew, she was unable to move, yet flying into a dark tunnel with a light at the end of it. She felt a sensation of floating. A strong fragrance permeated the air.

The voice came again from the light at the end of the tunnel, telling her she would be safe. The floating sensation grew more pronounced, and her senses became cloudy. It was as if she were losing touch with her body.

Within minutes, she was blasted with cold air and was falling. It seemed as if she fell forever through the cold and wet, with that voice echoing in her ears, until she mercifully lost consciousness.

---

Motoyoshi finally felt free to stop wielding his hishaku for the moment. Reggie-san would be quite proud of the unobtrusive way in which he had successfully suppressed the hostilities between his temporary godchildren (as he considered them, being assigned to ensure their happiness and well-being for at least the evening) and the friends of his Master's godchild. With everyone safe and happy, Motoyoshi took note of the rest of the room. He wondered if these humans suffered from difficulties regulating their body temperatures. Most of the males seemed rather red in the face, and most of the females were wearing very little clothing.

Being under the table, anything happening down low was most noticeable to him. It was thus that he observed a small colorful insect creeping across the floor. His compassionate little heart skipped a beat.

"Poor thing, lost among so many feet. Let me help you, little bug." The beetle began crawling quickly, almost as if it could hear and understand the voice of the invisible Kappa. With a handy spell, he immobilized it. "That was very foolish, poor lost little bug. What if a waitress had walked by in those dangerous shoes with the pointy bottoms?" He scooped it up with his hishaku, unaware that there was about a quarter inch of alcohol remaining in the little bamboo cup at the end of the handle.

"I cannot leave this table, as these wizards are my responsibility. I wonder where I could put you so that you will be safe?" Moto looked around, still oblivious to the fact that the bug was steadily absorbing intoxicants. "This place isn't suitable at all. I recall some palms by the entrance; perhaps those would be acceptable. But how can I protect those in my care if I leave the table?"

Motoyoshi pondered this for long moments while the insect marinated. "Well... perhaps it would not hurt to step away from them for a minute or two." Checking to see that everyone's drinks were topped off, he carefully made his way around the edge of the room so as to avoid tripping anyone or being trampled upon in his invisible state. The door he found wasn't the entrance, but it opened to reveal a bit of outdoors with a patch of dirt. It would have to do.

"Farewell, bug," he said, feeling cheerful about his good deed well done. He dumped the colorful creature into the dirt beside a small weed and returned to his charges.

Just in time. Or not quite in time, if you believe in preventative medicine.

---

Draco felt better and better about his plan as the evening went on. Every time he thought about how brilliant he was, he took another drink. Mmm. Whatever this stuff was, it was heavenly. It would be another fine plan to pour a bit into his self-replenishing flask for later.

Pretty soon, he just felt better and better, though he couldn't quite remember why. Maybe it had something to do with all those lovely girls. Oooh, they were pretty. Talented. And not at all shy. That leggy brunette was looking right at him. Well, she wasn't going to get him that easily; anyone who wanted a taste of Draco Malfoy had to earn it. Especially one who was so plainly not the sort he could bring to meet Mother. He sniffed and looked away. Playing hard to get was a bitch, but honestly, he'd have to carry around a beater's bat to keep them off otherwise.

Come to think of it, Ginny was pretty, and talented, and not at all shy. Though not in the same way as that shameless flirt on the stage. Still, she was much more the 'bring home to Mother' type. That was a major point in her favor. Would it kill her to wear something more fitted to the office once in a while? Maybe something low cut. He was pretty sure she was stacked, but it wouldn't hurt to have explicit visual confirmation. Until then, it probably wouldn't hurt to use his imagination...

That line of thought directed his attention southward, causing him to become aware of a certain degree of discomfort.

"I'm going to the loo," he said quite solemnly. It wouldn't do for Severus to worry about him, no, not at all.

"Don't fall in."

Severus would pick this moment to be funny. Giggling wasn't helping Draco walk a straight line any more than it was contributing to the comfort of his bladder. It must be the giggling that was giving him trouble, since he'd only had... how many drinks? Three? Five? Something like that.

Whoa...what was that crash? And why did the carpet seem so close? He couldn't have fallen. Malfoys weren't clumsy. It must be someone else lying on the ground saying, "Ow," in that annoyingly whiny voice.

"Are you 'kay...oh, 'syou, Malfoy." That voice sounded familiar. "Hey. Whyrn't you gettinup?"

"I'm...Hey. How'd I end up down here?" Draco was puzzled to find himself looking up at Weasley, of all people. Not the nice, curvy Weasley who kept his company's accounts in the black, but that annoyingly more-famous-than-he-was Quidditch star. He would have frowned, but all he managed was an expression of mild consternation.

"Dunno, but you'll prob'ly get stepped on if you stay there." Looked like Weasley was thinking about something. Draco considered lying down, thinking this might take a while. He was surprised when the other grasped him by the hand and yanked him to a more-or-less standing position. "Need to get you out of the way if I'm gonna get to the loo."

"What a co-cowin-quince-um, I'm going that way myself." The room was so wobbly, it might be a very good strategy to keep hanging on to Weasley until he got there.

By the time they had safely accomplished the round trip, Draco decided there were at least two Weasleys he could stand. Particularly since this one was so kind as to keep him from being injured by that very aggressive sink, and was now confiding such important information to him.

"Y'know, that gorgeous lil' blonde has been giving me th'eye for quitesome time now."

Draco nodded vigorously, since the room seemed to be going that direction anyhow. "Quite. Oh, I can shee it plainly."

See, that was the sort of thing you told someone you trusted. Why wouldn't Ginny share things like that with him?

"I'm gonna invite her over here."

"Shounds good." Something clicked in Draco's mind that perhaps that wasn't the best idea almost as soon as he said it, but he couldn't think of why. Oh, well. Weasley was yelling across the room at the girl by then, so it was a bit late for that.

"She's smilin' but she won' come over. Wonder why?"

Draco found this quite mystifying, himself. Why wouldn't she come over, with two such incredibly eligible wizards to choose from? "Maybe she's busy."

"That mus'be it. Well, I guess I'll hav' to meet 'er halfway, then." With such long legs, it didn't take Weasley long to get all the way to the witch in question and proceed to better make her acquaintance.

Several things happened all at once. Potter yelled, Severus yelled (apparently in response to something Lupin was saying), and it penetrated the prettily colored fog wreathing Draco's brain that two very large and unfriendly wizards were charging towards his newly-minted bezzy mate. And they didn't mean to congratulate him on the obvious good impression he'd made on the lady.

"Lookout, Weasley!" For good measure, he drew his wand and aimed a Tripping Jinx at one of the charging gorilla types. Draco really liked Tripping Jinxes. The victim always had just enough time to acquire a wonderful 'What the fuck?' expression on his face before crashing to the ground.

Maybe not such a good idea, after all... Now he seemed to have attracted the attention of the big uglies. People who'd thought Crabbe and Goyle were scary brutes had clearly never seen these guys.

"That was obscenely stupid." Severus grabbed his arm and addressed him with some very unkind words, but his voice was pretty mild. It must not be that bad, then.

Suddenly, the air was full of pretty shiny things. Waitresses, dancers, and patrons were all scrambling on the floor for falling money. Why was Potter hustling Weasley and the werewolf out when there were all those lovely Galleons to pick up?

"Harry, we can't leave Malfoy here, not when 'e kep' that ugly slug offa me."

Weasley was sticking up for him. Draco was touched. So naturally he insisted to Severus that they couldn't abandon Weasley.

"You've got to be joking." They were out the door now, and Severus was looking around frantically. Oh, right. They had to find the Portkey station.

Potter interrupted with very bad grace, but Draco was willing to forgive him in light of what he said. "Unless I miss my guess, the management will be alerting the authorities shortly...so if you want to get out of here without facing charges, a fact about which I wouldn't give two shits if not for Hermione being attached to your sorry self, you'd better come with us."

Which was how they came to be running like mad down the streets of Amsterdam, hoping flying Galleons had knocked the ugly bouncers unconscious.

---

Harry didn't know why Ron had done what he'd done. He didn't know why Malfoy had done what he'd done. He didn't WANT to know why Remus had done what he'd done. And how he felt about Snape had about been done to death, so he didn't bother rehashing it at the moment. He was too busy doing what needed to be done, which was to get all of them the hell out of there, and he wasn't going to look a gift Leprechaun gold shower in the mouth if that provided the necessary diversion.

"Charlie arranged with a friend of his from Bratislava to have a flying carpet ready nearby, since we'd likely miss the late Portkey to Naples and would likely be too..."

"...wasted"...

"...blitzed..."

"...pissed stupid..."

"...to Apparate based on a photo."

"Where is it?"

"Two streets over...there!" Ron's long legs brought him to it first, and he quickly unrolled the carpet.

"Budge up!"

"There's no room to spread out. It was picked with only three in mind."

Harry was frantically looking for something that should have been attached to the front, near the hexagonal shape in the pattern where the pilot was to sit. "Shite! It's supposed to have an automatic pilot spell. Where's the goddamn scroll?"

"Anyone know how to fly this thing manually?"

"Um, I did... once," Remus said. Harry scooted back and shoved him into the pilot's area.

Draco was practically crying. "Hurry up! I think I hear those bouncers!"

With a massive shudder, the carpet bounced into the air, knocking its occupants against each other. Another lurch, and they were rippling awkwardly out of the city under heavy Disillusionment spells.

"Harry?"

"What now, Remus?"

"I really don't like Thursdays."

Harry buried his face in his hands. "I don't either, anymore."

---

Hermione enjoyed walking around with Ginny for a while, not having to discuss the wedding. They were so busy plotting Tonks' kidnapping that the redhead seemed to have forgotten the big event for the moment.

"You know, I think it will be easier to convince Tonks than to kidnap her. We'll just take her out to eat, have a few laughs and get her drinking a bit. Then we'll tell her we'll see her to the Portkey station. When we show her her packed bags and say Remus is waiting for her, she might even think it just slipped her mind. She'll probably thank us for the reminder."

As far as Ginny's plans went, that sounded pretty safe. The original idea of slipping Tonks a Portkey to 'kidnap' her, no matter how well intentioned, had never quite sat well with Hermione.

"All right. Where should we go?"

"I was thinking of trying a new place called The Hippogriff Stable."

"That's a strange name for a restaurant."

Tonks showed up just then, and Ginny was too busy hugging and greeting her to answer.

"Wotcher, Hermione! Done any robe shopping lately?" Tonks was winking and Hermione could feel her face getting hot. Ginny gave them both a strange look.

"Let's eat, shall we?" She hadn't shared that particular embarrassing moment with Ginny (nor with anyone else who hadn't witnessed it) and would rather not change that state of affairs. Still frowning at them a little oddly, Ginny led the way.

"Awfully close to Knockturn Alley, isn't it?" Hermione began to feel a little uneasy about the whole venture. Just because Tonks was an Auror and all three of them were war heroes didn't mean she felt comfortable strolling around the rougher edges with evening fast approaching.

"Eh, well, isn't it a new place just starting out? Probably can't afford the rents in the tonier neighborhoods." Tonks' offhand remark was reassuring, so she kept any further reservations to herself as they entered and took their seats. My... the wait staff seemed to be all male. And well-built males, at that. Somewhat embarrassed, Hermione kept stealing glances at them around the edge of her menu.

"Luna couldn't make it. Said she was feeling a bit under the weather. So, do you see anything you fancy yet?"

Tonks giggled as Hermione felt her face heating again, then realized Ginny was talking about food. "This place doesn't have much of a menu."

"It's more of a club than a restaurant...hence the stage. I thought we could just have a bit of a girls' night out...eat the sort of things we normally don't allow in our diets, get a little buzzed, enjoy the show. That sort of thing."

"Well... I guess that's okay, saving the buzzed part." Hermione still couldn't remember what had happened that time she'd been consoling Harry and they'd had quite a few too many.

Tonks shook an admonishing finger at her. "We're not asking you to get loaded, just a drink or two to relax on. Be a sport."

"Yes, you'll want to have at least one or two drinks, just to try these out." Ginny grinned. The glint in her eyes made Hermione wonder if she was looking at a Polyjuiced Fred or George.

"I snagged samples from one of Fred and George's latest product lines. They haven't gone into large-scale production yet, since this is a pretty complex bit of potions work. But the bugs have been worked out, and let me tell you, this is their most brilliant idea ever." Ginny was positively gushing. She opened the case to reveal a range of small vials.

Bother. Just thinking about Fred and George evidently was dangerous. Tonks looked interested. Hermione felt very, very apprehensive and fingered her wand as she took a closer look.

"Acapulco... Grand Passion... Affair... Angel's Kiss... Monte Carlo... Blue Hawaiian... Casablanca... Golden Daze... Honeymoon... Golden Dream... Kiss in the Dark... Lover's Delight ... Climax? Orgasm?" She looked at Ginny incredulously, unable to finish reading off the labels.

"There's also Sex on the Beach, Sex on the Beach in Winter, Tango, Sloe Comfortable Screw, Snuggler, Wild Fling, and a couple of other travel ones. They're mixers named after Muggle drinks...only instead of just tasting like the drink, they give you a two-to-four-minute daydream based on the drink's name. Just pour a bit into the alcohol of your choice, and bottoms up!"

"Well..." Hermione still hesitated.

"We won't all drink at once, just in case someone needs to perform a counterspell or some such. Like I said, they've already been tested, so they should be quite safe. Sort of like the daydream candies." Ginny added a wink to her suggestive grin.

Tonks laughed, enthusiastically waving the waiter over to order drinks. "Let's not waste any more time, then!"

Hermione decided to play it safe, pouring a vial of 'Tango' into a glass of gillywater. She hesitantly drank a bit of it down.

Severus entwined his fingers with hers and wrapped one arm possessively around her. He almost seemed to push her backwards across the smooth floor with his chest and hips, their feet weaving intricately around each other in a pattern Hermione didn't recognize but which they both seemed to execute flawlessly. He had that gleam in his eye that said, 'Just wait until I get you home, my dear,' and she knew she was answering it with a look of her own. The air was warm, the music more so, and a delicious rose fragrance permeated the air, evoking tropical nights as their faces came closer and closer together...

"Well, don't hold out on us! How was it?"

Tonks and Ginny were gazing at her expectantly from across the table.

She blinked rapidly, wondering where Severus and the orchestra and all those roses had gone. Oh, right...the drink. The daydream.

"Wow. I think Fred and George really have outdone themselves this time. I wonder if Severus would be willing to take tango lessons?"

Ginny managed an amused snort, probably at the thought of Snape dancing. Tonks laughed hysterically. "Me next!" Her hair flickered through several bright, excited color changes as she selected a 'Wild Fling'.

Maybe this wouldn't be so bad after all. Hermione staked her claim on 'Blue Hawaii' for her next drink, trying to see which vial Ginny had palmed (fairly certain it must be one of the more risqué selections). She was so busy watching Tonks' face for indications of how she was enjoying her drink that she failed to notice the lights subtly dimming and the activity in the vicinity of the stage.

---

Ginny knew she was brilliant.

There was no other logical conclusion. Tonks was so happy at this point, they could have told her they were taking her to catch a Portkey to Antarctica and she probably wouldn't have objected. Hermione had freaked out a little when the first dancer came on the stage, but Ginny switched drinks with her (trading the fairly tame 'Golden Daze' in gillywater for 'Grand Passion' in a very strong Russian Tea), which seemed to put her in a much more accepting mood.

Such brilliance deserved another drink. In fact, she might go so far as to say it warranted a nice 'Orgasm'. Ginny was fairly uninhibited, but she didn't quite fancy having Tonks watch her face possibly scrunch up and then laugh at her all night afterwards. Waiting until Tonks was openly ogling and Hermione was covertly studying the second dancer, she dumped the vial in her glass and slugged it down.

"Oh, yeah... so good... Whatever you want, Mistress, just say the word."

"Just lay there and make sure you keep it up, slave." Gods, it felt good to say that! About time she found a man who would get beneath her, where he belonged, and wear that black silk blindfold she'd been saving for a special occasion.

"Yes! Oh, yes, Mistress! Whatever you say!"

Yes... he would give her what she wanted. Or he'd suffer the consequences.

"Mm... You've...pleased me...so...uhh...far. Oh, oh, yes!" Nice body on this one, and he knew how to use it...if his face matched, she'd have to ditch the blindfold before they were through.

"Please, please let me see you, Mistress!" No problem, she thought, panting, ripping the silk away...

"YES! OH, DRACO!"

Ginny didn't need a mirror to know her face was redder than her hair at the moment, for multiple reasons. Terrified, she glanced at her companions. Praise Merlin, they were both still looking at the stage. That settled it. She seriously needed to get out of the office once in a while and get a boyfriend, if her mind couldn't come up with anyone better than her annoying business partner as the object of a potion-induced fantasy.

It was a damned good thing Fred and George hadn't made one of their mixers a 'Screaming Orgasm'.

Then the door opened on some very familiar voices.

Ginny knew her mouth was still open, but she couldn't manage to get control of her jaw. That couldn't be...please, PLEASE, don't let that be...Minerva? Bustling in with...holy Hecate...not Pomona and...

"MUM?"

Tonks and Hermione whipped their heads around in Ginny's direction, then followed her gape-mouthed gaze to the door.

Hermione all but ducked under the table, pretending to do something with her purse. Tonks almost waved them over, but Ginny snagged her arm.

"What's wrong with you?" She kept her voice low only with great effort. It was oh so tempting to shriek at the cheerful, pink-haired maniac just then.

"The more the merrier, right?" Tonks gave her an expansive, deeply inebriated grin.

"Have you lost your Gobstones? We're talking about professors here, not to mention my mum! Would you want your mum at a strip club with you?"

Tonks' face went serious right away. "Oh, crap... I can just hear it... 'Nymphadora, what is the fascination here? Don't you think that's really just a bundled-up sock he's thrusting about?'"

Actually, that sounded quite funny to Ginny, but she was trying to make a point about her own mum here, so she restrained her amusement. "Exactly! So, let's try to avoid catching their notice, shall we? In fact, perhaps we'd best go."

Tonks' face got stubborn. "We've only seen two acts, and I haven't finished eating. Plus, there's at least two more drinks I want to try."

Hermione came up from under the table, looking equal parts annoyed, anxious, and slightly resigned. "We should be good for a while longer. There's a spell on the table now that should keep them from recognizing us." It must have been a measure of how much she cared about Tonks taking the Portkey in a good mood that she agreed to stay any longer...covertly enjoying the show or not.

Ginny sighed. She still didn't really want to be in the same space as her mother for this, but if Mum never knew she was there, she could pretend Mum wasn't there, either. She tried to focus on the stage (which wasn't too difficult) and ignore the catcalls from the older witches at the table across the room (which was a bit harder, especially since they seemed on such good terms with their waiter and were keeping him quite busy, bringing a steady stream of drinks).

The current dancer was a tad bit on the short side. Really, he would have only come up to Minerva's nose had they been standing side by side. But he had one heck of a body, for all his modest height, and he was using it to advantage. Until he got a good look at the excited Scotswoman in the corner, that is...

"Mon Dieu! Professor McGonagall!" he exclaimed, in a throaty Parisian accent. He leapt from the stage and strode over to her, going down on one knee to dashingly kiss the back of her hand. "Forgive me, ma belle. My 'eart 'as run away with my 'ead, upon seeing you again."

Minerva blushed slightly and tilted her glasses for a better look. "Do I know ye, laddie?" she asked, with a gesture that looked as if she were trying to still her fluttering heart. It wasn't every day a pocket-sized Adonis in a g-string fell at her feet in worship.

"Would that you did, ma cherie," he moaned feelingly. "My 'eart 'as been longing for you seence I first zaw you during zee Triwizard Tournament. I say to myself, 'Etienne, there is a witch of both great power and great substance."

Pomona snorted, and was self-chastised by the burn of the firewhisky exiting her nose. Minerva glared at her, trying to ignore the stares (both incredulous and jealous) of her companions at the table.

"Forgive me, laddie, if I am a little leery of your sincerity... after all, there are younger, prettier birdies in the tree," she said, her voice pleasant but with a crisp edge of skepticism.

He turned soulfully injured looking eyes to her face. "At zee Beauxbatons, I see many beautiful witches... but none with zee grace, zee inner strength, zee commanding presence, of la belle professor of 'Ogwarts. Were I a grown man then, I would have declared my intent to pursue you. But I knew such a dignified and ethical lady as yourself would never deign to notice a mere student in such a way."

The expression on Minerva's face looked dangerously like it meant 'dignity and ethics be damned'.

He leaned in closer and murmured throatily, "I change my focus of study to Transfiguration, in hopes I will impress you someday. But my chance never comes. I try to find a witch to make me forget, but still I dream of those wonderful lips whose every quirk brooks no nonsense..."

Minerva was a nice, practical Scotswoman. A witch with needs, in fact. She wasn't THAT old. So really, who was she to deny such a decent lad his heartfelt request?

"Well...I suppose that means ye can have this dance."

"Go for it, Minerva!" Molly shouted, looking a bit red in the face and decidedly uninhibited.

"Bloody hell," Ginny swore. "Mum's utterly pissed... the world's coming to an end!"

---

A/N:

'Le Miroir' is my pathetic attempt at a French-ish pun. It means 'the Mirror'. Seeing as how this club is full of desirable witches, I'm sure you can all guess which mirror is being referenced. (Don't look at me like that. I admitted it was pathetic.)

Sorry, Snupin fans...Remus and Tonks are still on. So are Severus and Hermione, what's left of them. Explanations, coming right up!

The bundled-up sock comment was inspired by memories of an episode of 'Designing Women'. My parents used to subject me to the weirdest television programs back when I was young and impressionable.

For those of you familiar with the complete works of Sir Arthur Conan Doyle...it was no coincidence that Minerva's new toy-boy is named Etienne Gerard. If you want to know more (and to test for yourself my assertion that Gerard could potentially have inspired Inspector Clouseau) try to scare up a copy of 'The Complete Brigadier Gerard' by Sir Arthur Conan Doyle, who would doubtless shoot me for nicking the name for this purpose, were he still alive to do so. Especially since I laced the character with a liberal dose of Pepe le Pew.

For the record, I have absolutely nothing against Thursdays. C'mon, really, what can be so bad about the night the Film Week segment airs on 'Life and Times'? (Of course, this only redeems Thursdays for those living within broadcast range of KCET.)