4: Send My Mail to the Barcelona Jail

Disclaimer: I don't make one nickel off this balderdash. My recompense comes from the reports of spit takes as a result of reading it.

Chapter 4: Send My Mail to the Barcelona Jail

---

Snape realized there were more than five passengers on the carpet when something poked him in the back. Something... bamboo-like.

"Moto?" he whispered.

"Here, Snape-san. I hope I did not cause undue harm with the leprechaun gold, but I was given instructions to see that you and your companion were safe, and it was all I could think of at the time."

The knowledge that he probably owed his meager good luck during that bizarre event to Fletcher's smelly little apprentice was rather galling. "It was adequate. If you could get me home, that would be more than adequate."

"That is not possible until you part company with Hermione-san's friends. I cannot reveal my presence to anyone else unless authorized by my Master. Malfoy-san must be unconscious or unaware that I am transporting you."

Snape figured that wouldn't be difficult, what with the state Draco was in. Speaking of which...

"Did you add something to our drinks?" Snape knew that two normal drinks were definitely not enough to render him this placid.

"Just a substance used by fairies to ensure harmonious interactions."

This was not particularly reassuring. He would have inquired further, but Potter was looking at him oddly. Snape retaliated with criticism. When in doubt, fall back on reflexes. "I hope you have something with which to sober Lupin up. I'd hate to add falling from an unhealthy altitude to my list of recreational activities tonight."

Potter gave him an exceedingly evil look, but managed to find a vial in one of his pockets. He took a small sip and then gave the rest to Lupin, who managed to spill most of it.

"Hey, Harry, got any more of that?" Weasley sounded the worse for wear...looked it, too. Green face and red hair are not a flattering combination, no matter what the color wheel might suggest.

"You were the one who said you didn't want anything interfering with your 'buzz.'" Under other circumstances, Snape would have regarded Potter's hostile tone towards Weasley with malicious glee. At the moment, it just made him worry that Weasley might vomit on all of them, which was a layer of charm this expedition truly did not need.

The polite little whisper met his ears again. "Do not be concerned about falling, Snape-san. I have made the carpet safe for all of you."

He huffed and resigned himself to clinging to this flying bit of upholstery until they reached wherever the hell those three were going. He was so tired that he took Moto at his word, to the point of dozing slightly. Snape wasn't sure how long he was out, but Potter's yell jerked him back to awareness.

"What the hell? We're in France!"

"Um, are you sure?"

Snape looked out over the countryside to confirm Potter's annoyed assessment of their situation. "That's Avignon. Last I checked, Avignon was in France. Bloody hell, why don't we just turn around and head home?"

"Brilliant idea...just what we need to finish off the night, being arrested by the Department of Magical Transportation for flying a carpet into British airspace. Look, we'll turn and head for Italy, then you'll be free to Portkey back."

Snape didn't need Potter to actually be right about something, on top of everything else. He decided to take his annoyance out on Lupin. "I thought you said you could fly this thing!"

"Actually, I said I flew one once. It was years ago, and, erm, the landing bit didn't go as best it might have..."

"Hecate's tits! I'm going to end up in pieces over Provence! Who will take care of Mother?" Draco sobbed loudly and messily.

"Hey, a little less emoting from the Slytherin Drama Queen club...the man's trying to fly! Snape, will you get that flask away from him before he drinks himself into oblivion? Unless you'd rather be in charge of keeping him from rolling off the carpet?" Harry yelled in his best 'I'm an Auror, damn it, and I'm handling this emergency' voice.

The fact that Potter had been the first to notice that Draco was in possession of Lucius' self-replenishing flask irked Snape no end, even as he sensibly followed the suggestion. "The damage has been done, Potter! I suggest you see to your sodden sidekick to make certain anything he needs to regurgitate goes over the fringe instead of into our faces!"

"Harry, I f-feel like crap." Weasley was whimpering.

"Join the club, Ron. At least you're still pissed out of your mind."

The redhead's expression of misery apparently affected Draco on a deep emotional level. Or maybe it was the loss of the flask. He cried harder and buried his face in Snape's shirt.

Severus was having none of that...all the 'Scourgifys' in the world would not efface his fury at this point if the record pest puked on him. "Get off me, you huge crybaby. Some days, I swear I only refrain from hexing you out of sheer force of habit."

Draco cringed away and wailed miserably.

"It's-it's okay, Malfoy. Don' know why's 'e's gotta be such a git to you," Weasley slurred, shooting a dirty look over his shoulder at Snape. He patted the sniffling Slytherin's shoulder in an uncharacteristic show of sympathy.

Draco raised his pale, watery eyes to Ron's face in surprise and gratitude. "They jusht don't undershtand. It's different, being a pureblood."

"Tell me 'bout it. Sometimes they talk 'bout us like we're just comic relief: 'Oh, lookit the clueless wizard don' know what a fellytone, erm, tellyfone, is.'"

"S'damn right. You know, you're all right, Weashley old chap," Draco sniffed as he wrapped his arm appreciatively around Ron's shoulder.

After a moment of inebriated surprise, Weasley decided to accept his new confidant's gesture graciously. "Thanks, Malfoy. Guess I see why Gin can stan' you."

Draco sighed mistily. "Oh, Ginny! Sheez so nishe... so priddy. You're lucky, Weashley... having a lil shister. Being an only shild's a bitsch... Can't blame anyone elsh fr' anything..."

"Never thought of it that way. But bein' the 'most youngest sucks cock. Ever'body else's done ever'thing better, and first...I'd bloody well have to become Minister of Magic to compete."

"But...but you're famous! Quidditch, and all that."

This was getting saccharine. Moderate alcohol consumption or not, Snape was going to vomit if he had to listen to any more of this.

"For the love of Merlin, could you two please cease and desist on the inter-house love fest?"

Potter shot Snape an ironic look across the carpet. "YOU started it."

Snape opened his mouth to argue when he realized what, exactly, Potter was referencing with that remark. "Shite," he said, shaking his head, eyes squashed shut. Perhaps if I avoid looking at them, I can pretend they aren't there.

Lupin started giggling uncontrollably. "You blokes are funny," he said between snickers.

"SHUT UP AND FLY!" Severus and Harry both yelled, just in time for Remus to avoid a bell tower.

---

Snape wondered why he kept opening his eyes. Every time he did, he found an excellent reason to close them again, as he did now. Do not lose it, Severus, he silently lectured himself. One Slytherin having a breakdown in front of the bloody damned Gryffindors is enough of an embarrassment for one night.

Judging by the fact that he hadn't been able to entirely understand the orders being shouted to them with the aid of 'Sonorus,' they were in Catalonia. Not terribly deep into Spain, but also a long, long way from having corrected their course and being on the way to Italy. Understanding the exact words was completely unnecessary, in light of that fact that the orders were obviously being shouted by some form of law enforcement, and the intention was clearly for them to land immediately and drop their wands. And he wished fervently that he knew what Spanish law had to say about flying carpets... and possession of certain potion ingredients.

"Draco, please tell me you didn't keep all the purchases on your person?"

"Why, 'course I did, Sev'rus. I jus' Reducio'd 'em nishelee down into my pockets."

"You didn't get everything on the list, did you?" he pleaded.

"But I shurtainly did, oh yessir! Wormwood, check, essence of Ab-abi-something, check, Cannabis sattiva, check, 'cept they din' have nuff sativa so I got indica, too..."

"Oh..."

"...SHITE!!!"

"Exactly!"

"How do you use that stuff and still manage to be so uptight?" Harry couldn't stop himself from asking.

"It's a bloody potion ingredient, you fool!" Snape hissed. Addressing Draco, he asked, "You still have the apothecary's receipt, haven't you? Please, Draco?"

"Umm. Was it that lil' slip of paper or that one?"

"Will you HURRY?"

Lupin, finally having landed the carpet without killing any of them (miracle of miracles) whispered, "Slip it to me, Draco. I'll tell them it's mine. I have a prescription."

The whole night was almost worthwhile to see that expression on Potter's face. Almost.

"What? Remus, you...you use drugs?"

"Why am I not surprised? That much mellowness could never be achieved by chocolate alone."

Lupin ignored Snape's remarks. "It's not like that, Harry. It's just now and then for the pain from the transformation."

"Likely story..." Snape couldn't help himself. Something in him insisted on muttering over Potter's continued expressions of disbelief.

"I can't BELIEVE this!"

"Actually, I can't, either. I'm sure I would have smelled something..."

"I never said I smoked it."

"HA! The chocolate! Oh, if only I had known!" Snape sounded like a maniac about now, and didn't care. He was probably having hysterics. Oh, what fun.

"Remus?!"

"It wasn't exactly in the chocolate. It was in the brownies I made with the chocolate. Severus, you're being ridiculous! I'd never have given it to the children!"

"Sev'rus? You okay? You're soundin' kinna funny..."

Potter was making a show of laying down his wand for the benefit of the border patrol or whomever it was that was approaching them. "My world is turning inside out. One of my best friends uses drugs, and I'm being subjected to a giggling Snape. Can this get any stranger?"

Weasley turned to him with an expression that managed to be both cross-eyed and patronizing. "And people accuse ME of being less than bright. NEVER ask that question, Harry."

As they were taken into custody, Snape heard that little whisper again. "I will handle it, Snape-san. Please do not worry."

It took a tremendous effort on his part. But Severus managed not to cry.

Lupin shook his head and remarked, with far too much seriousness, "We really should have just smoked it."

---

In short order, they were in a holding cell in a Spanish jail, apparently being held on suspicion of smuggling potentially hazardous potions ingredients, flying a carpet without a license or proper clearances, and possession of an improperly registered flying carpet. Remus had a vague awareness of all of this, but the next thing he perceived clearly was Harry's voice, arguing.

"You can't make bad things happen just by asking if..."

"DON'T, Potter. Just don't. It flies in the face of logic. But it really happens. Don't make this any worse."

Remus dimly recalled some pretty girls on a stage of some sort, but then he drank something and it was all quite blurry thereafter. All he knew was he was sitting in what appeared to be a jail cell. Harry and Severus were looking at him oddly, Draco and Ron were acting like some sort of badly enunciating mutual admiration society, and he would be happy if his head would fall off his shoulders about now; once it hit the floor and quit rolling, it might stop pounding. It would also save him wondering how this particular combination of wizards all ended up in one place.

"Um... can anyone tell me what happened?"

"You mean, you don't remember? The club? The flying carpet?"

Flying carpet? Now Remus was really confused. "Afraid not. Where are we?"

"Guests of the magistrate in charge of the wizarding enclave of Barcelona, Spain at the moment. I imagine our Consulate has been contacted by now, so hopefully we'll get out of here without anyone we know having to find out about this little adventure." This last was from Snape, who was hunched in a corner and looking more Snape-ish than usual.

"I still want to know how you're so sure that they'll contact the Consulate tonight." Harry was pacing now. Never a good sign.

"Not that I would expect you to be paying attention, Potter...but the jailer did say something to that effect. He may speak Catalan, but with an adequate knowledge of Spanish, it's possible to understand the thrust of what he's saying."

Harry gave Snape a dark look that expressed his doubt that anything about Snape was adequate. Remus reflected on the irony of the fact that Harry had probably learned it from Snape, and wished he could share his insight without either (or both) of them exacting retribution.

The sound of footsteps interrupted his musings. The source of said sound rounded the corner.

"Oh no. Lugh's nuts, no. Please don't tell me the British Wizarding Consul is..."

Harry interrupted Snape. "Okay. I won't tell you. You can see him for yourself, if you'll take your hands off your face."

Remus managed a weak smile, not sure if he was pleased or otherwise that it didn't cause his head to fall off. "Hello, Neville. How are Lola and Alicia?" He really would have liked to visit the young man under more auspicious circumstances.

"Hello, Remus. They're quite well, thanks. And Harry, Ron...Malfoy?! SNAPE?!!!" The expression on his face as he looked from one occupant of the cell to another was quite hilarious, as shock warred with amusement. He finally settled his gaze on Harry, the one person in the cell apparently not confused (or, in Snape's case, overtly hostile).

Harry sighed very deeply. His expression looked like twenty miles of bad road on a rainy night. "Long story, Neville. Very, very long."

"What's Longbottom doing here? Damn... you're bigger'n Goyle. More mus-muk-you got more muscles, too. Quite 'mazing, really."

Neville spared Draco an amused glance and shook his head. "Hello, Malfoy. You know, I think you just might be bearable when you are utterly pissed."

"Same to you, Longbottom," Draco said, his head listing to one side and an amiable expression flitting across his face.

"If only we'd known, we would have found a way to keep you thoroughly blitzed starting first year. It would have saved a lot of people a lot of aggravation." He grinned towards Harry, who snorted. At least Neville was bringing Harry out of full-blown sulk into mere irritation. Too bad there was no known way, short of judicious application of Hermione's company, to do the same with Severus.

Snape fumed. "Oh, get on with it, Longbottom!"

Remus would forever treasure the shocked expression on Severus' face when he realized Neville (now as tall as Snape) wasn't backing down. "Respectfully, sir," he said quietly, "you'll not be getting back to Hermione any time soon unless you calm down."

Severus continued to stare in shock, with most of the other occupants of the cell accompanying him in the expression. Draco looked confused...and maybe a little mournful at the vague realization he seemed to be missing something. "When did you become resistant to intimidation?" Snape finally asked.

Neville straightened, looked Snape in the eye, and said, "I survived the war. I avenged my parents. I adjusted to life without my leg, and without many of the people and things I used to hold dear. But above all, neither you nor anyone else can frighten me anymore, because..." he paused for breath, producing unintentional dramatic effect..."I have a two-year-old."

Remus didn't realize he was missing what Neville had to say about the magistrate. He didn't care that Severus was going into death glare mode. That was damned funny, and he was going to laugh at it.

Even if his head failed to thank him for it later.

---

Neville Longbottom winced a little as he stood. The old-fashioned prosthetic leg still twinged at the joint now and then. Perhaps one day, he'd allow it to be replaced with a fancy modern one that was indistinguishable from the real thing. For now, he'd keep it in memory of old Mad-Eye.

It wasn't unusual to be dragged out of his comfortable bed at all sorts of odd hours, either by his child or his job. As a legal consultant for the Foreign Office in Magical Barcelona, he'd lost count of the number of times he'd sent drunken countrymen home after helping them make amends for accidents, insults, and incidents of disturbing the peace. But the look on the night secretary's face told him that he was in for a definite variation on the theme this time.

Awaiting him in the conference room, looking for all the world like a well-mannered but exceedingly ugly toddler, was... something. It vaguely resembled a house-elf, with a rag around its waist and a handkerchief on its head. The body looked blurry somehow, almost as if it were Disillusioned. It started to bow, evidently thought better of it, then gazed at him beseechingly.

"Sir, I am Moto the... house-elf. My Master asked that I look after two wizards, S...Mr. Snape and Mr. Malfoy. They made a journey tonight, which went badly awry, and are now in jail with several friends of Hermione-san. I will be in ever so much trouble if I cannot get them all home safely by morning, since this would interfere with Mr. Snape marrying Hermione. My Master is very keen that this should happen on schedule."

If this thing was a house-elf, Neville was the Minister of Magic. Unless he very much missed his guess, the faint swampy odor, manner of address, and attempt to bow meant it was a Kappa, of all things. Still, he'd never met such a polite little creature, and the story was worth checking on, even if it proved to be an involved practical joke.

"I think I can manage to help your friends. But I'd like you to repeat the names...for the record." The small being complied cheerfully.

This was better than Neville could have imagined. It was obvious from the moment he reached the jail that Moto spoke true...and it was so amazing, he really didn't need to feign shock, despite having been told whom to expect beforehand. He was so amused that he refrained from baiting them at all. No shame in keeping them in mild suspense, though; he also refrained from telling them that his father-in-law was the magistrate-on-call that night and there was, therefore, no real chance of them being detained any longer than was necessary to pay a few fines.

It also didn't bother him that, shows of gratitude aside, even as good a friend as Ron still underestimated him once in a while. "You realize we're never going to live this down. We've all just been rescued... by Neville."

"Oh, I'll be discreet. I can empathize... I have a lady witch to whom I must answer. The records will be sealed, and the magistrate was kind enough to authorize minor Obliviates for the officers who booked you tonight. Nice glamour, by the way, Harry. But, gentlemen...you DO owe me." And with a beaming smile, he led them to the Floo so they could reach the Consulate's Portkey room.

"Legally speaking, I'm only supposed to send you home. But Merlin knows, poor Remus could use a break, and from what you've told me, this certainly wasn't his fault. I think I can talk the transportation clerk into making an extra Portkey to Naples and then going on a long coffee break until you're all well away. But please...try not to do this again, okay?" Neville smiled benevolently at everyone, especially at Snape. He couldn't help himself. It wasn't his fault that said smile caused Snape to acquire the expression of someone who had just sniffed a pitcher of bad cream. Briefly, Neville wondered what passed for domestic tranquility in a house with two people who always needed to be right. Hermione had never taken kindly to events not going precisely her way, either.

He knew he'd be borrowing his father-in-law's Pensieve. The sheepish looks on Harry, Ron, and Remus' faces alone were priceless. Draco looking like a lost little boy who's just been told his Mummy is on the way, and Snape looking as if he might die of sheer embarrassment at any second, were simply the icing on a very rich cake. He saw them off, then made his way back to the Floo and home.

Lola snuggled against Neville as he climbed back into bed. "More of your countrymen getting into mischief?"

"Not just countrymen... Some old friends and schoolmates." He paused quite a while before continuing, long enough that she almost fell asleep again. "Remember the 'clumsy' Death Eater from the attack on St. Mungo's? The tall, thin one who bumped into the other, so that the Slicing Hex aimed at me took my leg instead of my life?"

"Por supeusto. I always wondered who it could have been, and if he had some sort of forgiveness for his other deeds because he saved you, however unintentionally."

"It wasn't unintentional, querida. I know who it was... and I happen to know that he was rewarded." Or will be, by next Saturday, Neville thought as he drifted off to sleep.

---

Hermione thought that things were getting just a tad bit out of hand, and wasn't shy about saying so.

Reggie had to admit she had something of a point. Whoever had developed the idea of group participation or had coined the phrase 'let it all hang out' certainly did not have Minerva in mind. Or Molly. Definitely not Pomona. It didn't matter that they were in the back of the room and theoretically out of sight if one kept one's eyes carefully riveted to the stage. Ginny didn't dare exercise that sensible option for fear her mother was doing something vaguely adulterous back there. Reg understood her motivation, but for fuck's sake, why did she feel the need to report what she saw to the rest of her table? And why didn't witches' clubs have similar 'hands-off' policies as wizards' clubs?

This caused the Jarvey to ponder the whole mystery of why humans created and patronized such establishments in the first place. It was like going to a restaurant where you could only smell and look at the food.

Hermione dived for her purse under the table again. Ever since she'd discovered Reggie was hiding down there, she'd been checking in for moral support every few minutes.

"Reggie, do something!" she hissed.

"What the fuck am I supposed to do? They aren't in danger of hurting anything but their dignity, which by my estimates hurtled out the door like it was kicked by a buggered Centaur about twenty minutes ago or more. Despite Ginny's shit fit, her mum ain't even bending any wedding vows. And they aren't hurting anyone else. Injured sensibilities don't count," she added at the look on Hermione's face.

"What about extreme psychological trauma?" Hermione moaned.

"Have another drink, mija," Reggie said. "And get you and yours out of here as fast as you can." Hermione grimaced and sat up again. Reg hoped she would heed the advice, as it was obvious things were going further south based on the conversation filtering down through the tablecloth.

"'Mione, I need to go to the loo."

"I'm not stopping you, Tonks."

"I feel a lil' wobbly. I'm not sure I'll make it on my own. Please?"

"Ginny?"

"I don't know the spell you're using to keep them from noticing us. Unless you want to blow our cover or chance Disillusionment being enough to keep Wobbly Wilma here out of sight, you're nominated."

"Okay, but after this, we're LEAVING. You've eaten, tried five more of those bloody drink mixers, and this stopped being fun as soon as Minerva and her Gallic Romeo started playing Tonsil Quidditch back there."

Tonks whined a little. Reggie couldn't tell if this was from extreme intoxication, petulance, or painful images evoked by the words 'Minerva' and 'Tonsil Quidditch.'"

Hermione ducked under the table for her purse. "Don't worry, I've got you and the klutzy bint covered. As long as you can avoid crashing into their table, you should be fine," Reggie tried to reassure her.

Apparently, that reassurance was insufficient. "Considering Tonks, that's going to require a miracle."

Reggie growled. "Okay, I'll escort both of you. So long as you're willing to take the chance of a run-in with my seriously fucked plumbing karma, that is."

Tonks apparently also had some karmic issues regarding plumbing. All those drinks probably hadn't helped. Reggie and Hermione had to shore her up with various stabilizing spells just to keep her from falling in.

By the time they exited the lav, angry feminine yells could be heard from the main room. One of the voices was readily identifiable as Ginny's.

"Crap," Hermione muttered, utterly out of character for her and symptomatic of just how out-of-sorts she was at this point. She tried to hustle Tonks along faster, but only succeeded in tripping them both to the floor and ripping her robe. "Fuck!"

Reggie went into super-protective mode. If Hermione was stealing her lines, this party was ever-so-fucking over. With a flick of her tail, she set them both safely on their feet and steadied them all the way back to the main room.

Ginny was confronting Molly, Minerva was having some exceedingly sharp words with a witch who appeared to be the manager, and her toy-boy was trying to talk over all of their voices in a rant consisting partially of heavily accented English and partially of very profane French. Pomona was clearly enjoying both shows.

"Mum, I can't BELIEVE this!"

"Ginny, sweetheart, it's the thing to do here."

"You're a married woman, for Merlin's sake!"

"So are a lot of women in here!"

"Yes, but none of them is my Mum!"

"What happened?" Reggie spared a worried glance for Hermione, whose voice sounded rather traumatized. She'd turned pale, no doubt imagining that Ginny was raking Molly over the coals for engaging in some permutation on a lap dance.

Molly turned towards the sound of the question...albeit unsteadily. "Oh... hello, Hermione! And... Nymphadora, so nice to see you!" The words came out fairly clearly, but from the glazed look on her face, there was no doubt about it...Molly Weasley was stinking drunk. "I was... just tipping the waiter."

"Did you have to put the tip there?"

Tonks started giggling. "You know, you're sounding like Ron about now, Ginny."

Molly was escorted out, still complaining. Hermione waved halfheartedly at Sprout who had the audacity to wink at her. Minerva continued arguing the apparent termination of Monsieur Gerard's employment, too deeply buried in righteous indignation to notice anyone or anything else.

'Bloody hell' was the least of the expletives Ginny employed. Reggie was impressed.

"Shite...shite...FUCKING shite...got to get Mum home... wash her up... sober her up... maybe see if I can get her bright enough to 'Obliviate' me... make sure Dad never, ever, EVER hears about this massive pile of steaming centaur crap... and still fucking well have to go to the office in the morning... no Obliviate then, sodding, bloody, arse-fucking hell..."

They hustled their way towards The Leaky Cauldron, one of the few places that would still have an open Floo at this hour. No way they were going to try to Apparate to the station. Ginny started making hesitant noises about this. Hermione waved her off. "Do what you have to do. I'll get Tonks to the Portkey station."

Ginny sagged with relief. "I owe you."

"No kidding."

"Can we meet Saturday? I think I'll need someone to help me get over tonight. I can never, EVER talk about this with any of my brothers. Oh, and don't forget, the rehearsal is Tuesday."

Hermione sighed. "I'm working all weekend. How about tomorrow afternoon? If I'm still alive, I might have coffee with you instead of killing you."

"Fair enough. I should be free after two." Ginny slunk in, trying to hide the fact that she was holding Molly up. With a little silent help from Reggie, Hermione did the same for Tonks. Knowing how little Hermione liked Floo travel, Reggie discreetly 'poofed' the three of them to their destination just before the network kicked in.

Not that it seemed to help. 'Poofing' didn't cause nausea, yet Tonks still looked like she was on the verge of losing whatever residue was left in her stomach. Hermione escorted her to the proper key, trying to hold her at arm's length and tuck her bag safely into her hands, all under the quizzical eye of the Station Master. Ginny had been right about one thing...enough drinks, and Tonks had no clue that she hadn't been planning on going anywhere.

"Thanks Hermione... you're a real mate... don't know how I can repay you..."

Tonks proceeded to make the first installment by keeling over and vomiting on the hem of Hermione's robes, just before the Portkey hauled her off to Italy.

---

Snape was idly debating with himself whether viewing Potter's trauma from a front row seat outweighed the utter mortification of being bailed out by Neville Longbottom. The fact that he could consider this so calmly was further impetus for finding out what the Kappa had spiked their drinks with. Say what he might about Motoyoshi (and, Snape being Snape, he would), at least he was good for transportation. Snape doubted he could have Apparated on his own.

The substance was even powerful enough to impede him from feeling properly cranky about having to nursemaid Draco yet again. The little prat was the one hosting the party... he ought to have been carrying a thoroughly drunk Snape home and tucking him safely into bed, instead of the other way around.

It made Snape feel perfectly fine about the fact that there was no Hangover Relief Potion around for Draco to take in the morning. He'd carefully gone over the suite to make certain. (Why the little ponce needed that much room just to sleep was beyond Severus.) After all, it would be dreadfully unfair to leave the lad without any souvenir whatsoever of their expedition. Said expedition was finally coming to an end with the help of the polite little swamp menace. Snape might have been happier to see his miserable house before, but he couldn't think of when. That happiness vanished with a painful crash.

"Fuck!" he yelled, tripping and landing face-first on the stoop. He'd managed to go all night, across most of a continent without getting anything worse than ripped clothing (and getting rather ripped, himself), and he gave himself a black eye on his own front step.

"May I help you up, Snape-san?" Motoyoshi asked solicitously.

"I think I'll just play it safe from here." Snape crawled cautiously up the steps and fumbled with the wards. Moto intervened and let him in. He grunted a sort of thank you and pulled himself across the threshold, simply sitting by the door because he lacked the energy at the moment to do anything else.

Moto sat beside him, feeling he must make some positive contribution to his temporary charge's peace of mind. "Well, you know what Reggie-san says..."

Snape lowered his head to his hands. Oh, the joy...more gems from the Fairy God-Jarvey trove of wisdom. "The Quotable Jarvey says many things. Is this one repeatable?" he asked, voice muffled.

"Any party you can walk away from...wasn't much of a party."

Severus never had a chance to respond to that, for Hermione tripped over his legs in the dark and fell to the floor with a resounding crash that made Tonks look like a prima ballerina.

---

Hermione pulled herself into a sitting position on the opposite side of the entry. She looked at Severus' developing shiner; his dirty, ripped shirt; and scruffy traces of facial hair. He, in turn, took in her torn and stained robes; cut lip; and haggard, circles-under-the-eyes mien.

Hermione broke the silence first.

In a very small voice, she said, "I promise I'll never ask...if you promise the same."

"Fine. I'm hoping I won't remember this by morning. I mean, tomorrow...whenever," he replied. His voice was as ragged as the rest of him at the moment.

The Fairy God-Creatures said nothing. They thought it prudent not to remind their charges of any role they themselves may have played in the night's festivities.

"Nice how well we agree on these things." Leaning on each other, they managed to gain their feet and stagger upstairs to bed. A decent bath would have to wait. A couple of halfhearted 'Scourgifys' and they both fell into bed fully dressed, without so much as turning down the blanket.

Motoyoshi and Reggie gazed up after them, then looked at each other.

"I am thinking, Reggie-san, that few people involved in tonight's festivities will be making eye contact with each other tomorrow."

"I'm thinking, Moto, that that's a bloody understatement. Do I dare ask what the hell happened on your end?"

"I think it really went rather well, all things considered. Snape-San and his pale young friend Malfoy-san wished to visit a place of entertainment in the red-light district of Wizarding Amsterdam. I accompanied them, invisible as per regulations. I resolved to heed your instructions regarding their happiness, safety, and reasonably good behavior. So when Potter-san and his friends arrived at the same establishment, I took steps to ensure that they would interact harmoniously."

"Ohh, crap. I think I see where this is going..."

"They ordered alcoholic beverages, which I supplemented with a few special ingredients of my own."

"PLEASE tell me you used a nice, safe, Calming Draught, I'm begging you."

"But, Reggie-san, that would be untruthful. I must report my activities!"

"Bloody hell. I knew it couldn't just be a Calming Draught. Report away, and may God and Mab have mercy on our souls."

"I simply added a mixer. Veela wine, leprechaun whisky, some of that saké from the never-ending keg my grandfather got from O-Jurojin-Sama..."

"You didn't give them Faerie Good Will Punch!" Reggie shrieked. "Oh, with that saké, no less! Of course it wouldn't be shirosaké, oh, no..."

"Shirosaké is for children, Reggie-san. They were all of age."

"Only chronologically. Do I dare ask what happened next?"

"Well, they were all quite peaceful, and actually getting along rather well. Lupin-san was, unfortunately, getting along a little too well with Snape-san, or at least trying to."

"Holy crap! Lupin was there? You gave Good Will Punch to a werewolf? Do you know what sort of effect it has on lycanthropes?"

"Yes, I am aware that this combination of magical liquors temporarily reverses a lycanthrope's sexual orientation. But I was not aware at the time that Lupin-san was a lycanthrope. In light of the fact that Snape-san seemed less than sanguine about Lupin-san's display of affections..."

"You are plainly bucking for the Big Fat Fucking Understatement of the Year award, my young protégé."

"...I thought it prudent to continue administering the mixture until the party broke up and everyone went their separate ways. After all, it did seem to be preventing any unseemly outbreaks of violence. I was briefly distracted by a wayward bug..."

"Crap, crap, crap," Reggie kept murmuring, like a mantra against nervous breakdown.

"...and returned to find the elixir prompted remarkable boldness in the young flame-headed wizard. He mounted the stage and became extremely friendly with the dancer. While she did not seem averse to his attentions, it was quite against club policy to do such things outside the private rooms."

"No shite," Reggie said dazedly, fighting avidly to avoid picturing Ronald Weasley trying to convert vertical mambo to horizontal in front of a live audience.

"Malfoy-san seemed to find this quite entertaining and intervened on the flame-haired one's behalf. The werewolf was by then declaring his undying devotion to Snape-san."

"Wish to hell I'd seen that," Reggie said, her eyes glazing at the thought of missed mischief.

"At which point Snape-san and Potter-san mutually agreed to defer hostilities in the interest of getting themselves and their compatriots out of the establishment intact. I thought it prudent to create a small diversion towards that end."

Reggie simply buried her face in her paws.

"Oh, no, Reggie-san. I did well this time. Leprechaun gold shower, with Bludger effect. The bouncers were quite occupied attempting to beat coins away from their faces, and Snape-san and Potter-san were able to escort their friends out the door whilst the rest of the patrons and entertainers were picking up coins."

Reg looked up in amazement. "That wasn't half bad, Moto. It may even make up for the fact that you used a mind-altering substance on a whole mess of wizards."

"Oh, dear. Does Good Will Punch count as a mind-altering substance?"

"Do Grindylows piss in a pond? There are some wizards who would sell their firstborn to have a trip on that particular broom, Moto, baby."

"There were no brooms involved; however, Lupin-san did attempt to pilot a flying carpet. Sadly, he was not as proficient in that skill as he believed or perhaps he simply has a very poor sense of direction. Ultimately we ended up in Spain, where the authorities looked askance at the registration of our vehicle and, under the circumstances, were rather suspicious of the intended use of certain potions ingredients on Malfoy-san's person."

"Which ingredients would have... Oh, no... Don't tell me you wankers were arrested for non-Potions use of marijuana!"

"Just Malfoy-san and Lupin-san. And it was suspicion of sale for clandestine purposes."

Reggie was about to sigh in relief when he added, "The rest were arrested for aiding and abetting. Lupin-san was likewise cited for operating an improperly registered flying carpet. I was unable to provide assistance in the form of diversionary effects at that time, owing to the fact that the Spanish authorities employ anti-Dangerous Magical Creature detectors at the border. Lupin-san set them off by piloting the carpet. Had I performed any magic at that moment, my cover would have been, as you say, blown."

"It just boggles the mind how they could consider a nice little Kappa like you a dangerous magical creature."

"Fortunately, I was able to remain invisible and undetected throughout the incarceration process, and managed to reach the British Wizarding Consulate. You will be pleased to know that I was able to quickly secure their release due to the intervention of a fairly well placed official named Longbottom. I regret to say the carpet and cannabis were retained by the authorities, but the fines have been paid, and once the owners of the carpet are recompensed, there should be no further repercussions from the matter."

The Jarvey stared at her apprentice. "Moto, you are one crazy wanker. But plainly, all hope is not lost. I think I can pass off the Punch as a 'mood enhancer' in my report."

The Kappa bowed, managing to remember just in time not to bend low enough to dump all of his vital supply of swamp water from the depression on top of his head. He only had to top it off with a splash from his enchanted hishaku rather than replenish the lot. "Arigato, Reggie-san. I am most grateful, as always."

"As always?" she asked.

"Of course. I am aware that I am, as you say, 'a major fuck-up.' I feel quite certain that I only remain in the service because of your carefully worded progress reports. My gratitude is most profound. I really am a disgraceful Kappa, so I do not know what will become of me if I fail to become a Fairy Godfather."

Reggie cleared her throat and shuffled her silvery paws. "You're a good kid, Moto. You just... just need to work on control, that's all. And judgment, and... well, it takes a while. All I know is, you can't go back to being a regular Kappa. They'd eat you alive in the swamp."

"An unfortunately apt assessment, Reggie-san," Motoyoshi said in agreement.

---

Rita Skeeter shrieked, certain her eyes were being gouged out.

It took her a few moments to realize that her eyes were undamaged and were not, in fact, leaving her skull. The piercing pain was the result of the morning sun striking her half-opened eyelids with merciless intensity. She flung one arm up to shield herself, only to discover said arm was cold, stiff, and smelling badly of ill-kept back alley.

"Wha...?" Her attempt to question the universe at large as to where she was and how she got there was cut off at the insistence of her larynx, which apparently contained a quantity of sticky sand at the moment. She settled for easing her sore body and woozy head up into a more or less sitting position. It was kind of the wall to help.

Something was very wrong about all of this. Last she remembered, she'd been in insect form, and she hadn't been eating sand. In fact, she'd been hot on the trail of a big story. Something to do with that werewolf that Harry Potter was friends with. At least, she thought that was it. If she wasn't mistaken, the word wedding had come up. But it was all too vague for even someone with her talents to forge into a story.

No matter...she could fix that. She wasn't the most famous investigative reporter in the wizarding world for nothing. Well, maybe she wasn't the most famous this exact second, but she had been, and would be again! The wedding thing must be a clue. The first thing she needed to do was poke around the Records Office to see if any familiar names came up.

It finally dawned on her that she could hear people speaking near the mouth of the alley. She squinted around looking for the speakers and realized two things: one, she had no clue where she was; and two, wherever this place might be, no one was speaking English.

Okay... perhaps the first thing she needed to do was find Britain.

---

Author's Notes:

Spanish Vocabulary:

Por supuesto: of course

Querida: dear

(I imagine Neville speaks Spanish with a very cute accent. I also imagine Lola had a lot of fun teaching him. Did I mention I'm in love with Neville?)

Japanese Vocabulary:

Saké: I know this is usually called rice 'wine', but would be more accurate to call it 'rice beer', since it is brewed from grain with the aid of yeast and other microorganisms (koji).

Shirosaké: literally, "white saké". Very low alcohol content. Children are allowed a tiny cup of it on certain holidays.

O-Jurojin-Sama: A kind old man who bribed his way across an infamous marsh by giving the chief Kappa a little never-emptying keg of saké. Little did the Kappas in question know that Jurojin was better known as one of the Seven Gods of Good Luck. Note that both 'O' and 'sama' are designations of great honor, as opposed to 'san,' which is just polite.

Arigato: Thank you (just in case there was someone out there who hadn't heard it before)

I thought Remus and Tonks might enjoy releasing their 'inner goofballs' for a little romp. Did we all have fun, or what?

I know Lugh is not pronounced 'lug', but I solemnly swear I cannot resist atrocious word play.

Arigato to Reuters, for putting the article on the internet about how the FCO (UK Foreign Office) was no longer amused at having to bail out and send home (gratis) ill-behaved British bachelors who got into trouble at stag parties on the continent. That article sent a vague idea into really high gear, and gave me the golden opening for Neville to charge in and save the day. (We will now pause while dracontia has another Neville-adoration moment.)

Do you have any idea how tactful Tempest of Dreams is? Some of my paragraphs are the verbal equivalent of 'find Waldo,' yet she manages to point me in the direction of clarity without ever once calling me any bad names. Though Reggie loves suggesting a few fitting ones.