Siriusly Drunk About Girls

Chapter 2

December 20, 1995, Grimmauld Place

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A far away pounding had Harry frowning in his sleep and bringing him partway back to consciousness. When the pounding ceased, he sighed and his mind began to drift back down into unconsciousness again.

Thumpthumpthump! Thumpthumpthump! Thumpthumpthump!

"Harry! Harry! Are you in there?"

Harry startled and jerked in the chair, wincing as he did so. His eyes opened briefly before he winced and slammed them shut.

Thumpthumpthump! Thumpthumpthump! Thumpthumpthump!

"Harry! I hope you're dressed because I'm coming in!"

The voice was familiar and he frowned, trying to place it. It was usually such a kind voice and he couldn't work out why it was being so angry and insistent, especially when his head hurt and his brain felt fuzzy.

The door slamming back caused his eyes to open once more and he groaned at the light.

There was a figure there with a distinct bushiness about their head.

"There you are, Harry!"

"Hermione?" he asked with a groan.

"Did you sleep in that chair?" she asked. "Don't complain to me if your back is sore!"

Once again Harry groaned, this time accompanying it by bringing both hands up to hold his head.

"Why are you yelling?" he asked around a tongue that felt ten times larger than it usually was.

"I'm not yelling. Not yet," she replied.

Really, if this wasn't yelling then Harry had no interest in finding out what was! Every word was like a dagger to his head, pounding into it and causing excruciating pain. He groaned, it was all that he could do and he hoped that she understood that it meant for her to Stop Yelling!

"Harry? Are you drunk?" she asked, still in that loud, painful voice.

"Of course not, Hermione," he managed, peering at her between eyelids that were all but closed.

She was the epitome of Hermioneness when she was annoyed and that was enough to make him groan again. Her hands were on her hips and she had a very disappointed expression on her face. He wouldn't have been surprised to find out that she was tapping her foot as well.

"You are! You're drunk as a skunk!" she accused.

"No I'm not," Harry counted. "Can't be. All I've had is butterbeer and you know that that's not alcoholic."

"This wouldn't be any of Sirius' special butterbeer would it?" a voice asked.

Harry frowned. Moony? It sounded like him. Not that Harry could see him. And he had no intention of moving his head to search for the elusive ex-professor.

"It's just butterbeer," Harry answered anyway. "From his secret hole-in-the-wall."

"Oi!" Sirius yelled, even that one word sounding slurred. "No telling your godfather's secretses!"

"Sorry," Harry said, wincing slightly.

Why everyone was yelling he had no idea.

"You drank Sirius' butterbeer?" Moony asked sounding incredulous. "Please tell me you only had the one."

"There's four empty bottles here," Hermione stated.

Four? Harry was certain that he'd only had three. He shrugged, guessing that he'd miscounted somewhere. But still. It was only butterbeer. What was the big deal?