Harry Potter One Shots (Vol. I)

Drunk on You (Seamus Finnigan)

It's officially the 25th where I am so - 

A short, sweet Christmas present for all my fawns. Merry Christmas to those of you who celebrate it, and a happy holidays ~ 

(Whilst this is on the shorter side of the stories I've written, it's still over 6000 words long)

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Within months of beginning my adult working life, I'd quickly decided that working in the Ministry – in the Accidental Magic Reversal Department – was one of the most stressful places to work. Of course, others would protest that it couldn't be the most stressful when people worked as Aurors and as Healers and then of course, there was the Minister of Magic, as well. But Merlin, only people who worked in our department knew what it was like to be pulled away from your small office to go and obliviate a muggle who'd been caught in the crossfire because of some accidental magic. More so when the child who'd done the magic was a muggleborn – convincing their parents that their child wasn't an advocate of the devil (or even a deity) was a whole other headache. And the length of the reports that needed to be filled in every time was much worse than any essay the teachers at Hogwarts could have ever assigned.

My co-workers, in order to combat this stress and the headache that followed us home after work, liked to drink. When you had as low a tolerance as I did, it became an issue. Quickly, within weeks of working at the Ministry and in my particular team, I'd realised that more often than not, my co-workers went to the pub to unwind. Most were accepting that if I drank more than one glass of wine, I risked splinching myself on my way home. But there were some – absolute bastards – who didn't like to get drunk alone. And it was because of people like them that I'd fallen into the habit of slipping out of work early. Rather, I had been doing that before I'd found out I was being eyed for a promotion. Unfortunately, with my newly re-established dedication to my work, I was dragged to a godforsaken pub more often than I would like.

Despite my protests, I found myself sitting in a booth in the usual pub and nursing a glass of white wine. I'd drank it much slower than my colleagues drank theirs; whilst I finished one, some were on their fourth drink. Godric, I'd honestly expected more from grown adults but sure enough, they were getting progressively rowdier.

Emptying my glass, I made the excuse of getting another one so I could leave. My co-workers were so giddy in the beginning stages of their drunken haze that they didn't question why I needed my coat and handbag to go to the bar. Instead, they waved me away. Relieved, I picked up my empty glass and navigated my way through the crowd towards the bar. Finding an empty space, I got to the counter and set my glass down and prepared to wade my way through the people so I could leave.

That had been the plan. But then, there was a surprised call of my surname, "Eubanks!" that had me abandoning the idea. I turned back to the bar, to find one of my old school friends standing there and looking at me with raised brows. Although, I wasn't all that surprised to see him – Finnigan had always wanted to work in a pub.

"You work here?" I asked, walking back towards the bar and leaning against it.

"I own it," he corrected, leaning close to the bar so the other bartender could walk past him. His eyes raked over my face in surprise before looking once more to the empty glass I'd abandoned. He picked it up, raising it to his nose and to my utter confusion, he sniffed it. His eyes flickered back to mine, narrowing before asking, "How many of these have you had? Do I need to get someone to help you home?"

I scowled for a moment, knowing how often he'd been around to witness the scenes I wound up in when I drank too much. "I've had just the one."

His suspicious gaze didn't lessen, "Really?"