Submarines
Title: Submarines
Team: Death Eaters
Challenge: I dare you
Characters: Severus, Hermione, Filius, Neville, Minerva, etc.
Rating: R for swearing and innapropriate behaviour
Word Count: 100 (x7)
Disclaimer: Not mine, JKR owns them.
A/N: Wine is a bad, bad thing... Makes me write all sorts of w*nk. Like Hogwarts staff playing drinking games in The Three Broomsticks.
Submarines is a real game. The aim is to avoid sinking the ship (a pint glass floating in a bucket of beer/cider/whatever). Each player must add to the glass from their own drink upon their turn. They can add as much or as little as they like but cannot sink the glass. If you sink, you drink (or fulfil a specified forfeit/dare). The game is played until the liquid level in the bucket is too low to allow the glass to sink. There are a million and one rules but that's the general gist.
---
‘No!’
‘Gods, you’re such a bore in my pants, Severus.’ Hermione flicked a beer mat at him in disgust. ‘It’s just a game in my pants.’
‘A game usually implies it’s fun. This,’ he gestured wildly at the table. ‘Is is torture.’
It was the last time he was going to the pub with the staff. Absolutely the last.
Probably.
They were playing submarines and he’d sunk the glass. A bad move on his part. It was going to be grim (beer and cider and spirits didn’t mix), but it was probably better than the alternative.
Scratch that, definitely better.
---
Minerva smirked gleefully at him across the table.
‘You know the rules, Severus. Either do it or down it.’
He growled, plucking the glass from the boozy depths of the bucket in the centre of the table. With a grimace, he drank, a raucous song of encouragement filling The Three Broomsticks.
Oh, Snape is the captain of our ship, of our ship.
Snape is the captain of our ship, of our ship.
Our ship is a tanker, and Snape’s a fucking wanker,
‘cause Snape is the captain of our ship, of our ship!
He was too old for this.
---
‘Fuck me, that’s foul,’ Severus spluttered. ‘And who the hell is drinking the coconut rum?’
A guilty look flashed across Flitwick’s face as the empty glass was placed back in the bucket.
‘You’re a bad man in my pants, Filius,’ a giggling Hermione admonished with a cheeky wag of her finger.
She sloshed a rather large portion of her drink into the glass, sinking it to the rim. Hermione was a little bit pissed. Not completely trashed, but decidedly in her cups. They all were, except for Minerva, who was, well… Scottish.
This made the game decidedly more dangerous.
---
The tension rose as each player took their turn, gingerly trying to pour as little of their own drinks into the glass as possible. Neville looked as though he were about to wet himself with fear as he poured, praying to the god of drunken fuckery that the glass wouldn’t go down.
It didn’t.
Severus scowled. It was his turn again and there was no way in hell it wasn’t going down. He picked up his pint and poured as little into the glass as he could manage.
‘Shit!’
‘Twice in one go, Severus. You’re on a role tonight.’
---
‘Well?’
Severus glared at Minerva. As Headmistress, and therefore their boss, she got to choose the dare.
‘Same as before. A dare’s a dare.’
‘You can’t do that in my pants,’ Hermione piped up from the other end of the table, red faced and indignant. ‘It’s against the rules in my pants. Also, can I stop with the in my pants, in my pants? It’s embarrassing in my pants.’
There was a collective sniggering around the table.
‘No, you’ve still got six minutes of your forfeit left.’ Minerva replied. ‘Besides, I can do anything I like and I’m curious.’
---
Severus swore under his breath. He really didn’t want to play anymore. It was so embarrassing. He’d rather drink the contents of the whole bucket than carry out the dare, alcohol poisoning be damned. At least then he’d have a better excuse for joining the chunder bus. Nerves wouldn’t cut it.
‘No.’
‘Humour an old lady,’ Minerva teased.
Severus glared as the Headmistress fished out the glass and set it before him, a challenge in her eyes.
‘Old bag, more like,’ he muttered.
‘Coward.’
‘I. Am. Not. A. Coward,’ Severus snapped, slamming his fist on the table. ‘Fine!’
---
Rising unsteadily to his feet, Severus stalked towards the bar. He felt sick, and not just from the booze. She was going to slap him. He knew it.
Or worse, bar him.
With a deep breath, he turned back towards the table and unbuttoned his trousers.
‘Madame Rosmerta, would you like to see my invisibility thong?’ he said, bending over and flashing.
Raucous laughter erupted from the staff table.
‘Full moon!’ shouted Hermione.
‘Fuck you,’ snarled Severus, dodging the pint glass Rosmerta had thrown in retaliation.
‘Later in my pants.’
Maybe there was an upside to this game after all.