31 Days of October - Day 24 - Prompt: Fire Whiskey/Butterbeer (fic; no challenge)
Title: Ogden Did It
Summary: Ogden's Old Firewhisky spiked with Veritaserum, adult "Never Have I Ever," a Golden Boy with an identity crisis, and a party full of people who can barely stomach each other. What could possibly go wrong?
Characters/Pairings: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Luna Lovegood, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode // established Ron/Hermione; past Harry/Ginny
Genre: Gen/Humor with moments of reflective angst?
Beta: Not this time :|
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 // cursing; Gryffindor perspective (no drastic Slytherin bashing but some good-natured snark from Harry); non-graphic mentions of past sexual deeds; brief and vague homophobic remark
Medium: Fic; One-shot
Word Count: 2,189
Can the Order post to Tumblr?: Sure
If yes, your Tumblr username: n/a
“This is an utterly wretched idea,” Ron groaned piteously as he complained about Hermione’s Friday night plans for precisely the seventeenth time that day. Harry had been counting. Not that he could really blame Ron. Drinking Veritaserum-spiked liquor with other ministry employees at Pansy Parkinson’s house wasn’t exactly Harry’s idea of a fun night out either. Buuuut, they both owed Hermione after she had sat in the Leaky with a book all Saturday night the previous weekend, “chaperoning” Seamus & Dean’s bachelor party. Girls weren’t supposed to be allowed, so she hadn’t even been able to sit in the same area as them. She had been in charge of making sure no one apparated drunk or got in a bar brawl, though, at Dean’s pleaded request (through Harry). Gryffindor get-togethers, especially where alcohol was involved, tended to get a little more rowdy than was strictly legal. Hermione had even dragged Dennis Creevey and Neville back to the trio’s shared flat, instead of allowing the boys to make their long treks home (Neville back to Hogwarts and Dennis back to muggle London). Harry reckoned it was only fair that he and Ron attended the ministry function with Hermione after she had been such a good sport during the bachelor party. Plus, Harry knew full well that Hermione mostly wanted to attend the party so she had a chance outside of work to devote time to her budding friendship with Pansy Parkinson. Group socializing was the easiest and most casual way of doing so. Plus, Ron would never admit it but he didn’t like the idea of his girlfriend getting drunk, truthful, and vulnerable by herself, with a bunch of mostly ex-Slytherins. They would have a few friends there - Hannah Abbott, Katie Bell, Luna Lovegood, Roger Davies, to name a few - but mostly people the trio weren’t especially close to. No one Ron would trust to watch out for Hermione. He had gotten disgustingly protective of her, now that they were actually married. A huge part of the reason he would never admit to said protectiveness was that he knew how his wife would respond and Hermione would definitely not find Ron’s “chivalry” as endearing as he meant it to be. Hermione had furiously reminded Ron during many an argument that she could take care of herself and that she didn’t need her own husband thinking anything less.
“Dark” vs. “Light” tensions were much better, nearly five years after the war had ended, but hostile situations did still pop up from time to time. Smarter to socialize in groups where you knew you had back-up, so to speak. Any one of the Golden Trio could still have a target on their forehead, depending on who they bumped into on the street. Some people blamed them for not finding the Horcruxes faster and their loved ones not surviving the Second War. Others thought that Harry had been playing God and recklessly disregarding the lives of innocents, when he had no right or justification to do so. Plus, there were still plenty of ex-Deatheaters and Voldemort sympathizers who weren’t entirely pleased the other side had won.
So, here they were, standing outside the main gate of the Parkinson grounds at precisely 6:15pm (“We can’t be anything BUT fashionably late to Pansy’s party! We would look ridiculous being on time or Merlin forbid, early. Representatives of the wizarding social elite will be there,” Hermione had all-but panted as she dragged Ron from their flat earlier that evening.). Hermione appeared a wee bit nervous, Harry thought, but mostly excited. You could only see her nerves in the staccato tapping of her fingers against her thighs. She really was excelling in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, growing as much socially as she was professionally. Long gone was the bushy-haired little girl, prone to tears of frustration and long hours of self-isolation in the library. Harry was pretty proud of her, to be quite sappily honest.
Ron looked, as per his norm today, petulant and vaguely affronted. Harry, on the other hand, was just a big old ball of awkward unease. He had a lot more to lose by telling the absolute truth in front of his colleagues than the other two did. Most of the partygoers this evening would still be gossiping about his split from Ginny a few months ago. Hermione, The Weasleys, Neville, and Luna, were the only people Harry had told the truth too so far and he wasn’t terribly enthusiastic about others finding out so soon. Not when darling Rita Skeeter was still publishing daily rumor-filled articles regarding Harry. Not when Harry himself didn’t know to explain. Not when Ginny, despite ending things as amicably as they could, was undoubtedly still a little tender about the reasons they had broken up. She was talking to Harry, a fact he was immensely relieved about, but it would take time to repair the friendship they had had pre-dating. Ginny wouldn’t be here tonight but Harry didn’t want someone from the party thinking it was their business to try and discuss with her any of the likely gossip-fodder he was going to provide under the influence of Veritaserum. Salt in open wounds and all that. Harry was trying to be considerate to Ginny’s feelings, he had been the one to end it with her, but empathy had never been his strongest suit.
Hermione pushed the “call” button on the gate. “Helloooooo!” Parkinson’s bodiless voice echoed around them. “Who am I letting in?”
“Hermione, Ron, and Harry,” Hermione promptly responded.
“Hermione!” Parkinson squealed, probably already a few shots in by the sound of it. “My love! Brill. Opening the gate now. Do you require an escort to the main house? It’s mostly a straight shot from the gate.”
Hermione pursed her lips, ever the determined Gryffindor. “I’m sure we’ll be fine, thank you.”
After a few wrong turns and more than a little bickering, the ex-Gryffindors made it to the giant mansion. The Parkinson estate wasn’t quite as large as Malfoy Manor but it was still massive. Daphne Greengrass opened the ornate chestnut doors when the trio knocked. Upon entering, they were immediately besieged by a clearly tipsy Pansy Parkinson, who shoved shot glasses of spiked Ogden’s into their slack grips.
“Come!” Parkinson clapped her now empty hands together in glee, bouncing on her heels. “We’re playing adult ‘Never Have I Ever’ and getting to learn a lot more about our coworkers!”
“Adult?” Harry intoned weakly.
“Sexual darling, sexual,” Parkinson exclaimed. Sexual. Of course. Bloody Slytherins were an open book about their sexual escapades. Just about the only topic they were honest about, in Harry’s opinion, unless they crossed over to lie territory purely by the virtue of over-bragging. Ron was now looking vaguely moss colored. Hermione, however, had downed two shots of liquid courage as soon as Parkinson handed them to her. Go figure, she was the only one of them looking curious and ready to play. With a growing sense of dread and sweaty palms respectively, Harry and Ron followed the two girls over to a small group of their coworkers sitting in a circle on the floor. They were forced to park their butts wherever there was room, Hermione daintily crossing her legs next to Parkinson, Harry plopping down next to Theodore Nott, and Ron stuck next to Marietta Edgecombe.
“Alright,” Parkinson began. “For the newcomers, standard rules apply. If you’ve done whatever someone else in the circle says they haven’t done, you take a shot of fire whiskey. The only rule is you must drink if you’ve done it. No lying or the game isn’t fun and anything you choose as your own ‘never have I ever’ has to be sexual in some way.” Here, she paused. “Everyone clear?” Nods all around. “Fabulous! I’ll do one to get us started up again. Never have I ever been shagged by a professor. If you tell us all who it was, you can skip taking the shot.” Her green eyes glinted in the face of her unbridled nosiness. Harry fought the urge to roll his own emerald orbs.
Everyone passed until Blaise Zabini who, looking utterly plastered already, raised his shot glass in mock salute before placing it lightly down on the vermilion carpet. “Professor Slughorn,” he said, causing many in the circle to splutter and/or gag (Ron). “He was always particularly receptive to sexual favors from his little club members.” The undeniably Adonis-like Unspeakable winked salaciously at Harry, who had to admit to himself he wasn’t really all that rocked by this revelation. More passes then, until to almost everyone’s collective horror, Hermione drank.
“’Mione!” Harry croaked. Ron didn’t look murderous, so clearly this secret had already come out during the disgustingly deep and meaningful pillow talk Harry imagined his two friends to engage in. Hermione just shook her head; bright pink staining her cheeks as she scrupulously looked down at the floor.
“Do tell!” Parkinson stared at Hermione intently.
“Absolutely not!” Hermione said with great dignity for someone looking at her nails so fastidiously that it was like they were in danger of jumping off her fingers. Harry could only imagine that Parkinson was genuinely becoming extremely fond of Hermione, for the Slytherin girl to willingly not phrase her request as a question. “I drank my shot,” Hermione ended lamely.
“Spoil sport,” Parkinson pouted, but she let the matter drop. Next to her, Draco Malfoy leaned his elbows on his crossed knees and swirled his fire whiskey in contemplation.
“Never have I ever fucked under my parents’ roof.” Many eyebrows rose at that declaration.
“But why,” Luna asked. “Your house is surely large enough that they never would have been able to hear you, isn’t it?”
Malfoy shook his head. “Realistically, they wouldn’t be able to hear me, no, but Slytherin parents are quite tricky. I wouldn’t have put it past them to spell my room just so they knew what I was up to at all times. If they had found out my sexual proclivities leaned more towards the masculine form when I was under their roof, it most assuredly would not have ended well.” Malfoy got a little whiter, his face growing slightly slack. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “bloody Veritaserum” before taking another shot for the Hell of it. Malfoy had been out of the closet since right after the war ended but he was still an exceptionally private person. Not even Rita Skeeter could figure out who his lovers were. Instead, she encouraged rumors that he dated muggle men, and that’s why he was so secretive. Harry had no idea if that was actually the case, but he of all people, certainly couldn’t blame Malfoy for wanting to keep his private life out of Rita Skeeter’s grasping little vulture claws.
“On that note,” Nott went next. “Never have I ever shagged someone who had the same bits as me.” Harry balked. Merlin’s hairy anus. This was EXACTLY what he didn’t want to risk drawing attention to at the moment.
“Oh la la,” Millicent Bulstrode cackled as Harry bravely downed his shot. “The golden, flawless, snow pure, do-good-ing, Saint Potter is a bloody poofter! How deliciously degrading!” About half the circle attempted a weak laugh, but no one seemed as nastily amused as Bulstrode. Harry hugged his knees and hid his face. He wasn't even gay! He didn’t think. He was bi… probably. He had been a smidge too preoccupied saving the world in his youth to really explore his sexuality like most people did in their teens. Harry heard Ron rise, practically growling at Bulstrode. Parkinson was tsk-ing and when Harry finally looked up again she was frowning at her old housemate.
“I told you to play nice or not to come, Millie.” Pansy scolded, wagging a disapproving finger at the girl. Bulstrode just scoffed, rolling her eyes and blatantly demonstrating that she wasn’t the least bit remorseful. She had lost more than most during the Battle, and her enduring bitterness was well known at the Ministry.
To Harry’s utter disbelief, Malfoy suddenly rose gracefully. In one fell motion he smacked Bulstrode on the back of her pumpkin-sized head, more gently used two fingers on Ron’s shoulder to nudge the tall redhead back down towards the floor, and then walked over to sit next to Harry. Nott even moved out of the way slightly so that there was room! Harry’s mouth actually fell open in shock, jaw cracking audibly. Malfoy wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders and squeezed in what, if Harry hadn’t known better, he would have classified as a reassuring gesture. Malfoy glared with those piercing light blue eyes at the now slightly sheepish looking Bulstrode. Slytherin’s fabled Ice Prince, indeed. It was like Malfoy was green & silver royalty.
“You a homophobe as well as boorishly presumptuous, Millicent?” Malfoy challenged. The girl looked livid now, her fists clenched, but she said nothing and shook her head. “No? Lovely. Then let’s go back to having a decent time without any judgmental rubbish.”
Taking Malfoy’s cue, Luna promptly piped up. “Never have I ever…”
-End-
Kelly // Gryffindor // 73+3=76 I think.
Summary: Ogden's Old Firewhisky spiked with Veritaserum, adult "Never Have I Ever," a Golden Boy with an identity crisis, and a party full of people who can barely stomach each other. What could possibly go wrong?
Characters/Pairings: Harry Potter, Hermione Granger, Ron Weasley, Pansy Parkinson, Draco Malfoy, Blaise Zabini, Luna Lovegood, Theodore Nott, Millicent Bulstrode // established Ron/Hermione; past Harry/Ginny
Genre: Gen/Humor with moments of reflective angst?
Beta: Not this time :|
Rating/Warnings: PG-13 // cursing; Gryffindor perspective (no drastic Slytherin bashing but some good-natured snark from Harry); non-graphic mentions of past sexual deeds; brief and vague homophobic remark
Medium: Fic; One-shot
Word Count: 2,189
Can the Order post to Tumblr?: Sure
If yes, your Tumblr username: n/a
“This is an utterly wretched idea,” Ron groaned piteously as he complained about Hermione’s Friday night plans for precisely the seventeenth time that day. Harry had been counting. Not that he could really blame Ron. Drinking Veritaserum-spiked liquor with other ministry employees at Pansy Parkinson’s house wasn’t exactly Harry’s idea of a fun night out either. Buuuut, they both owed Hermione after she had sat in the Leaky with a book all Saturday night the previous weekend, “chaperoning” Seamus & Dean’s bachelor party. Girls weren’t supposed to be allowed, so she hadn’t even been able to sit in the same area as them. She had been in charge of making sure no one apparated drunk or got in a bar brawl, though, at Dean’s pleaded request (through Harry). Gryffindor get-togethers, especially where alcohol was involved, tended to get a little more rowdy than was strictly legal. Hermione had even dragged Dennis Creevey and Neville back to the trio’s shared flat, instead of allowing the boys to make their long treks home (Neville back to Hogwarts and Dennis back to muggle London). Harry reckoned it was only fair that he and Ron attended the ministry function with Hermione after she had been such a good sport during the bachelor party. Plus, Harry knew full well that Hermione mostly wanted to attend the party so she had a chance outside of work to devote time to her budding friendship with Pansy Parkinson. Group socializing was the easiest and most casual way of doing so. Plus, Ron would never admit it but he didn’t like the idea of his girlfriend getting drunk, truthful, and vulnerable by herself, with a bunch of mostly ex-Slytherins. They would have a few friends there - Hannah Abbott, Katie Bell, Luna Lovegood, Roger Davies, to name a few - but mostly people the trio weren’t especially close to. No one Ron would trust to watch out for Hermione. He had gotten disgustingly protective of her, now that they were actually married. A huge part of the reason he would never admit to said protectiveness was that he knew how his wife would respond and Hermione would definitely not find Ron’s “chivalry” as endearing as he meant it to be. Hermione had furiously reminded Ron during many an argument that she could take care of herself and that she didn’t need her own husband thinking anything less.
“Dark” vs. “Light” tensions were much better, nearly five years after the war had ended, but hostile situations did still pop up from time to time. Smarter to socialize in groups where you knew you had back-up, so to speak. Any one of the Golden Trio could still have a target on their forehead, depending on who they bumped into on the street. Some people blamed them for not finding the Horcruxes faster and their loved ones not surviving the Second War. Others thought that Harry had been playing God and recklessly disregarding the lives of innocents, when he had no right or justification to do so. Plus, there were still plenty of ex-Deatheaters and Voldemort sympathizers who weren’t entirely pleased the other side had won.
So, here they were, standing outside the main gate of the Parkinson grounds at precisely 6:15pm (“We can’t be anything BUT fashionably late to Pansy’s party! We would look ridiculous being on time or Merlin forbid, early. Representatives of the wizarding social elite will be there,” Hermione had all-but panted as she dragged Ron from their flat earlier that evening.). Hermione appeared a wee bit nervous, Harry thought, but mostly excited. You could only see her nerves in the staccato tapping of her fingers against her thighs. She really was excelling in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement, growing as much socially as she was professionally. Long gone was the bushy-haired little girl, prone to tears of frustration and long hours of self-isolation in the library. Harry was pretty proud of her, to be quite sappily honest.
Ron looked, as per his norm today, petulant and vaguely affronted. Harry, on the other hand, was just a big old ball of awkward unease. He had a lot more to lose by telling the absolute truth in front of his colleagues than the other two did. Most of the partygoers this evening would still be gossiping about his split from Ginny a few months ago. Hermione, The Weasleys, Neville, and Luna, were the only people Harry had told the truth too so far and he wasn’t terribly enthusiastic about others finding out so soon. Not when darling Rita Skeeter was still publishing daily rumor-filled articles regarding Harry. Not when Harry himself didn’t know to explain. Not when Ginny, despite ending things as amicably as they could, was undoubtedly still a little tender about the reasons they had broken up. She was talking to Harry, a fact he was immensely relieved about, but it would take time to repair the friendship they had had pre-dating. Ginny wouldn’t be here tonight but Harry didn’t want someone from the party thinking it was their business to try and discuss with her any of the likely gossip-fodder he was going to provide under the influence of Veritaserum. Salt in open wounds and all that. Harry was trying to be considerate to Ginny’s feelings, he had been the one to end it with her, but empathy had never been his strongest suit.
Hermione pushed the “call” button on the gate. “Helloooooo!” Parkinson’s bodiless voice echoed around them. “Who am I letting in?”
“Hermione, Ron, and Harry,” Hermione promptly responded.
“Hermione!” Parkinson squealed, probably already a few shots in by the sound of it. “My love! Brill. Opening the gate now. Do you require an escort to the main house? It’s mostly a straight shot from the gate.”
Hermione pursed her lips, ever the determined Gryffindor. “I’m sure we’ll be fine, thank you.”
After a few wrong turns and more than a little bickering, the ex-Gryffindors made it to the giant mansion. The Parkinson estate wasn’t quite as large as Malfoy Manor but it was still massive. Daphne Greengrass opened the ornate chestnut doors when the trio knocked. Upon entering, they were immediately besieged by a clearly tipsy Pansy Parkinson, who shoved shot glasses of spiked Ogden’s into their slack grips.
“Come!” Parkinson clapped her now empty hands together in glee, bouncing on her heels. “We’re playing adult ‘Never Have I Ever’ and getting to learn a lot more about our coworkers!”
“Adult?” Harry intoned weakly.
“Sexual darling, sexual,” Parkinson exclaimed. Sexual. Of course. Bloody Slytherins were an open book about their sexual escapades. Just about the only topic they were honest about, in Harry’s opinion, unless they crossed over to lie territory purely by the virtue of over-bragging. Ron was now looking vaguely moss colored. Hermione, however, had downed two shots of liquid courage as soon as Parkinson handed them to her. Go figure, she was the only one of them looking curious and ready to play. With a growing sense of dread and sweaty palms respectively, Harry and Ron followed the two girls over to a small group of their coworkers sitting in a circle on the floor. They were forced to park their butts wherever there was room, Hermione daintily crossing her legs next to Parkinson, Harry plopping down next to Theodore Nott, and Ron stuck next to Marietta Edgecombe.
“Alright,” Parkinson began. “For the newcomers, standard rules apply. If you’ve done whatever someone else in the circle says they haven’t done, you take a shot of fire whiskey. The only rule is you must drink if you’ve done it. No lying or the game isn’t fun and anything you choose as your own ‘never have I ever’ has to be sexual in some way.” Here, she paused. “Everyone clear?” Nods all around. “Fabulous! I’ll do one to get us started up again. Never have I ever been shagged by a professor. If you tell us all who it was, you can skip taking the shot.” Her green eyes glinted in the face of her unbridled nosiness. Harry fought the urge to roll his own emerald orbs.
Everyone passed until Blaise Zabini who, looking utterly plastered already, raised his shot glass in mock salute before placing it lightly down on the vermilion carpet. “Professor Slughorn,” he said, causing many in the circle to splutter and/or gag (Ron). “He was always particularly receptive to sexual favors from his little club members.” The undeniably Adonis-like Unspeakable winked salaciously at Harry, who had to admit to himself he wasn’t really all that rocked by this revelation. More passes then, until to almost everyone’s collective horror, Hermione drank.
“’Mione!” Harry croaked. Ron didn’t look murderous, so clearly this secret had already come out during the disgustingly deep and meaningful pillow talk Harry imagined his two friends to engage in. Hermione just shook her head; bright pink staining her cheeks as she scrupulously looked down at the floor.
“Do tell!” Parkinson stared at Hermione intently.
“Absolutely not!” Hermione said with great dignity for someone looking at her nails so fastidiously that it was like they were in danger of jumping off her fingers. Harry could only imagine that Parkinson was genuinely becoming extremely fond of Hermione, for the Slytherin girl to willingly not phrase her request as a question. “I drank my shot,” Hermione ended lamely.
“Spoil sport,” Parkinson pouted, but she let the matter drop. Next to her, Draco Malfoy leaned his elbows on his crossed knees and swirled his fire whiskey in contemplation.
“Never have I ever fucked under my parents’ roof.” Many eyebrows rose at that declaration.
“But why,” Luna asked. “Your house is surely large enough that they never would have been able to hear you, isn’t it?”
Malfoy shook his head. “Realistically, they wouldn’t be able to hear me, no, but Slytherin parents are quite tricky. I wouldn’t have put it past them to spell my room just so they knew what I was up to at all times. If they had found out my sexual proclivities leaned more towards the masculine form when I was under their roof, it most assuredly would not have ended well.” Malfoy got a little whiter, his face growing slightly slack. He muttered something that sounded suspiciously like “bloody Veritaserum” before taking another shot for the Hell of it. Malfoy had been out of the closet since right after the war ended but he was still an exceptionally private person. Not even Rita Skeeter could figure out who his lovers were. Instead, she encouraged rumors that he dated muggle men, and that’s why he was so secretive. Harry had no idea if that was actually the case, but he of all people, certainly couldn’t blame Malfoy for wanting to keep his private life out of Rita Skeeter’s grasping little vulture claws.
“On that note,” Nott went next. “Never have I ever shagged someone who had the same bits as me.” Harry balked. Merlin’s hairy anus. This was EXACTLY what he didn’t want to risk drawing attention to at the moment.
“Oh la la,” Millicent Bulstrode cackled as Harry bravely downed his shot. “The golden, flawless, snow pure, do-good-ing, Saint Potter is a bloody poofter! How deliciously degrading!” About half the circle attempted a weak laugh, but no one seemed as nastily amused as Bulstrode. Harry hugged his knees and hid his face. He wasn't even gay! He didn’t think. He was bi… probably. He had been a smidge too preoccupied saving the world in his youth to really explore his sexuality like most people did in their teens. Harry heard Ron rise, practically growling at Bulstrode. Parkinson was tsk-ing and when Harry finally looked up again she was frowning at her old housemate.
“I told you to play nice or not to come, Millie.” Pansy scolded, wagging a disapproving finger at the girl. Bulstrode just scoffed, rolling her eyes and blatantly demonstrating that she wasn’t the least bit remorseful. She had lost more than most during the Battle, and her enduring bitterness was well known at the Ministry.
To Harry’s utter disbelief, Malfoy suddenly rose gracefully. In one fell motion he smacked Bulstrode on the back of her pumpkin-sized head, more gently used two fingers on Ron’s shoulder to nudge the tall redhead back down towards the floor, and then walked over to sit next to Harry. Nott even moved out of the way slightly so that there was room! Harry’s mouth actually fell open in shock, jaw cracking audibly. Malfoy wrapped an arm around Harry’s shoulders and squeezed in what, if Harry hadn’t known better, he would have classified as a reassuring gesture. Malfoy glared with those piercing light blue eyes at the now slightly sheepish looking Bulstrode. Slytherin’s fabled Ice Prince, indeed. It was like Malfoy was green & silver royalty.
“You a homophobe as well as boorishly presumptuous, Millicent?” Malfoy challenged. The girl looked livid now, her fists clenched, but she said nothing and shook her head. “No? Lovely. Then let’s go back to having a decent time without any judgmental rubbish.”
Taking Malfoy’s cue, Luna promptly piped up. “Never have I ever…”
-End-
Kelly // Gryffindor // 73+3=76 I think.