Final Battle, Take Two
The less said about the methodology for writing this one, the better. I will, however, give a grand total of one word, and I think that may make it entirely too clear: BEER.
Title: Final Battle, Take Two
Word Count: ~2100
Rating: R
Summary: What the final battle might look like...If I'm given charge of writing the seventh book, along with copious amounts of booze.
Of all the bloody asinine, insipid, right idiotic ideas the Order had had, this was definitely in the Top Three.
This was worse than staring at a door for a full year, though possibly not quite as stupid as having let Snivellus Sodding Snape into their confidence, as they sure as hell hadn’t yet seen any proof that the rotten snake hadn’t been a traitor all along, and all.
However, spending the eve of what would surely prove to be a fateful battle between Good and Evil a stone’s throw away from Voldemort and his Death Eaters…Well.
Remus Lupin was certain this plan was dumber than a box of rocks, and after they’d finished yet another bottle of Firewhiskey out of the crate, he didn’t hesitate to tell Alastor "Mad-Eye" Moody as much.
"Sod off, Lupin. Our wards are tighter than a hypothermic virgin in a room full of eunuchs. We’ll be fine. We want to be ready when they are, come morning. Y’don’t want to find out they’re on the move when they’re halfway here, d’you?"
Remus mulled this over. If they were snug and secure in Grimmauld Place, there wouldn’t be a here, precisely, for the Death Eaters to descend upon at Merlin-only-knows-what time in the morning…if they waited at all.
"Mad-Eye," he said mildly, raising his eyebrows, "you were shitfaced when you made this plan, weren’t you."
Mad-Eye simply uncorked another bottle and raised it in an unsteady toast. "Cheers."
There’s the answer, right there, Remus thought, but nevertheless he Summoned another bottle of his own and clinked the neck to Mad-Eye’s.
They sat by the fireside, taking hearty swigs directly from the bottle (sweet mother of Hufflepuff, had they drained the Order’s coffers for this supply? Remus idly wondered, giving an almighty flaming belch before the thought was rapidly driven from his mind due to the selfsame smoking substance). Across the roaring fire pit, Remus caught sight of a mussed pink tresses, glinting in the firelight, and a familiar-but-not-as-familiar-as-that head of untidy black hair, leaning suspiciously close.
Remus narrowed his eyes as Mad-Eye stood, slapping his thigh-and-wooden-leg, annoucing, "Gotta take a piss."
"Be my guest," Remus murmured, standing as well, walking two paces behind the grizzled old Auror as they circumnavigated the bonfire.
"Oi, Remus! Over here!" Tonks squealed, hailing him. It was rather pointless, that, as he was about two feet away and closing rapidly.
"Good evening, Nymphadora. Harry." He tried his best not to slur his words, which took valiant effort, and shot a quelling look at what he’d correctly assumed to be a young, very inebriated Cassanova, the likes of which most often frequented college bars, sporting forged identification cards with altered birthdates.
Harry shrunk back, but Tonks, equally intoxicated - in fact, much more so - and oblivious to the unspoken exchange going on between the two men, announced in a voice loud enough to be heard to the entire campsite, "Didja know Harry here’s a virgin?"
"Tell Voldemort, why don’t you," Harry mumbled.
"If you’d like, I will! Oi, you lot ‘cross the trees over there, listen up!"
Remus grabbed her arm and pulled her back down, settling her into a sitting position once again. "No. That’s not necessary. Listen. Dear. Darling. Do me a favour and see what Molly’s up to? She may need a hand with the…erm…tea."
"Molly’s pissed off her gourd," Tonks said dismissively, pointing to a patch of grass not far away, on which the matriarch-in-question was passed out, flat on her back and snoring, an empty goblet askew in her relaxed hand.
"Shite," Remus muttered under his breath. "Erm. Minerva, then."
"She gave me detention for ‘behaviour unbecoming of a young lady’ when I was in fifth form," Tonks remarked, scanning the campsite. "There she is! I’ll go see if she r’members. Professor!" Weaving and stumbling even more than usual, she approached Minerva McGonagall, who greeted Tonks with a warm smile, and simply giggled when the younger witch fell over her own feet and landed with her head on the Hogwarts Headmistress’ bunny-slipper-clad feet.
"Oh, Merlin. Save me from this madhouse," Remus hissed, burying his head in his hands as he sat heavily on the log at Harry’s side.
"S’up, Professor?" Harry slurred, throwing back what appeared to be the remains of his last drink. "Gotta refill for the Chosen One? S’on me."
"Oh, hell, Harry. You supplied the sauce?" Harry merely rolled his eyes, and Remus shrugged, and sloppily refilled his glass. "Shoulda known. You’re certainly your father’s son. ‘Cept you’ve got…"
"…My mother’s eyes? Oh, fuck, Lupin, come up with something original if you’re gonna hit on me."
"I’m doing nothing of the sort, Prongs. Who the hell d’you think I am - Peter?" Remus asked, then shook his head rapidly, wondering how such an utter nonsequitur could have come from his mouth. "Fuck. Anyway. Hands off, young Harry."
Harry shot him the sort of challenging glare that, the year before, would likely have meant death, had it come from any of the ferals. Coming from a seventeen-year-old with enough alcohol in his system to have forced out any thought of the upcoming battle, though, it was nothing short of hilarious.
"All right, Lupin," Harry began, leaning forward, carefully setting the half-full tumbler on the mossy ground at his feet.
Whatever he had been ready to say was drowned out in a sudden shriek, coming from within a large clump of shrubbery nearby.
Everyone who’d been parked at the fireside jumped, and began hastily searching for wands.
However, it wasn’t a Death Eater attack; the wards hadn’t been breached at all.
A bushy-haired young woman with her blouse buttoned wrong was screaming obscenities at Mad-Eye, who looked only slightly less shocked at the tirade than did the tall, redheaded boy standing directly behind her.
"Sorry, lass," Mad-Eye eventually interjected. "Didn’t see you there…"
"Bollocks, he didn’t - with that eye?" Remus hissed, rubbing at his temples. "Sadistic, pure and simple."
Harry’s mouth was agape. "I didn’t realize she knew most of those words."
"If you’d been whizzed on by Mad-Eye, you’d probably make use of whatever profanities you had in stock, too."
Harry shrugged. "Cheers." Apparently having forgotten his interrupted conquest for Remus’ girl, Harry downed the last of his shot in one, and promptly passed out, slipping off the log without so much as a grunt.
"Merlin." Remus glanced around - Tonks and Minerva were giggling hysterically, falling against one another. The Weasley twins and their father were playing at dice, and Arthur was grumbling as he emptied his pockets, as Fred-or-George-who-could-bloody-tell said, "C’mon, Dad, s’not as though we’re not gonna give it back…"
Ron and Hermione had once again disappeared, most likely off to search for a clump of shrubbery less likely to be pissed on, and Remus realized, with the sort of blinding flash of insight common to drunks, that he had to pee as well.
"Pardon me for a moment," Remus said as he passed Mad-Eye. "Have to make use of the facilities."
"There’re no bloody facilities here, Lupin. We’re in the sodding woods."
"Well, either way, I’m off to answer the age-old question." Well, partially, at least, as he simply had to take a pee, whereas the eternal question was whether or not a werewolf shits in the woods.
"Don’t make on Granger. She’s a fiesty one." Mad-Eye’s warning was answered with a two-fingered gesture which, for all he found it distasteful, seemed to be used a great deal whenever Remus had to deal with Mad-Eye’s definition of sardonic wit.
Remus stumbled through the trees, noting with only the most detached interest that he’d felt the tingling sensation of having passed through the wards on his weaving quest for privacy.
Several steps beyond, he realized - Oh, bugger…I passed through the wards.
Better stop here.
Glancing around hastily, noticing nothing unusual, Remus leapt behind a tree and began to take care of business.
He’d barely managed to fumble with his belt and buttons, wondering when he’d grown a dozen extra fingers and why was everything all fuzzy, oh right, I’m drunk as a skunk, when the crunching of leaves alerted him to someone approaching.
From the direction opposite of whence he’d come.
Oh. Fuck.
There wasn’t time enough to draw his wand (not without dropping his trousers to his ankles, which would have been one for the Order war stories: The Werewolf Who Got AK’ed With His Pants Down), and besides, his reflexes were a bit muzzy due to drink.
Moments later, the intruder appeared, all black robes and bald pate and shining silver hand.
Peter Pettigrew stopped dead, observed his wandless former friend clutching at the waistband of his trousers, and grinned.
"Oi, Moony, s’up?"
Remus’ eyebrows bumped against his hairline. "Peter." His voice was surprisingly even, even if his pronunciation was slurred; he had the feeling he’d just said, "Peeyer".
"Doin’ that, too? I’m a pee-er, myself, gotta take a piss, holy rampaging hippogriffs, some party, huh?" Peter chattered on as he lifted his robes.
"Er…" Remus didn’t know quite what to say, so he settled for, "I take it your side’s indulging in the fruit of the vine tonight as well."
"Fruit of the vine? Shite, Moony, just fucking say it already, we’re all bloody pissed, we are, don’ think Firewhiskey’s made of anything that grows on a bloody vine anyway, and whass’ all that bollocks about ‘my side’?"
He froze and whirled, and as an afterthought, dropped his robes back to his feet.
"Ohhh, right." Peter turned, as though to run, then glanced around distractedly. "Mate, didja see what way I came from, ‘cause it’s all dark…"
Remus shrugged. "No idea."
"Guess I might as well piss, then, and get outta here." Peter seemed not to realize he’d spoken aloud, and went back to business.
Remus sighed. This was some school reunion. Some relatively-sober, sardonic part of his brain remarked: Wait till you see what happened to Bellatrix Black, she’s fatter than a hog, and my goodness, did you hear about Avery, three times in the Rackharrow Clinic and he’s still a souse?
Reunion, indeed.
"So, how’re things?" Remus asked, leaning against the trunk of the oak he’d chosen for shelter. Damn, I still have to pee, but damned if I’m turning my back on Peter; that gives me the same Uh-Oh Feeling as the idea of dropping my soap in the water with Greyback upstream…
…This is insane…
…Why’d I drink so much?…
…Oh. Yeah. We’re all gonna die tomorrow.
Bloody brilliant.
"S’pose you’ve heard I changed sides," Peter remarked, snapping his waistband back into place.
"Yes, I’d heard." Crossing his legs firmly, Remus thought about droughts, deserts, and, for good measure, McGonagall on a cold day.
"Sucks over there. Bellatrix is making eyes at the Dark Lord, who’s on a bad trip from some wonky snake venom, and all Snivellus can do is cry like a damn girl."
"Sounds charming."
"Could be worse. How’s everyone over there on your end?"
Remus thought it over. "Drunk," he finally said.
"Cheers." Peter blinked, obviously having a short-lived moment of clarity of his own, though it passed quickly, thank Merlin, didn’t fancy having it out with that hand around…
"Well, Peter, it’s been nice chatting with you." Damn, did I just say that?
"Same here. See you soon?"
"Tomorrow, I expect." Remus watched as Peter surveyed the landscape and turned to go.
"Oi. Wormtail."
Hearing that name coming from Remus’ mouth, Peter literally jumped, and whirled around.
Remus jerked his thumb through the trees, in the direction Peter had been heading. "Greyback over there?"
Peter shuddered. Remus took that for a yes.
"Do me a favour, mate."
"F’r you, Moony? Anything."
Remus grinned. "Tell him to pull your finger."
"Brilliant." Peter burst into laughter, and Remus turned to go, biting back a chuckle of his own.
He re-crossed the wards, praying he’d wandered into the right camp, and was relieved to hear a familiar giggle as he spotted the Weasley twins attempting to convince Tonks that they’d used Muggle sleight-of-hand to pull a quarter from her ear.
"You’re having me on, boys, you Conjured that!"
Shaking his head, Remus began to make his way to the fireside, when he noticed a suspiciously-shaped lump huddling beneath a tartan blanket, a wooden leg set on the ground beside it.
And he still had to pee.
Figuring it was for a good cause - Hermione had kept his secret for half a year, and all, and certainly hadn’t asked for a madman to take a leak on her, ruining a perfectly good snog just prior to the potential end of the world - Remus took careful aim.
Mad-Eye’s voice mumbled something about "thought it was a clear night out", and Remus smirked the whole way back to the fireside.