Harry Potter and the Snog Aftermath

[seek_to_end]

Harry was singing. Maybe not fully singing, because he did not know all the words to "A Cauldron Full of Hot, Strong Love," but he knew a few here and there. He had picked up enough of the melody over the years, at least, to be able to hum along loudly, mumbling where there should have been lyrics

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[sixthhandlion]

Ron had lost track of Harry at some point during the night. Sometime after they'd finished most of a bottle of firewhisky between them, Ron had stalked off to find Hermione, who'd promptly dragged him away from the party and back home, lecturing him about something or other all the way there. He'd spent most of the time trying not to laugh, which only served to make Hermione more annoyed at him, he thought.

As it was, he was still awake when Harry came in, having been in the middle of a long argument on the brilliance of the Wronski Feint, which he didn't really notice whether or not Hermione was listening to.

"That's really not how the song goes, mate," Ron said as Harry walked in, trying to stifle a laugh, but failing. He was still a bit pissed himself, actually.

[honestlyrubbish]

Hermione was already at the end of her wits. The party had started out nicely enough, a fair number of people worming themselves over to Hermione's quiet corner outside of the Compound, carrying pleasant conversations until Eduardo had even been capable of coaxing Hermione to the dance floor. While she had been engaging what looked to many others like some sort of ritualistic dance (a healing one, perhaps, given that neither could rest their weight evenly on both feet), Ron had found her at last, and carried such a strong scent of liquor on him that she had immediately excused herself from the party with many embarrassed apologies, steering Ron toward their hut and hoping that a hangover the next morning would teach him a fair lesson. The fact that he refused to listen to her admonishments, and instead prattled on and on about certain Quidditch moves and how she needed to see how much he'd mastered, only wore Hermione's patience down until she blocked herself off a space in the corner of the common room, waiting for Harry to come home

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"Me too!" Harry chirped happily in response to Hermione, unable to keep the smile off his face. He didn't even properly realize she was angry yet, or properly realize what he was agreeing to, but Hermione always did know best. Surely she knew what she was talking about.

He threw an arm around her shoulders because she was sort of kind of hugging him and that seemed like the thing to do. But he hung to her more than hugged, his eyes on Ron.

"How's it go?" he demanded. "I need to know 'cause I need to sing it. It's.. very important, Ron. Ut-ut-upmost."

[sixthhandlion]

Ron sat up straight then, frowning a bit as he tried to remember the words. His Mum had sung that awful song LOADS of times, so many in fact that he could probably sing the song backwards if he tried it. Sober, at least.

"Wait, wait, I know this one Oh. Oh come and stir my hot, warm-- no, that's not it," he thought about it for a moment more, then snapped two fingers together as he stood up and started to belt out the song himself. Tomorrow morning, he would likely regret doing it. That is, if he actually remembered it at all.

"Oh, come and stir my cauldron, and if you do it riiiiight, I'll boil you up some hot, strong love to keep you warm toniiiight."