I Sant Trees

Pain.

All he knew was pain.

The world was spinning.

The world was ending.

Everything was black.

"I told you not to drink that much," came a sleepy voice. Harry opened one blood-shot eye and looked into the face of his wife, Luna.

"I only had a cup, or two," he muttered. "Make the room stop moving, love."

"More like a pitcher or six," she said, putting a pillow over his eyes. "I told you, dear, you shouldn't try to keep up with Blaise."

"Is it my fault the Italian can drink a god-damned horse under the table?" he grumbled. "I fan't meethe."

"What?" she asked, knitting her forehead?"

"I SANT TREES!!"

"Huh?"

"I CAN'T BREATHE!"

"Why didn't you say so?" she asked, taking the pillow from over his face.

A loud crash made her whip her head around. Harry stuffed the pillow over his face.

"On second thought," he groaned, "asphyxiation sounds pretty good right now."

"It's just Ron," she whispered. "He and Blaise went at it after you passed out in your spaghetti."

"I did not pass out," he grumped.

"Of course," she giggled. "Spaghetti mustaches are all the rage now, then?"

"Murrgh," he replied. "Stop being so witty in the morning. A little less Ravenclaw and a little more supporting wife, okay?"

"Of course, of course," she said lovingly. She got out of bed, tied her hair up, and dumped a glass of water all over Harry's head.

"ARGH!" he screamed, jumping and falling out of bed. "What was that all about?"

"Headache potion is under the kitchen cupboard," she said dreamily. "I have to go look for the Snorkacks." With that, she whirled around and danced out of the room, humming.

"Bloody Italians," he yawned. "Bloody alcohol, bloody events, bloody Hermione saying I couldn't do it. Shpffsh." He ambled down the hall and into the living room.

Blaise was lying on the couch, shirtless, with a serene Hermione snoozing on his chest. Ron had passed out in the chaise lounge, clad in royal blue boxers and black, lacy socks.

LACY?!

Oh yeah. Hermione and her dares.

Shpffsh.

Luna skipped into the room, her hair swinging as she danced circles around him. He kissed him on the forehead, the cheek, and the lips. He smiled against his will as he watched her make her rounds around the kitchen, getting ready for breakfast.

"Bacon? Eggs? Corned beef?" she asked.

"NO CORNED BEEF!"

"Good morning to you too, Ronald!" she called out.

"Not so loud, dear," winced Harry. Luna patted his cheek sympathetically and then dug under the sink, producing a flask of Headache Potion.

"You're a Goddess," he said gratefully, taking a swig. Ron came barrelling in, pinching the flask and running into the living room.

"How'd he do that?" asked Harry in a daze.

"Grow up with five brothers," murmured Luna, shrugging.

"So, what's up for today?" he asked, sitting down at the table.

"Breakfast. Brunch. Going to Ginny's house. Afternoon tea. Dinner. Late-night snack. Sleep."

"Oh, hell. Can't I stay at home?" grunted Harry.

"Sure!" chirruped Luna. "As long as you don't mind Ginny coming and slaying you in your sleep."

"That sounds good right about now," he mumbled.

Luna smiled, and plopped in his lap. "It'll be fun, Harry," she whispered in hsi ear. "Plus, Mrs Weasley is making rack of lamb."

"Sounds like a plan," he said, smacking his lips. "Where do I sign?"

Luna shook her head, laughing. "My silly husband, what am I going to do with you?"

"You could always give me a kiss."

"I think I can do that... but after you get the Zabini's and Ron dressed. Ron's stockings are beginning to run."

Harry laughed as Luna walked off to their bedroom.

He really was the luckiest arse alive.