Rating:
R
House:
Schnoogle
Genres:
General Crossover
Era:
Multiple Eras
Spoilers:
Philosopher's Stone Chamber of Secrets Prizoner of Azkaban Goblet of Fire
Stats:
Published: 11/02/2002
Updated: 11/04/2007
Words: 363,688
Chapters: 65
Hits: 101,532

The Eighth Weasley

Fyre

Story Summary:
Set post-book seven. Voldemort is long gone and the dust is settling. So when the Weasleys are informed that a missing family member has been located, there is a great deal of excitement and nervousness as contact is made with said absentee from the family. However, when it transpires that the missing Weasley has connections with a certain Vampire Slayer, it goes without saying that Hogwarts will never be the same again!

Chapter 32

Chapter Summary:
Chapter 32 - FRIENDS & FELLOWSHIP - This is where I start having fun and forming alliances. Please don't kill me. People have to get to know each other. And heck, my fic! I can write what I want :D
Posted:
12/01/2002
Hits:
1,308
Author's Note:
I finally got around to tidying up and coding all the rest of the chapters of this story that are available, so hopefully, by the time I finish uploading, chapters 23-35 should be up :) No, I don't write too much, honestly. And chapter 35 is my current favourite :D

The Eighth Weasley - Chapter Thirty-Two

FRIENDS & FELLOWSHIP

Notes: This was originally the second half of chapter 31, but I figured that I ought to split it to even up the spread a little, so here we have the Buffy crew getting sorted in their new Hogwarts home.

I have an odd feeling I will be cold-bloodedly murdered for what I’m about to do to these people, but this is what I do for fun to take my mind off that nasty thing known as real life. I do it, most specifically, for my own amusement and I am quite happily amused with this, so it’s serving its purpose.

Also, for the record, I’m using the books for reference on McGonagall. I don’t quite see her as Maggie Smith. More as Miss Hardbroom in the British TV series of The Worst Witch, so definitely not as old as she is in the films of HP. Especially with her black hair! I love the black hair!

___________________________________

"And this is where your room is located, Miss Summers," The Head Master stopped in front of a painting of a golden-haired angel, who waved out at them. "Your sister will be moved down to be in your protection temporarily."

"How...uh...how do I get in?"

"You simply say the password to the painting and it will open into your private chambers," Dumbledore replied. "Your password is hellmouth for now, but once I have departed, you may change it if you so desire."

"Hellmouth?"

The painting swung open, revealing an arched doorway which lead into a room that looked warm and glowing, lamps hanging from the ceiling and the walls.

The Slayer ducked into it and stopped short, staring around, her mouth opening in an ‘o’ of delight. While not one of the biggest rooms in the castle, it could still easily fit the lower floor of the family home in Sunnydale.

Two four-poster beds stood in it, one to the right and one to the left, hung with blue and gold drapes, the blankets on the beds the same colour. Crisp white pillows were marked with the Hogwarts crest in gold and one of the beds was turned down revealing silky looking white sheets.

The floor was dark grey stone, but had a wonderful mosaic of colourful rugs of different depths and softness scattered here and there.

Beyond the beds, on the wall to the left, there was a fireplace with two large, comfortable-looking leather chairs in front of it. By the right wall, there was a desk, a couple of chests of drawers and an immense wardrobe, while the wall facing the doorway was lined with deep, wide windows, which Buffy hurried towards.

Looking out, her eyes rounded in awe. They weren’t in one of the highest towers, but they were high enough so that she could see out into the grounds of the castle itself, the moonlight giving everything a bluish glow.

"This is...its amazing..." she whispered.

Dumbledore, standing in the archway smiled. "I hoped you would like it," he said gently. "But, now, I must get William to his quarters, so I will leave you to settle in. You will be able to find Miss Weasley’s chamber by following the hall, to your left, and there is a large painting containing a group of nuns. Knock twice and they ought to grant you entry. If you require anything or if you need any assistance, you have a bell by your bed to allow you contact with the house elves. I have given them special permission to aid you, until you feel comfortable."

"Thank you," the Slayer said sincerely. "I mean...wow..." Climbing up into the window-seat, she looked out across the grounds, not even noticing as the Head Master and her vampire friend departed.

"Nice room you got for her," Spike noted. "Bit roomy for my tastes."

"I thought it may be, William," Dumbledore murmured, motioning for the vampire to follow him. They had already taken Xander and Anya to their room fairly near Willow and Hermione’s. "This way."

Going down two flights of stars, into the upper level of the basements, the head Master turned into a narrow passageway, lined on both sides with paintings of all sizes of a variety of dark creatures.

Conjuring a candle, he lead the way halfway down the cool, dry passage and stopped at one of the biggest paintings on the wall, giving the vampire a chance to register exactly what he was looking at.

Spike doubled over laughing.

"Bloody hell...when you said you had the ideal room for me, I think you should have said you had the ideal door..." he laughed, grasping Dumbledore’s shoulder. "You really have a nutty sense of humour..."

"So I have been told, William," Dumbledore smiled, giving the password and letting the painting swing outwards. "I hope you will find this room...fitting for your tastes."

The vampire took the candle and stepped into the room, then nodded, a broad grin crossing his face. "Just the way I like it," he said. "Not too much, but not too little either and you even got me a chair!"

"Something suggested to me that you were not exactly the type for hanging clothing up, so I thought it would be easier than the floor."

Spike’s grin got wider. "You understand the way I think so well, Professor," he remarked, looking around.

The room was about as large as an average size double room, with a large four-poster bed in the middle of the wall to the right of the door. The drapes were dark, almost black, but the blankets a deep shade of red.

A chest of drawers, crafted of the same dark wood as the bed posts, stood next to the bed, closer to the door. At the end of the bed, the large, black, leather-upholstered chair stood, close to the fireplace that took up a fair amount of space on the wall to the left of the door.

The back wall was occupied by a large painting of a battle, which Spike took one look at and sighed dreamily, especially when a couple of the soldiers starting having a punch-up right in front of him.

"This is ideal," he murmured.

Dumbledore reached into the capricious depths of his robes. "I also went to some lengths to acquire a...I suppose you would call it a room-warming present for you. I am not certain if it will be to your tastes, but..."

He withdrew a hefty book that was about a foot wide, by a foot and a half long. It had a thick, dark, knobbly-looking leather cover which bore the last flakes of gold leaf, which had once formed words, and heavy parchment pages. The smell of dust and age rose from it and the vampire looked down at it, part-wary, part-curious.

"What is it?" he asked in a voice choked with some odd emotion.

"I did suppose you might recognise a book when you saw one," Dumbledore replied dryly. His eyes were on the vampire’s face. If possible, he had gone paler, his lips parted in wonder. "I have had some close friends searching for this for some time now and it came into my hands just a few days ago."

Carefully, Spike took the enormous book in his hands, which Dumbledore noticed were shaking slightly. "I...I’ve heard of this..." he whispered, opening the thick cover reverently. "I thought it had been destroyed..."

"As did I," the Head Master said quietly. "However, I have no use for it. I believe it may serve a greater purpose in your hands."

"My...my hands?" the vampire’s voice caught painfully, then shook his head, pushing the book back into the old wizard’s hands. "No...no. You’ve got the wrong vampire. You should send it to the poof...he’ll want it..."

"William," Dumbledore’s voice was gentle, but strong. "You know the legend that surrounds this book."

"I know it," he nodded grimly. "But I don’t deserve it."

Dumbledore’s lips moved into a smile. "That is the answer I hoped that you would give, William," he murmured. He turned and placed the tome on the chest of drawers beside the bed. "Should you decide that you feel worthy, the book will be ready for you to open."

The vampire’s eyes stayed on the book, his nostrils flaring slightly.

Dumbledore knew he had offered the vampire something more valuable than any amount of money, but also more dangerous than anything he could even have faced in the demon world.

It was understandable that he might be dubious.

Reaching inside his robes again, the Head Master withdrew a small, rectangular, leather-bound box, about eight inches long and three wide, and placed it on top of the book. "Just in case, William," he said softly. "And if you wish to find Minerva, I shall let her know that you will be in the Entrance Hall in an hour."

"Yeah...yeah. Thanks."

He was still gazing dazedly down at the book on the dresser as the Head Master exited the room, the painting closing quietly behind him.

***

"Why, Miss Emerson, whatever is the matter?"

The former demon started at the voice, whipping around from the window she was staring out of to find the head Master of Hogwarts standing several paces behind her, an anxious expression on his face.

She had been standing in one of the deep window boxes that lined the hall, the moonlight washing down her face. A misty handprint still lingered on the pane, where she had been leaning, looking out over the grounds.

"Oh...I...I...Xander is being a jerk again and we fought and yelled and I left..." She tried to smile at him, but he could see that she had been crying. "H-h-he got mad at me... cos I wasn’t upset e-e-enough that Willow’s boyfriend dumped her... h-he knows I-I-I don’t l-like Willow much...he-he went to find her... and I left...and I had been thinking about how nice it was to be back in the wizard world...but I wish I hadn’t brought him, Professor..."

"Do call me Albus, Miss Emerson," he said as he approached her. She nodded with a little sniff. He offered her a handkerchief and she blew her nose loudly and with great gusto, making him chuckle.

"What?"

"I have seldom heard such a...remarkable sound come from so dainty a young lady as yourself."

She smiled sadly at him, sniffing softly. "Xander doesn’t like it when I’m loud or when I’m honest like I was about Willow," she said, studying the handkerchief that was gripped between her hands. "He thinks I should be more like Willow or Buffy. He gets embarrassed because of me."

"I’m sure that is not true, Miss Emerson."

"It is. He gets cranky and tells me to be quiet all the time," Her lower lip trembled a little and tear-filled brown eyes blinked hard. "I-I love him, but he...he is such a muggle sometimes..."

Dumbledore reached out and patted her hand. "I can sympathise, my dear," he said gently. "But now, will you join me for a mug of hot chocolate? I’m sure it will soothe your nerves."

Anya studied the Head Master for a minute, then nodded and smiled. "I would like that, Pr...I mean, Albus. I would like that, Albus." He returned the smile as she took his arm.

***

"I’m surprised you actually came."

"Likewise."

Standing several paces away from one another, the vampire, still clad in his long, black, leather duster, and the transfiguration Mistress both studied the floor beneath them, McGonagall’s arms folded over her chest, as she shifted slightly.

"So..."

"Right..."

There was another prolonged silence.

McGonagall lifted her eyes to glance at him, then looked away. What was she doing? Was she completely insane? Meeting up with a dangerous vampire, who had - not more than fifty years ago - threatened to kill her...

Although, he was allowed in the school by Albus, which meant that the balance had shifted somewhere.

The silence was broken when he laughed.

Even after fifty years, she could still remember that laugh, as if it had only been moments since she heard it. It rang off the walls and high ceiling of the hall and she found herself smiling reluctantly as she looked at him.

"We must look a right pair of bloody tits, eh?" he said, shaking his head, with that familiar devilish grin on his face. His eyes were twinkling with mirth in a way that reminded her a lot of the Head Master. "Standing here like a pair of bloody teenagers on their first date!"

"It is rather...odd, you must agree."

"I’ll say, Minnie," he cocked his head at her. "I never imagined I’d see you again, after everything..."

"How many times," she sighed, raising her eyes to the ceiling. "Do I have to tell you to call me Minerva, Billy?"

"Well, you punched me a dozen times, last time we met," he smiled. "And that didn’t work. I thought you would have given up on it. And don’t you start on me, with your bloody ‘Billy’ crap all over again. I go by Spike now and you know it, Minnie."

"Of course you do, Billy," she said tartly.

He glanced around the Hall with a grimace. "Look, luv, not to ruin the creepy feeling we have going here, lurking in the shadows and what have you, but is there anywhere in this dump that we can sit and talk like civilised people?"

McGonagall nodded up a flight of stairs. "I have a study near here, although the idea of you being civilised seems almost...obscene."

"Likewise, luv," he chuckled, motioning her to walk with him. "And d’you maybe have some whisky to mark the occasion?" A dark brow rose in his direction, her lips thinning into a narrow line. "Well, you can’t blame a vampire for trying, can you?" he grinned roguishly at her.

"Come with me, Billy," she started towards the stairs. He was walking alongside her, but she swung around sharply when one of his hands squeezed her right buttock through her robes. "William..." she cautioned.

He gave her a thoroughly innocent look, withdrawing his hand, biting on his lower lip and raising his eyebrows ceilingwards.

"I wish I could remember why I never staked you," she huffed, turning and hiking her long, green robes up, and stalking up the stairs, although there was no mistaking the glint that had twinkled in her eye when she had chastised him.

***

"Y-you guys should be sleeping...or something...jet-lag and everything..."

"Not a chance, Will," Buffy thrust a pot of ice cream into her friend’s hand, along with a spoon. "We brought all this Ben and Jerry’s with us for a reason and now, we’re going to help you eat it all, until we’re sick."

The Slayer, Willow, Hermione, Dawn and Xander were all piled into Hermione and Willow’s bedroom, sitting in the floor space between all the beds, several bobbing illumination charms providing a soft light.

A large pile of colourful pillows had been provided by Hermione, scattered on the floor, as a replacement for a couch, the thick carpet soft and warm around them, none of them aware of the winter chill that was starting to permeate the castle.

"You don’t have to..." Willow tried to insist futilely, until a spoon of Phish food was popped into her mouth by Hermione, who gave her a stern look.

"Now, young lady," she said determinedly. "You are going to eat ice cream until you puke, all right? It isn’t often we get ice cream in Hogwarts and I’m certainly not going to let you turn it down!"

The red head gave the brown-haired witch an utterly pathetic look. "Mguh..." she mumbled around the spoon.

"If you don’t want it, can I have it?" Dawn asked eagerly, reaching for the pot of Phish food, only to be smacked on the hands by Xander and Buffy’s spoons and the end of Hermione’s wand. "Hey!"

"That one belongs to Willow," Hermione said firmly. She was kneeling beside her roommate and wrapped an arm around Willow’s shoulders. "And if anyone is going to eat it, it is going to be her, whether she wants to or not..."

Willow raised her eyes to the older witch. "I really don’t get a choice, do I?"

"Sorry, Will," Hermione gave her a genuine smile. "But you’re going to eat it, even if I have to slap it all over my barely clad body and put a spell on you to make you lick it off me."

There was a clatter.

Xander had dropped his spoon.

"Hermione..." Willow moaned, going a little pink in the face.

The older witch grinned at the stunned expression on both Buffy and Xander’s faces, her brown eyes dancing. "Let me guess," she remarked dryly. "You never told them you were living with a perverted witch who lives for the soul reason of trying to make you blush daily."

"You...uh...were you joking about that whole ice cream-all-over-barely-clad-body thing?" Xander inquired carefully, retrieving his spoon, his eyes skimming over Hermione’s robed body. "Cause if you want to..."

"XANDER!"

Both Willow and Buffy yelled it, one of them punching his arm, the other hurling a pillow at his head.

Hermione laughed. "Ladies," she suggested, a wicked twinkle in her eyes. "What do you say that we teach Mister Harris a lesson about what classes as civilised conversation, when you’re in a room with two witches, a slayer and a key?"

"Oh God! I’m sorry!" Xander was on his feet faster than any of them thought he could move. "Will! Tell her I was joking!" He backed rapidly towards the door, as all four of the young woman rose, grinning.

Even Willow was smiling.

"Will!" he whined.

Exchanging looks with Hermione and Buffy, Willow was the one who yelled it:

"GET HIM!"

***

Had anyone passed the room, the occupants would have quickly been certified.

Professor Minerva McGonagall and the vampire known as William the Bloody had somehow managed to get hold of the bottle of cognac that he had suggested at the feast, earlier than evening and were ever so slightly...merry.

They were sitting in two large chairs - facing one another - in front of a dancing fire in one of the small studies that the teacher used, leaning on a table that stood between their chairs, the nearly-empty bottle between their glasses on the table.

It was a side of the strict teacher that was rarely seen, especially since her last liaison with the vampire sitting with her. In fact, it was partially his fault that she had become as strict as she was, with the hope of resisting the urge to...

Well, the phrase that sprang to mind was to ‘give in to the dark side’ again.

It was a little know fact that the Transfiguration Mistress and Deputy Head Mistress of Hogwarts had partaken of a somewhat later than average teenage rebellion, when she was in her early twenties.

During that brief period, she had rejoined her family and met Spike.

And now...now, he was easily wrapping her around his little finger again.

Something about the blasted vampire made it impossible for her to resist as he shared the full bottle of expensive - and apparently filched from Dumbledore’s own stores - cognac between their two glasses.

She had insisted she would only take one glass.

Just one.

And she had.

Unfortunately, it had been refilled half a dozen times and it had been so long since she had taken much alcohol...

"You were an arse, Billy...a bloody arse," she wagged a finger in his direction. "I told you it was just that one night..."

The vampire’s equally hazy eyes were foggy with remembrance. "Yeah, but what a night it was, eh?" he was studying her. Her black hair was pulled back in a severe knot, but some of the severity had left her features, replaced by a genuine smile that made her green eyes gleam. "By God, you were a tiger, woman..."

"Actually," she almost giggled. "I’m a pussycat..." Despite her inebriated state, she performed a quick shift to her animagus form and back again, the vampire blinking at her in surprise. "See."

"Blimey..."

She shook her head as he started to top her glass up again, but still knocked back the contents at a speed to match him. "I shouldn’t be doing this," she noted, studying the empty glass. "I have classes in the morning..."

"You mean we’re not going to go staggering off to a sports club house somewhere on the grounds and shag on the gear a few times?" the vampire said, giving her a petulant look, his eyes dancing with amusement. "And I went to all the effort of getting this booze for you."

"You stole it, Billy."

"Yeah, but I still had to make the effort, didn’t I? All that for no getting laid..."

McGonagall gave him a small smile. "I am a teacher here, Billy. It would hardly be appropriate, would it?"

"I know, ducks," he replied, picking up the bottle and studying the last trickles of flame-dashed liquid in the bottom. "I’m just teasing you, but just so you know, if you ever feel the urge," his eyes were on his glass. "The offer is open..."

There was a moment of befuddled silence, when the teacher tried to work out if he was joking or being serious.

Blue eyes rose to hers, twinkling.

"Oh, you annoying, blood-sucking twit..." She stretched across the table and slapped him on the top of his head, smirking when he yelped and batted her hand away. "I must look like such an old hag to you now...fifty years older..."

The vampire leaned back a little, regarding her by the fire light. "I dunno about that, ducks... maybe it’s something in that magic blood of yours, but you could still pass for someone in their late thirties."

"Oh, you..."

There was an odd expression in his blue eyes as he tilted his head, gazing across at her. His bottom of his glass rasped as he slowly turned it in circles on the tabletop. "If you hadn’t run off the next morning," he finally murmured. "I think I would have kept you, you know...Dru would have killed me, but you were something..."

"Why do you think I ran off, Billy?" She lowered her eyes for a long moment. "I didn’t want to die. Certainly didn’t want to become one of your kind..."

He shook his head. "You wouldn’t have, ducks," he said quietly, her face rising again. Blue eyes met green. "Not you. You had too much fire and spice as a human. I wouldn’t want to have ruined that."

There was a silence as the both looked down at their glasses.

"Did you regret it?" he finally asked.

McGonagall looked across the table at him. He was as striking as he had been that night. The firelight only highlighted the sharp, handsome lines of his eternally-young face. "I’m sitting here getting sloshed with you, Billy," she replied. "If I regretted it, do you think I would be here?"

"That’s why I asked, ducks," he said with a lop-sided grin. "You’re female. I might be over a century old, but I still haven’t worked out how the female mind works."

"Pig," she said succinctly.

"You got that right," he chuckled.

She leaned forward, placing the glass on the table and crossing her arms on the tabletop. "Billy," she said. "I have never and will never regret that night, if only for the fact I walked away from a liaison with one of the most notorious vampires in British history, without so much as a bite on me," His scarred left eyebrow rose. "Oh, all right, maybe a nip or two, but nowhere that anyone would notice..."

"And there’s my feisty Minnie," he chuckled. "You look ready to smack me."

"And we all know where that lead last time," she sniffed.

The vampire grinned broadly. "Oh yeah..." he said dreamily.

Professor McGonagall raised her eyes to the ceiling. "You are terrible, Billy," she sighed, unsteadily levering herself to her feet. "But now, I think I have kept you up too long and will have to send you to bed..."

"Which is lady-speak for ‘God, I think I’m going to puke! Let me abandon that stud of a vampire and get out of his line of sight before I embarrass myself’?" he suggested dryly, on his feet and round to her side when she swayed, catching her around the waist. "Whoa, easy luv."

"Don’t flatter yourself, Billy," she gave him her sternest look. "And now, you’re just taking the chance to grab a handful..."

"I take any excuse, ducks," he flashed her a grin, steering her towards the door. "Or maybe I should call you ‘kitten’ now."

A finger tipped with a sharp nail tapped his firmly in the middle of the chest. "You even think about doing that, Mr. Billy T. Bloody," He chuckled at the name. "And I will be forced to stake you...rather hard..."

"As opposed to staking me softly, right, kitten?" he said, negotiating her along the hallway, one of his arms still holding her around the waist.

She sniffed. "I am a witch," she reminded him.

"And I’m a vampire," he said. "Whatcha gonna do about it?"

"I’m going to ignore you in the hopes that you’ll go away and never get me this tipsy again," she drew away from him at the top of the staircase, pointing vaguely in the direction of the hall. "Off with you."

"You sure you don’t want me to make sure you get back to your room all right, kitten?"

"Positive," she glared at him. "And I would prefer if you refrained from calling me that."

"Whatever you say, kitten," He gave her one of his most charming, devilish grins and bounded down the staircase, leaving her glaring down at him. At the bottom, he paused to give her a wave before darting off into the shadows.

At the top of the stairs, Professor McGonagall was torn between the urges of hunting down the vampire and staking him, walking straight back to her room and putting a memory charm on her to forget him or being very very sick very very soon.

Unfortunately, the latter prevailed.

Unsteadily making her way back down the corridors to her room, she made a solemn vow to herself never to allow the cocky, arrogant vampire to convince her that half a bottle of cognac would be good for her.

***

"I trust you are feeling a little better, Miss Emerson."

"Albus..."

The Head master smiled. "Of course, Anya. I trust you are feeling better?"

Wizard and former demon had spent almost two hours talking over mugs of hot chocolate in one of the comfortable little living rooms that were scattered throughout the school, if one knew where to look.

"I feel great," she smiled broadly at him. "Its nice to find someone a little more mature to talk to once in a while. We have Spike, but he isn’t very mature and Xander still thinks with his penis a lot..."

"Why, Anya," Dumbledore gave her a look. "Are you implying that I am old?"

"Albus, I saw you blowing bubbles in your hot chocolate," He went a little pink at that. "I just said more mature and it wouldn’t be difficult to be more mature than Xander or Spike."

He raised her hand to his lips and kissed her knuckles. "I must say it is delightful to find someone with more worldly knowledge than I, for once," he said, patting her slim hand. "And it is always a pleasure to talk with you."

"I like talking to you too," Rising on her toes, Anya kissed him on the cheek. "Thank you, Albus," she said sincerely, before whispering the password and slipping through the portrait hole, into the room she shared with her boyfriend.

The Head Master was still standing there ten minutes later.

One hand finally rose and touched his cheek, which was positively glowing.

"Goodness..." was all he could think to say.

***

"Ugh..."

"Good morning, Minerva!"

"Do...not...shout..."

"I was not aware that I had shouted," Professor Dumbledore studied his Deputy Head Mistress. She was sitting rigidly in her seat her head resting against the back of her hard seat. Her eyes were closed and she looked a little paler than usual. "Are you all right, Minerva? You aren’t looking too...healthy."

"Don’t ask..." she replied hoarsely, slowly opening her eyes and looking down at the large plate of fried food that was in front of her. Baulking, she looked away, a green tinge washing over her features.

Sitting down, the Head Master raised a brow. "If I may ask...?"

"I think I might kill him."

"Pardon?"

Her blood-shot eyes opened and were pointed in the direction of a blond-haired male, who was sitting in the shade of the walls, gazing up at the ceiling with a blissful look on his face, as the false sun washed over his skin.

They also noticed Harris, the muggle, limping past, shooting dirty looks at the High table, where Granger and Summers were sitting side-by-side, grinning down at him in a way that would make the bravest soul cower.

"Would this, perchance, be something to do with a rather nice bottle of cognac that... vanished from my office?"

"I really would prefer if you didn’t remind me, Albus."

Dumbledore chuckled. "You ought to have Severus produce one of his hangover cures. I hear they are remarkable for clearing the head."

"I think that clearing the stomach would be better at present," McGonagall replied delicately. She looked at Dumbledore. "And I do tend to avoid situations that will put my life in danger, so I would rather not seek out Severus this morning..."

"Ah..."

"Yes, ‘Ah’. He is more than a little...frustrated with you, Albus."

"Yes...yes, I rather suspected he would be. I expect he will remain so for the rest of term. As he has every year since he started teaching here," Sighing, Dumbledore withdrew his wand and conjured a small, round, clear bottle containing a pale yellow fluid. "However, since it would awkward for you to teach your classes with a hangover, this ought to save you the terror of facing an angry Severus."

McGonagall sighed, tipping the contents of the bottle into a goblet. "You are an angel, Albus," she said, before drinking the fluid and pulling a face. "Good God! It tastes like cat piss!"

"As a lesson to you about the sin of drinking too much, dear lady," the Head Master’s eyes twinkled at her impishly.

The witch glared at him. "If I was feeling less nauseous, I do honestly believe I would smack you for that."

Dumbledore just raised his eyes to the ceiling and chuckled to himself.