Adventures Through the Firewhisky Glass

Saturday, 9:00 PM - The Hogshead Inn.

I should have known he'd pick a place like this. If there was one thing about my drinking mate that I didn't know, cheap would be it. From what I hear, he has money coming out of his... *cough* As I was saying... I walked up to the entrance, but before I opened the door, I couldn't help but smile slightly as I thought of the scandal it would cause if anyone found out I was coming here to meet this particular person for drinks.

I pushed open the door and strolled in casually, as to not attract too much attention to myself. After all, the Hogshead Inn usually attracted, uh, a rather interesting clientele, and I did not wish to bring any more attention to myself then what was already given. I scanned around searching for my drinking mate... Ah-ha! There he was! He was sitting in the back of the pub, alone. Making my way forward, I cleared my throat to let him know I was there. (Word of advice: It's best not to sneak up on wizards capable of using the Avada Kedavra curse with a mere flick of the wand.) He looked up, his red eyes glowing dangerously.

"Dumbledore, I did not think you would be coming," he hissed softly.

"Ah, good gracious, Tom, I'm only five minutes late," I said with a laugh.

He looked at me as I sat opposite him, probably trying to read my thoughts, but I wouldn't let him get that far. He obviously forgot that I'm an accomplished Occlumens. I looked away, shutting off my mind from his penetrating glare. After a moment, he looked away, too.

"Do not call me Tom," he spoke again in a low, dangerous voice.

"And, pray tell, how should I address you then?" I asked, facing him again.

His slits for eyes narrow even more. "You know my name."

I looked at him, shaking my head in disbelief. "If I didn't call you by that name when you came asking for a teaching job at Hogwarts all those years ago, why on earth would I call you by it now?"

Ah, I seem to have struck a nerve with him already. I casually noticed his hand twitching, as if desperately wanting nothing more than to reach for his wand and curse me into oblivion. However, apparently, he thought better of it. He looked at me with an icy glare. "If you insist on calling me by that name, then I get to call you Albus."

"Fair enough," I said. Simply, I do not wish to call him Lord Voldemort to his face. In his presence, I'd much rather call him Tom to his face. It gets his ole blood pressure shot up... hee hee.

I must admit, it was a rather uncomfortable silence that passed between us then. Once again, I could sense him trying to break into my mind. Persistent little bugger - got to give him an 'A' for effort, though.

"So," I began casually, "do the Death Eaters know you're here?"

"No," he said. "I did not wish to tell them that their Lord is meeting the enemy."

Enemy? And here I thought it was just a little, friendly meeting between teacher and former student. Luckily our drinks arrived by then; Voldemort must've ordered while waiting for me.

"Ah, firewhisky," I said, examining the bottle. "I didn't know you were much of a drinker, Tom."

He took a rather large sip from his drink, sitting it down before responding.

"I drink occasionally. What's it to you?"

I shrugged my shoulders. It's none of my business if he should succumb to the nasty Muggle death of cirrhosis of the liver. Maybe he has an extra Horcrux set aside, in case such a thing should occur.

I merely nursed my drink, taking small sips of it here and there. I could see this it was going to be a rather uncomfortable night.

Another long silence came between us. I sat and watched his continual drinking, which I must say, he seemed to be quite the expert at it. He was already on to his second round of firewhisky, while I was merely half way through with my first one. I couldn't help but wonder if he would get too smashed to Apparate back to wherever he's hiding these days. I certainly didn't want to be responsible if I left him and he went on a drunken Muggle killing spree. I was faced with a nasty conflict. Then a rather intriguing thought entered my head. I could Apparate him to some deserted island and leave him there until his hangover passed.... Oh, what fun it'll be to see his reaction to that. A smile tugged at my mouth as I thought about it.

Unfortunately, Tom saw it.

"What the hell are you smiling at?" he snapped, his words were becoming slightly slurred.

I realized at once that he had begun work on a third firewhisky. I took a moment before responding, finishing my first firewhisky. I order a second and turn to Tom.

"Oh, nothing," I lied. He looked as if he didn't believe me. Perhaps I was a bit too obvious....

"You know, Tom," I began, taking a sip of the smooth firewhisky, "I hear that the Ministry is in rather a confuddle right now. Seems you and your Death Eaters are causing quite the trouble for them."

Tom swayed slightly in his seat. He looked at me before saying, "The Ministry! They can kiss my pasty white arse!"

"Doesn't all that murder you commit seem wrong?" I asked, though I already knew what his answer will be.

He let out a high, derisive laugh before going back to his drink.

The taste of the sweet, brownest of the brown firewhisky called to me. I took another sip and felt its intoxicating effects begin to affect me.

Before we entered another long, uncomfortable silence, Tom raised his fifth glass of firewhisky and said, "To Harry Potter! That little pain-in-the-ass he is!"

I picked up my glass and raised it slightly. We drank to Harry's health, to mine, to Voldemort's, to the barkeeper, the Death Eaters, the Order of the Phoenix - basically anyone he happened to think of. He was really toasted - I mean, would a sober Voldemort actually drink to Harry's health? After all these toasts, I was beginning to feel slightly inebriated myself, but not completely. I decided to use what little stability I had left to my advantage.

"It was a clever idea to use Horcruxes for immortality," I said mildly. I looked up at him, expecting to have him caught on to me, but alas, no. He was much too drunk to notice.

"Horcruxes," he mumbled, swaying slightly in his seat. His eyes, if possible, were looking even more red.

"Yeah, I can't remember where the bloody hell I hid half of them. Gave one to Lucius Malfoy. A diary, you see..." (I nod innocently) "... Stupid prat he was. Dumped it onto some little girl in Diagon Alley a few years back. When I found out what he did, I screamed and Crucio'd his ass out from here to Knockturn Alley and round again!" Slamming down his glass, he looked thoughtfully around the pub before taking another sip.

"Don't get me started on Wormtail. The insolent boob he is..."

~*~

A few more glasses of firewhisky later....

(Excuse me, but this is the bartender, Aberforth Dumbledore. Since my brother is much too wasted to tell the rest of his tale, I'll continue with what I saw from behind the counter.... In between those annoying punk kids coming in and l! ooking for a "Hugh Jass,” "Amanda Huginkis,” or "I.P. Freely"....)

Dumbledore and his guest staggered over to the far side of my bar, where we had a karaoke machine set up. Albus and his drinking mate, whom I later found out was none other than Voldemort himself, staggered over to the machine. Laughing, hiccupping, and just plain acting stupidly, they picked up the microphones and began their god-awful caterwauling that could have killed an entire army of Inferi.

"'Cause you're everywhere to me --"

"And when I close my eyes it's you I see --"

"You're everything I know --"

"That makes me believe --"

"I'm not alone --"

"I'm not alone --"

After their sickening little lovefest, Voldemort gently sat down the microphone and looked at Albus affectionately.

"I love you, man!" he cried, leaning over to give my brother a hug. I was surprised to see Albus return the gesture.

"Dude!" he exclaimed. "You're... you're like the son I never had!"

"Let's stop this fussin' and a fuedin'!" cried Voldemort.

Tears began spilling from both their eyes while I turned away in disgust. Public displays of affection, or PDA as I call it, make me want to vomit in terror. After a moment or so, I turned around to glare at them again. They were staggering off and out the door, laughing like a couple of idiotic teenagers.... A weird nagging feeling tugged at my innards... I couldn't let two drunk (and powerful) wizards out on the world. Action had to be taken.

Exiting my pub, I followed them outside where they tried (half-assed, I might add) to Apparate back home. Laughing and stumbling like the morons they were, they hiccupped, and finally making my presence known, turned around to face me. Albus pointed at me, laughing hysterically at my long white hair. I rolled my eyes.... Honestly, the nerve of him.

Taking out my wand, I pointed it at Albus, who was gripping a hiccupping Voldemort tightly by the arm. With a flick of my wand, I Apparated them to a place far, far away where they could spend the next few days (as in TOGETHER), quietly sobering up. The Caribbean should be far enough away to provide that.

Heh, they wouldn't remember a thing that has happened tonight. Good thing too, because I doubt Albus would have believed me if I told him that he and Voldemort were singing and hugging each other. Though, there's always blackmail. Maybe if I hold this over his head, he'd keep that damn thing about me and the goats a more closely guarded secret....