Harry Potter and the Summer of Discovery

Chpt. 4. The Return of Rita Skeeter

Rita's eye lit up in excitement. She had done her job: she created a story when it had crumbled before her eyes. She couldn't have been more excited if a goblin had shown up and dropped a sack of galleons at her feet. A rapid scratching sound could be heard, and Harry felt his heart sink. Her Quick-Quotes Quill was hard at work. He hadn't even seen her pull it out of her handbag.

Sirius had an arm across Xander's chest, pulling him back. "Back off," he was saying. "You've done enough. Don't make it worse." But Xander wouldn't be moved. He stood there, glaring at the unconscious police officer. Sirius finally gave up and ran into his house.

"You shouldn't have done that," Alicia scolded. "It really didn't hurt."

"He shouldn't have hit you," Xander said, his gaze not moving.

"Thank you, Majere, you've just given me my career back," said Rita brightly, and climbed back into her van before anybody could stop her. She didn't drive off, she was only writing furiously on her notepad.

Sirius was racing out of Xander's house now, Mr. Weasley hot on his heels. Mr. Weasley had the presence of mind to dress in his Muggle attire, though he obviously didn't pay much attention to what he was doing: a cardigan sweater coupled with pinstriped dress pants, and a pair of steel-toed boots to complete the mess.

"You shouldn't have hit him, Majere," said Mr. Weasley sadly, shaking his head.

"He backhanded Alicia for no reason! Did you expect me to let that go?" he asked harshly.

"Well, no decent person would have let that slide, and that fact may help preserve your job," said Mr. Weasley, scratching at his unshaven chin. "But even I can't stop disciplinary action on this."

"Let Fudge do his worst," snapped Xander. "They don't lock up someone with an Order of Merlin for a punch."

"But a Muggle Policeman? Couldn't you have picked a better target?" said Mr. Weasley.

"Sorry, I was short on options," Xander retorted. He walked over to the cop and nudged him with his foot. "Get up, I didn't hit you that hard."

The cop stirred, groggily sitting up and rubbing his head. His glassy eyes looked around, not recognizing anything until his gaze held on Xander. Instantly, he raised his gun. "You're dead," he snarled.

"Expelliarmus!" cried Mr. Weasley, and the gun flew harmlessly into the air, settling at his feet. The cop crawled backwards, not stopping until his back was against Xander's car, and even then his feet kept trying to push him backwards. "Just sit still," ordered Mr. Weasley. "Nobody's going to hurt you. I want you to tell us why you tried to arrest this young man."

Sirius, in the meantime, was repairing Xander's tail light with his own wand. The cop noticed this, and looked around even more fearfully. It was amazing how such simple magic could disarm even the hardiest Muggle. "I had a report of a stolen vehicle," said the cop, not taking his eyes of Mr. Weasley's wand. "And who are you to ask me questions?"

"I'm here to straighten this mess out," said Mr. Weasley. He knew better than to mention his official title. "If there was any wrongdoing on this young man's part, it's my job to report it."

"He attacked me! Isn't that enough to report?" cried the cop, attempting to stand up. Mr. Weasley pointed his wand at him, and the cop cowered back against Xander's car again. "Is that one of the Navy's new weapons, the kind that they waste our tax money on and don't tell us about?"

"No," said Mr. Weasley shortly. "I ask you again: why did you attempt to arrest this young man?"

"I already told you, I had a report of a stolen car," said the cop, barely containing his contempt. "The caller described the vehicle, the perpetrator, and even said it would be in this neighborhood. It ain't hard to add up."

"And what of the fact that this young man has a title in his name?" asked Mr. Weasley.

"Then it means that I have a problem with my contact-" the cop cut himself off, apparently revealing more information than he wished.

"And who is this contact?" pressed Mr. Weasley, not letting this advantage slip through his fingers.

"That's none of your concern," said the cop disdainfully. "I don't have to reveal my sources to you. It's not illegal for an officer to keep his contacts a secret."

"I assume I'm correct in guessing that your superior has full knowledge of this matter, seeing as how you would need a warrant for an arrest on an advance tip," said Mr. Weasley smoothly. He smiled slightly when the cop's eyes widened. He had struck gold: the cop was acting illegally, and would probably lose his badge if this matter hit the wrong ears. "I thought so. I ask again. Who is your contact? And bear in mind that I intend on informing your station if I don't like your answer."

"Old bloke. Named Macnair," said the cop so quietly that Mr. Weasley had to lean forward to hear.

"Macnair?" said Harry involuntarily. He hadn't meant to speak, but an image popped into his head: the old, wicked-looking wizard who had been brought in to execute Buckbeak, the hippogriff who was falsely accused of attacking Malfoy. Mr. Weasley shot Harry a look as if to say 'not here'. Harry obeyed.

Mr. Weasley pointed his wand at the cop, who cowered on sight. "Obliviate!" he cried, and a dreamy sort of look appeared on the face of the officer. His memory had just been modified.

"Party's over!" Mr. Weasley called out, and everyone started to file indoors once again, a smatter of talk breaking out about the evening's events. "No, not you two," said Mr. Weasley, grabbing Ron and Hermione by the collar. "You stay with me until we get ready to leave."

The cop had gotten into his car and drove away, Rita's van tailing him, unnoticed by anyone. Alicia was digging something out of Xander's fist: a tooth from the mouth of the cop. She repaired the cut on his knuckles with her wand.

"Macnair," said Sirius aloud, scratching his head. "Do you think he's talking about the person I'm thinking of?"

"We can only guess," said Mr. Weasley wearily. "But really, a wizard in contact with a Muggle cop? And a wizard who looks down on Muggles, to say the least. It's not a very convincing story to run to Fudge with."

"You know," Harry said quickly, "this isn't the first time today something like this has happened." Harry recounted the story of the two wizards at the carnival, and how they left when they saw his scar.

"And they just left?" asked Sirius. "Just like that?"

"Yeah," said Harry, slightly hurt that Sirius didn't completely believe him. "I don't understand it myself. What were wizards doing in a Muggle area?"

Mr. Weasley ran both of his hands through his hair, as if he were thinking 'what have I gotten myself into tonight?'. "Ron, didn't you say that a Muggle salesman came to our front door last week?"

"Yeah," answered Ron immediately. "Wanted to sell us a sat-in-light dish or something. Barking mad, really. A gnome ran across his foot, and he said it was the biggest rabbit he had ever seen."

"I thought that you made The Burrow unplottable?" asked Hermione, looking from Ron back to Mr. Weasley.

"We did," said Mr. Weasley. "This makes no sense."

"We'll have to think about it later," said Sirius. "I have to get back to Dumbledore before they haul me back to Azkaban."

"You're going already?" asked Harry, disappointed.

"It's nearly 10:00," said Sirius. "I have a curfew." He didn't bother trying to hide the bitterness in his voice.

"C'mon, you two," said Mr. Weasley to Ron and Hermione. We better get back before Molly tears the house down."

"Wait!" cried Hermione. "We didn't get to give Harry his birthday gift yet!" Before anybody could stop her, she ran into Xander's house, to reappear several minutes later holding two small parcels. She handed them to Harry, giving him a hug. "We'll get a chance to talk later," she said, and wished him a Happy Birthday.

"We'll meet up again before term starts," said Ron, and with a shake of the hand, followed Hermione and his father back into Xander's house. The Floo Network was certainly busy from Xander's fireplace tonight.

"Use your mirror if you want to talk," said Sirius. He never said good-bye. According to Sirius, this indicated that it may be their last meeting, saying something as final as 'good-bye', and he refused to believe that he would never see Harry again. He disappeared through Xander's front door.

"I'm sorry, Harry," said Xander. "I know this wasn't the birthday you had in mind."

"It's not your fault," Harry tried to mollify his friend. He couldn't help but feel empty at the abrupt ending of the evening, but he knew it wasn't Xander's fault. "You just take care of yourself. There's no telling what Skeeter's gonna write."

"If I don't get a chance to see you again, have a nice term," said Alicia, and she guided Xander back indoors.

Harry's lonliness was now complete. He stood there, alone, with his birthday gifts tucked under his arm, and nobody to talk to. It shouldn't really bother him, as he never had people to talk to when he was home for the holidays, but he had gotten so used to human contact these past two days that the change felt like a wave of misery. He began to walk back home, wondering if Kat would meet him tomorrow, wondering when he would see his friends again, thinking about today's events, basically so lost in thought that it was a few seconds before he realized he was trying to open a locked door. Dammit, he had forgotten his key.

Harry did what came natural; he sat on the front porch, letting the coolness of the night wash over him. He certainly had enough to think about and didn't feel like going to bed, anyway. He toyed absentmindedly with his gifts from Ron and Hermione, though not opening them. He didn't know why, he just didn't feel like opening them. Not a few times, his eyes lingered on Number Seven, at the light that was on in the upstairs window. The same window that he had caught a glimpse of the silhouette of Kat in. No outline was visible now. Why was it that every time he needed company, nobody was around? At least the Dursleys weren't here to make him even more miserable.

Having nothing better to do, he finally began to open his birthday gifts. Hermione's was a long, slender, rectangular package, and Harry thought immediately that it was a book. Revealing the contents, he realized how wrong his guess was. It was a picture of the three of them, grinning broadly and waving. Above the picture, "e inseparabilis " was inscribed, the Latin word for "inseparable". Somehow, this didn't seem right at the moment. They were both at The Burrow, while he was stuck here on Privet Drive. He knew that Hermione's intention was far from causing depression, but his current mood couldn't be helped. He appreciated it all the same.

Ron's gift was, surprise, candy. But not the taffee, caramel, or toffees you find in Muggle shops. These were snacks made by Ron's brothers, Fred and George, who were starting their own Joke Shop, Weasleys Wizard Wheezes. An instruction list came with the package, so that Harry didn't inadvertently perform the pranks on himself. An image of Dudley transforming into a canary in front of Uncle Vernon crossed his mind, forcing a smile to his lips.

He stared up at the moon, his gifts sitting on the step next to him, each of them equally as precious as the next. His Coats of Arms were still stacked facing each other, but he had already burned their images into his mind, so he didn't need to keep glancing at them. The thought of having them displayed for public viewing somehow made him feel naked. The longer he gazed at the moon, however, the larger one of the spots became. Soon, the spot began to grow outwards as well, and the edges began to move. Harry watched intently at this amazing spot, until it took on the outline of an owl in flight. Eventually, the owl landed on Harry's porch, and under the streetlights, and he recognized it; Cho's owl.

For some reason, his heart skipped a beat and his hands trembled as he removed the parcel from the owl. With a light nip of the finger, the owl flew off, again leaving Harry alone. He didn't understand it, but he wasn't sure if he was ready to open her letter, and it was wrong to open the parcel before the letter. To hell with it, he thought, and tore open the letter.

Dear Harry,

Surely, you didn't think I would skip your birthday? You still occupy my thoughts, and I wouldn't dream of not sending you something. I do apologize for the lack of contact, and I hope that you'll give me the opportunity to explain when we get a chance to talk face to face. Please don't hate me, and please don't think that I hate you. Nothing could be farther from the truth.

Wishing you a Happy Birthday,

Cho

Well, this was certainly a new twist. How had she gone from "I need time to myself" to "We need to talk"? Had she thought about her last letter and realized how many different ways it could be interpreted? Though still vague on several key points, this new one could be read as containing some form of commitment to him. Weird. Whenever he thinks that he has something figured out, it blows up in his face. Now it was all backwards from this morning. Cho was talking to him and Kat was giving the silent treatment. Funny what a difference a day makes.

Thinking that nothing else could possibly confuse him more, he opened her gift. The first thing that caught his eye was the bedroom light reflecting off of the silver chain. It had a small charm hanging from the center, a Yin/Yang charm. The black part of the ancient Chinese symbol was made of obsidian if Harry knew anything about geology, and the white was made of diamond. Inside the box was a small note written in Cho's handwriting:

This is a Yin/Yang charm, a Chinese symbol for balance. May this piece find a way to balance you out.

Silver, obsidian, and diamond. Those stones don't come cheap. Such craftsmanship; if this were a fantasy novel, Harry would swear that dwarves made this fine piece of jewelry. (A/N: don't'cha just love irony?) It must surely have cost a good hundred galleons, if not more. Such an expensive gift from someone who was questioning her future? Does this mean that Harry misinterpreted Cho's letter, or was she simply feeling guilty? After this exquisite present, Harry certainly was.

* * *

Harry didn't see anybody for the next three days, Kat included. He couldn't imagine a time when he felt more lonely since well before he had entered Hogwarts. He spent those three days wrapped up in work, doing a lot more odd jobs around the neighborhood on top of his work for Mr. Tompkins. Out of sheer boredom, he even scrubbed down Aunt Petunia's kitchen the night before they returned from their vacation. It wasn't as if Harry used the kitchen once, it was just that it kept his mind off of things, off of Kat, Cho, Xander, Sirius. Kat had gone AWOL, not a trace of her to be seen at any time of the day or night. Talk about confusion. Harry shares a life-changing experience with her, and she disappears. He began to wonder if she was only a figment of his imagination

It was this night that Harry's heart fell, when the evening edition of the Daily Prophet was delivered. He had been wondering exactly when this story would show up. The large, bold headline splattered across the front page read:

Auror Involved in Altercation with Muggle Police

He almost began to unpack his Hogwarts trunk and go looking for a place to stay. Surely if it got out that he himself was involved in this exact altercation, it would be the end of his schooling. An altercation with Fudge had nearly cost him this already. Some sort of law had to be broken that night. Throwing caution to the wind, he read the remainder of the story before he decided on anything.

Our youngest Auror, Alexander Majere, was involved in a scuffle with a Muggle policeman, writes Rita Skeeter, special correspondent. In a shocking lack of control of his temper, Majere struck the policeman after a misunderstanding three nights ago in front of his home.

After racing around his neighborhood maniacally in his high-end luxury car (a Muggle vehicle used for transportation), he was pulled over by the Muggle officer and forced to remain motionless on the ground while the policeman searched his car. Whatever he was looking for, he didn't find, however. When asked why Majere was being arrested and what charges were brought up, the arresting officer said "No charges. Just a misunderstanding." A source who chooses to remain nameless has told this reporter that Majere may possibly have been in possession of an illegally charmed object, one with a built-in memory charm that would cause the authorities to forget what they were looking for. Whatever the case may be, we must ask ourselves: What was Majere doing that caused him to be detained in the first place?

A retired member of the Wizengamot places the blame on Majere's stunning success at such a young age. In this person's theory, Majere's accomplishments have given him a narcissistic view of himself, so strong that he feels he can do no wrong. Such an individual in the position of Auror would be a devastating liability when coupled with this amazing lack of self-control, says the source.

Could this rebellion against authority lead to a head-on clash with Cornelius Fudge, the Minister of Magic himself? Neither Majere nor Minister Fudge returned my owls, so we can only speculate. Word has leaked out from inside the Ministry that on several occasions, Majere and Fudge have had minor disagreements on how to proceed with the capture of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named and his supporters, and in a few instances, Majere has outright defied Fudge in conducting his own investigation. The Wizengamot now has an immense task on their hands. Will they choose to act on this altercation and punish Majere, or will they take his word, whatever that may be?

For a fleeting second, Harry was glad that nowhere in the story did his name appear. He thought of Hermione and what she might do in retaliation until he realized that Skeeter didn't tell a single lie in the story, and nobody could be sure if she deliberately omitted any information as she had arrived late on the scene and no one could be certain exactly what she saw. If her morals hadn't changed in one year, certainly her methods have. Quite the dangerous technique, too; using the truth to slander someone. Well, now Harry had someone to go and visit.

Locking the house behind him, he made his way to Xander's house under the cover of darkness, actually glad that Kat's bedroom light was out. He didn't need a distraction now. Xander's lights were shining brightly, one of the few at this hour of the evening. This was the time that most families were relaxing after their dinner or watering their over-cared-for lawns. Ringing the bell held a small surprise; the sound of bagpipes playing a funeral march shrieked through the house. Well, at least he kept his sense of humor.

"If you're a reporter, get lost!" came Xander's muffled voice from behind the door.

"Well, I guess that means you have to let me in," Harry shouted back. A click of the lock later, Xander's face appeared, looking somewhat haggard. He had a drink in his hand.

"Yo, c'mon in," Xander muttered, and turned his back as he walked into his dining room. Xander always fell back into old habits of using American slang when he was under stress. Harry saw a copy of that evening's Prophet on the table.

"Yeah, I read that pile of dung, too," said Harry, pointing to the paper.

"She set her trap well, didn't she?" said Xander bitterly. "No lies written, yet not an ounce of truth in it. Bill Clinton couldn't have said it better."

"Who?" asked Harry.

"Nevermind," said Xander, and swallowed his glass in one gulp. "Funny how she left out the fact that I had a gun to my head, or that he smacked Alicia first. Here, read this pile of shit," he said, tossing a roll of parchment to Harry.

From the desk of the Head of Magical Law Enforcement:

On behalf of an assaulted Muggle, Rita Skeeter has filed a civil action lawsuit on the grounds of assault, defamation of character, and slander, seeking monetary punishment in the amount of three thousand galleons, to be paid out by the defendant in the event of a guilty verdict. Ms. Skeeter has assured this office that the judgment will be appropriated to the alleged victim, who is unable to testify due to the unfortunate modification of his memory. This office asks that you appear before the Wizengamot on the Thirty-First of October of this year to plead your case. There will be no exemptions made for this date.

Harry looked up from the parchment, only to find Xander downing another drink. If Xander had a weak point, it was alcohol. Going against his better judgment, Harry decided not to mention his drinking. "Call me to testify," he said instead. "I was there, I know what happened."

"I'm glad that your willing," said Xander with a dark chuckle. "You don't have a choice. When Arthur filed his report, he added the details that Skeeter 'forgot'. You have to be there."

"So then they'll know the truth now," said Harry. "Your Gringotts vault will stay full."

Xander shook his head. "That's not what's bothering me," he said, tossing a scroll to Harry. It had the seal broken, but the image of a pentagon was clearly visible. A wave of foreboding washed over Harry as he unrolled it. It had a tight, precise handwriting, reminding Harry strongly of Xander's, yet the letters were formed differently.

Nerosith, Apprentice Magi,

The Conclave of Mages requires your presence at the next Conclave, scheduled on the twenty-third of September according to the Roman calendar, in order to discuss the progress of your task. This will be an open forum discussion, though only the heads of the five orders will be present. Be prepared to discuss your course of action in the pursuit of this dark 'wizard', as well as any information from your society about yourself that pertains to your task. Your lack of presence will result in the traditional expulsion penalty.

It has also come to our attention that you were involved in an incident with a non-magical. You will be questioned accordingly to determine if any form of punishment is called for.

Valthonis

Order of the Centaur

"Valthonis?" Harry asked, not able to think of a more intelligent question. Damn you, stress. You certainly have a way making one feel stupid.

"The residing Head of Conclave," answered Xander in a distant voice. "He was set to retire the position until Dorolith was put to death." Dorolith was Xander's mentor, whom Voldemort had corrupted.

"This says that there are five orders," said Harry pointing to the scroll, allowing his question to remain unasked.

"The five orders represent what alchemists believe to be the Five Powers of the Universe," said Xander, pouring himself another drink. "Earth, Wind, Fire, Water, and the Heavans. The Centaur is for the Heavans, since they're star-gazers. My order, Phoenix, is for Fire. Raven is for Wind. Pegasus represents Earth, and Erne (an Erne is a sea eagle) is for Water."

"I see," said Harry. "And I'm assuming that you're Nerosith?"

"It's what the Magi call me," said Xander. "It means 'the Outsider'. They really don't like my involvement with the wizarding world, or the fact that I was raised a poor Muggle."

"So there are Mage societies, like wizards?" asked Harry. Idle chit-chat was always a good way to steer the conversation towards a potentially insulting question.

"Druids," said Xander simply. "Only, we've done a better job of remaining a secret since those times. Muggles love legends, but they have an adorable way of ignoring plain hard facts." He said this last part in a mocking tone. Growing up in a Muggle society, Xander took it very personally whenever someone showed contempt for them. "We even use the Druidic calendar, still, though we make it a point to refer to the Roman calendar. You know, the one everyone uses with twelve months in it."

Was it just Harry, or did Xander seem to be avoiding something? Surely, he hadn't shown him the letter from his Conclave to discuss the Roman and Druidic calendars. When in doubt, ask. "You're holding something back," he said. Not a question, but the effect was the same.

Xander poured himself another drink, having quickly downed his second since Harry's arrival. Lighting a cigarette. Not good. Since he quit last year, Xander only smoked when stressed. "Remember the Life Force Recall spell I used on Dumbledore last year? The mages don't believe me. They think I'm telling tall tales, a swollen ego due to my success." More bitterness. Xander tapped the copy of the Daily Prophet roughly. "Sound familiar?"

Harry knew how he felt. It was only a year ago when he was in a similar situation. But Xander had an advantage that Harry didn't. There was a living eye witness to verify the event. "Dumbledore," Harry said simply. "He's alive, he's walking proof that it works."

"Which is wonderful, but in order for Dumbledore to testify, Sirius has to come too since he's under Dumbledore's custody," said Xander, finishing with a long drag off his cigarette. Harry didn't know it was possible to inhale for that long.

"So bring Sirius, too. He was there, he saw it with his own eyes."

"Which is wonderful, except for the fact that technically, Sirius is a convicted murderer at the moment and therefore would not be allowed into the Chamber."

"His case is under review. The man he 'murdered' is alive and well."

"Which is wonderful, except that I'd need Fudge to write a document stating that Sirius is no longer a murderer."

"Fudge is your boss, and you're Order of Merlin, First Class. He's obligated to write a simple letter."

"Which is wonderful, except that after this bullshit," Xander pounded the newspaper again, "Fudge wouldn't step on my head if my hair was on fire."

And Harry thought he had problems. He was just about to scold Xander for pouring yet another drink now that his speech was beginning to slur, but he could hardly blame him for wanting to forget his problems for one night. But, there were things that needed to be spoken about.

"So what about Voldemort? They want to know where you're at in that area," said Harry cautiously. He had a difficult time containing his excitement, as it was the question he had been wanting to ask for over a month now, only he never found the opportunity.

"I've been told that I don't get admission into my Order unless I show some form of progress by the next Conclave," said Xander. "Which is why I've been-" Xander picked up the paper, "-devying Fudge in cunduck-ting my own inveztigashuns." He imitated Rita Skeeter's voice, and it would have been accurate, if not for his drunken slurring and a voice dripping with cynicism.

"And if you report no progress?"

Xander ran his finger across his throat. "Qkkkkkkrrrtttt!"

Xander 2, Harry 0.

"So where is he?"

"Don' know. The only lead I've vad is the cop naming Macnair, and now I'm bein' sued on his behalv," said Xander with a chuckle, his slurring becoming worse by the moment. "Not that he'z in any shape to interrrrogate, what with a modivied memmry and all."

Chalk up one more problem for the young mage. Backed up against the wall by his own mistake. "All this, just to be in your Order," Harry marveled aloud. He sat for a moment and watched Xander swirl his half-filled glass, noticed his droopy eyelids and glossy eyes. His cheeks were quickly becoming pink, his face sweating more and more. All of the signs were there; Xander was descending into a drunken stupor at an alarming rate. The effects of hard liquor catch up on you before you're ready.

"Maybe you should put that one down," said Harry, pointing to the glass. It was a small miracle that Harry was able to complete this sentence without sounding condescending in any way.

"Yeah, you're right," sighed Xander. It wasn't so much that Xander felt he had drank too much as it was that he simply didn't have the coordination to place brim of glass on lips, drink, swallow, repeat. Somehow, he was able to walk without the slightest stumble and poured the drink down the drain, after which he happened to glance at a mirror hanging on the wall.

"I know you," said Xander, pointing at the mirror with a stupid grin on his face. "I know you. I knew I knew you. What are you doing here?"

Huh?? This was the only word in the Queen's English that Harry knew to summarize this event.

"I said, what are you doing here?" Xander asked the reflection again. "Lissen to me, you pissa shit!" he told it, pointing to his eye. "I don wanna see you here uh-gain!" He waved his hand across the mirror, muttering some words. The mirror no longer gave a reflection.

"Poof!" said Xander triumphantly. "Duzzin' magic kick ass?" he asked Harry.

Maybe if it were Dean or Seamus, two of his dorm mates at Hogwarts, this would have been funny. This was one of the most intelligent people Harry knew, rivaling even Professor Dumbledore. He had taken down dozens of Death Eaters and Voldemort in a single stroke. He had brought someone back to life from the brink of death. Now, he was little more than a lush that would send Uncle Vernon into an hour-long rant. Harry could no longer make the distinction between depression and disappointment.

Sighing, Harry grabbed Xander by the shoulder and led him to his bed. Or maybe dragged, he wasn't sure by the time he reached the secluded bedroom. He sure seemed heavier than he looked. Where was Alicia when he needer her? Growing ever more weary of dragging this body across the house, Harry dumped him unceremoniously on the bed, wondering how a liquid beverage could possibly have such an effect on such a powerful mind and solemnly swearing to never be so pissed up himself for the rest of his life.