War and Passion

Chapter Eight
Whiskey Blues


Harry stormed up the stairs away from Ginny. His blood was pounding in his ears. He stopped twice with the intention of going back to her. Either he’d forgotten, or it had gotten more intense, whatever the reason, her effect on him was monstrous. It made his nights with Cho look like child's play. He’d always prided himself on being able to maintain his self control in the most dire of situations, not anymore. His self control had flown right out the window the second he’d kissed her. He had to get out of the Burrow. For the first time in his life, he wanted to be at the Dursley’s. He couldn’t remain under the same roof with her, something life altering was going to happen if he did.

Harry stood outside the door to Ron’s room and took a few steadying breaths as he tried to get himself under control. He opened the door roughly in his frustration and ducked as Ron hurled a curse at him. Harry looked at the black mark on the wall three feet from him.

“A little off your mark tonight,” Harry commented as he shook his head.

Ron sat in the corner of his room. His long legs were propped up on the small table next to him. He was shirtless and had a bottle of Ogden’s Fire Whiskey in one hand as he looked out the window ignoring Harry’s jibe.

Harry dropped down in the seat next to Ron and yanked the bottle out of his hand. “What happened to never drinking again?”

“I might ask you the same thing,” Ron growled as he watched Harry take a long swig out of the bottle. It was obvious that Ron wanted to be alone to wallow in whatever misery had caused him to drink again.

Harry took a deep breath as he felt the whiskey burn down him. He’d never been a serious drinker, but there were nights during his fifth year that he and Ron had gotten positively smashed. He’d felt the hangover from his fight with Ginny over Cho for two days afterwards. Ron had been waiting for him, bottle in hand, when he returned from the Quidditch pitch. Ron drank just as much. He’d been consumed with guilt for encouraging Harry’s relationship with Cho to keep Harry away from his sister.

“Trust me, you’d rather have me up here getting pissed with you than the alternative,” Harry sighed as he looked back towards the door.

“What’s the alternative?” Ron said crossly.

“Shagging your sister.”

“Let me get you a glass.”

Ron jumped up and rummaged through his trunk. He found two shot glasses and aimed one at Harry’s head. Harry caught it in one hand and poured himself a drink as Ron fell back into his seat. He yanked the bottle back and filled his glass.

“So what’s the occasion?” Harry questioned as Ron dropped his feet back on the table and looked out the window again, glass in hand.

“Love stinks,” he sighed.

“That didn’t take long; this morning you were happy as a clam.”

“On second thought, go bug Ginny,” Ron said as he turned to glare at Harry.

“If you say so.” Harry smiled and went to stand. Ron shoved him back into his seat.

“Drink your fucking whiskey and shut up.” Ron grabbed Harry’s glass and filled it up again.

“Where did you get it?”

“I stole it out of the twin’s room. They always have a stash.”

“I thought they gave it up?”

“They found a charm to cure hangovers,” Ron said as he filled his own glass back up.

“Very nice, will they share their new found knowledge tomorrow when we feel like shit?” Harry laughed.

“Are you kidding, when they can watch us suffer instead?”

Harry and Ron worked their way through a good portion of the bottle in silence. Harry was surprised to notice that it took him twice as long to get truly smashed and it seemed Ron was having the same problem. Of course, they’d been much thinner the last time they knocked out a bottle of Ogden’s Fire Whiskey.

“So, what’s going on with you and my sister?” Ron questioned with a scowl.

“You really don’t want to hear about it,” Harry muttered.

“I’d hate to have to murder you, Harry.”

“Not as much as I’d hate telling your Mum I killed you in self defense,” Harry laughed.

“You think it’s funny? Do you know what the Death Eaters would do if they found out you had a girlfriend? They’d hunt her like a dog,” Ron hissed.

“Thanks for the update, asshole!”

“I’m an asshole? You just told me that you almost shagged my sister!” Ron jumped up to stand in front of Harry.

“That was almost an hour ago. It’s just now sinking in? Dear God, what has Hermione done to you?” Harry gaped as he watched Ron waver where he stood.

“I don’t want to talk about it,” Ron sighed and dropped down into his seat again.

“Good, because I don’t really want to hear about it.” Harry smirked and poured Ron another drink.

“Some best mate, you are,” Ron grumbled.

“You just threatened to murder me,” Harry pointed out as he filled his own glass.

“True, but I said I’d hate to do it.”

“Well, that’s a comfort.”

It was a long while before they finally went to sleep. Harry hadn’t drank quite as much as Ron, so he was able to drag himself to bed. Ron had fallen asleep in the chair with his feet still propped up on the table.

As the first signs of daylight began to filter into the room, Harry and Ron were enjoying a dreamless sleep brought on by way too much alcohol. That is until the door opened to Ron’s room. Harry sprang up as Ron grabbed his wand from his lap. A barrier and curse were thrown at the visitor a few seconds after the door opened. Of course, they both missed their mark by several feet.

“That was sad, Grandmum is faster than that!” Charlie laughed as he walked in, unaffected by his near miss.

Ron’s head dropped to the table as Harry fell back into bed.

“What the hell time is it?” Ron mumbled, not lifting his head from where it rested.

“Six thirty.”

“Six thirty! Get the fuck out, Charlie!” Ron yelled as he lifted his head. He winced and dropped it back on the table.

“You said you wanted to go running. You don’t want to go soft, do you?” Charlie questioned as he fell down in the seat Harry had vacated last night.

“Changed my mind,” Ron said in a half audible voice.

Charlie picked up the empty bottle of Whiskey and shook his head. “I thought you two gave up drinking? Are the nightmares still that bad?”

“We did give it up,” Harry mumbled as he sat up and clutched his head. He was being reminded exactly why he gave it up.

“Yeah, I can tell.”

“Go away,” Ron moaned as he leaned back against the chair rubbing the palm of his hand against his forehead.

“Fine, but who do you think taught Fred and George the charm for hangovers?” Charlie smirked then got up to leave.

“Wait!” Harry and Ron shouted in unison.

“I should let you suffer. You didn’t even set barriers around you before you passed out. What if Mum or Ginny walked in here instead of me, huh? You could have really hurt them. Although, your aim was pretty pathetic,” Charlie lectured as he crossed his arms over his chest and looked at the two of them.

“Are you going to do the fucking charm or not?”

“Ask nicely,” Charlie said in a sing song voice to Ron.

“Please, Charlie?” Harry said with a pained laugh, then clutched his head again.

Ron was just glaring at his brother. Harry knew that hell could freeze over before Ron would beg for anything.

“Fine, but you really need to work on the language, Ron. You kiss my Mother with that filthy mouth of yours,” Charlie chuckled.

The charm worked great to relive the symptoms of a hangover. Harry was glad it was Charlie who’d found them in their pathetic state, instead of another Weasley family member. Aside from the twins, no one else in Ron’s family knew that they use to drink. The only reason Charlie knew was because he was the one who use to send the Whiskey. He took pity on both of them when he’d found out just how little sleep they were getting because of the nightmares they suffered from. If Mrs. Weasley ever find out that he use to send Whiskey to Ron, the Death Eaters would be the least of Charlie’s worries. She’d kill him.

Harry and Ron opted out of running since the charm didn’t do anything for their lack of sleep. They both crashed into bed and attempted to get a few hours of rest before they were forced to get up. As Harry drifted into a restless sleep, he wondered how Ginny was fairing. He shut his eyes tighter as one frightening thought hit him. He had admitted that he wouldn’t stop the next time. He almost smacked his forehead at his stupidity. If his experiences with her had taught him one thing, it’s that, where most girls might take that as a threat, Ginny could, very likely, take it as a promise.