Harry Potter groaned, the morning sunlight prodding him obnoxiously in the face. He tried to life his forearm to shield his eyes, to no avail. Every part of his body felt like lead. His headache was splitting and he felt it acutely. Every beating of his heart seemed to provoke a new assault on his senses. He felt like he was dying; not even killing Voldemort had hurt so much.
A strangled cry came from the bed next to his. Ron muttered incoherently under his breath. Harry's head throbbed.
"Ron, shut the hell up." Those brief words made Harry feel, if possible, worse. Now he was aware of the stale taste in his mouth. He wondered if a spider had crawled in there and died during the night. Or perhaps it had been a mouse.
"What did we do last night?"
Harry's head spun. He vaguely remembered something about a party. Yes! That was it; it had been his bachelor party. Ron had organized the entire event, and it apparently had ended up with him passed out at the Burrow in Ron's old attic room.
"It was Stag Night, remember?"
"Bloody hell. I hope neither one of us gets married again. I feel like Snape's greasy ass."
Harry chuckled, and then winced as the movement sent another pang of agony through his body. "I wonder what time it is."
"I hope it's either early enough that Hermione isn't awake yet, or late enough that they've forgotten about us. I'll never hear the end of this."
Harry silently agreed. He loved Hermione, he really did, but he thanked his lucky stars every day that he was marrying Ginny. Hermione had pouted about the stag night, saying it was a haven for drunkenness and misbehavior. Ginny, on the other hand, had given Harry a lingering kiss and said it was a pity she couldn't go drinking with him.
Merlin he loved her.
"Morning boys," said a voice from the door. It wasn't Hermione's shrill voice (she took sadistic pleasure in using a loud voice whenever Harry and Ron were inebriated) or Mrs. Weasley's stiff, disapproving one. The voice was like honey to his ears, just the right volume, and made his head feel just a little bit better. It was his fiancée.
"Ginny?" he croaked, unable to lift his head just yet. His eyes opened, though, and he focused on the ceiling.
She moved to his bed, her face inches from his. "Yuck," she said, wrinkling her freckled nose. "Your breath smells horrible."
He resisted the urge to laugh. "Tell me you brought hangover potion."
She laughed softly. "I sure did," she replied, holding the vial of bright green liquid in his line of sight.
He wordlessly opened his mouth, sighing in relief when the minty potion hit his fuzzy feeling tongue.
"Thanks," he groaned. "I'll love your forever."
She brushed his hair from his forehead. "I love you, too. How was last night?"
"I think there was a lot of firewhiskey. And I mean a lot."
"Dancers?" She couldn't hide the amusement in her voice.
"Yeah, Ron took us to some club."
"Did you get lucky?"
"Very," he whispered, pulling her down to lie beside him, her head settling into the crook of his neck. The potion had finally banished his headache, and Ginny's own personal recipe did wonders for his monster breath.
"Mmm? Not thinking of running out on me, are you, Potter?" She pushed her long, auburn hair over her shoulder, gently nibbling at his collarbone.
"Definitely not. The girls at the club were most certainly not the marrying kind."
"I can imagine. So you had fun?"
He thought about it. "Not really. I missed you."
"Hey!" he protested. "I really missed."
"Well, when we're married you won't ever have to be away from me. Not even to go have drinks with your mates."
"Take me prisoner," he challenged. By this time the illness had completely vanished and he was feeling very aware of the gorgeous woman lying in his bed. He took her head in his hand and kissed her gently. Her reaction was warm and eager; she slipped her tongue in between his lips, sending shudders through his body. His lips tingled.
"Well, don't let me bother you two," Ron said from the other side of the room. Harry, in his relief, had quite forgotten his friend's predicament.
He looked at Ginny. "Did you bring enough for Ron?"
"I may have," she said, winking. "But maybe I should just call 'Mione. That way she can care for her prince."
"Ginny, please. I'll be your slave forever. Just don't call Hermione until I'm better."
"Fine, fine," Ginny grumbled, reluctantly leaving Harry's side to hand an incapacitated Ron his potion. He grimaced and muttered about the taste.
"Did he get peppermint?" Ron swung his legs over the mattress. His red hair was shaggy and mussed; his skin pale save the two heavy black bags under his eyes.
"Yes, he did. I used the last in my kit for his batch," she grinned at Harry wickedly. "And that'll teach you to keep my boyfriend out all night." She lowered her voice just for Harry. "I hate the flat without you." He rose for another kiss. They had been living together for about a year, in a two bedroom flat in downtown London.
Ron said something very ugly and stumbled out of the door and into the bathroom down the hall.
"I'm sorry you missed me last night," said Harry. "I don't remember why we came here. I think we were going to raid your mum's pantry."
"It's okay. Hermione, Alicia, Angelina and I stayed up late, talking."
"Oh? About what?" He raised an eyebrow suggestively.
"This," she whispered, kissing him soundly. She rolled them over so that he was on top, resting comfortably between her legs. Their kisses became frantic and sloppily open-mouthed, until finally Harry tugged her shirt over her head. He kissed all the way down her neck to the tops of her breasts, only to be interrupted by the removal of his own shirt. He paused in his kissing at a massive itch on his chest, pulling away when he heard Ginny gasp.
"Harry! What the hell did you do?" Her hands were over her mouth and she was staring mercilessly at his chest.
He didn't have his glasses on so he couldn't properly see. He groped around on the nightstand for them, pushing the wire frames on to his face.
He looked down.
On his chest, roaring in frozen ferocity, was a Hungarian Horntail. It was plain brown and black in colour, but the flames erupting from its mouth were vibrant oranges and reds. The stream of fire flowed from the dragon's mouth, just over his heart, and curled up his shoulder and down his arm, stopping just at the bend of his arm.
He'd gotten a tattoo. He'd gotten a tattoo while he was drunk. He was going to kill Ron.
"Wow," Ginny said.
He eyed her warily. "Are you going to kill me?"
Her expression was bemused. "Why would I do that? I love it. Very macho." She bent down and gave him a hard kiss. "I think it's kind of sexy."
His mouth was open to reply when the door of the room flew open. Ron came in, looking wild, his pants undone and around his ankles, his boxers showing. His eyes were wide as he turned, showing Harry and Ginny his naked bum. On the left cheek was a tattoo of a pink Pygmy puff.
Harry and Ginny burst into laughter.
"THIS IS NOT FUNNY!"
"Ron, would you like to explain this?" All of them looked to the doorway, finding Hermione in the doorway, her lips pursed. Harry was showing off his Horntail, Ginny was shirtless and in her bra, and Ron was more than halfway naked, his bum exposed to show off a bruised butt cheek with a fluffy animal tattooed on it.
"Uhh…It was stag night," Harry offered feebly.