The Heart of Things

Blair looked to see who Potter was shouting at. A tall, red-haired young man (whom she guessed was the Minister's youngest son) had turned in the direction of Potter's voice; he was holding the hand of a sweet-faced, bushy-haired girl, who was waving at them.

They squeezed their way over to Blair and Potter's table; Potter got to his feet and clapped the redhead on the back. The girl got a kiss on the cheek.

"What are you two doing here?" Potter asked, his face suddenly alight with a smile. Blair was amazed at the difference it made.

"Getting a pint, mate, what's it look like?"

"C'mon then, let's all go sit at the bar," suggested Potter. Blair had no idea how they would find four seats together, but as soon as Potter approached, people scooted down to make way for their party. She noticed that many of them had looks of pure admiration and respect in their eyes as they moved over.

"So, are you going to introduce us to your date?" asked the girl, whom Blair assumed to be Hermione Granger, the young lady who had discovered the book in the first place. Blair was horrified.

"God, no. I'm not his date," she said, trying to cover up her mortification with a laugh. "I'm Blair MacLean, head of the U.S. Muggle Relations office. I'm here on the--"

"Oh, yes, silly me! I should have known. How are...how are things going?" Blair saw a nervous look cross the other girl's face as she glanced over at Harry.

"Difficult to say," answered Blair. "That all depends on Mr. Potter here."

"No, she already has me beaten down. Played me like a bloody violin."

"Oh, bullshit, Potter. I used my high-minded argumentative skills and gave you a good tongue-lashing, how's about that?" Blair felt herself loosen up a notch. She was okay with these people. She was comfortable with them.

"Now that I hope is true. This one needs a good tongue-lashing, eh, Hermione?" Ron had spoken, rasing his eyebrow as he glanced over at Hermione.

She smacked him upside the head, hard enough to make a noise.

"Ow!" cried Ron, holding his shoulder where she had hit him.

"Good heavens, Ron, does everything said have to be turned into something sexual? Grow up."

"I think you like it Hermione." said Ron insisted, waggling his eyebrows at her.

"Would you two cut it out?" Harry scolded them with a grin.

"Randy bastard," muttered Hermione.

Ron pretended to be shocked. "Hermione! I never knew you could curse with such force."

"Oh, shut it."

Ron sniggered at this, and took a enthusiastic gulp of the mysterious magenta substance in front of him.

They were all silent for a moment to drink. When Blair felt the pleasant, warm, buzzy feeling in the pit of her stomach, she knew it was time to switch to water. That was the best thing about Irish Jigs; they were the only drink that let you know when enough was enough.

However, Harry's and Ron's strangely colored liquor did not seem to be so kind. After their second pint, both men were slurring their words, and giggling unnecessarily.

"Damn, boys, you haven't even started into your third round yet."

"Plus the 2 Short Joys and a Kick in the Bollocks each," Potter added, accidentally poking himself in the eye and grinning stupidly.

"My God, Potter, you're completely smashed."

"Aw, c'mon, MacLean! Where's your since of fun?"

Blair raised an eyebrow at him. "It's been scared into hiding."

Potter just shared a grin with Ron, and both of them finished off their second round. Hermione rolled her eyes.

"I think it's time we headed home," she said, as if speaking to a child or senior citizen.

"But," said Ron, looking as if he were struggling to verbalize his thoughts, "the party's jus' starting!"

"Yeah, get that damn stick out of your arse, Herm..Herm...! DAMN. Herminny!!" giggled Potter, gladly accepting his second Kick in the Bollocks.

"Harry!" Hermione protested.

Potter just waggled a finger at her, "You got to learn how to rrrrrrrelax."

"Oh, like you?" muttered Hermione.

Blair caught to bartender's eye. "Can we get two coffees over here?"

The bartender looked at her like she was out of her mind. "Don't got coffee. You want tea?"

Blair shook her head.

"Heyyy, Blur! How'd you like a Kick in the Bollocks? They're...mmmmmmm..." His eyelids drooped and his head dropped onto her shoulder.

"I don't have any bollocks, thank you, and even if I did , I doubt I’d like them to be kicked," she said sharply, shrugging him off. "I'm beginning to think Hermione was right."

"Aw, c'mon Blur! I know...there'sssa party girl...behind that frigid bitch!"

Blair glared at him. "Yes. Definitely time to head home. Can we call a cab or something?" she asked Hermione.

Hermione laughed a little. "First of all, no, we can't call anyone, as there are no telephones. And no cabs, either. Though they'd quite come in handy just now, wouldn't they?"

Blair sighed. "Well, they certainly can't apparate. There'd be pieces all over London."

Hermione nodded in agreement. "Let's get out of here first, and we can figure it out."

She put her arm around Ron's waist and helped him down. Once his feet were on the floor, Hermione looked as if she were about to collapse under his weight.

"You got him?" asked Blair leaping down off her own stool.

"Yes, but would you mind helping Harry? He's going to hurt himself..."

No sooner had the words left Hermione's mouth when Harry toppled backwards. Blair saw exactly what was about to happen, but couldn't act quickly enough to prevent it. Potter came crashing down right on top of her, sending them both to the ground in a mass of flailing limbs and splattering Potter's magenta drink everywhere, including all over himself and Blair.

"DAMMIT, POTTER!!!" shouted Blair, pushing him roughly off her and kicking him in the arse as soon as she had scrambled to her feet. He giggled.

Blair pulled her wand from her lapel pocket. "Scourgify!" she muttered, cleaning up the scene. After righting the stool, she offered her hand to Potter.

After a minute of struggling, he finally got to his feet.

"Ha-ha," a gurgle of laughter came from Ron's throat. "Ha-ha. Blarry and Hair. Ha-ha."

"Whoopsy-daisy," said Potter, his hand completely missing his bum when he went to rub it where she had kicked him.

They somehow made it outside, where Blair pushed Harry onto a nearby bench and consulted Hermione on how to get everyone home safely.

"I suppose I'll get Ron home, then apparate back to get Harry."

Blair glanced back at Potter, who appeared to be flirting with one of the potted plants at his feet. "Don't bother. He lives nearby, doesn't he? I think I can manage to walk him home."

Hermione gave a grateful smile. "That would be really great. He's just three blocks up, and left at the square. His flat is number 731. It's brick with a red door, you can't miss it."

Blair nodded and went to heave Potter off the bench. "Let's go, Giggles."

Potter didn't seem to be paying attention; instead he seemed intent on singing. What he was singing, Blair couldn't guess.

"For the love of God, Potter, would you at least try to walk?" Blair groaned after nearly being pulled down when he stumbled over a pothole.

Potter's stupid grin returned, and his head lolled to the side, burying his face in the crook of her neck.

"Mmmmm. You...ssssmell fruity."

"Jesus, Potter!" she said sharply, shaking him off. She tried to ignore the little jump her stomach gave at the feel of his breath on her skin. She had only herself to blame. If she had been better at taking time out of her day to get laid once in a while, perhaps she wouldn't get so excited when drunken almost-strangers hit on her.

After what seemed like an eternity, flat number 731 made an appearance. Blair hauled Potter up the stairs and turned the handle, to find the door locked.

"Just my luck," sighed Blair. "Do you have a house key?"

Potter was distracted, and didn't answer. She began to search his pockets, which earned her more giggles.

"Ooooh," said Potter, looking as if he were ready to pass out or vomit...or both. "Eager, are we?"

"You wish," Blair said, laughing in spite of herself.

Not finding a key, she took out her wand. "Alohomora!"

The handle didn't budge.

"Dammit. Is it a password lock, Potter?"

But Potter was too fascinated by his door knocker to give her a straight answer, and mumbled something about instant oatmeal.

Blair started naming everything she could think of that might relate to Potter, and some things that didn't.

"Quidditch. No? Um...snitch. Firebolt? Scar? Dumbledore? Weasley? Gryffindor? Hogwarts? Purple? Dragon? Feather? "

Somewhere amidst her stream of guesses, the door clicked open.

"Oh, thank God."

Potter gave what he must have thought was a seductive look; to Blair it looked as if he just taken a gulp out of a particularly rotten jug of milk. "Wanna come upstairsss?"

"Keep dreaming, Potter. Come on, lie down on the couch."

"Ooooh!" said Potter with a girly squeal. "Whatter you gonna do to me? Jush...be gentle!"

Blair gaped at him. "Potter, you are the single most retarded drunken man I have ever met."

But either he had passed out or fallen asleep, because he was no longer conscious.

"Sweet dreams, Potter," she said, with a long, exhausted sigh.

She was glad to get out of his flat. Her first meeting with Harry Potter had been far beyond anything she had imagined, and that wasn't exactly a good thing.