It's Better If You Do

“Hag!” Bellamy yelled yet again as they left the Leaky Cauldron for the second time that night, this time toting two more Firewhiskey bottles. The door closed in her face, as Tom the Barkeep was rather glad to have the drunken young man and woman out of the pub. George laughed loudly at the girl as she glared at the door before she turned to him and laughed as well, stumbling a bit on her heels as she began to walk before she righted herself once more.

“I don’t think I’ve ever seen someone so unhappy to see me than that haggy woman,” she said through her laughter, tears streaming down her cheeks. “Except for maybe you when I’m angry.” She gave a loud hiccup that caused her whole body to shudder once more. She gave a snorting laugh that had George laughing even harder

“That’s because your bloody scary when you’re angry. I’ve said it a hundred times before,” George slurred in reply. They would have just apparated back to the shop, but they were too out of their minds to try to. It seemed that the Firewhiskey was a good combination for the two of them, at least for the moment. They weren’t fighting or at each others throats like they were when they were completely sober. A quiet settled between the two of them as they continued to walk, but it probably looked more like stumbling over themselves and laughing it off. About halfway there, Bellamy stopped, let out a groan, and held her bottle of Firewhiskey out to George.

“Take this for me,” she said in a breathy, yet frantic voice. George was only too glad to oblige her and snatched the bottle from her grasp. Quickly, she bent down and removed her heels, holding them in one of her hands as she returned to her normal, short height without the four inch heels. She righted herself with a relieved sigh then held her hand out and motioned for George to give her back the bottle of Firewhiskey.

“Nope, you don’t get it back,” he told her with a lazy sort of impish grin, “you gave it to me and you’re too drunk for more.” Bellamy let out a noise of protest and started at him with a slightly slack jaw.

“I want my booze back,” she said in a low voice, her brow furrowing as she stuck out her lips in a pout.

“No, I’m not giving it back, darling Bellamy,” he said, shaking his head at the short brunette woman. She let out a grunt and stepped toward him, reaching for the bottle but George held it open over his head, well out of her reach. Bellamy, just as stubborn as she was when she was sober, began to jump up and snatching at the bottle above his head, forgetting about the bottle that lay in his other hand at his side. After she spent a minute jumping for the bottle but always coming back empty handed, she looked up at George and gave him a helpless pout, her eyes growing large and watery.

“Aw, c’mon now,” he groaned, “I can’t take it when a woman pouts at me like that.” Her bottom lip trembled as if she were on the brink of tears and George let out another groan as he slowly began to lower the bottle, staring helplessly into her watering, honey brown eyes. Then, as fast as lighting, Bellamy snatched the bottle out of his hand with a proud smirk as she let out a loud, triumphant “Ha!” at George before beginning to walk again. George stared at her back as she walked past him, glancing over her shoulder with a proud look.

“Women,” he grumbled before following after the sound of her soft footsteps on the cobblestone street. Since it was so late, they were now the only ones out in the alley. Bellamy took the cork from the bottle and tilted it back into her awaiting mouth, now not wincing at the liquid at all. She gave a content sigh as she placed the cork back into the bottle when she was done with it.

“This is some good liquor,” she murmured to herself with a nod. When George gave a scoff she turned to him with a furrowed brow. “You’ve got a bottle yourself, if you’ve forgotten,” she said, motioning to the bottle at his side, the contents of which were giving a very musical and poignant slosh as if it wanted to be consumed. George looked a bit gob-smacked as he glanced to his bottle then grinned widely. He pulled out the cork and took a sip, smacking his lips in satisfaction. Bellamy gave him a toothy grin before they stopped in front of the shop.

They looked up at the roof of the building for a moment before turning to each other simultaneously with matching, playful grins.

“What do you think they’re doing up there?” Bellamy asked in a hushed voice, as if there were a possibility Rose and Fred would hear them. “Rose is worse than I am when she’s drunk.” George let out a snort of laughter as he shook his head.

“Somehow I greatly doubt that,” he murmured and it took Bellamy a while to think out what he had said from how much he had slurred his words. “But I bet they’re snogging…” He gave a shudder as he took a sip of his bottle of Firewhiskey, wrinkling his nose in disgust.

“I don’t see how their lips don’t fall off, you know? All that snogging can’t be healthy,” Bellamy commented smartly before giving another hiccup and giggling softly to herself. George looked over at her with a wicked grin before he looked up at the roof and drew in a great breath of air.

“Oh lovebirds,” he sang loudly in a feminine sounding voice that cracked dramatically, “we hope you’re not being too naughty up there because we’ve got your requested Firewhiskey.” Bellamy gave a hearty laugh at George, as was his intention, and doubled over she was laughing so hard. In her proximity to the ground, she spotted a rather round, smooth rock and got a brilliant idea. Snatching up the rock, she righted herself, still laughing lightly as she chucked it with remarkable force and aim at the roof. She heard it connect with something, or someone rather, as they let out a loud curse.

“Oi! We want our roof back! Georgie and I were having a lovely time looking at the stars ‘til you lot crashed our party!” She bellowed before both her and George collapsed into peals of laughter. Rose and Fred appeared at the balcony, Fred rubbing the side of his head so he seemed to be the recipient of Bellamy’s rock toss.

“Give us our booze and we’ll give you back the roof,” Fred called down to the stumbling, laughing couple. Once they had recovered from their laughter, George reluctantly drew his wand and levitated his bottle of Firewhiskey to the couple on the roof, almost smashing the glass bottle into the side of the building a couple of times had Bellamy not quickly grabbed his hand and guided the bottle away. Rose reached out and grabbed the bottle, looking down between Bellamy and George.

“Why do you want to be alone with him on the roof anyway? I thought you didn’t like him,” she called down to her sister, who gave Rose a wide, cheeky grin.

“I don’t,” she said, giving George a playful look when she noticing his pout at her words, “but being alone with him is better than being near you two when your start snogging…and trust me, it will happen if you plan on drinking, dear sister.” The blush that painted Rose’s cheeks was visibly from the street, causing George and Bellamy to snicker lightly.

“Right then,” Fred cut in, once he noticed that Rose didn’t have a come back, “we’ll let you two commandeer the roof. Just try not toppling over the balcony, okay? I don’t want to have to send either of you off to St. Mungo’s.” He glanced to Rose and they stepped away from the balcony a loud ‘pop’ following soon after. George and Bellamy glanced to each other and laughed lightly.

“Shall we resume our roof party, dearest Bellamy?” George asked in a remarkable posh, clear voice for how drunk he was as he offered her his arm. Bellamy looked over at him and grinned widely.

“We shall, Sir George,” she replied, making her best attempt at a British accent but only ended up sounding more French than ever as she looped her arm through his. They spun on the spot and disapparated to the roof, but not before Bellamy let out a little hiccup and a giggle.