The Whole Chicken
Minisinoo

Summary:  Three champions, one bottle of firewhiskey.  After the Second Task, Cedric decides the three elder champions need to work on international magical cooperation instead of competition.  They're never going to look at each other the same way again -- once they get past the hangover.

Characters:  Cedric|Victor|Fleur friendship, mild Cedric/Viktor
Warnings:  A bit of risqué discussion (they're three drunk teens), and while this is mostly a gen bonding story, there's some slashy stuff between Viktor and Cedric.
Notes:  I don't write out accents, even if Rowling did.  It drives me buggy.  We all know Kurm's Bulgarian and Fleur's French.

Honestly.

Well, not a real chicken, or at least, not a live chicken.  A dead chicken.  Well, reference to a dead chicken.  (At least I hope it was dead or it might have been inclined to peck sensitive bits.)

Wet and shivering in the cold, we were sitting on the dock after the Second Task -- Krum, Fleur and myself.  Harry had already wandered off somewhere and Krum had watched Hermione follow him.  Although we'd been surrounded by our respective cheering sections, for a moment there, it felt like just the three of us.

Fleur was watching Krum with a knowing expression.  "You are jealous," she said, smiling slightly.

Krum glowered (he's got that down to an art).  "She is his friend.  She has known him longer than me."  He spoke slowly because his English wasn't very good, not because he was thick.

"Maybe he will share if you ask nicely," Fleur replied, smile wicked now.  "It might take you both to keep her satisfied."

I'm not sure who was more startled -- me or Krum.  We both just stared at her.  "That's a bit kinky," I said.

Krum turned from her to me.  "Kinky?  I do not know this word -- but perhaps can guess."

I opened my mouth to explain (politely), when Fleur broke in again:  "The whole chicken."

"What?"  We said it at the same time, then I added, "I don't think you've quite got what it means --"

"Erotic uses a feather," she said.  "Kinky uses the whole chicken."

I thought Krum or I would split our sides laughing.

So that's where it started.  With a chicken.

I didn't know these people.  At all.  We were competing in (possibly) life-or-death tasks, supposedly in the interest of 'international magical co-operation,' yet I knew virtually nothing about them beyond the obvious.  And I decided to do something about it.  I was from the host school, after all.

In passing, it occurred to me to invite Harry but I decided not to.  There were a lot of reasons for that, starting with the fact he should never have been made a Champion in the first place, but the basic reason boiled down to age.  At fourteen, he was a lot younger.  Besides, after Fleur's 'kinky' crack, I wasn't sure a fourteen-year-old would belong at any private party with us three.

So, I began to plot.  What we needed was a chance to get away from everybody else and all their expectations, and for one night, be compatriots, not competitors.  It's a bit hard to find somebody to commiserate with about having had to face a dragon unless you fraternise with the 'enemy.'  I was feeling isolated, and we badgers don't manage isolation well.

But we badgers can get away with murder because the rest of the school doesn't expect it of us, even the House head.  I went to Professor Sprout to ask if I could borrow one of the greenhouses for an evening, and explained that I wanted to invite Krum and Fleur just to talk.  She'd eyed me strangely, but agreed, and gave me the password.

Next, I cornered Krum, which wasn't terribly easy.  He always had people with him -- and he also had me bloody intimidated -- but I caught him in the library at last, where he was sitting cross-legged in an alcove.  "Hiding?" I asked as I settled down in front of him.

Startled, he glanced up.  "Yes."

I picked at the hem of my robe sleeve so I didn't have to look directly at him.  He really does intimidate me even if I stood ahead of him point-wise in the Tournament.  I considered my lead a quirk of fate.  Krum was . . . Krum.  I was just a kid from Devon.  "Kinky," was all I said now.

It got an unexpected laugh out of him.  "The whole chicken," he replied.

"We really don't know her, do we?"

"I do not think that we do, no."

"You don't know me, either."

"And you do not know me."

"Exactly," I said, with a nod.

"There is, um, a meaning for this?"

I looked up finally.  His expression hung somewhere between amused and curious and he was studying my face.  "There is a meaning -- or rather, a point.  Friday night -- greenhouse 7.  I'll meet you outside.  I know the password.  I thought we might" -- I tilted my head up -- "take a night off from being 'the Champions.'"  I made imaginary air quotes around the title.

He nodded.  "I will come."  He smiled again; it made all the difference in the world on his face.  "I will bring the whisky."

I laughed.  "I like how you think."

"Oh?  They say you are the good boy."

"I told you, you don't know me."

He just grinned again, and I left him to his reading.

Fleur was next.  She turned out to be less amenable.  "Why should I want to spend my Friday evening in a hothouse with two drunk boys?"

I was following her down a hallway, trying to ignore the two Beauxbatons with her.  "I think you just tried to insult me."  Bending, I said softly in her ear, "Afraid you might find out you like us, after all?"  I'd finally got past the Veela impact, although I can't say I thought entirely clearly around her.

She glared at me sidewise.  "You are impertinent."

"Of course.  But if you don't agree to show up, I'll have to take it that the French can't hold their drink against a Brit and a Bulgarian."

That did it.  She stopped dead in the hall and swung around to glare up at me.  "Friday.  Greenhouse 7.  I will put you both to bed."  She stalked away.

"As long as it's with the whole chicken, we might not object," I called after.

Her pale face went even paler and she threw a book at my head -- which fortunately missed.  Apparently, it was one thing if she yanked our chains, but not if we yanked hers.  I got out of there before she decided to try again, with better aim.

Annoyingly, Friday turned out to be rather cold.  I put a cloak over my robes and escaped from the castle after dark.  Advantage of being a prefect -- and if anybody asked, I could always say Sprout had agreed.  She just didn't know exactly what she'd agreed to.  Being the House's trusted, mature 'good boy' came in handy.

I found Krum already there, not looking especially fussed about the cutting wind sweeping in off the field.  As I jogged up, he smiled and moved aside his cloak so I could see the bottle.  "That might be worth the bad weather," I said.

"Fleur?" he asked.  He made her name sound swallowed.

"She's French.  She'll be late."

He laughed at that.  Then we stood there, stamping our feet to stay warm, not saying anything, and I began to wonder about the wisdom of this.  Despite the fact I'd begun to suspect that Krum had a well-hidden sense of humour, this could turn out to be a complete disaster.  I wasn't the most extroverted person in Hufflepuff, my foray into organising a social event notwithstanding.  Krum was, if possible, even worse, and Fleur clearly didn't think much of the British or the Durmstrang crowd.  Were we going to have anything to talk about, even with alcoholic inspiration?

"You did not ask the boy?" Krum inquired suddenly.

I glanced around.  "You mean Potter?"  Krum nodded and I pointed to where he held the bottle under his cloak.  "Not with that.  He's fourteen.  I do obey some rules."

Krum smiled, still looking off towards the gigantic carriage on the lawn for the appearance of Fleur.  "Do you think he put his name in the Goblet?"

"I did at first," I admitted.  "Now -- no, not really.  He's too bloody terrified and trying to hide it."

"And you are not?" Krum asked, turning to look at me.

As if I'd admit it to him?  "Are you?"

"I would be a fool not to be," he said bluntly, and it took me entirely by surprise.  He really wasn't what I expected.  Then again, anybody who asked Hermione Granger to the Yule Ball wasn't going to be typical.  (Not that I dislike Granger -- don't know her well enough -- but she is a bit scary.)

"Fear," he went on, "it is a good thing.  Keeps you alive, no?"

"I suppose," I replied.  "Fear also makes you afraid of wetting yourself, which is a bit embarrassing, actually."

And he laughed hard at that, head thrown back.  Amazing.  I'd won a laugh from the infamously scowling Viktor Krum.  "You are funny man, Diggory."  He looked back towards the carriage then.  "Is she coming, you think?"

"Dunno," and I told him how I'd convinced her, which made him laugh at me again.

"The whole chicken," he said, still grinning.  "I will not forget that."  The conversation tapered off once more and I pulled out my pocket watch to check it.  Almost half an hour late.  She should show up any time now.  "How is the Potter boy?" Krum asked, and I found it strange that he was turning out to be the one keeping our conversation going, even if this had been my idea.  Although I also wasn't really sure what he meant.

"How is he?  You mean is he all right after the Task?"

"No."  He frowned, as if frustrated.  "How does he . . . behave?  The 'Harry Potter'?"

"Ah -- what's he like?"  Krum nodded and I glanced away before answering, "He keeps to himself a lot.  I don't really know him.  He's two years behind me, and in a different House.  I think I've spoken to him more since this Tournament began than in all the time before -- and that's not saying much.  He's a bloody good flyer, as you saw.  Not in your class, but certainly better than I am."  I was honest enough to admit as much.  "He doesn't play on his fame.  I don't think he really likes it."

"Fame is -- how you say?  -- 'bloody hell,'" Krum said, causing me to look back at him.

"Bloody hellish," I corrected lightly.  "And I'm starting to get a bit of a feel for that -- though not like you."  I didn't really enjoy being the centre of constant attention, truth be told.  It's the sort of thing that sounds more appealing than it actually is.

"Viktor is not Krum," Krum said now, which sounded odd on the face of it, but I thought I knew what he was getting at.

"Krum's a bit intimidating," I admitted . . . and I hadn't even had any whisky yet.

"Diggory is also."

"Me?"

"Tall.  Handsome.  Smart.  Perfect boy.  Even Durmstrang girls talk of Diggory.  Everybody likes you."

"I'm not perfect."  And I knew my face was flaming.  I'd never thought Krum might find me intimidating.  "And you'd be surprised.  Half Hogwarts doesn't take me seriously -- I'm just 'Pretty boy Diggory.'  And from Hufflepuff.  The boys want to be you, not me."

"The boys may want to be him, but the girls want to shag you," said a new voice.

Krum and I both jumped.  We'd been so busy talking, we hadn't seen Fleur arrive.  Then again, she hadn't come from the direction we'd been expecting.  "Where were you?" I asked as she came around the back of the greenhouse.

She tossed her hair.  "Not your business."

"She was with Davies," Krum said, grinning.

"So not all the girls want to shag me," I pointed out, feeling cheeky.

"I didn't say all," she agreed, refusing to let me prick her again.  "But the ones who do not are . . . made up for?  . . . by the boys who do."

And Krum laughed hard for the third time that evening -- probably at the expression on my face.  Fleur indicated the greenhouse door.  "In there?"

"Er . . . yeah."  Pulling myself back from the edge of shock, I moved forward.  "Stinksap," I muttered to the door, and it opened.  I stood aside to let them precede me in, then shut the door and conjured some Lumos balls for light.  After the bitter wind outside, the greenhouse air felt heavy and wet, very warm and full of scents -- some pleasant, some not, like the dragon dung Sprout kept as fertiliser.  Yet the smell of turned earth was strongest.  "There are stools by the tables, but there are chairs back here."  I gestured towards the greenhouse rear where Sprout kept supplies.  I'd helped her organise things a time or two, though I had no real skill with living things that didn't whine when they were hungry.  Sprout despaired of me, and I got decent marks in Herbology mostly because I did do things like help her organise.  I preferred to think of it as extra credit rather than sucking up to the teacher, but I'd been called her 'brown-thumb pet' more than once.  It was probably why she'd agreed to let me use the greenhouse tonight.

Fleur was examining the plants with surprising interest.  Despite her name, gardening wasn't something I'd have thought she might like.  Krum followed me towards the rear, and eventually Fleur joined us, along with the floating lumos balls.  Sprout had a nice chair at a desk, which Krum and I (gentlemen that we were) let Fleur take.  Krum sprawled on an old, ratty loveseat and I took a wooden chair.  "So," Fleur began, "what -- exactly -- are we supposed to be doing?"

Viktor had dropped his cloak and now set the firewhisky bottle on a little table between us, sweeping aside potting trays to do so.  I Transfigured some of the trays into shot glasses (and hoped I wouldn't be too drunk later to Transfigure them back).

"Of course," Fleur said now.  "Alcohol.  The male answer to all of life's challenges.  I don't suppose either of you ever considered developing actual social skills?"

"She's insulting us again," I said to Viktor, who just grunted as he was focused on opening the whisky and pouring.  The stuff smoked and bubbled.  He handed one of the glasses to me, then the other to her.  Despite her prickly attitude, she took it.  "Bottoms up," I told her, and threw it back, wincing and swallowing hard because I don't much like firewhisky.  It was an acquired taste.  I'd rather have beer or lager, but it took a lot more of that to get sloshed.

I'm not sure Krum liked it much, either.  Fleur appeared unfazed, but that was her reaction to most things.  If Krum had a reputation for his perpetual scowl, she had one for perpetual indifference.

"One drink.  One question," Krum said now.  "We all answer, and answer true -- yes?"  It sounded a bit like Truth-or-Dare, and I wondered if Bulgarians had a version of that?  Then again, most peoples probably had a version of that.

"All right," I agreed and Fleur just nodded.

"Pick different life.  Any life.  Who would you be, and where -- what country?  Not yours.  Not famous, either.  Just . . . a person.  Cedric first."

I noted that he didn't call me Diggory.  And his question was . . . very interesting.  I studied Krum's face in the low white light of the lumos balls, suspecting from what he'd said earlier that he spent a lot of time thinking about who he might rather have been.

"I don't really know," I said now.  "There are places I'd like to visit before I die, but I don't think I've ever really wanted to be anybody else."  I coughed because I could still feel the sting of firewhisky in my throat and they both regarded me without speaking, Fleur with narrowed eyes and Viktor just waiting.

"I expect, if I had to pick somewhere else to live -- Italy.  Florence.  It's the prettiest city I've ever seen -- and better weather, for certain.  As for who I'd be."  I shrugged.  "Maybe a painter.  Maybe a wine maker.  I don't know."

"Those are very different," Fleur remarked, then asked, "Can you actually draw?"

"That is a question," I said, smirking.  "You have to wait your turn."

"Sod that for a game of soldiers!" she replied -- which made me burst out laughing.  Where did she get these things -- and so British?  She just wasn't what a person expected.

When I'd got a hold of myself again, I raised eyebrows at her.  "What about you?  Who would you be?"

"An actress," she replied without hesitation -- and I should probably have guessed that, but then she went on, "I would like to be a Muggle actress . . . a real actress, like Juliette Binoche, not just a movie star."

And once again, she'd managed to make both Krum and I drop our jaws.  "You'd be a Muggle?" I asked her.

"It would be very different, no?  And that was a question, Mr. Diggory -- which I did graciously answer, you will note."

"All right, I can draw," I said, annoyed.  I just wasn't as good at it as my mother, and all too conscious of that.  "Mostly I draw silly things.  Cartoons.  It's not real art."

She narrowed her eyes at me again, then looked at Krum.  "Your turn."

He was smiling.  "I would live in Alaska and open a bookshop," he said.

"Alaska?"  Fleur and I both giggled at that.

"It is very pretty there," he replied.  "Very different.  But I would need better English."  He made a face.

"Your English is much better than when you first arrived here," Fleur pointed out, looking to me for confirmation, and I nodded.

"That is not to say much, no?  Her-my-nee is patient teacher."

I didn't reply.  'Patient' wasn't an adjective I'd ever have associated with Granger.  She must really like him.

"My turn," Fleur said, reaching for the bottle and pouring and I just made a concessive gesture with my hand.  As I hadn't thought of a question yet, I wasn't inclined to fight her for second go.  She handed a shot glass to Krum.  "Viktor first.  This one is easy.  Name your first kiss.  Who, where, and how old were you?"

He chuckled.  "I assume you do not mean my mother?"  She just made a scrunched-nosed face at him.  "Sofia was her name -- pretty eyes.  Neighbour girl, under a tree.  I was eight."  He looked at me.  "Cedric?"

"Her name was Luna, it was by a stream near my house, and I was . . . twelve, I think.  It wasn't very serious.  We were experimenting.  She asked if I'd ever kissed a girl I wasn't related to.  I said 'no.'  She'd never kissed a boy, either, so we decided to see what the big deal was.  Didn't really like it much at the time."  Which made me laugh, remembering.  I wasn't sure if it was our age or our complete lack of romantic interest in each other, but we'd agreed the whole snogging thing was vastly overrated.  I'd since changed my mind, but wondered sometimes if Luna had.

"His name was Pascal," Fleur said.  "It was at a dance, on a balcony, and I was thirteen.  Cedric?"  She offered me the bottle of firewhisky.

The questions continued fairly tame for two more rounds.  We asked odd things, ranging from favourite pet to best Christmas present.  Nothing earth-shattering, but even such small things made me feel as if I knew them better.  It was on the third round -- we were all approaching sloshed by then -- that Krum asked, "Why did you enter the Tournament?  Truth.  Absolute truth."

In vino veritas.  Or in firewhisky.  I went first.  "I'm bloody tired of not being taken seriously."

I mightn't have elaborated, but they were both looking at me with something like real understanding and the alcohol loosened my tongue.  "You don't know how things are here at Hogwarts, but Hufflepuff is the 'loyal, hard-working and dim' House."  I spat it out.  "Everybody thinks we're doormats.  I'm not stupid, and I have ambitions.  If I win this, it's not because I'm handsome, or whatever other excuse they want to make.  I don't think either of you are inclined to give me quarter on account of my face."

I thumped the shot glass down.  Krum just turned to Fleur.  So did I.

"Same reason," she said, her words slurred into a heavy accent by this point.  "Always, they say I am popular because I am veela.  I am praised because I am veela.  No one believes I am intelligent!  I am a girl, so I cannot have courage."  She raised her middle finger.  "That is my reply."

Krum and I laughed.  He hadn't drunk his whisky yet, and now sat turning the shot glass in his long fingers.  Light from the lumos balls flashed off of it.  "It is complicated," he said.  "Hard to . . . say in English.  I was . . . expected to enter.  Did not want to."  Looking up, he smiled at us both.  It was a real smile.  "I still want to win.  But yes, I was expected.  Always I am expected.  But for this, there is cleverness required, not just skill at flying.  This -- we need many skills, no?  To fly well is . . . chance.  Gift of the gods.  Like your face."  He pointed to me.  "Or your . . . I do not know the word.  To be veela.  But to win the Tournament -- or to be chosen alone.  Whoever of us wins, no one can say we are just lucky, yes?  The Goblet -- it chose us.  Each one."  Raising his glass in a half-teasing toast, he said, "Win or lose, we are each more than we seem, no?"  And he downed it.

"Hear, hear!" Fleur said as I regarded Krum with a new respect, and understanding.

Somewhat out of order (we were getting a bit too pissed to keep track), the question came to me next.  "All right," I said, feeling daring.  "It doesn't sound like any of us is in this for 'eternal glory' --"

"Speak for yourself," Fleur admonished me.

I ignored her.  "So -- if you don't win, then what?"

Fleur narrowed her eyes at me.  "Already planning your victory party?"

"No!" I snapped back.  "It's an honest question.  One of us will win.  Fantastic!  Fucking brilliant!  But what if you don't?  And don't tell me you haven't thought about it."

"Potter could win," Krum pointed out.

"Harry is in this by accident," I replied.  "I just hope he doesn't get himself killed.  We need to keep an eye on him; he's only a fourth year."

Fleur nodded.  "He is a sweet boy.  Very brave."  She looked at me.  "Why do you think he was entered?"

I noted that she -- like me -- had reached the conclusion that he hadn't entered himself.  And the question obviously had nothing to do with our truth or dare.  "I don't know," I answered.

"Someone is trying to kill him," Krum said.

I wanted to deny it -- but I couldn't.  I thought he was probably right.  "Then we'll have to make sure they don't succeed," I replied.

Both Krum and Fleur nodded once.  On that, we were in complete agreement.  Harry would be watched over as best we could whilst keeping ourselves alive into the bargain.

I turned then to Fleur.  "So -- answer the question.  If you don't win, then what?"

"I go home."  She shrugged.  "What else is there to say?  I go home, humiliated.  Once again -- the boys win."  She snorted.  "You each represent your schools.  I represent my school and my gender."

I'd honestly never thought about that, but she had a point.  "You are brave," I told her.  "And not 'in spite of' being a girl."

She laughed at me.  "You are kind.  You are also drunk."

"And you're not?"

"Not as drunk as you, Cedric."  She looked to Krum.

Viktor frowned.  "I, too, will feel . . . badly.  This is honest, yes?  I did not want to enter.  But I do want to win."  His smile to both of us was wolfish.  "I respect you both.  I still want to win.  And I will, if I can."

I just nodded.  "Fair enough.  I want to win, too, but winning only matters if the other competitors try, you know?"

"Alexander the Great was once asked by his father if he would enter the Olympic Games," Fleur said, perhaps a bit unexpectedly.  "He replied he would only enter if he had kings to run against."  She turned from me to Krum.  "He wasn't being arrogant.  He wanted to win fairly -- not be lost to."

I nodded.

"If I lose," Krum said, "I, too, go home, go back to the team.  But if I win" -- he smiled at me -- "you did not ask, but I will answer.  If I win, I will quit the team and go open my bookshop in Anchorage."

Fleur sniffed.  "I will not become a Muggle actress if I win."

Which made us both laugh.  "Cedric?" she said.

I shrugged.  "If I lose, nothing much changes, I suppose.  At least I got picked.  I can live with losing."

"But you do not lose well," Krum said suddenly and surprised, I glanced at him.

"No, he doesn't," Fleur agreed.

"You are polite -- honourable," Krum went on.  "But you do not like to lose."

"Do you?" I retorted.

"No," he answered honestly.

"Me, neither," Fleur said.  "But -- we promise one thing.  Whichever of us wins brings the firewhisky next time.  We meet again somewhere -- maybe at a game of Viktor's -- and not enemies."

"Not enemies," Krum and I both echoed.

Not ever.  Rivals.  Not enemies.

"Now," she snatched the bottle.  "It is almost empty.  One round more.  And we have been too serious."  She poured, making sure it was even -- not a full shot glass for any of us . . . which was probably a good thing.  I was starting to feel a bit sick, not just completely pissed.

"So -- my question is . . . who I should be jealous of?  Hermione Granger or Cho Chang?"

"What?" I asked, completely confused.

"A kiss.  One from each of you.  I wish to compare technique."

I burst out laughing; Krum just appeared gobsmacked.  She rose from the comfortable chair and, well, staggered towards me first.  "Mr. Diggory?  Show me what you can do."

And I was drunk enough to demonstrate.  We had . . . rather a long kiss.  And she kissed back, which I liked.  I didn't have to do all the work.  She wasn't bad, either, or maybe it was just the veela effect.  When I drew away finally, Krum was watching us both with something like hunger.  "Your turn," I told him.

She moved from me to Viktor -- almost fell on him where he lounged on the sofa.  They kissed.  It was almost as long, and now it was my turn to watch, and desire.

But I wasn't jealous of Krum.  I was jealous of Fleur.  It was Viktor who I stared at, not her.

And what on earth should I make of that -- besides being off my face on drink?

Finally she drew back.  "You," she said, "are a Seeker.  The perfect kiss is out there and you will bring it back, dead or alive."

His eyebrows went up at that, and one corner of his mouth quirked.

She turned to me.  "But you -- you kiss as if you drink me like wine.  You savour.  Both very good.  Both very different."

Then her grin became sly and she stumbled back to her comfortable chair.  "Now, to complete my study, I must observe, I think."  Her sly grin turned utterly wicked.  "So you kiss each other."

We gaped at her, shared a horrified glance, and turned back to her.  "You're kidding," I said.

"Absolutely not.  Afraid to take a dare, boys?  What's all this about courage?"

"It is not the same!" Krum muttered.  But he wasn't looking at me.

And two things struck me suddenly.  The first was to wonder who he'd been watching when I'd kissed Fleur?  Had he been watching me?  The second was to wonder what Fleur knew -- or rather, guessed.

She clapped her hands together.  "Come, come.  I insist.  I must see how you kiss each other before I can reach a decision."

I glanced at Viktor again.  He appeared . . . terrified.  Not an expression I'd ever have expected to see on the face of Viktor Krum.  I wondered what my own faced showed.

Yet beneath the fear was something else.  Or perhaps I was just drunk and projecting wishes I hadn't even realized I could experience.

Rising from my chair, I approached the couch.  Viktor watched me come, looking neither eager nor repulsed.  Sitting down by him -- no small feat in my current state -- I reached out to grip the front of his shirt.  It wasn't gentle.  I yanked him to me, and kissed him.

Fire.  I may as well have kissed a dragon.  He was all fire and force and beauty and roughness.  And he was kissing me back like he enjoyed it.  Wanted it.  He had a hand in my hair at the base of my neck, fingers tight, crushing my face to his.  I had my hands in his hair.  His nose was in the way a bit.  We knocked teeth together, bruised lips.  It was war as much as lust.

Finally, I drew back.  That was longer than I'd kissed Fleur.

As one, we turned to look at her.  She had her hands folded together and her chin rested on them.  "Beautiful," she said.  "Fire and air.  Earth and water.  I don't envy either Hermione or Cho."  Her smiled widened.  "I think they should each envy you."

Abruptly, she stood -- and unlike five minutes ago, appeared entirely sober.  "It is past my bedtime.  Good night, boys.  Have fun."  And she waltzed out -- leaving me on the couch with Viktor, staring after her in a drink-fuddled haze.

"She did that on purpose," Viktor said.  "She is not drunk."

"I don't think she is," I replied, adding, "Bloody hell."

"Was she pouring it out?"

"I don't think so.  Maybe Vanishing it?"

We just looked at each other.  "She set us up," Krum said.

"I think maybe she did," I replied, watching him to see if he objected.  I wasn't sure what he felt.  I wasn't sure what I felt.  "I like girls," I said abruptly.

"So do I," he replied.  "And I do not just say so."

"Me, either."

"But I like you," he added.

I couldn't answer that, just stared back at him.  Finally, I bent to kiss him again.  Nobody was watching.  It went on a while.

A little more lust.  A little less war.

We held each other up, leaving the greenhouse.  I'm not sure if I remembered to Transfigure back the shot glasses to potting trays, but if not, Professor Sprout never said anything about it.

And all any of us ever had to say after that to get a laugh out of the other was "the whole chicken."