Birds of a Feather, Drink Together

The snow falls, soft and pure, across the quiet street, dusting the cars and buildings in a fine powder. It's peaceful and serene, a perfect white Christmas, and not a creature is stirring . . . unless of course, you count the bustling crowd within the Leaky Cauldron.

The Leaky is always bustling, and Christmas Eve is no exception. The landlady is as busy as a bee, rushing from table to table with trays of butterbeer and firewhiskey, mead and the newer, trendier Muggle drinks that the young ones are so fond off. The woman's daughter is helping her, though the patrons are beginning to get quite rowdy, and it isn't long before one brash idiot tries to place his hands upon her ass.

His fingers are just barely trailing across the young woman's jeans, but within moments she's whirling, slamming her empty tray down upon the gap-toothed man's head. His friends chortle with drunken laughter, clapping him on the back whilst he sits dazed and confused.

From her corner booth, she sees it all and shakes her head at their mirth. Hood pulled down to cast her face into shadow and obscure her sapphire-blue eyes, she nurses a cup of Odgen's, sighing at the mellow burn running down her throat with every sip.

Beneath the fur-lined hood, her cheeks are stained with tears, whilst her eyes are red and puffy, slightly bruised around the corners because she's been rubbing away the betrayal with such fervency. She just wants to forget, to rip the vivid memories from her mind and set them on fire, or failing that, to look herself in the mirror and cast an Obliviate.

Rose doesn't want to remember the feeling of her heart breaking, so she's come to the pub on Christmas Eve in an attempt to find out why her male cousins and brother are so fond of drinking themselves into oblivion. Finally, she thinks she's been able to grasp the allure – it's only been a few drinks and already, she feels herself letting go of her anger, sadness, and pain.

To think that, had this day been normal, she would right now be at her parents' home, curled up on the living-room couch with a mug of hot chocolate in her hands. Her mother would be sitting in her father's lap, both of them covered by a somewhat threadbare quilt, and her brother would be on the floor, knees pulled up to his shoulders and back against the couch, head usually lolling against her lap.

She didn't want to infect them all with her negative emotions this year, though.

"Well, well," she hears a voice chirp, familiar and yet strange all at once, and looks up to see the face of quite possibly the last person in the world whom she would have wanted to see.

"Drinking alone are we?" he continues, slipping into the bench opposite her and hailing a waitress to their table.

"Go away, Lorcan," she growls, downing her drink and slamming the empty glass onto the table to emphasise her point. She did not want to be disturbed, especially not by one of her old Housemates. Ravenclaws were wise, after all, and with Luna Scamander for a mother, the Scamander twins were as intuitive as they come.

Unfortunately, Rose isn't in any sort of mood that warrants a deep psychoanalysis by Lorcan Scamander, of all people.

"But I just got here, Rosie." He pouts, batting his eyelashes at her, though she isn't drunk enough that she misses the searching look in his dreamy eyes.

"I assume your bastard of a brother sent you," she snaps. "Well, you can tell Lysander that he can go fuck himself with a Crumple-Horned Snorkack if he thinks I'm coming back to him."

"Would it kill you to give him another chance?" asks Lorcan, running his fingers through his dirty-blond hair.

"So he can have another threesome on my bathroom floor?" barks Rose. Lorcan recoils, eyes widening, and suddenly she understands that his brother may not have given him the full story before sending him after her. Lysander truly could be an idiot at times . . . but Lorcan is one of her best, most annoying friends.

The fact that she's just broken up with his brother isn't going to stop her from telling Lorcan every gruesome detail of what happened.

She opens her mouth to speak again, but is silenced by the Leaky's owner – Hannah Longbottom – arriving at their table and asking them what they would like to order. Rose glares from beneath her hood, hoping that she isn't recognised (the last thing she wants now is for Uncle Neville to find out that she's getting drunk on Christmas Eve) but it's Lorcan who speaks, surprising her with the anger in his voice.

"We'll have the caramel tequila." He nods. "And some butterbeer."

"So a round of tequila shots and two mugs of butterbeer to wash it down?" queries Hannah with a warm smile on her face.

"Nonsense, woman, it's Christmas, we'd like a bottle of tequila and a case of butterbeer . . . and a platter of French fries to nibble on."

Hannah shakes her head before walking off, and Rose breathes a sigh of relief, before turning to glare at Lorcan once again – channelling all of her rage into her gaze.

"I want to be alone, Lorcan," she snaps, her tone biting, her words dripping with acid.

"The way I see it, if you're going to get drunk, you might as well have company whilst doing so," he replies serenely. Then he winks cheekily and adds, "Besides, you're going to need my fabulous and epic nature if you intend on forgetting my idiot brother."

"Yes, because the best way to forget him is to obviously stare at his twin's ugly face all night," she responds drily, though the corners of her lips curl up in amusement as he shoots her a baleful look.

"Please, Rose, we both know that I am the more attractive brother." He smirks, pouring them both a round of shots from the bottle that had just been levitated to their booth. Before he's finished pouring his set, her glasses are drained and she's leaning back in her seat with a somewhat satisfied smirk on her face.

"Merlin, woman," he exclaims, "Do you unhinge your jaw when there's shots available?"

"Hush, I am feeling wise," shushes Rose, stifling a giggle as she reaches across the table to snag one of his drinks, downing the potent liquor and savouring the heady burn.

"Isn't Louis lonely without you?" she queries suddenly, frowning a little as she realises that Lorcan's boyfriend – her cousin – is probably alone at the flat the two of them have in London because of Lorcan coming out to look for her. She feels a sense of guilt well up within her but dismisses it; Louis is nineteen years old and has been warning her against Lysander for years and the tequila reassured her that it wasn't her place to feel guilty.

Too bad that she didn't listen.

"His mum wasn't too keen on letting her darling son spend Christmas Eve being defiled by his boyfriend, so I was planning on being alone tonight anyway," Lorcan admits with a sigh, and now Rose really does feel bad. It's strange to her, but the past few weeks have been so filled with suspicions and worries for her degrading relationship, that she hadn't even been there for her friend.

Hell, she hadn't even known that he was planning on spending Christmas alone. It's enough to make her forget Lysander for a moment – she just wants to put that dreamy, whimsical smile back on her friend's face.

"Pour another round, Lorcan," she grins. "Then let's go do something fun."

"What do you have in mind?"

She is sure, very sure, that by morning he'll regret those words, but that's a concern for another day. Perhaps he's forgotten that she can't hold her alcohol to save her life, and that when she drinks she's prone to making stupid decisions, many of which have been a source of hilarity to her cousins. Or maybe, like her, he just doesn't care.

There's definitely more to the story of him being alone on Christmas Eve . . . and before the night is done, Rose hopes to find out what it is that's causing Lorcan to seem so melancholy at the mention of his lover's name.

"Come on," she giggles, getting to her feet and grabbing the bottle in one hand, using the other to lean against the wall and steady herself as she stumbles. She brings it to her lips and swallows, tottering in her heels as Lorcan chuckles and nearly falls, grabbing her by the arm as they walk out the door.

As soon as the cold air makes contact with her face, she gasps and hurries forward to the street-corner.

"Lorcan, Lorcan!" she yells in delight. "He's alive."

"Who's alive?" he asks in confusion, coming up beside her with a fresh, still-sealed bottle in his hands, his eyes unfocused as he stares blearily around the deserted street.

"It's Dumbledore," Rose exclaims, pulling the bearded-man up off the cold pavement and yanking him into a tight hug, "You're alive, Dumbledore!"

"Rose," whispers Lorcan urgently, "Rose!"

"WHAT!" she screams, whirling on him and letting Dumbledore fall to the ground in alarm.

"I'm pretty sure that that man is homeless," he says quietly, "He's looking at us funny. We should run."

"Lorcan! What do you mean Dumbledore is homeless? Should we take him home with us?"

"He's got a knife! Run, bitch, run!" screams Lorcan, grabbing her wrist and tearing off down the sidewalk, nearly tumbling half-a-dozen times over the snow. Her heart beat fast as he dragged her along, only stopping when they were near a park.

"My goodness, Rose," declares Lorcan, the incident with the homeless Dumbledore already forgotten. "Those poor house-elves are being forced to be out in the cold for those cruel people's amusement."

"Those are not house-elves! Those are their children," Rose slurs, blinking rapidly before grabbing the bottle from him and downing a healthy amount.

"Nonsense! We must free them immediately," he says, bending over and falling to the ground in the process. A few minutes later, he's back on his feet, his socks in his hands, and he's rushing towards the children screaming:

"You're free! Take these clothes and be free!"

Rose bursts out laughing, tequila running down her chin as she follows after him, mumbling apologies to the children's parents who look likely to beat them both to a pulp. She isn't much of a melee fighter and the most Lorcan has ever been able to do is scream in a really shrill voice and then pull his opponent's hair, scratch their face, and give them a bitch-slap.

Strangely, as they stumble back to her place (which is closer) she finds herself thinking of Arithmancy and wondering about solving a few differential derivatives. Beside her, Lorcan was whispering his runes translations under his breath, so she's pretty sure that this is a side-effect of their second bottle of tequila.

Abruptly, she stares at the bottle and tries to decipher which one of them had cast the replenishing charm on it.

Rose isn't thinking long though, for no sooner is she through the door, does her world go black.

A sharp slap across her face wakes her, and she blinks, clutching at her temple as the harsh morning light streams in through the windows. Standing before her, in all his Veela-beauty, is her cousin Louis, a smirk on his face and laughter in his eyes.

"Go away," she groans, grabbing for the seat-covers and yanking them over her head. She's on the couch, she realises, and the smell of breakfast is in the air. Despite the delicious aroma, all she wants to do is vomit.

"That's nice," he says drily. "After I come all this way to look after you two drunk morons. I can tell you now, Mum isn't thrilled with me right about now."

Ignoring the pang in his voice, she asks, "What happened last night, exactly?"

"Well," sighs Louis, perching on the edge of the coffee table. "You and Lorcan got really wasted, and then he ended up Floo-calling me at Shell Cottage, which ended up with him Apparating there and splinching his arm. So Victoire and I healed him up and I brought him back here, even though my harpy of a mother insists that if I choose him, then I shouldn't bother turning up at home anymore."

"Shit, Louis," mutters Rose, head spinning as she sits up. She stifles a groan and forces herself to be attentive, knowing that this is important and this is why Lorcan was so subdued last night at first.

"Victoire said that she and Dad will talk her around but you know how it goes," says Louis with a wan smile, getting to his feet and picking up something from the side of the couch and handing it to her.

She winces when she sees what it is.

A bright, blue bucket.

"You already got most of it out of your system last night, as the hour I spent using cleaning charms would tell you, but just in case."

He disappears off to the kitchen, shoulders somewhat slumped and Rose bites back another groan. Her moment of moping is soon quashed though, by Lorcan stumbling down the stairs, dressed in her favourite black mini-dress, the fabric stretched tightly over his significantly bigger build and announces:

"I'm ready for the Yule Ball."

"He's still drunk from last night," says Louis softly from the kitchen doorway, though there's an obvious grin in his voice.

She looks up at Lorcan, waltzing down the stairs in her heels and showing way too much thigh, and grins to herself.

"Well, ten pints to Ravenclaw for a chaotic night with friends," she laughs, before promptly sticking her head into her bucket.

A/N: Reviews and Concrit are always appreciated.

Written for Round Two of the Quidditch League Competition, Third Season. I am Chaser Two (Go Falmouth Falcons)

Task: Write a RavenclawXRavenclaw Friendship

Prompts: Style- Third Person, Present Tense; Occasion- Christmas, Word- Derivative

A Big Thank You to My Beta, Gitana del Sol