I, James Potter, am a genius. Why, you ask? Because I, James Potter, had the brilliant idea to spike the punch of the Gryffindor Christmas party. I, James Potter, also had the forethought (I know, I didn't think I knew that big of a word either) to order a few cases of Firewhiskey for after the punch ran out and everyone was still thirsty. Therefore, the party is completely out of control and not calming down anytime soon, thanks to me, James Potter.

I, James Potter, am also incredibly drunk.

So is the girl dragging me up to the dorms.

I was laughing like crazy, not daring to let go of her hand. I didn't rightly know who she was, and I thought I should probably find out. But my less noble side was concentrated on her shoulder-length black hair that was hanging loose, a little wild from the party downstairs. She banged through the door, pulled me inside my dorm room, and shut the door behind me. I pressed her against the door and kissed her insistently, molding my chest to hers and feeling her heartbeat. She opened her mouth to deepen the kiss. I smiled in spite of myself and slid my tongue into her mouth.

She gently pushed me away. Then she grabbed my shirt and pulled me to the closest bed. (I think it was Peter's, but he'll need the one closest to the bathroom when his hangover hits in the morning.) She knelt on the bed and pulled me closer until I was kneeling too, our lips glued together. She gently tugged at the hem of my shirt, so I obliged and removed the offending article of clothing. She ran her hands up my chest and down my back. I shuddered under her touch. She allowed me to slide my hands under her shirt, caressing her, the fabric gathering against my wrists. She was rather on the flat-chested side, but not wearing a bra, so that made up for it.

I pulled her shirt off over her head, took her waist and laid her back against the bed. I supported myself on my hands above her, kissing her. She moved her hands to my belt and began to undo it.

I broke the kiss for a moment, breathing heavily. "I think," the little rational part of my brain made me say, "that we should be careful. We shouldn't do anything we'll regret. But I'm too far gone." I gave her another deep kiss. "I'll, er, take care of myself, and then take care of you. I mean..."

"I know what you mean," she said, her voice deep and husky. "We shouldn't do anything we'll regret. And I can take care of myself." She pulled me down on top of her, one arm around my neck, sliding down until her hand caressed my neck. The rest of the night was a drunken blur of moans and sighs of pleasure, gentle touches and flitting fingers, skin against skin.

I woke up at noon on Saturday to the sounds of Peter's hangover taking effect. Out of the Marauders, he was the only one that got horribly nauseated. The rest of us were so used to it, we would just have light headaches. On this particular morning, I could smell everything around me. I rolled over and wrapped my arm around the girl in my bed. I buried my nose in her hair. Something in the back of my head connected the smell to that of the Ancient Herb shampoo Sirius likes to use. Then I saw a bright flash through my closed eyelids and heard a simultaneous click of a camera. I looked up to see Remus holding said camera. He was wearing nothing but his boxers and a smile to rival the one he had when we hung every pair of Slytherin underpants from the chandeliers in the Great Hall.

"What are you smiling about?" I asked groggily. "And what is that picture for?"

"How much did you two drink last night?" he inquired mischievously, still smiling.

"I had about a case of Firewhiskey myself. How about you love?" I asked the head next to me.

"A case and a half," a deep, familiar voice grunted. We both froze, then my bedmate quickly rolled over to look at me. Remus laughed insanely.

"Oh, shit!" I yelled, falling out of the bed and staring at Sirius, who was just as shocked as I was.