Sobri-Phial? Elixir

  "For the Morning After the Night You Regret."

  Instructions:

  

  
1. Drink one dose.


  
2. Sit down. (Seriously, sit down.)


  
3. Prepare for a sensation best described as "a small thunderstorm politely exiting your cranium."


  

  Warning: Side effects may include: incontinence, craving for raw eggs and Worchester sauce, and the overwhelming urge to swear you'll never do it again (you will).

  Note: Not for use after fruity beverages or firewhisky older than your great-grandparents.

  Hangover

  Jack's alarm jolted him awake in the predawn darkness with an ice pick to his brain. He smacked his lips. His mouth tasted like he'd eaten a bag of cotton balls dipped in salted caramel. That Ginger Snapdragon hadn't been as innocent as advertised. He groped for the enchanted clock on his nightstand: 6 A.M.

  Henry's alarm chimed a moment later. Unlike Jack, Henry was bright and chipper as he threw back his covers. He crossed to Teddy's bed with purpose.

  "Rise and shine, Marshy!" Henry yanked back Teddy's curtains vigorously. "Beautiful morning for Quidditch!"

  Teddy groaned like a dying mooncalf and pulled his pillow over his head. "Water..."

  "What was that comment about Mulholland’s figure you made last night?" Henry asked loudly, pulling away the pillow. "I don’t quite remember it."

  “Ugghhhh,” Teddy reached for it feebly but Henry held it up out of reach.

  “Something about her hips being built for more than just Charms practice, was it?" Henry dropped the pillow back on Teddy’s head.

  "Merlin’s sake Hal, I said I was sorry!"

  "You're about to be sorrier. Up, man! Algy wants us on the pitch in twenty minutes."

  Teddy groaned, rolling out of his covers and onto the floor with a thud, "I deserve this."

  "Yes, you do," Henry agreed pleasantly as Oliver leaned out of his curtains rubbing his eyes.

  They stumbled through quick showers, Jack's head clearing slightly under the cool water. His Spitfire hummed eagerly as he grabbed it, apparently the only one looking forward to early practice. The September air was crisp as they carried their brooms across the empty quad, breath fogging in the gray light.

  "I'm gonna die," Teddy announced as they kicked off from the court to save walking time.

  "No you’re not," Henry called back. "Though you might wish you were once Algy sees the state of you."

  Jack followed Henry's lead, staying low over the walls and roofs until they reached the pitch. The flight helped wake him up, though Jack's stomach lurched uncomfortably at a few of the turns. The Spitfire seemed to sense his state and flew smoother than usual, compensating for his sluggish reactions.

  "I'm still steaming," Teddy complained as they changed into their uniforms in the locker room. "What was in those Moodmellows?"

  "Certainly not good manners," Henry replied.

  Jack burped. It tasted like black pepper and apple pie moonshine. He took a dipper full of water to rinse his mouth and drank just enough to wet his throat. He knew not to drink more, no matter how thirsty he was. That would just make him throw up.

  Practice was brutal. Algy had them running passing drills until Jack's arms felt like lead. Every sharp turn sent a spike of nausea through his skull. Teddy had to land to be sick behind the stands. Oliver missed two easy saves.

  Henry, irritatingly, seemed completely unaffected.

  "That was fine work, boys!" Algy called finally. "First practice is about knocking the rust off. Let’s hit the showers and get some breakfast. Marshwiggle! Work on your bloody aim! Almost took Semmes' Yank head off with that last Bludger."

  "Sorry Algy," Teddy muttered. "Looked like there were two of him."

  They stashed their brooms in the equipment shed for afternoon practice, Jack giving the Spitfire an appreciative pat. Their second shower of the morning was longer and hotter, washing away the worst of last night along with the sweat.

  "I'm never drinking experimental butterbeer again," Teddy vowed as they changed back into their school uniforms. All of them were wearing flat hats and dark gray sweaters under their robes against the early morning chill. Teddy added a flamboyantly long scarf in Gryffindor colors, flapping in the breeze like a fighter pilot.

  "Yes, you will," Henry said cheerfully.

  "Well, not until next weekend at least."

  “We’ll wait for Jack,” Oliver said firmly. “He’s still got two weeks of gating left from the tower incident.”

  “I’ll sneak him back another bottle!”

  “No thanks, I’m good,” Jack stifled another burp.

  The Great Hall was mostly empty when they arrived for breakfast with just a few early risers, die-hard Ravenclaws who were always studying even on weekends. Jack's stomach growled at the smell of a full fried English breakfast.

  "Food," Teddy moaned reverently. "Glorious, glorious food."

  They collapsed onto the benches, reaching for tea and coffee. The morning sun was streaming through the high windows now, promising a beautiful, mild Saturday. A tall glass of milk, greasy bacon, mushrooms, and a pile of some bready substance massaged away the last of Jack’s headache.

  Oliver called them ‘flapjacks,’ but they were nothing like the pancakes he was used to back home. Where was the fluff? The butter? The flapping of the jack? They tasted suspiciously like dense oat cakes, but he had to admit—they were excellent. He chewed thoughtfully, glancing around the table in vain for maple syrup.

  "Not a bad practice," he declared, lazily eating a plump sausage that he had skewered on his knife. "All things considered, after what Teddy put us through last night."

  "Anyone remember whose brilliant idea it was to try serenading the faculty tower last night?" Henry asked, reaching for a final croissant.

  Jack made a show of looking behind Henry, “Hello Mina!”

  Henry turned his head just in time to catch a fat Slytherin seventh-year girl waddling past.

  “He got you there, Ravenhurst!” Teddy snickered.

  “Merlin’s breath, old sport,” Henry shook his head. “You’ve caught on more quickly than I anticipated.”

  "He’s got good teachers.” Oliver said smugly, taking a long sip of tea.

  "You Brits make it too easy," Jack grinned, reaching for another crumpet. The sun was warm on his back, and the usual knot of anxiety in his stomach had loosened.

  The philosophers were right, exercise and good friends cured almost all ills.

  He didn't look at the Ravenclaw table once.

  Unfortunately, he still had three detentions left to finish.

  Henry and the others went for a broom ride down to the seaside after lunch (“We’ll scout it out for you!”). Jack went to the library and spent his Saturday afternoon and evening under Bianca Ludd's watchful eye, working through his assignments. He'd learned that silence was his best defense against her.

  This story has been stolen from Royal Road. If you read it on Amazon, please report it

  Every word he spoke was handing her a loaded wand.

  Ludd had invented a creative method for wasting his time. She had Jack standing at her desk in the library promptly at 1:00pm - Saturday and Sunday detentions had extended hours - quietly reciting his assignments to her. Then she ordered him to write out a detailed agenda listing every essay, reading assignment, and problem set he planned to complete during that time.

  She reviewed it with excruciating slowness, making little "hmm" sounds and asking pointed questions. 'Have you accounted for possible interruptions?' 'What if a professor assigns additional work?' 'Is your timeline realistic, or just optimistic?'

  "Transfiguration essay on Gamp's Laws, due Tuesday. How many inches has Professor Winterborn requested?"

  "Eighteen," Jack replied.

  "Hmm." She made a note. "Have you made an outline and rough draft before beginning?"

  Thirty minutes of his detention ticked by. Then she found a fault with his proposed schedule “Poorly organized,” and made him write it out again.

  "And this Charms practical… specify which movements you'll be reviewing."

  "The modified Arsenius Ladroni Accio—"

  "In writing, Mr. Semmes."

  By the time she finally approved his agenda, three hours of his detention had been wasted on busywork. She spread his approved schedule, his written declaration of tasks, and her notebook across her desk like an imperium.

  And Merlin help him if he deviated.

  "You stated that you'd be working on Potions between four and four-forty-five," she whispered in his ear as he wrote his History of Magic essay on Arteminus Fowler. She yanked the parchment out from under his quill. His ink smeared across the page in an ugly black slick.

  The homework was bad enough, Jack thought. This was hazing on a level that would have made the most sadistic Ilvermorny upperclassman draw the line.

  He found himself tensing whenever Ludd passed by his table, her sharp perfume making his hair stand on end. It was a cloying, aggressive scent twisted into something that was less a fragrance and more a No-Maj chemical weapon. The smell clung to his thoughts, mingling with the relentless scratching of her quill in that infernal little notebook she carried everywhere.

  Jack couldn’t remember ever disliking someone the way he disliked Bianca Ludd.

  "Your Potions essay's due Monday," she cooed, her voice sweet with false concern. "And your syllabus says partner assignments all next week. I know you’ll behave yourself."

  Jack kept writing, pretending not to hear. He had six inches left on his Transfiguration essay, and Cassandra Hightower's name wasn't going to appear in any of them.

  Sunday was worse. Caeso Montfort set up a study group in the library and made a show of pointing Jack out to his followers, with corresponding whispers, muffled laughs, and nudges.

  The few times Jack was able to leave the library – for dinner or to use the bathroom – he felt like a prisoner allowed out for yard time.

  On late Sunday evening, his penultimate detention finally complete, Jack climbed through the portrait hole to find his friends sprawled across their usual corner near the wireless with a large carafe of soda water, surrounded by half-written essays and unopened textbooks. They looked tired and sunburned.

  At least someone had enjoyed their weekend.

  "The Yank is fresh out of gaol!" Teddy called out. "How was your holiday with the harridan? The Scold of Scone? The Nag of the North?"

  "She’s a bloody demon," Jack dropped into the open armchair they’d saved for him (“Nice use of ‘bloody!’” Teddy approved). "But I'm done with my assignments. Unlike some wise guys, apparently."

  Oliver looked up from the single line he had written on his parchment - his name and today’s date. "In our defense, we had an eventful weekend."

  "Saturday was the coast," Henry explained. "Found this brilliant cave system near the south bogs. Connected all the way into a destroyed spellforge. Looked like something straight out of one of Ranrok's old plans. Somebody had gotten to it before us though. Every last treasure chest was emptied."

  “Not even a moonstone left,” Oliver commented morosely.

  “Found this though,” Teddy held up a small, rusted iron widget, inlaid with tarnished copper and a tiny garnet. “Looks like goblin-make.”

  “Looks like tetanus,” Jack raised an eyebrow.

  "And on Sunday," Henry put his feet on the table, "we helped old Mrs. Marchbanks down in Keenbridge round up her escaped Puffskeins. She’d been testing growth potions on them. The whole village was overrun."

  "Giant Puffskeins?" Jack pulled out a pack of Ignis Fatuus, took one and put the rest on the table for his friends.

  "About yea big," Teddy stuck a cigarette in his mouth and demonstrated with his arms. "Bouncing over rooftops, rolling down the high street, getting stuck in chimneys. One of them ate the town cat whole. Had to wait three hours to get it out."

  “The cat didn’t make it,” Henry elaborated.

  "She paid us in pies," Oliver added, lighting his cigarette.

  Jack shook his head, pulling out his completed essays and problem sets. "Here. You can look at these for reference. But take care with the spelling - Winterborn keeps correcting me for spelling color without a ‘u’."

  "Lafayette, Semmes is here!" Henry clapped his hands gratefully and picked up Jack’s transfiguration paper. “Now we won’t need to stay up all night cramming.”

  "Speaking of nighttime activities," Jack yawned, "we've got Astronomy at midnight on Wednesday."

  "Ah yes," Henry said, lighting his cigarette with a levitated brand from the fireplace (he claimed it improved the flavor of the smoke). "Teddy's mysteriously favorite class."

  "Because we share it with Hufflepuff," Oliver nodded.

  "Coincidence," Teddy replied, opening his Charms textbook.

  "Congratulations on your sudden academic interest in the firmament," Jack joined in. "Very admirable."

  "And the way he vanishes after said class," Oliver mused. "Dedicated student, our Marshy."

  "I don't vanish," Teddy said. "I have other commitments besides you lot."

  “In the kitchens,” Henry provided. “After curfew. With the house-elves apparently.’

  “And I bring you back food, don’t I?” Teddy responded. “Where do you think those caramel apple biscuits came from?”

  “If those were house-elf made, I’ll eat my hat,” Henry declared.

  “The shapes were all irregular,” Jack agreed.

  “Those were homemade. By a girl.” Oliver gave him a pointed stare.

  “No comment,” Teddy glanced around for an escape route. Oliver was blocking it with his outstretched legs on an ottoman.

  "Come on, Ted," Henry pressed. "We've seen you checking your pocket watch, ducking into empty classrooms–"

  "Writing notes in class," Oliver added.

  “Being very defensive right now,” Jack noted.

  "Disappearing from our planning committee last night with a very flimsy excuse," Henry continued.

  "What’s this then?" Jack gloated. "Has our bachelor fallen?"

  "Semmes, you are in no place to talk,” Teddy warned.

  “I don’t make a secret of the girl that I like,” Jack retorted. “What are you, twelve?”

  “Well, I don’t have one!”

  "The wizard doth protest too much," Henry grinned. "What happened to 'I shall live a bachelor' and all that, Marshy? Weren't you just saying last term that love was for poofters?"

  "You were literally just bragging about cornering some poor girl in the library stacks!" Jack added.

  Teddy scowled. "I may have been exaggerating slightly."

  Oliver sent a lazy stream of smoke at the ceiling, "I distinctly remember a speech in the dormitory about how ‘no witch would ever trap Theodoric Marshwiggle in the bonds of matrimony.’"

  "And now you’re coming from the kitchens at midnight with a tin of handmade biscuits," Henry smirked.

  “Have you ever even kissed a girl?” Jack asked, leaning his chin on his fist and staring intently at Teddy.

  “Loads.” Teddy shot him a murderous look. “And you have?”

  “Two,” Jack grinned.

  “Oh yeah?” Teddy challenged, “What were their names and what did they look like?”

  Jack leaned back. “Gentlewizards don’t kiss and tell.”

  Teddy snorted. “Oh, piss off!”

  Jack lasted all of three seconds before caving. “Maggie Donahue. Brown hair, green eyes, freckles. Gretchen Tuttle. Blonde, brown eyes, tied cherry stems with her tongue.”

  Teddy scoffed.

  Oliver exhaled smoke toward the ceiling. “Two more than you, Marshy.”

  "When young Marshy swore he’d die a bachelor," Henry quoted with great solemnity, "I never thought he’d live long enough to get married."

  "At least I don’t write poetry," Teddy shot back.

  "No," Jack replied, deadpan. "You just quote it."

  Oliver let out a long, exaggerated "Ooooooooh" as Teddy rolled his eyes.

  "I have legitimate reasons for enjoying Astronomy!"

  "Aye," Henry nodded solemnly. "A star-crossed lover."

  Jack and Oliver burst into laughter.

  Teddy glared at them and refused to say another word, so they turned back to their homework while Jack contentedly smoked and drank half their soda water. Oliver slid his drafted Charms essay across to him after a few minutes to review.

  "Hang on, you say here the best use of Luminarium Ventus is to warm a greenhouse," Jack said, glancing at the parchment.

  "Isn’t that right?" Oliver asked, frowning.

  "Not quite," Jack explained, pulling out his wand. "That one creates a cloud of particles to test air currents. You’re thinking of Luminosus Vernus." He demonstrated with a simple swish, conjuring an orb of natural light that hovered above the table with a mild scent of blooming flowers.

  Oliver let out a good-natured grunt, scratching out the line. "That’s what I get for writing everything last minute."

  Henry smirked. "Five years of magical education, and this is where we are."

  “We had a ruthless instructor at Ilvermorny who threw me out of class for mixing them up,” Jack grinned, setting his wand aside. "Just don’t ask me how to put a coagulant into a Wiggenweld without Oliver’s help. Or cross-reference star-charts without Teddy."

  Teddy, still sulking, acted as though he hadn’t heard a thing.