“Ron, I think I’m really ill,” said Harry as the two of them strode along the Strand on their way from Black Mass.
“Don’t be stupid, Harry,” replied Ron. “You’re just hungover. Hurry up, or you’ll miss the Albus Dumbledore Memorial Homosexual Recruitment Fair.”
“I don’t think I can go, Ron, I think I’ve got food poisoning,” groaned Harry, a greenish tinge spreading across his face.
“Someone can’t take his drink. Jesus, what did you have, like, five pints? Maybe beer’s too much for you . Maybe you should stick to alcopops.”
“Are you saying I’m not manly, Ron?”
“Yeah, a little.”
“Are you sure, Ron? That’s not what your sister said last night. You know, when I was fucking her. Because I’m fucking your sister, Ron. Remember when you used to play together as children? Well, now she’s over the age of consent and being fucked by me. She’s coming to halls tonight, and guess what we’ll be doing? Here’s a clue – each other.”
Ron went quiet. “Harry, shut your mouth right now or God help me I will kill you so hard your ancestors will hurt. Come on, let’s get trashed.”
“I can’t, I’ve only got a tenner.”
“Then let’s find a Sam Smith’s. You can get pretty merry on a tenner, plus it’s like the Room of Requirement – when you need one, it will appear. Watch.” He waved his wand. “Intoxicato maximus!“
“Ron, that pub was already there,” said Harry.
“Yeah, but you didn’t know about it. Let’s get wrecked and play I Have Never. Mangulo Latinam!”
"Come on, Harry, it's not a proper night unless you've stolen a luggage trolley!"
