How I Met Your Father

Chapter 4

Harry smiled back. "Exactly. Which brings us to the rest of the story..."

~*~*~*~*~Year 4~*~*~*~*~

The day started with a pounding headache. Harry groaned and curled into his blanket, trying to block out the cruel and entirely unnecessary sunlight which clearly existed only to spite him. Gods, what had he done last night? His memory was foggy, nothing but bright lights and flashes.

He remembered the club. The strobe lights still seemed to flash before his eyes. And...Blaise? Yes, Blaise had been there. Of course he was. As Harry's self appointed wingman, he was practically omnipresent. Most of the time, Harry didn't mind. Ginny had been gone for over two months now. He still missed her dreadfully but Blaise seemed to have a near endless supply of booze and free club passes at his disposal and considering that he insisted on dragging Harry all over the city, it was no wonder that more often than not, Harry woke up hungover, half dressed and more often than not, in someone else's home.

Through a haze of sleep, he discerned the faint noise of his shower. For a second, he considered telling Ron to use his own damn shower and then he remembered that Ron and Mione didn't live here anymore. Which meant...

Harry groaned.

Seriously? He didn't even remember pulling a bird last night. The bar he had been at didn't even have that many girls, to the best of his recollection. He even remembered Blaise mumbling about a 'total sausage fest'.

No, he had definitely not pulled last night. Maybe Blaise had.

Harry growled under his breath. If one of Blaise's one nighters was using hisshower, he was going to kill the blighter. Blaise, not the girl. And now things weren't making sense even in his head.

Harry muttered under his breath as he attempted to extricate himself from his covers. His head pounded as he stood shakily and knocked on the bathroom door.

"The room's all yours," he called out. "Just...you know, make yourself comfortable."

There was no response save for a slight splashing. Harry shook his head and made his way to the kitchen. The second he entered, he wished he could just curl up and die. The light was agonizing in his current state and he whined in abject misery as he shuffled over to the fridge. Gods, where was the curry? Curry fixed everything. Especially a bitching hangover the size of...

"Harry James Potter! We need to talk!"

Harry whined as the insides of his head went off like a bleeding church bell. Blaise wasn't appeased. He marched over and slammed the fridge shut. His expression spoke of great pain and misfortune. Harry absently wondered if he had thrown up on one of Blaise's precious suits last night. Or eaten his firstborn. Although knowing Blaise, he would probably be far more devastated over the former.

"You suck at this!" Blaise ranted, barring him from the fridge. "You hear me? We have now arrived at the picturesque town of Sucksville. Population: you!"

"Nooo," Harry whined, grappling helplessly. "Curry..."

"I threw it out," Blaise sneered. "And before you ask, you deserve it. Oh, you deserve it."

"What'd I do?" Harry moaned. "And where did you come from?"

"I let myself in when you pointedly refused to answer my Floo calls!" Blaise informed him. "Do you have any idea how worried I was when you took off last night? Do you? First rule of being single, Potter: You need a wingman! Do not abandon your wingman. Never abandon your wingman! That is not legendary! It is not even legen-without the-dary! It's just rude, is what it is. We..."

"Wait."

Harry froze as Blaise's little rant started bringing things back. Blaise had been there but then he had left. That made sense. Harry recalled drinking (a lot of drinking) and dancing alone for a bit, until someone had joined him. He couldn't really recall much but he remembered a set of warm hands on his body, drawing him against a slim, toned body. He couldn't put a face to those hands but he did remember a mesmerising pair of brown eyes. Laughing, teasing brown eyes.