Harry was marrying Ginny in the morning, and he was moping at the bar table. Ron was all that was left of his stag night group. The two friends had been through more things than either of them liked to talk about.
What Harry didn't know was that a wizarding stag night was a little more extreme than a muggle one. He was glad to leave the bar, and was trying to work out how to suggest to Ron that it was time to call it a night. The rain was falling heavily and the Knight Bus didn't take drunken wizards, so the pair were left walking the damp London streets. It would take half an hour to walk from Soho back to the Leaky Cauldron.
"One last pit-stop." Ron suggested pointing to a strip club.
Harry was glad for a chance to get dry, and shelter from the persistent rain. Besides this didn't look low-rent or sleazy, well not very sleazy. He had even heard of this one, a part of an American franchise, so he knew or at least hoped he wouldn't be mugged, robbed or ripped off once he was inside.
With a sigh he followed Ron as he disappeared inside. Harry really wished Hermione was here... well not here: here. But here, with him and Ron to share memories and stories. It was hard to read Ron's feelings at the best of times, but especially now.
He cast one last look up at the dark sky. There wasn't a break in the clouds, and the rain continued relentlessly.
He paid his admission, and spotted Ron at a small table near the stage. Two glasses already on the table.
"I'm not getting a lap dance." he said forcefully as he sat down.
"Relax Harry, nobody is offering you one, and you're old enough to pay for your own anyway." he chuckled over the edge of his glass. He took a deep swallow.
"To a new member for the Weasley family." He held his glass out. Harry chinked them together and took a hearty swallow.
The taste was vile, "What is this?" he asked, as Ron seemed to be enjoying his.
"It's polyjuice potion." he chuckled.
Harry felt his stomach writhe and shift, he was going to be sick, very sick.
He doubled over as his stomach cramped fiercely, as his shoulder lay on the table he had a good view of the floor. There was a red plastic there, waiting for him.
He grabbed it and retched.
"Why... who..." he tried to ask as Ron supped away.
But all Ron did was smile enigmatically, until with a nod of his head he tilted it towards the pneumatic blond dancer spinning around the brass pole.
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