Harry, Hermione, and Ron went to the pub. They had all managed to fail their OWLs, even Hermione, which was a rather rare occurrence.
Harry had declared that this was reason enough to go to the pub and order something stronger than butterbeer.
Ron’s mouth had stretched into a queasy expression, but Hermione had agreed full-heartedly.
So, the three of them marched into the Brooken Broomstick pub with Harry leading the way.
Harry slapped the counter to get the bartender’s attention. “Oy! A round of Brimstone Brew for me and me mates.”
The bartender looked down at them. “Oy yerself, kid. Yer too young to be drinkin’ somethin’ of that strength. Tell ye what. I’ll get ye and yer mateys some nice iced milk.”
“Hey!” Hermione snapped. “You don’t seem to know who this is.” She shoved Harry’s super-dense bangs to the side, revealing his famous scar.
“Oooo. Yer some underaged kid with a fancy scar. Ain’t ye a special case. Sorry. I ain’t gonna get busted by the Better Bartenders Bureau for encouraging underage drinkin’.”
Harry climbed on top of the nearest barstool and stood on it. “You have no idea the horrors I have seen in my young life.”
“Write me a book about it. Then, maybe ye’ll be closer to legal drinkin’ age when yer’ll all done.”
Harry stomped his foot on the barstool. “This is an outrage! I am indignant. Yes, indignant!”
“Tough crumpets and old tea.”
Ron made a queasy sound effect.
“What are you three hooligans doing in myyyyy bar?” The potions master intoned behind them.
Harry jumped off the stool, just missing Ron’s foot. “I’m trying to get myself a stiff Brimstone Brew to take my mind off of all my problems. And I have a great many problems. Such problems. Including you!”
The potions master blinked slowly, rather like a cat. “I seeeee.”
“Good. I hope you see. I hope you see it all!”
The potions master smiled.
Ron fainted with fright and reasonably so. The potions master never smiled. It wasn’t a natural act for him. It made his eyes crinkle in alarming ways.
Even Harry and Hermione were quelled by that awful sight.
“Bartender, give a small Brimstone Brew to both of these rapscallions.”
The bartender looked like he wanted to object, but he shrugged and obeyed. He returned quickly with two shot glasses filled with a bubbling orange and black tar.
Harry looked at the drink.
“Is this really meant for human consumption?” Hermione asked.
“Indeeeed, Miss Granger. I drink it all the time.”
“I doubt it.” Harry muttered. He was about to push his drink away, but then Hermione picked up her shot glass and drank it down in one gulp.
“Bottoms up, Potter.” The potions master said with a sneer.
Harry looked at him with all of his fierce angsty might and drank it in one fast gulp. It tasted like stale Halloween sweets. “Blah. That—”
“Harry!” Hermione cried out.
She turned green with pink furry spots. Antlers sprouted out of her frizzy brown hair. Oversized owl wings whooshed out of her back.
The potions master snickered.
“Wha?” Harry gasped as the same transformation came over him.
“There’s a reason why it’s called Brimstone Brew. If you paid attention in my class, Potter, you would know that Brimstone Brew is made from magic left in the bottom of witches’ cauldrons.”
“Are we to be stuck like this?” Hermione asked crossly.
Ron regained consciousness, mostly because he felt like he was being left out of the story. Then, he saw his two classmates. He let out a terrified whimper and fainted again.
The potions master smirked at Harry. “Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe if you improved your grades, the effects will wear off.”
Harry’s green skin paled. “You mean I have to go to school looking like this?”
“Indeeed, Potter. I daresay it is a vast improvement over your ordinary appearance.”
Harry huffed. “Come, Hermione. You are the worst, Snape. The WORST!” They left the pub, abandoning poor Ron with Snape.
Ron wobbled back into consciousness. ‘Wha? Harry? Hermione?”
Snape smirked. “You look rather unwell, Mister Weasley. You should have a cup of Brimstone Brew.”