5

Harry groaned as the light hit his eyes. His head was throbbing and there was something digging into his back, but he found that he had no motivation whatsoever to move. If only that damn light wasn't so bright! He shifted slightly, rolling over onto his back and pulling the- wait a second, he thought, where are the covers? He groped around, searching for the duvet that he so desperately wanted to hide under, but to no avail.

"What the hell are you doing, pup?" Sirius's voice sounded from somewhere above him, and Harry decided it was finally time to crack open an eyelid. He squinted blearily up through one eye at the source of the voice, throwing an arm over his head in an attempt to shield his poor retina from the light, which had, surprisingly, become far brighter since he opened his eye. The hazy figure of Sirius swam into view, looking, if at all possible, more unkempt than he had done yesterday. There was something else different about him too, Harry thought as he stared up at his godfather, though he couldn't quite put his finger on what exactly it was. But this wasn't what interested Harry. What interested Harry was that Sirius appeared to be standing in the kitchen. And if Sirius was standing in the kitchen, then it stood to reason that Harry, too, was also in the kitchen. And as Sirius was so high up, then it wasn't too much of a leap to come to the conclusion that Harry was on the floor. But why, exactly, was Harry on the kitchen floor?

The messy haired teen groaned again, rolling over and closing his eye, hiding from the light and deciding that those kinds of questions were for another time. A time when he didn't have a herd of hippogriffs stampeding through his skull.

"Oi, get up you lazy git," Sirius whined, nudging his godson in the side with a foot, "You're not the only one with a hangover, you know! I want some bacon, and not only can I not cook, but we have no bacon in the house. Just a lot of now empty bottles and a lump of mould that I think used to be cheese."

Harry groaned. Again. Louder. He hoped that it would be enough to show Sirius that he would not be getting up anytime soon. There were a few minutes more foot nudging, followed by a minute or so of shoulder shaking. But Harry was strong and managed to ignore all attempts to rouse him and it seemed, judging by the retreating footsteps, that he had been successful and his godfather had given up. Smiling to himself, Harry curled his knees up to his chest and prepared to go back to sleep. He was just beginning to drift off when a bucket of water was dumped unceremoniously over his head.

"SHIT!" he gasped, shooting upright and breathing heavily from the shock, "What the hell was that for, Pads?"

"What? I didn't do anything," Sirius said, an innocent expression plastered onto his face. But Harry wasn't listening. Harry was staring at the dripping wet hair that was hanging in his face. The dripping wet red hair. Not black, red. Gingerly, he poked it with his finger, wondering if it would disappear. But no, it was still there. And still red.

"Err, Pads, is my hair red?" he asked cautiously, looking up at his godfather who was now pulling out a chair and sitting down at the table.

"Huh? Oh yeah, it is. And mine's purple," Sirius answered distractedly, peering into empty bottles, trying to find something to drink.

"And that doesn't seem strange to you?" Harry asked incredulously, climbing to his feet only to find that standing caused his head to pound about ten times more than sitting had. He hurriedly grabbed a chair and slumped into it, holding his head in his hands. Sirius looked up at him, an enormous grin on his face.

"You don't remember last night, do you?" Harry cast his mind back, trying to make sense of the random sections of memories he had left in his head.

"I remember firewhiskey. Lots of firewhiskey. And something about putting a house elf in the toilet. But that bit may have been a dream," he replied, shaking his head as if hoping that everything would click into place.

"Oh no, that happened alright. I took pictures," Sirius said, smiling happily, "but other than that? You remember nothing?"

"Tiny glimpses, but nothing that makes sense. Are you going to tell me why I have red hair or not, Pads?"

"Go buy me bacon and I'll tell you over breakfast, how's that?" Harry groaned. Again.

"Go buy yourself bacon," he answered, letting his head fall onto the table.

"Escaped convict, anyone? I can't just go buy bacon. How fucking embarrassing would that be if I got caught? I can see the headlines now; 'How does Sirius Black like his eggs in the morning? In handcuffs, please!'" Harry stared at his godfather incredulously, wondering if those words had really just come from his mouth.

"Really?" he asked, trying to stop himself from laughing, "Eggs? That was the best you could come up with?" Sirius sniffed at his godson, offended.

"As if you could think of a better one. Now go buy me bacon!" he whined, looking at Harry with his best puppy dog eyes.

"Alright, alright, let me have a shower first, at least," Harry gave in, recognising that he would get no peace until bacon was in the house. Besides, all the bacon talk had made him hungry, and he didn't fancy eating mouldy cheese.

"Nope, bacon first, shower later," Sirius exclaimed happily, "Besides, you can hardly argue that when the time for showering comes, I am the one who is in dire need of one, not yourself." Unable to fault Padfoot's logic, Harry nodded his head, rising wearily from his chair.

"Are you coming with me?" he asked, looking around for his leather jacket. Finding it underneath a chair, he pulled it on, turning to look at his godfather. In the place of the tall, unkempt man was a large, purple dog looking up at him expectantly.

"Huh," Harry muttered to himself, "still purple. Interesting." Absentmindedly patting his pockets to make sure he had some money, he left the house, dog shaped godfather in tow, and somehow managed to stagger his way to The Leaky Cauldron. Once there, he pushed the door open and basically dashed inside, more grateful than he could say for the dim lighting of the pub.

"Hey, Tom," he called, heading towards the bar.

"You alright there, Harry? You're looking a bit worse for wear," the bar tender asked, wondering if he should bother asking about the red hair and the purple dog. He decided not to.

"Just a rough night," Harry chuckled, grinning at his friend, "I was wondering if there were any butchers around here."

"Muggle, or in the alley?"

"In the alley, preferably, I haven't got any muggle money on me," Harry said, checking his pockets again for his wallet.

"There's Hack's then, just up the main street, then take the first left and it'll be on your right, next to the bakers."

"Cheers, Tom," Harry said, moving towards the back door, "I'll be sure to drop in again soon."

"Bye Harry," Tom called, smiling at the cheeky salute he got in return.

Harry stepped into Diagon Alley and followed the bartender's instructions, Padfoot hot on his heels. He found the butcher's easily enough as the queue stretched around the corner. Sighing and muttering about the things he did for people, he joined the back of the queue and prepared to wait. He was straight away interrupted, however, when Padfoot started barking at the person in front.

"Shut the hell up, Pads!" he hissed, "I'm sorry, mate, I don't know what's up with h- Malfoy."

"Potter," the blonde answered, a sneer already dancing on his lips.

"Bloody hell, can I not come here, just once, without seeing you?" Harry asked, running a hand over his face and through his red waves of hair. Malfoy, following the action with his eyes, laughed suddenly, causing Harry to groan. Again. "What now?" he asked, shielding his eyes from the blinding glare caused by the sun reflecting off of Malfoy's hair.

"I didn't know you were that desperate to be a Weasley is all, Potter," Malfoy replied, still sniggering.

"Oh just... shhh," Harry mentally kicked himself for not being able to think of a comeback, but found that he didn't have enough energy for in depth insults. Malfoy quirked an eyebrow, derision clear on his face before turning back to face the front of the line. They were silent for the rest of the wait, both more than happy to forego any fighting for once. Finally, however, it was their turns to be served and they moved up to the counter, each to be greeted by a different butcher. Harry ordered his bacon, deciding on a whim to grab some sausages and eggs too, a decision that Padfoot heartily approved of, if the panting was anything to go by. It was when he was almost out of the door that Malfoy spoke again, calling to Harry from his place still at the counter.

"Next time you come out, Potter, you might want to consider showering first," he drawled, gaining the attention of everyone in the shop. Harry sighed and flipped him off, too tired for an argument. Malfoy watched him leave, a strange feeling of disappointment settling in his chest, until, when they were almost out of earshot, the blonde heard Harry mutter:

"See, Sirius, I told you showering was more important than bacon." Malfoy smiled; his father would like this. Oh yes, his father would like this a lot.