Siriusly Drunk About Girls

Chapter 1

A/N - This story was inspired by a Harmony Discord Valentine's Day Writing Contest. The aim was to pick a prompt and write to that. My story is a five chapter stand alone (that one day may become more). As this story is currently complete, I will alternate postings between this and Dragon Whisperer for the next few weeks before resuming my regular updates on DW. If you'd like to check out the H/Hr - H.M.S. Harmony discord channel, the link is: discord dot gg/2GcXw8R

As for the prompt I chose, it was:

"Harry and Sirius end up drunk one night either break over the summer between fourth and fifth year or Christmas of fifth year. Harry ends up telling Sirius about the mortifying poem in his second year. Sirius guffaws after hearing Harry recite it and proclaims, 'I thought Hermione was better with words than that!'

Harry is baffled and wonders why in the blue blazes he would think that Hermione wrote it?

Sirius then provides some well needed, if slightly slurred, advice on the virtues of one Hermione Jane Granger and the way he sees the girl act around his godson.

Needless to say, Harry has much to think about, and comes to a conclusion by Valentine's Day."

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Siriusly Drunk About Girls

Chapter 1

December 19, 1995, Grimmauld Place

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Knock knock.

He'd heard the footsteps approaching the other side of the door, not that he could figure out who'd be foolish or stupid enough to approach him. The pause before the knock hadn't been unexpected. The knock itself had had him jumping slightly.

But only slightly.

It wasn't enough to have him moving from where he sat in the straw, his back against the wall. His head down, his messy hair long enough to partly shield his side glance through narrowed eyes at the offending sound. A finger twitched slightly even as his arms remained wrapped around his raised knees close to his chest.

Knock knock.

This time one eyebrow rose, the only indicator that he'd heard the intrusion into this bastion of silence and peacefulness and aloneness. Well, as alone as one got when one was sharing an attic space with a hippogriff.

"Harry? I'm coming in!"

Harry sighed. Of course. Sirius. The only one in the house who wasn't scared of him. At least, he presumed so. Everyone else was petrified of him, scared witless that he was going to attack them or cause something to attack them.

Just like had happened to Mister Weasley. How he'd survived, Harry had no clue. He'd seen it happen. Hell, he'd felt it happen! He'd been the giant snake roaming the corridor, sensing Mister Weasley, tasting him with his tongue, coiling at the man Harry thought of as being like a surrogate Uncle (only a nice, well-meaning uncle, the kind that only his imagination could produce, not the reality that he knew and lived with most of his life) and then, striking out, sinking his fangs deep into Mister Weasley and pumping his venom into him.

How Harry had travelled to the Ministry and back from his bed in Gryffindor Tower at Hogwarts was a mystery with no answer. Not that it mattered. Harry had attacked Mister Weasley. The man was now laying in a bed at Saint Mungo's, the wizarding hospital and, thankfully, expected to fully recover.