“Hey mate, nice tattoo,” Ron said, walking past Harry, making a beeline for the coffee machine.
Harry, slumped over the kitchen table, mumbled irritably, “I don’t have a tattoo. And don’t pour so loud! Merlin, my head hurts…”
“Okay, how drunk were you last night? You don’t normally sleep shirtless in the kitchen, so my guess is you staggered in last night tripped over the table, and fell into the nearest chair before passing out. How else would I be able to see your new tattoo? Ginny will be thrilled.”
“What? Seriously? At least tell me it’s a hippogriff, and not a pygmy puff!”
“Neither one, mate. Looks like a Hungarian Horntail,” Ron answered, inspecting the back piece more closely.
“Brilliant,” Harry groaned. “Ginny’s going to love this, alright, and I’m never going to hear the end of it.”
“That will teach you to go out drinking without us,” Ron said, grinning. “Then again, knowing you, it probably won’t.”
“Sod off, Weasley,” Harry groaned, laying his head back on the table and wishing the world would stop spinning.
Ron just laughed and walked out of the room, calling, “Hey, ’Mione! Guess what Harry did this time!”
“Could you please yell a little more quietly!” Harry yelled after his retreating friend. “Ow! My head!”