George pulled a truly disgusted face then. "My MUM has never been drunk. Or had sex. My brothers and Gin and me were all made out of magic and bits of dad's hair. 'swhy he doesn't have much left," he told Remus. Emphatically, if not accurately. Since it stood to reason his parents had shagged. A lot. George just pretended it was otherwise. He did not need his fragile balance of denial shattered!
Dumbledore though. . . well not sex stories. Because he was old. Or he had been old. He wasn't anything now, which probably meant telling stories about him was rude anyway. But he'd probably like having stories of his wild youth bandied about, George thought. Dumbledore had been that sort of bloke. All hairy and twinkly and mad. "They were probably good stories. About Dumbledore. I bet he had lots of explosions," George told Remus. Explosions always made a story better. Also a film. Or a day. Everything was better with explosions, so long as one wasn't in the explosion.
George poured another shot, and this one went a bit wobbly and splashed, but he didn't care, since he still got a good bit in the glass to drink. "I could tell you about the time Ange snogged me and it was better'n Fred, and then she slugged me," George told him, sounding both drunk, and very cheerful about being slugged. It was still funny. Also the "better than Fred" was merely George's interpretation, but it was one he'd insisted on since it happened.