George raised a finger. "No shagging. Ever. And no parties. Mum and dad lived in a. . . shoebox. And magicked us out of hair, and never did anything fun." And that was how it should stay!
George blinked. "You got trashed with Doreumble?" Something about that sounded off, and after a second he corrected. "Dumbledore." There. That was it! Bloody long names. People should have short names when you were pissed. Like Bob. Or Dick.
George giggled a bit. "Dick," he mumbled. That was such a funny name. If he ever had a son, he'd name him Dick. Dick Fred Weasley. Or maybe Dick Peter Weasley. Then he'd have two dicks in his name. Except it'd make him think of Scabbers, who'd been Pettigrew, and sometimes George got distracted wondering if Scatters had ever watched him wank or something when he was a pet. Which was vile.
It was possible, George decided, that he was drunk. "You're more drunk than me," he told Remus preemptively. Just in case.
He considered what Remus had said. "That doesn't sound like Bumbledore, you know. The romantic shite. I mean he was all twinkly and old and hairy and strange, but he seemed the sort who'd say something about love being important." He paused and then added. "Believe the bit about the jokes though. He probably knew that one about the woodcutter and the tree and the thing. I don't remember it jus' now, but ended up with a woodpecker." Or maybe the woodpecker was in the beginning. Or maybe it was a hummingbird. Or a chicken. George couldn't remember. "Some kinda bird, anyway."
"She slugged me because she thought I was Fred," George explained. Or because he and Fred had swapped to see if she'd notice, but George didn't bother explaining that part. "I go after stories. I INVENT stories. Loads of them have me and Fred blowing eyebrows off though."