Angelina couldn't help it, she burst out laughing. It was either that or break down in tears. The three of them were in her flat, all of them missing clothes, and none of them happy to be awake. It felt too much like the old times for Ang to take it seriously. When they were young and didn't know better. And now that they did know better? They clearly didn't give a rat's ass.
Giving up on moving, Angelina let her legs give out and she rolled over onto her back. "You in the kitchen, Bells? Cupboard with the cups in it has painkillers. Muggle and wizard, regular and healer prescribed take your pick." Being a professional quidditch player meant an abundance of injuries, which meant an abundance of painkillers. Over the years, Ang had built up a tolerance to both painkillers and the pain itself. She hardly, if ever, took the painkillers. A shot of rum helped to take the edge off of most injuries. Plus, it wasn't like she slept much as it was.
"We danced," Angelina commented, like it was a reasonable explanation for how they ended up like this. "Do you see anyone else?" Ang was staring at the ceiling trying to keep her vision straight and her stomach from lurching. It was entirely possible someone else had stumbled home with them.