In The End
All I need is a bottle...
And I don't need no friends.
She span round on the chair. It was a nice Muggle desk
chair she had bought in a nice Muggle shop because she was a Muggle. Wasn't
she. Just a normal Muggle. Not a funny magical person, no, never. She was just
a normal person. She lobbed the finished bottle at the wall. She didn't care
what she drank anymore, as long as it made her feel good. She couldn't stand to
be sober.
Now wallow in my pain, I swallow as I pretend
To act like I'm happy when I drink to no end
I'm losing all my friends, I'm losing in the end.
She remembered two faces. Two pretty faces. They were both
boys, she remembered. She liked boys, they were nice. But these boys were
magical people. One of them, she remembered, was very important to the magical
people. But she couldn't remember why. The other one looked like a carrot.
Carrot boy. She liked carrot boy, she remembered, but not as much as she liked
important boy. She got up and began to walk around the room, smashing a few
lamps on her way.
"No, Harry, I'm perfectly fine..." she whispered,
as she collapsed on the floor, knocking a table down on her way and taking a
few sheets of paper and books with her.
Behave little boy, you better sit back down,
Till you hold your ground.
Harry knocked on the door. He hoped she was in. When there
was no reply after a minute or two, he began to worry. It was only 7pm, and his
pendant said she was in there. Yes, it was glowing blue...she must be
nearby...he tried the door, and to his surprise, it opened. When he saw the
state of her flat, he gasped. Lamps were broken on the floor, there was smashed
glass everywhere, like someone had been throwing bottles at the wall, and
there, lying by an upturned table, was Hermione. He went to the fireplace and
called to St Mungo's. Twenty seconds later five mediwizards were coming through
the fireplace to take Hermione back to St Mungo's.
It's your turn to fight, you bettwe sit back down
Till you hold your ground.
Harry paced up and down the corridor. She was an alcoholic.
Why? Harry knew since Ron's death she had been distraght, but this was silly.
But he loved her with all his heart, and was determined for her to survive the
night. A mediwizard came out of the room Hermione was in.
"Her condition is stable, but she's not fully
conscious yet. We were hoping you could come and be with her for when she wakes
up. Harry nodded, and walked into the room. She looked worse than when she had
been sprawled over the table in her flat. Her skin was a pale grey, the skin
under her eyes patterened with blue and green lines of sleep loss. Her eyes
were shut, her mouth hanging half open. Her throat was a yellowish red, and her
teeth showed signs of disease. There were scars along one of her collar bones
from the War, then, of course, there was the unmistakable dark mark on her left
forearm. Harry could still remember the night she came running to him after
Malfoy, that git, had raped her. She had been walking home from the ministry
when he jumped out at her and pulled her into a nearby woodland. He raped her
and branded her with the dark mark, a reminder that what had happened to his
son and all the other death eaters could happen to her. The Calling was her
worst fear for seven years, and after Ron's death at the hands of Voldemort she
had become even more frettish. That was three years ago, and Harry had had
little contact with her since, as he traveled around the world fighting off the
last of the death eaters. Harry was snapped from his thoughts as she woke up.
Her eyes widened as she saw him, and she whispered his name.
"Harry...why?" He moved a piece of hair out of
her eyes, and said,
"I was about to ask you the same thing."
When I'm sober, life bores me,
So I get drunk again.
"You first," she said, and pushed herself up so
she was leaning against the pillows.
"I love you," he whispered. She stared at him,
her face blank.
"No you don't," she replied. Now it was his turn
to stare at her. "Harry, I tried to forget the wizarding world. I snapped
my wand in two, I've been living as a muggle for three years. First Ron died,
then you had to go away...I couldn't take it anymore."
"Why the drink?" He asked, sitting by her on the
hospital bed so he was facing her.
"It helps me escape. When I'm sober, life seems worthless,
so I drink to stop myself from suicide. I drink to help myself stay for
you."
"So why do you think I don't love you?" She
looked at him, her once sullen brown eyes shining with a somewhat evil glare.
"I never said I thought you didn't." She got up
out of the hospital bed, and walked to the door, putting her hand on the
handle. "I meant that you can't. You deserve more than me, Harry. I'm a
worthless wreck. Look at me. Look at me! I'm dying, Harry. You don't need me.
Go and love someone else. Please. For me, Harry. For Ron. For us." She
turned the handle and walked out the door. Hermione ran down the corridor,
trying to find the room she was looking for.
I'm losing all my friends,
I'm losing in the end - she says,
Behave little boy, you better sit back down,
Till you hold your ground.
It's your turn to fight, you better sit back down,
Till you hold your ground.
Harry bolted out of the room and ran down the corridor. He
span round, checking every person he passed to see if it was her. Running down
the stairs, he began to scream her name.
You better sit back down,
You better put that down,
Put the bottle down,
I am on a binge
He found her in a storage cupboard on the ground floor. She
was holding a knife, pointed at her chest. He shut the door behind him, and
began to approach her. She jumped up off the floor, and he saw the evil and
determined glare in her eyes which made him stop. She began to sing, her once
angel voice turned hard by years of binging.
"Behave little boy, you better sit back down,
Till you hold your ground.
It's your turn to fight, you better sit back down,
Till you hold your ground." She took a step back and stabbed the dagger
through her heart. She made no sound as she fell to the floor, her deep red
blood pooling on the floor. He placed a hand on her shoulder, and let the tears
roll down his cheeks.
Some years later, after much grieving, Harry decided to
find the song that the words Hermione sang came from. He often wondered what
significance they held to her. Then, on Hermione's birthday, he found it. But
it was the last two lines which held the most significance to Harry.
"I am on a binge, I wish things would change,
Wished they'd rearrange, I am on a binge"
It had been him. All his fault, if he hadn't done the
heroism thing, then she would have lived. Even if he'd come back in that first
year, just to see her, if he hadn't put his career before her, then she would
still be here. Fuck the world, it didn't matter if they had all died, as long
as she had lived. He loved her.
Two days later, Harry joined Hermione once again.