"Life is spectacular. Forget the dark things. Take a drink and let time wash them away to where ever time washes away to."
― Tim Tharp, The Spectacular Now
She regarded herself as the equivalent to the Muggle world's child soldier. The title itself held more weight on her shoulders than it did to most. Even Harry admitted he'd never heard of such a thing, though he rarely had access to the television and the Internet. She, on the other hand, had directly seen the horrors that their world's child soldiers had gone through. Well, not necessarily directly. From her living room television, or on her computer, safely tucked away at home.
Regardless, she was forced to fight a war that she was not directly a part of, but all the same, it felt as though the war was entirely about her. This was not her world, per se, but this was her home, and she felt directly responsible for protecting it. She stared at the grass tickling her feet, seeing twenty toes rather than 10.
Pitif-f-ful, she thought to herself. So shellfish, Hermione. Always about yourshelf.
It seemed like even the voice in her head was slurring her words at this point. Her throat burned, her breath stunk, and her brain was pulsating in a way that was certainly not safe. She wasn't scared, however. Maybe it was her Gryffindor tendencies kicking in, erasing her bodies ability to be sensible in times of danger, or the fact that this was not an unfamiliar feeling. If anything, she felt more normal like this than she did sober.
It was a nasty habit she had picked up the night of the Yule Ball. She and Ron had been secretly enjoying the lavish lifestyle they were living at that moment; they are Harry Potter's best friends, after all. They are The Golden Trio. Alcohol is easily accessible if they pull the right strings. In their first case, however, it wasn't as easy.
It wasn't unusual for Hagrid to be drinking, Hermione noted, as Hagrid often nursed his inner wounds with alcohol, and after innocently overhearing his row with Madame Maxime, the trio decided to take advantage of Hagrid's blubbering, sloppy state.
They waited for what seemed like hours. Hermione stressed that they had to be sure that he was drunk enough, lest they get caught trying to bribe alcohol from a teacher and risk getting expelled.
'Hagrid?' Harry called equivocally from behind Hagrid's back. They had to be sure.
Hagrid turned grimly, his eyes dark and squinted. 'Harry? Harry Potter!' he turned all the way around now, his eyes crossing as he tried harder to focus. He grinned unevenly, 'Yeh've come to enjoy the festivities, have yeh?'
The trio looked at each other questioningly, examining the area. They were on the edge of the Forbidden Forest, in the dead of night, completely alone save for Hagrid.
Regardless, Harry nodded.
Hagrid patted the ground next to him at that and took a long swig of an amber liquid that was poorly hidden behind a moleskin bag.
'What's that you've got there, Hagrid?' Ron asked, transfixed by the liquid. He knew what it was, but again, they had to be sure.
'Fi-whiskeh,' Hagrid slurred. Hermione read once that people often lose feeling in their tongue from the burning sensation of the alcohol, causing them to slur their words. He took another swig and then held it up, 'Wan some?'
Mindlessly, he passed the bottle to Ron, who stared in awe as though he held the world in his palms.
'Well, go on then,' Hagrid urged him, tipping the bottle as Ron put it to his lips. Ron quickly reacted, catching the rushing liquid in his mouth before it drenched his robes.
Ron's sip, though significantly larger than he had probably planned, was still small. He then passed it to Harry, who took a larger one and then passed it to Hermione. She stared at the liquid, examining it, holding it up in the moonlight. Magical alcohol was noted to be far more powerful than any muggle alcohol she could try. She hadn't tried any, though, so she hardly had any comparisons to go off of. But by the looks of it, it gleamed a mixture of orange and red, as though it was liquid fire. There wasn't a bottle in her parents' cupboard that had this semblance.
'C'mon, pash it back alreadeh,' Hagrid groaned, outstretching his arms and groping the air.
Hermione gulped down a large portion of the liquid as quickly as possible, fearing he would take it away before she had a chance. She took her time swallowing it down. She wanted to taste it, she wanted to feel it. It burned so bad, but the taste was incredible. She was yearning for another sip so badly she was clenching her jaw. It was only for educational purposes, she told herself. She needed to compare the intensity. If she could only get away with one more sip —
'Hey!' Hagrid growled, ripping the bottle from her grip as she raised it to her lips a second time. Worried she had jeopardized their plans, Hermione recoiled, eyes wide, only to be relieved seconds later when Hagrid simply took another swig, immediately forgetting what had happened and continuing to sob into his sleeve.
They silently agree to leave at that point, not bothering to say goodbye to Hagrid as they got up and walked away. While they walked back to the castle, Hermione ravished in the warm, fuzzy feeling spreading throughout her body. She felt like she could do anything. She felt like she was invincible. She blurrily recalls smiling up at Ron's face, grabbing his cheeks, and kissing him. Infinite.
She can't remember much after that, and to strain her mind at this particular moment to try to remember it all would only further torture her brain. Her head was pounding.
Everyone's right, Hermione thought, chuckling grimly. The outlines of the Quidditch posts were dancing in front of her. You really do think too much.
She decided at that moment to close her eyes.
Too tired. Too drunk. Give up.
This was supposed to be his safe place.
He specifically woke up at 4 in the morning every day to escape what he was now staring down at. Disgusted, he shoved the filth with his foot, stirring it awake.
'Wha—'
'Get the fuck up, Granger,' he spat. 'You're in the way of my training session.' At this moment in time, he could not give fewer fucks why she looked so lost. He just wanted to blow off steam the only safe way he knew how.
'What the hell?' she shouted, scrambling to her feet. An instant look of regret spread across her face, and she gripped her forehead and eyes with both hands. 'Oh, gods, my head!'
He smirked. 'Rough night, Mudblood?'
He watched her straighten up her shoulders unconvincingly as she huffed out, 'Mind your business, Malfoy.'
'I do believe it is my business considering you're interrupting my designated practice time,' he sneered, holding up his broom. 'Take your skeevy self up to Weasel's room and sleep there next time. Oh, wait. He's got another skank occupying his bed now, doesn't he?'
Her brows furrowed together. Success.
'I'll have you know, Malfoy, I've never been in Ronald's bed, nor do I have any interest in going there!'
'Merlin, Granger, even the blood traitor won't shag you?' he asked, picking at the unhealed wound hoping it would scar, 'You must really be as insufferable as they say.'
'Or maybe,' she growled, baring her yellow tinged teeth, 'I have a little more self-respect than the girls you're used to!'
'Self-respect, you say,' he drawled, 'Coming from the girl who fell asleep hungover on a Quidditch pitch!' He walked past her, spitting at her feet. 'You're as pure as they come, Mudblood.'
He dropped the bag of equipment on the dewy grass a few feet away, preparing to dress in his practice gear, completely ignoring the fact that she was still fucking standing there. He was fighting the urge to kill her on the spot. He'd maybe feel sorry for her if she weren't so incessantly annoying. Emphasis on the maybe, considering she was indeed disgusting filth.
However, he couldn't fight his curiosity. At least, not this early in the morning. What was Granger doing last night? He didn't peg her as an alcoholic, but all the signs were there. She seemed far too good to turn to that. People like his father turned to that. See, he wasn't good like she was. He didn't live in the light. He was tormented by demons that he couldn't control. What the fuck could she possibly be tormented about? Didn't light drive away the monsters?
'Since you're obviously hard of hearing,' he muttered, 'Why don't you fill me in on why you're here?'
'I told you to mind your business!'
'I told you to fuck off, but I guess we both don't listen.' He gripped his broom tighter in his hand, preparing to take off, 'You're running out of time to spill your heart out, Granger. I don't like to be kept waiting.'
She bit her lip. He knew she was considering her options.
'Fine,' she said, her shoulders slumping in defeat. 'Who else do I have to talk to now anyhow?'
'Don't go faking the superiority complex,' he replied, sarcastically. 'It really doesn't suit you.' He took off, staying low to the ground so that he could hear her voice while he flew, 'Go on, then, before I change my mind.'
'Ron and Lavender have been, well — copulating all over the bloody school. There's no sanctity!' She threw her hands up, waving them wildly as she spoke. 'He and I finally admit our feelings, we share a kiss, and then all of a sudden he wins a Quidditch game and he's decided he's too good for me!'
Draco snorted. 'Granger, do you have any idea who you're comparing yourself to?' She looked at him blankly and he continued, appalled, 'He's a Weasley, in case you hadn't noticed! The Weasley's are notorious for being blood traitors. Blood traitors, in pureblood society, are even worse than Mudbloods.'
She didn't seem at all moved by that. 'In case you hadn't noticed, Malfoy, you're talking to a Mudblood.'
He let out an exasperated sigh. 'That's just it, Granger. You're above him, even in my ranks.' He noted proudly, jutting his chin and puffing out his chest.
'Did you honestly think that would help?' she asked, amused for Merlin knows what reason. 'I don't give a fuck what rank you put me in, ferret. You're the lowest of us all!'
'Whatever, Mudblood.' He flew off higher into the air now, getting away from her before the suffocating feeling of embarrassment defeated his pride. 'You're the one who chose to stay!' he shouted down at her defensively. 'You're the weak one!'
That was the last time he was going to help someone. He was doing her a favor, as far as he was concerned. She looked like absolute shite, and if he hadn't given her his advice, his compliment, as disgusting as it was, she could have seriously ruined his Quidditch practice.
It was for a completely selfish reason, he assured himself. Only for his benefit.
Who cares if the girl just drank her body weight in alcohol? One less Mudblood for him to worry about, if she kills herself first.
A scary thought entered his mind then. What if she really did kill herself?
Draco never really considered this. The fact that she could be capable of it. Would she give up? No, he knew she wouldn't. Too headstrong, that fucking —
'Hey! Granger!' he called down to her, searching for where she'd gone. She was curled on one of the benches, her eyes leaking a liquid Draco refused to acknowledge. 'It's 4 in the bloody morning, don't you have Prefect duties to attend to?'
'You're a Prefect, too, bleach boy!' she shouted back, quickly wiping her eyes.
'What the bloody hell is bleach?' He lowered himself so that he floated directly in front of her. 'Is that your Mudblood showing through again?' he smirked, patronizing her. 'Did you forget where you are?'
Suddenly, she straightened up, remembering something. 'I have! I have forgotten! Oh, gods, I have so much to do—'
'Luckily for you, so do I,' he pointed out nonchalantly. She looked up, not understanding. He allowed himself to bask in the moment, watching her face as he said, 'It just so happens that we have our rounds together,' reveling in her disappointment, he snickered, 'See you there, Mudblood.'