Chapter 11

Hermione clenched her fist tightly and licked her cracked lips. Ron's words lashed across her back for the millionth time, breaking the previously damaged skin and ignoring the red tear drops falling. As they came back for another swipe, she held her sides tightly and tried to comfort herself. Things would blow over eventually. They always did. They had to. Three weeks and a Quidditch match just weren't quite enough…

Something spiky brushed against her leg, making her jump.

"Oh…Crookshanks," she took a deep breath. "You scared me, silly kitty."

He leaped up next to her dutifully and nudged a bulging package towards her.

"Thanks," she said simply, stroking him gently in gratitude. He purred happily and curled up in her lap as she opened the plainly colored brown package. It was from her mother—she should have known.

My Dear Hermione,

It's mum! Just wanted to say how much your father and I miss you. I hope this reaches you in good health and spirits! (Hermione smiled at this despite herself) We are so proud of you. Don't forget to study your hardest.

Oh, and I know that it's that "time of the month" for you. Now, of course there's plenty of magic in the air, but you know how we don't think proper medicine and magic should mix, so I thought you would appreciate some "old-time magic" from home. Love you sweetheart!

Mom

Hermione rolled her eyes and examined the contents of the "old time magic". There was the standard pack for menstruating monsters—pads, chocolate bars, and of course, a fresh bottle of strong pain killers usually prescribed to dental patients. Crookshanks eyed it all disapprovingly, hissing loudly.

"You'll never understand," she explained in mock-seriousness. "It's a girl thing."

Crookshanks shook his dignified, though rather squashed face, and walked off with his bushy ginger tail high in the air. Hermione couldn't help but smile, if only grudgingly. Her cat wasn't always the most pleasant or desired company, but he never failed to entertain her. She rubbed her temples and stood on her feet, stretching out her arms. She had been sitting out on the grounds for a long time. The game had to be over by now. She glanced at her wristwatch, and reluctantly made her way back up to the castle.

"WE'VE COME WITH AMMO!" Fred screamed over the much too zealous Gryffindors in his path.

"WHO WANTS SOME FIRE WHISKEY?" George asked loudly at his brother's side. He was met with loud cheers, especially from the older males in the room.

Fred grinned wickedly. "Looks like we still have our touch for making parties."

George smiled as he surveyed the cheering Gryffindors. "And all of our adoring fans."

Fred looked back and forth across the Common Room for a sign of McGonagall or Hermione. He couldn't see either.

"Fireworks?" he whispered.

"I'll get my lighter." George replied excitedly.

Just then, Hermione walked up to the Portrait of the Fat Lady. She greeted her kindly.

"Dribbles," she muttered somewhat half-heartedly. She could already hear the pounding noise of the after-game party, something she should have expected before showing up in the Common Room. The portrait swung open obligingly, and she was immediately engulfed in the high level of energy. Frowning as she witnessed at least a hundred rules being broken, all lead by Fred and George, she slowly made her way to the Girls' Dormitories over the pulsing crowd. Her room was empty, as she had safely assumed, just the way she wanted it.

She exhaled slowly and lay on her bed, wishing that she could just disappear for the night. She grabbed the water bottle she had set out earlier for the day and tossed a couple pills in her mouth, tipping the bottle again into her mouth to get them moving down her throat. Though she knew the medicine wasn't exactly "fast-acting", she did admittedly feel better knowing they were in her system. She rubbed her face agitatedly. Just one sucky day after another.

She looked at the alarm clock on her nightstand and regretted that she had taken anything. She had some sleeping pills to help her sleep when her mind was muddled and heavy, (like now, for instance) but the two counter-acted any kind of pain-killer and the results could be fatal.

Fatal.

Her insides squirmed and she froze uncomfortably.

Fatal.

She swallowed nervously and chewed on her lips, closing her eyes tightly against this new feeling.

"Mudblood, coward. What's the difference?"

"I hate you!"

Things would blow over. They always did. They had to.

The results could be fatal…

Hermione turned the bottle of pain-killers to its drug facts.

Do not take other pills in combination with this one unless directed to do so by your physician. Do not take with alcohol. If you suspect overdose or alcohol intoxication in combination with this drug, contact a health professional immediately.

She reached under her bed, groping for her Muggle Studies book. Brushing off a thin layer of dust off its leather-bound cover, she quickly flipped to its table of contents. She scanned its list and soon found the medicinal chapter and turned to it. It looked identical to the drug facts.

Mixing muggle pills with alcohol increases the chance of death in combination with overdoes. The effects of these chemicals can be easily lethal.

She paused. Fred and George would have brought fire whiskey…

Hermione lurked in the nearly non-existent shadows of the party. Avoiding all of the people was impossible, but Fred and George were easily distinctive, and they would be the only ones to give her any trouble. She made her way to the small table holding the fire whiskey. There were seventeen cups of the dark liquid, but they wouldn't be nearly enough. She searched for the bottle, spotting it quickly in a place a few feet away. She seized it and put it behind her back, watching the unsuspecting partiers shrewdly.

"You were always an amateur." It was Fred's voice behind her, rendering the 'hide it behind your back technique' invalid.

She jumped, knocking over a couple of the pre-filled glasses.

"What are you doing with our whiskey?" George asked more out of curiosity than interrogation.

"We know you didn't intend to drink it."

"Hermione and fire whiskey? That just sounds wrong together."

"So…care to share?"

"Tell us."

"I, well, I…" she struggled to string together a coherent sentence. "I just wanted a drink. I didn't know it was your fire whiskey."

The twins snorted in unison. "A likely story."

Her cheeks flushed. "Please, leave me alone."

"What's this, 'Mione?" Fred questioned easily, pointing to the package stuffed safely under her arm. George grabbed it.

"Oh, look, Fred." He simpered. "A care package from mum. Isn't that sweet?"

The two snickered.

"Give it back," she snarled angrily, snatching at their hands.

"Why?" Fred taunted, holding it much too far above her head.

"Stop it!" she raised her voice slightly, her face pinkening in response.

A few people turned to watch.

"Come on, Hermione. Loosen up a bit. Have some fun."

"This isn't fun!" she insisted, desperately trying to reach the hoisted package.

Ron grabbed it. "What is this?"

Hermione shrank back down. He'd never give it to her.

"It's from her mum," Fred explained, shrugging.

"A care parcel," George added.

Ron sneered cruelly. "Still getting care packages from home?"

"Like you aren't," she retorted angrily.

He shook his head, blatantly ignoring the comment. "What's this for, anyway?" Mummy just missing her little 'Mione? Oh…" he pulled out the opened bottle of pills. "I got it. This explains a lot."

Hermione flushed but said nothing.

"I was wondering why you've been acting so catty lately. Maybe with these, you won't be such an obnoxious wench. But then again, pills can't cure everything." He threw the package to her with disdain.

She dropped it back to the floor, holding back tears.

"Shut. Up." She hissed.

"What did you just say to me?" Ron demanded.

"SHUT UP!!" she yelled.

"Did you just tell me to—"

"SHUT UP!!!" she screamed, tears finally breaking free of her tear ducts.

"YOU CAN'T TELL ME TO SHUT UP!" he yelled back.

"I just did." She retrieved the package, violently pushed past him, and exited the Common Room, all eyes glued to her back.

Hermione gagged and fell to her knees.

"What's Granger doing?" Myrtle asked, deliberately unsympathetic. She peered t her arch-nemesis through her thick glasses. "Take another batch of that polyjuice potion?"

Hermione shot her a silent, but contemptuous glare. She took a deep breath and remorsefully swallowed another couple of pills. The process was exhausting—she could only swallow two at a time, and the bottle had been filled to its brim. She switched off between using the fire whiskey and water from the sink to wash it all down. The whiskey had a very pungent, spicy taste that made her stomach recoil, but she quickly became oblivious after the first few swigs. With relief, she saw that she only had a few left…chest heaving, Hermione took the last three and swallowed them dry. She choked and grabbed onto the cold basin, practically gasping for air. She reached for the whiskey bottle and in a matter of seconds, the entire contents had been effectively drained. She set it back down on the floor, looking disgusted as she wiped her mouth.

"Moping around, Granger?" Myrtle laughed heartlessly. "That Ron boy dump you or something?"

With this, Hermione broke down and wept. Her hair fell in her face, hiding the bitter tears rolling down her cheeks.

"You can't hide from me, Granger," Myrtle sniggered evilly. "Are you really crying under that bushy crop of hair or are they just fake tears?"

"Go away, Myrtle!" Hermione sobbed, throwing the empty bottle at the ghost. (A rather pointless form of revenge). She viciously wiped away he tears and with a subdued sniffle, she hugged her knees and set her chin on the caps, tears cascading from her sullen brown eyes.

She was going to die.