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:Love Sex and a Bottle of Vodka:
:Chapter Eighteen:
Hermione was left standing in the Dining Hall, pressing fingers to her kissed lips, wondering if she had dreamt the whole thing. Draco had taken his leave but Hermione was still standing, stunned, in the middle of the Dining Hall, the last of the students seemingly giving no notice as they left. She felt her lips curve into a smile. She had definitely drunken the metaphorical Love Potion #9 and it had left her on the cloud of the same number. Hermione wanted to stand there and relish in the moment, try to recapture just exactly how Draco's arms felt around her and the chimes of cliché music in her ears. A part of her, a small part, chastised her and mocked her for falling into such a stereotypical, teenage girl mindset.
Hermione ignored that part of her mind.
She could have surely just stood there the whole night smiling and remembering when it happened again. The lightning hot flash of pain ripped through her head. Hermione sank to her knees, her palms pressed against her temples. There was no underlying sweetness this time. The scent of acrid metal filled her nose and real pain sliced through her torso and drops of pomegranate colored blood fell on the ground before her.
When it had passed, Hermione shook her head to clear her vision and touched the drops of blood on the floor and checked her arms and hands. They seemed unmarred. It was when she blinked that she realized that it was a mixture of salty tears and blood that ran down her face. She wiped her face on her sleeve hurriedly and brushed off her robes. She stood and rubbed her foot across the blood on the floor to wipe them away and hurried to leave.
What was that? Hermione would have been lying if she said that she wasn't scared. She was. She was terrified, in fact. Hermione didn't know what was happening and suddenly, she realized she wasn't sure if she wanted to share this. She had already worried them so much. Perhaps this was just a backlash from her recovery and it would go away.
Yes; she would wait for a bit and see if her condition worsens. Perhaps then she would go visit Madame Pomfrey and ask her if there was another really wrong with her. But for the next week or so, she'll try to forget about this. Perhaps this was just something that happens once or twice. Nothing to fret about. She was…just not in the mood for more complications. Maybe if she ignored this, it would go away.
Hermione felt a flash of annoyance. Why her of all people? What was wrong with her now? Was this karmic punishment for something she had done in her past life or something? Hermione scowled. Or was it punishment for her eating habits earlier in her life? It's always her with the problems. It's always her that gets to play the weak one, the one that people have to look after. Well maybe she wouldn't have been in this position if other people didn't force her there. It's basically their fault anyway.
Hermione abruptly stopped her train of thinking. That wasn't her. That wasn't her logic, anyway. She was surprised at how vicious her voice sounded, how irrational and biting, even inside her head, the words lying dormant on her tongue. Hermione rolled the words around in her mouth; they tasted bitter like metal. Perhaps she was just cranky, or surprised, or worried after this second spasm. Yes, that must be it.
Company. Yes, that's what she needs, company. She needs to be surrounded by her friends. Then nothing would ail her and she would be herself again, not some embittered girl who only had animosity to throw at her friends, wherever those emotions came from. This was just too bizarre.
Hermione hurriedly checked to see if there were any sign of the blood or tears on her face and walked out, leaving the door swinging behind her, headed for the Gryffindor common room.
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Hermione let herself in, through the portrait hole, vaguely wondering how she remembered the password. Her mind must be storing a lot of information. How much of that information are things that she doesn't realize consciously? When she entered the Common Room, she found Ginny curled up on the couch in front of the vast fireplace, her knees pulled up to her chest. She seemed to be deep in talk with Harry who was sitting on the opposite side of the couch.
Their faces were serious and Hermione wondered what they could be discussing. Ron? Or maybe they were talking about Harry? Or…her? Hermione realized maybe she should make some sort of sign that she was there, but as she contemplated on whether clearing her throat would be too tactless, Neville crashed in through the door, looking absolutely exhausted.
"Detention, with Snape," he gasped. With the proper help and pulling all-nighters on more than one occasion, Neville had managed to scrape by with a fairly decent grade in Potions last year. But Hermione wondered if all the extra work was perhaps taking a toll on the boy and whether he was willing to make that effort again. He looked ashen and weary.
Ginny and Harry's heads snapped up and looked towards the door, registering the fact that not only Neville was standing in the shadows of the doorway, but Hermione too. They rose from the couch and made their way over to the other two in the room.
"Was Snape being…" Ginny trailed off, trying to look for a word.
"An evil git?" Dean supplied, as he came down the stairs from the boys' room.
"Does no one sleep in this place?" Harry asked. Dean shrugged as Neville shook his fine hair from his eyes.
"He was being impossible," he huffed. "I don't know how much longer I can stand these weekly detentions with Snape."
"Weekly?" Hermione echoed.
"He finds one reason or another to put me in that dungeon with him until ungodly hours," Neville said, his cheeks turning red with anger, embarrassment, or both.
"You'd think he wouldn't since he doesn't seem to enjoy your company any more than you enjoy his," Harry commented, wryly, from the shadows.
"Well, he enjoys seeing me suffer," Neville said, shortly. "I'm going to bed. I'm sorry if I'm cranky, I'm just exhausted. I haven't had a proper night's sleep in ages." Harry and Dean nodded at the other boy as he passed.
"So, things that go bump in the night, eh?" Hermione remarked. The hour was late and nobody seemed relaxed enough to go to bed, except maybe Harry since it was always a little hard to tell how he was really feeling.
"Speak of the devil," Ginny said, as Ron stumbled down the stairs.
"Holy, what time is it?" he asked, rubbing at his eyes. "I thought I heard voices."
"We couldn't sleep," Dean explained.
"Well, we were talking," Ginny said, motioning to Harry. "And she came in and then Dean came down."
"What Dean said," Hermione said, shrugging.
"Well, if none of you can sleep, maybe you guys can help us keep the fire going," Ginny suggested. There was something comfortable in the air, something like nostalgia although nothing really had happened yet. Although they had all known each other for years, there were small, shy smiles passed around as they made their way to the plushy couches in front of the fire. Dean poked at the logs as Harry added a couple more. The fire spit and grew.
"What time is it?" The company moved their heads towards the sound of the voice which proved to be Lavender, looking a little mussed but still wide-eyed at the foot of the stairs leading to the girls' bedroom. Ron checked his watch as she made her way over.
"Nearly two in the morning," he informed her.
"What I wouldn't give for some marshmallows right now," Hermione said, reclining with her hands behind her head. Lavender settled down next to Ginny and rested her head on the shoulder of the other girl. As they tucked blankets around themselves, occasionally rising to add another log to the fire, they idly talked in the golden quality of the room, half awake, half asleep, even as the sun started to rise lazily and climb across the blue, gray sky. It was a foggy morning that turned the air into gold dust as the sun climbed higher. The voices finally quieted and the last person finished their last sentence as the company drifted off into sleep that carried into the silky shores of sleep.
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"What am I going to do with you students?" Professor McGonagall asked, as she shook them awake. "We provide you with fine beds and bedrooms to go with it and you insist on falling asleep in an ungraceful heap in front of the fire." Hermione groggily opened her eyes and saw that the fire had burned out. Her friends were also waking up, in the same way she was.
"Don't be late for class," Professor McGonagall said and turned to leave. As she passed the still slumbering Ron, she gave him a sharp rap on the head. Ginny laughed as Ron bolted up. He checked his watch.
"Holy…five minutes to class and I have Potions! Snape will kill me."
"No," Dean said, falling off the couch. "McGonagall will kill me."
"Ah, neither of them will," Harry said, rising in his uncaring fashion.
"Harry! You have Potions with me," Ron said, his face turning red with impatience.
"Oh…right." As Ron and Dean hurried into their room to grab their notes and supplies, Lavender left through the Portrait Hole and Ginny folded the blankets and stacked them neatly on the couch.
"What class do you have?" Hermione asked her.
"Charms. Professor Flitwick's not strict on tardiness," Ginny said. Hermione was going to nod in answer when suddenly it happened again and Hermione only had enough thought left in her to turn away from Ginny as what felt like a hammer rammed into her temples.
"Hermione?" Ginny's voice seemed to come from far away although she could still hear her friend's concern. Hermione made to wave her hand off as though she was fine but the action hurt too much, as though her bones were replaced with pins. She bent over as the sickening pain continued and the wetness around her eyes indicated that she was crying. Whether it was tears or blood was unclear at the moment, however. Although it felt like a million years, Hermione figured it was only a couple minutes at most when the pain had passed. It left her feeling sluggish and weak, as though now the pins in her body had been replaced with water. Hermione wiped at her face with her sleeve.
"Hermione, are you okay? What happened?" Ginny was pulling on Hermione's sleeve, frantically. Hermione wrenched her arm from Ginny's grasp.
"I'm fine," she snapped. "Get to class or I'm taking points." Hermione left through the portrait hole, even before Ginny could question her friend about the stains on her sleeves and the red around her eyes.
"I don't think that was morning crankiness," Harry remarked, from behind Ginny.
"No," she answered, softly. "I don't think it was at all."
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