Cure for the Depressed: Chapter 5
He stood up and out of habit smoothed his slacks, the rituals installed by his mother seared into his head. The darkened hallway had an aura of light coming from the tip of Hermione's wand. In a drunken haze, Hermione plopped her way along, seriously putting her ankles in jeopardy from the death shoes she was walking in. Forcing himself, he called out. "Granger. Where are you going?"
She spun around. "Malfoy? Why are you here?" So much for the first name thing. He laughed a little laugh to himself, struck with irony that he was here in this particular situation.
"I don't know. I'm thinking you should get back to your friends." Without a hint of mirth, she immediately replied "I don't have any friends." Hermione looked him straight in the eyes but then she glazed over.
"Food. Where's food? I'm SO hungry." Like a child, she rubbed her hands into her eye sockets. Draco thought in her sedated state it would be safe to move close."Why don't we go find a place to sit down." He directed it more as a command than a question. Although she didn't reply when he began moving, she followed him down the quiet hallway.
While the two solemnly walked together, Draco noticed her thin legs and boney wrists; her veins added topography to her arms in almost a sickly looking way. He lead her to one of the empty Charms classrooms where she swiftly fell into a chair.
Usually, She looked very natural in the desk chair, mostly because that's where he always saw her, but tonight… It was different. Draco had never thought of her in a different light than the one he always put her in. But as he watched her staring at the grooves chipped into the desk part of her chair, with her party dress riding up, bottle of alcohol resting in her lap and thin arms shivering in the cool of the night, he couldn't help but think that just maybe there was someone behind the label he gave her. While she was in her own world he checked his wand, surprised that it passed to 2:30am already. Despite the little moment that he was having, he needed to get back to his room. I really need to not be here. He thought again of his curfew and pursed his lips in concern. Although the part of himself that told him to watch out for his own skin was waving it's red flag in his head, the Slyntherinesk curiosity was itching to know all of her secrets. Deciding that pushing her to her maddest would give him plenty of information, he pried.
"What about November twentieth means something?" His eyes squinted, prepared to study her every micro-movement for information. What he was not expecting was to see her unfold in front of him. Hermione Granger was passion. She was unwavering, pesky allegiance that would make it as easy as one comment to spin her head off. Hell, she was the one who was willing to punch him. Deep down, he always respected her for that even though it was completely unfair that he wasn't able to retaliate blows. But instead of this, her shoulder shook and crystal like tears fell off her face and dripped onto the half-empty bottle in her lap. Her cries echoed around the dead room making Draco as equally anxious about discovery as he was unprepared for this situation.
"Hey." He said forcefully after throwing a quick soundproof spell against the wall. "Stop that." Bollocks. "Just call for your nancy boys to deal with this." In a swift motion, the seemingly fragile girl sprang up as if she was the fire created when gasoline met a spark. The lines of makeup on her eyelids were smudged adding to the wild crazy look she was sporting. "They don't fucking know anything!" She horsely shouted. Clenching
the neck of the bottle from when she had gotten up, before Draco could understand what she was doing, she lifted her arm and pitched the bottle down against the floor. Shattering, the glass exploded on contact while the liquid pooled around her shoes. Heaving from anger, Hermione lifted her arm to see a trail of blood forming from a minor piece stuck in her arm.
Draco was still processing what she had done when he noticed what she was staring at. "Granger. You're bleeding." No response. He furrowed his eyebrows at this demented behavior.
"Granger. Heal that, it's dripping on the floor." Slowly she pulled the piece of glass out and dropped it to the floor but didn't do anything else. Angrily, he pulled his wand out and with a flourish of his wrist the mess on the floor was gone. Another one and the wound gradually closed up, leaving a pink mark of irritated skin left along with the trail of blood, the color of her dress, staining her arm. Without a word, she shakily stepped around Draco and left through the door, leaving a bewildered Draco.
—
Hermione had woken up with a trail of vomit adjacent to her head on the toilet. She remembered laying in her bed not able to fall asleep and then clench after clench of her stomach regurgitating in revolt of the alcohol consumed. Her stomach was very sensitive to these kinds of things. Unfortunately, it was not her first experience like this. She fell into this crowd after her release from Walter Memorial Therapeutic Care Center, or "Walt Mem." as the regulars called it, who experimented with all sorts of things. Somehow she still had on the shoes that she had worn last night which were the first to go. Despite cautiously standing up, she still had that funny feeling in her stomach and knees that also gave her tunnel vision. A second after that passed, she made her way to the counter to lightly brush her teeth and wash the smeared makeup off. Holding onto the countertop to support her, she waited to see if she would dry heave some more. Luckily that passed giving her the motivation to strip the dress off and hunch into the shower. While there was more standing than scrubbing, it was still effective. Hermione's mind was thoughtless; just a black void loudly processing the feeling of the warm water tapping down on her shoulders.
It wasn't long until her body was tired from the standing and she turned it off. Too fatigued to do much else, she walked past the empty beds to her dresser and grabbed a large shirt. Still wet, she pulled it on against the resistance of the now damp shirt. Hermione crept into bed, feeling completely satisfied at laying still. The sun was definitely in the sky today because the beams were coming into the room strongly. Hermione knew that she was supposed to be up at breakfast but that seemed to be such a small transparent fact in comparison to how she felt at the moment. Hermione was unwilling to let the life happening outside effect the still world that she had created for herself in her bed. In fact, she didn't care one bit about missing classes. Inside somewhere she knew that she was supposed too but that felt like it was more mental muscle memory than actual caring. Instead of thinking, she appreciated the way the light came in and seemed to gracefully land on surfaces. She passed several minutes just staring at the wooden beams and bolts that were illuminated. On a random rabbit trail, Hermione was reminded of last night. The party was a haze of meaningless small talk from girls, pitiful advances from guys and drink upon drink of alcohol. Rotating her head and pulling the wet slab of hair away from her cheek, Hermione checked her right arm to see the inch long pink stretched skin. She remembered Malfoy asking about the day and healing her. It felt like a different person who said and did those things and because of that, she didn't care. She didn't care about any of it actually. Not a damn thing.
It felt like she was hollowed out inside. Checking her wand, she confirmed what she knew in the deep folds of her mind. It was November 21st. It was the anniversary of her brother's death. And with that she fell asleep.
—
Hermione didn't remember waking up, just having a small burning sensation in her left arm. Blinking her eyes to focus, she found her arm to remember why it was burning. MUDBLOOD stared at her in imperfect scratchy handwriting. That moment in her life, being tortured in the Malfoy Manor… Don't think about that. She shoved all of the emotions that came attached to that deep down again, leaving an unpleasant crawling feeling in her skin.
She decided that she could not stay in this room one minute longer. Her wand said that it was 2:34pm. Her mind seemed to be filtering out any information that she didn't seem to care for and in the next minute she was closing the door to the Gryffindor Tower. Without really making up her mind, she made her way to the kitchen. She had woken up with a headache and her hands were shaking. Tickling the pear, she slipped into the kitchen. Several elves in plain garments were cleaning the counters and pots while several others were tending to the foods that required hours of cooking. It was not long before she was noticed and attended too. Only accepting a cup of tea and a toasted bagel, she sat and elf-watched.
Hermione was contemplating how in the world that these nutters enjoyed this kind of work; it was near impossible to believe that this life filled their life. On the other hand, she wished that she could be this easy to please. Soon she was on her way, walking out the main doors. It was chillier than she would have expected because it was warm and cozy in the castle it gave no indication of the actual weather. The grounds, usually gorgeous, were in the death cycle where everything was dead or dying before it was coated in snow. Her long sleeved shirt no longer felt comfortable and she crossed her arms to conserve any heat at all. She wanted to be alone but she saw that there was a couple of people down by the lake. They began walking up towards the castle. As the two pairs moved closer, she realized that it was Harry and Ron. Her heart twisted in it's cavity.
Step step step, they got closer and closer. Hermione's lips were numb and her hair was tangling in itself, stirring in the wind. She made direct eye contact with Harry as they passed, wanting to see if he was going to say anything. Out of her peripheral, she could see Ron awkwardly looking back and forth between each other. It was a few steps after they had tersely passed, that Ron called out to her, "Hermione-" Harry tried to cut him off but Ron pushed on. "I know you weren't in classes today but you shouldn't skip the therapy session. McGonagall announced that it was a month long detention for anyone who didn't have a ligament excuse." With that, he turned around and the two left. She could see the two exchanging heated words; Harry giving him grief for not joining in their standoff, she assumed. Standing still for another minute, she debated if it was worth it. Sighing, she turned around and walked back up the stairs.