This chapter features some graphic SH and alcohol abuse/underage drinking . Please do not read if it could trigger you or upset you, this was written during one of my episodes so please excuse it lol.
"Harry, I have to go." Hours had passed, he'd noticed the sun going down, her getting sleepy, but he ignored it. He stared into nothing, thought about nothing, and felt very little. Sometimes in that stillness he'd hope he'd find himself, but he never did.
"Hmm?" Harry questioned, snapping back to reality. Blinking rapidly at her, ignoring the smile on her face. She had such a beautiful smile, like a thousand lit fireflies glowing into the shape of a grin. There was nothing quite like it.
"I have to go." Luna repeated patiently, gently removing her hand that still lay in Harry's grasp. His palms were sweaty, he suddenly felt embarrassed at how icky that must have been for Luna, but she didn't seem to mind. It took a lot to bother her.
"Okay." Harry said blandly, he must've sounded disappointed or something because Luna frowned at him.
"I'm tired." Luna admitted and when he glanced at her she did indeed look exhausted. He felt guilty, it wasn't fair to keep her here just because she made him feel better. He didn't deserve her anyway.
"I'm fine, Luna, you can go." He insisted. She studied him a little too closely.
"You'll go back soon, right Hary?" She questioned; she must've seen something on him she didn't like.
"Yes." He lied. It felt shitty to lie to her, but the guilt was worse. She accepted his answer and as soon as she appeared, she was gone. It felt like light slipping from his fingertips.
An hour later Harry trudged back to the common rooms after he knew the festivities would have passed. He was getting used to lying. Everything was a lie lately.
The castle seemed cold and empty as he wandered its halls, a simple invisibility charm over himself as he didn't have his cloak. Peeves wasn't about, thank goodness. Harry wasn't in the mood for his shenanigans.
Immediately as Harry entered the common room his nose was bombarded with the stench of booze. He wondered how they thought they weren't going to get caught, the whole place reeked of fire whiskey. He chuckled at Ron passed out on a couch with Lavender draped over him. Hermione must've fled from that; it was obvious to anyone who cared how much Hermione hated their 'relationship'.
Harry noticed something tucked underneath a couch cushion and he reached for it, lifting it up and looking. It was an untouched bottle of fire whiskey hidden terribly. Harry couldn't just leave it there. It was damning evidence and honestly Harry was curious. Maybe Harry just wanted to forget for tonight, Harry just wanted to fucking forget everything.
He never really cared about alcohol before it was just there, and his fellow peers would dabble in it. Things were changing though, weren't they? Everything was different now. Harry sighed and picked up the bottle, feeling the weight of his decision rest heavily in his heart.
Harry uncorked the bottle and gave it a sniff, groaning at the strong scent. He never liked the taste; he didn't really understand the appeal of drinking just to drink. That shit was nasty, and he'd never sip on it in his free time.
Harry grimaced and crept up to his room, bottle in hand. Harry's shared mates were asleep, he was the only one awake. It worked just fine for him as he sat heavily on his bed and took the first swig.
Harry almost spat it out, he hated how it burned going down. Harry felt his stomach flip in an upsetting way, and he thought about trashing this dumb idea and just knocking out. But Harry glanced at his pillow and thought about the dreams he'd have tonight. The dreams he had every night, and he took another sip. He forced the fiery liquid down his throat and through his veins. Poison it was, but Harry didn't mind.
He knew you weren't supposed to drink on an empty stomach, but Harry didn't give a fuck. Things started to get hazy a little while in, like time was slowing down. Harry felt like laughing, like moving, but especially like crying.
A quarter in and Harry was too fucked up to hold in his tears and he bawled like a baby. Through his hazy mind he remembered to be quiet, so he cried silently. He didn't really know why he was crying but he was. Things were getting confusing, the fire whiskey was disappearing, but he never recalled drinking it.
Harry was standing now, though he never got up. He stumbled to his trunk like a troll on stilts. He didn't know what he was getting until he pulled it out, that stupid glass shard. He looked at himself through it. Red puffy too green eyes, black hair uncombed and matted, dark circles highlighting his lack of sleep.
Suddenly he felt nauseous and through the haze he knew to go to the bathroom. The fire whiskey was left on his trunk, the shard was in his hand. Harry reached the toilet just in time, bile rose up in his throat and suddenly chunks of vomit flew out of his mouth.
It never seemed to end, he threw up till his lungs hurt, till there was nothing but spittle coming up. Harry collapsed to the floor, letting the cold tiles calm his overheated body. He felt more than disgusting, he felt like human filth.
That feeling of inadequacy, that feeling of hatred towards his own body rose up within him. He got up from his laying down position just enough to aim to shard at his exposed wrist and slice it down onto his arm. He felt numb pain, and blood squirted out in a gory mess, leaking onto the floor. A sick satisfaction rose up within himself and he felt just an ounce of joy for the first time in over a month. Not just joy, but relief too.
A sudden sleepiness overtook him, and he let himself drift off. He was too tired to think, and too drunk to think rationally. Secretly he hoped he'd never wake up again.