The Art of Dying - R. Black

twenty eight

The cure to overthinking is alcohol. At least I thought it was.

After the match and dinner, Gryffindor would be throwing a victory party, which meant that everyone in Gryffindor Tower would be there with lots of firewhiskey.

I was replaying the conversation with Marlene in my head over and over again. Was I right for defending him, or am I just as naive as my sister said I am?

This is how I ended up six shots deep before eleven at night.

I thought getting drunk would make me stop thinking, even if it was just for a few hours, but instead the firewhiskey had the complete opposite effect. I was still overthinking, but now all of my thoughts were scattered and I couldn't comprehend anything.

"You good, Meredith?"

I glanced up at Thomas through heavy eyelids.

"Oh, I'm doing just fine," I slurred, leaning my head back on the brick behind me.

Thomas gave me an odd glance and sat down next to me, holding a drink in his hand.

"I don't think you should be sitting on the windowsill if you're drunk," He said.

I shrugged, "Why? Do I really look like I'm going to jump?"

"That's not funny. But, yes, you do," Thomas answered. "What's going on?"

"I got in a fight with Marlene."

Thomas took a sip of his drink, waiting for me to continue.

"I defended someone who now I'm not sure is worth defending," I said. "I think I might've been wrong."

Thomas nodded, "Why not go ask then? Figure out if this person was worth defending?"

There was music playing loudly in the common room. Emmeline and Maggie were dancing with Jack and Sam, all four of them dancing along to the music.

"I'm not sure that I want to know," I admitted.

Thomas shrugged, "If you don't want to know then you have to let the whole thing go."

I sighed dramatically, leaning my head against my hand. "I'm too drunk for this, Thomas," I muttered, my head feeling fuzzy.

"I know, Meredith."

I glanced over at Thomas. "I need another drink," I announced, getting up from the windowsill."

"That's not a good idea-"

I shrugged, "I really think it is."

I stumbled over to the drink's table, pouring myself another shot of firewhiskey. I took the shot, letting the cinnamon-flavored liquor warm my throat as I swallowed.

My thoughts were so slowed at this point that by the time I realized what I was doing, I was already exiting the common room through the portrait hole.

In the corridor, there was a couple pressed up against the wall, tongues down each other's throats.

"Gross," I mumbled.

My legs were unsteady as I took the stairs down from Gryffindor Tower. This is a bad idea. I can't even walk straight, how am I supposed to make it all the way down to the dungeons.

Somehow, by the grace of Merlin himself, I am standing outside the entrance to the Slytherin common room.

Why am I here?

This was a bad idea. I don't even know why I'm here or how I'm going to get inside. It's almost midnight at this point, which means that most people outside of Gryffindor Tower will be sleeping or getting ready to go to sleep.