Breath Mints / Battle Scars

Chapter 4: IV

September 11th, 1998

Diary,

At the great risk of sounding like a Hufflepuff, I'll come right out and say it. It's bad again. The spell keeps wearing off prematurely, no matter what I do, and damn if it doesn't burn. Not that it means anything to you lot. What was it you said, again? The situation doesn't "qualify" for more powerful treatment?

It's infected, you fucking cunts. Can't you see it? I'm in fucking pain.

And if you see this as some sick form of belated punishment for all of it, then I shouldn't be the one writing in the bloody diary. I only want drugs. Something different. Anything. Take it away. I'm not against begging - as you've seen before.

But you don't care, do you?

Thought your side was supposed to be all about mercy. Kindness. Well, congratulations, you have them all fooled. You're just as evil as I am. Own it.

And for the love of Merlin, give me drugs.

Give me drugs give me drugs give me drugs give me fucking drugs.

Or I'll have to resort to more desperate measures.

Draco

September 14th, 1998

She doesn't know what happened. Not really. After all, she didn't even like Lavender.

But they're in Potions with Slughorn and they're working on Pepperup Potion. Parvati and Padma are at the desk adjacent to hers, fussing over their cauldron and Hermione's cutting up ginger root, and she just happens to look up at precisely the right moment.

Or, the wrong one.

Happens to look up when Parvati makes a joke about the smell of it - an inside joke from what she can tell - and as Padma laughs, Parvati does this little quarter-turn. A normal person wouldn't have even noticed it. But Hermione knows. Knows she was turning to tell Lavender. She sees the way Parvati stops herself - sees her smile falter. She gives her head a little shake and turns back to Padma. Clears her throat and continues working.

Because Lavender's gone.

And something about it doesn't sit well - digs thorns into Hermione's stomach. She feels sick. Suddenly, blindingly, dizzily sick. Her hand slips and she drops the roots in prematurely - the potion hisses and smokes. She hardly notices. Her knife clatters to the floor, and a few eyes flit her way. More follow when she turns and dashes for the door.

"Miss Granger?" Slughorn calls, but she's already halfway down the Dungeons corridor. And she only just makes it to the lavatory before her body loses control. Lurches. Gags.

And she retches into the nearest sink.

Maybe it was the look on Parvati's face. Or the empty space beside her where Lavender should've been. Would've been.

No, it's the whole idea of it. The whole concept of loss. Parvati's face and Ron's eyes when they're in the common room and he glances over at where Fred and George used to sell their contraband sweets. Even Malfoy, stalking around on his own, and Zabini and Goyle wandering separately, with Crabbe gone. The office in the Defense Against the Dark Arts classroom, where Professor Lupin once took his tea. The Potions classroom as a whole.

All of it.

Another convulsion ripples through her gut, and she gags again, leaning further over - trying to gather her hair up and pull it out of the way. The retches come and go for a good five minutes - empty out her stomach. And when she's finally able to lean back, she sees her own face in the mirror.