Bound By Blood.

ch.5~ What if...

"Happy to see after everything we've been through, your attitude stays the same. You never did learn to say thank you. But, it's a constant, through this war, and everything else, I can always rely on that."

Recovered translated corespondents between Death Eater Mattheo Riddle, to Order Member Alexandra Brooks, 2004.

Hogwarts, 1997.

Alexandra.

I was hungover beyond explanation. No words I could ever string together would explain the pounding in my head, and the uneasy feeling in my stomach. 

I woke up in Rons bed, which wasn't unusual. On late study nights, or party nights, his bed was my bed, and his new bed was the floor. Thats about as far as he could make it on nights like last night. 

Harry was sleeping like a baby, sprawled out over his covers, still in his clothes from last night. 

I sat up slowly, letting the world around me come into focus, and regretted it immediately when a wave of nausea crashed over me. 

The remnants of the night before flickered in my mind, laughter, loud music, a very odd conversation with Mattheo Riddle, and a dizzying swirl of faces, but the details were hazy, like a watercolor painting running in the rain.

With a groan, I swung my legs over the side of the bed, resting my elbows on my knees. Just outside the window, I could hear the distant chatter of students beginning their weekend routines. I wished I could just slip away into the blissful oblivion they seemed to be enjoying. 

The floor creaked beneath my feet as I stood, a sound that caused Harry to stir. He rolled over, burying his face in his pillow. I envied him, he looked so peaceful, blissfully unaware of the chaos that was my morning.

"Ron," I croaked, my voice thick like syrup. "You up?"

There was a muffled grunt from the other side of the room, followed by the rustling of bedsheets. After a moment, Ron emerged, hair a wild mess, eyes barely open. "What time is it?" he asked, scrunching his face up like he'd just bitten into a lemon.

"Late enough to be regretting last night," I replied, a wry smile tugging at my lips despite the pounding in my head.

"Ugh, why do we do this to ourselves?" he muttered, flopping back onto the floor. He stared at the ceiling, as if seeking the answer in the cracks above him. 

"Its your brothers. Its always your brothers." I muttered through the pain of my head ache, "I need coffee." 

"Water," Ron echoed, scrambling to join me. "And coffee. Definitely coffee. A lot of it."

Harry stirred once more, his eyes blinking open reluctantly. "What time is it?" he mumbled again, his voice muffled by the pillow.

"Too early to be alive," Ron said, grinning as he shot me a conspiratorial look, "But Brookie needs coffee." 

"Call me that again, and you won't live to see the inside of the great hall." I promised, finally getting up and reaching for the closest sweatshirt I could find. 

"I wouldn't," Ron mumbled as he stood to his feet, "Its Freds, he won't be happy." 

"Fred's? Oh great, I'll add his wrath to my list of suffering for today," I groaned, pulling the oversized sweatshirt over my head. 

It hung off my shoulders, but it was warm and the familiar smell of Ron's mum's house made me feel slightly more human, more homey.

As we made our way down the stairs, I could hear the sounds of breakfast wafting up to greet us. The clatter of plates, the scent of bacon crisping in the pan, and the soft murmur of voices created an inviting atmosphere that slightly eased the throbbing in my head. I just hoped I'd be able to enjoy it rather than regretting every bite.