From the Dark Tower

Disclaimer: The characters mentioned in the story are owned by J K Rowling. The story/plot however is owned by luckei1. I am merely sharing the greatness.

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A/N: So this is a really long one-shot. Happy Reading!

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I

It had started after Slughorn's Christmas party. She left McLaggen after he tried one too many times for a snog and sought a quiet place to think. There were holiday gatherings all over the castle and she continued going up, hoping the sounds of merriment would soon fade. She reached the Astronomy Tower and hesitated before climbing up and out.

The air was cold and crisp, and smelled of freshly fallen snow. The moon was big and bright and she wrapped her arms tightly around her, smiling at the way her breath came out in puffs. After a few minutes, she cast a warming charm and moved to rest on the low part in the crenellation.

The night was calm and still and she could almost believe they weren't in a war.

A noise startled her from her reverie and she glanced over her shoulder to see someone push open the hatch and step onto the parapet. The newcomer didn't look at her, but she thought it was a boy, an older one judging by his height and the breadth of his shoulders. He wore a dark, hooded cloak and staggered to the edge of the tower. She watched as his shoulders slumped and his head bowed. Then he pulled the hood down, revealing a head of shocking white-blond hair.

She gasped.

He heard it and spun around, a snarl appearing on his face when he saw it was her. They stared at each other for what felt like hours, then his face lost all emotion and he turned around again.

Not knowing what to do, she remained where she was, watching the clouds make the shadows dance on the snow, having lost the ability to concentrate on her thoughts. All she could think about was him, and everything Harry suspected about him. Every now and then she glanced over her shoulder to see if he was still there. One time, he was gripping the cold stone so tightly his knuckles were bright white and the thought occurred to her that he might throw himself over. She didn't know why she thought it, but she did.

"Would you stop?" he said, meeting her eyes, catching her.

She reddened and spun around, deciding it would be a good time to return to her room. She made to go, and as she neared the center of the turret where the trap door was, he looked at her again. From the closer vantage, she could see that his eyes were blood-shot and he looked awful. He held something out to her and she backed away. That made him cackle, a sound which sent a chill through her spine.

"It's not poison. See?" He demonstrated by tossing back a bottle containing an amber-colored liquid. "Have some. You look like you could use it." He was drunk, his words slurring badly, and she wondered if he knew who she was. Perhaps he had snarled at her simply because she was there. Though the proffered bottle was only half-full, she suspected it wasn't his first.

When she still said nothing, he lunged for her arm, pulled her closer, and shoved the bottle into her hand. "Take it!" he commanded, then pulled a full bottle from inside his robes, opened it, and started drinking.

She stared at the vessel in her hands, not sure what to do. She didn't want to anger him, or drink it. He watched her struggle with indecision and then laughed, slumping down the wall to sit on the ground. He took another long drink.

"It's just whisky, Granger," he said. "Won't kill you. It'll only numb the pain but you still feel it. It's so sharp, so toxic, that you can't think of anything but the pain." He closed his eyes and rested his head again the wall.