Draco Malfoy and the Alcoholic's Wish

Poppy

"When you say "everything"-"

"There is no other possible way of inferring that, so don't bother" he snapped, and I was unsurprised to see I'd made him angry- he had always been short-tempered, even when he was alive. I suspected his life as a ghost was not making him anymore happy. He snapped his fingers and I was in a leg-locking curse, incapable of moving even if I tried, tripping when I tried to run, and ending up on the floor. "Now, are you willing to be sensible?"

"Do I have a choice?" 

"Naturally, no" he smirked. "But I can erase this from your memory afterwards if you wish."

"Don't bother. I won't remember it anyway." I looked up at my former enemy with trepidation, my eyes narrowed with dislike and suspicion. I was trying to keep him in focus- I was sure he wasn't actually as hazy in real life as I was making out. 

I was banking on this being some sort of weird fever dream- but I didn't actually remember having that much.  Maybe the mixture of medication and booze was a bad idea. "Now what exactly was it you wanted to be so clear about?"

"Come on! Why are you drinking so much? You know it could kill you- it probably will in fact. You're becoming a raving alcoholic like Trelawney."

"I have to" I replied simply. "I've been doing it for too long that I have to have it."

"Since when?" he scoffed. I gathered that he thought I was still exaggerating things much more than what was necessary. Well, hardly. I wouldn't usually want to end up paralysed on the floor for attention.

"Since May, 1997" I replied. "I got drunk the night Snape killed Dumbledore, and found it became a good painkiller, for everything."

"What kind pain are you talking about? Pomferey could heal it in a heartbeat." I glared at him- he knew damn well what I was talking about. I knew he had had similar experiences when he was fifteen, having seen one of his night terrors during our History of Magic exam, but that didn't mean I felt comfortable talking about it.

"Don't make me say it, Potter" I growled. I was well aware I probably had a mental heath condition- Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, Bipolar or Schizophrenia or something similar, but I didn't want that kind of label. Admitting to hallucinations and dreams that haunted my days and nights was a one-stop ticket to the loony bin. 

I suddenly remembered there was a very slight chance of this being real, and babbled, "If you dare repeat any of this to anyone-"

"You'll what? Throw up on me? No one knows I exist, and I'm perfectly happy keeping it that was, thank you. I asked you a question. Why do you do it?"

"I... I feel bad about what happened" I mumbled, looking down at the floor. I could feel the curse starting to lift, and could have stood up and walked away, but some how I stayed pinned to the floor.

"So much so that you risk your life every night? Lots of other people feel guilty- I did too, in fact, more than most, but I never drank more than a goblet full of Firewhiskey at once in my whole life, and that wasn't even as a painkiller, as you put it, that was a toast for Mad-eye Moody, the auror."

"Yeah, well, like you said, I'm a coward. I don't like facing things. I prefer drowning them"

"Things? What things? Like... what, hallucinations?" I jerked at the word, and he smiled faintly. "I've all been there. So has Ginny in fact, you know, Ron's sister. She was possessed by Voldemort for a whole year, and she did some pretty weird things. And I've had visions about Voldemort- his whereabouts, his emotions, in some really inappropriate times, such as lessons, or my OWLs. It's not that crazy."