My Own Worst Enemy

carondelet

Rating: R
Genres: Angst
Relationships: Harry & Hermione
Book: Harry & Hermione, Books 1 - 4
Published: 18/01/2005
Last Updated: 18/01/2005
Status: completed

[completed; not canonical] "Firewhiskeys and Firebolts do not mix," he groaned. "Before you start, I know that I am supposed to know better. I know that I am supposed to be old enough. I know that I am supposed to be more careful. But what in the hell would have you done?"

Chapters

1. My Own Worst Enemy

1. My Own Worst Enemy

Rating: R for language and adult themes.

Title: My Own Worst Enemy

Disclaimer: This story is based on characters, settings, and situations created and owned by J.K. Rowling as published by, including and not limited, to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books, Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The use of these characters and settings is for entertainment purposes only; no infringement is intended or should be inferred. Additionally, locations in and around the United Kingdom are used as a basis for "historical reality" or in a purely fictitious manner.

Spoiler Alert: None, really, that I can think of, but I’ll stick with the obligatory Books 1-4...

Summary: “Firewhiskeys and Firebolts do not mix,” he groaned. “Before you start, I know that I am supposed to know better. I know that I am supposed to be old enough. I know that I am supposed to be more careful. But what in the hell would have you done?”

Pairings: Harry/Hermione

Author's Notes: No one is to blame, this time. This just popped into my head. I know, I am supposed to be getting Chapter Six of Black Society ready for upload, but when these one-shots occur to me, I have to let them out. This, by the way, is another write and post. There is no real editing other than spelling and grammar, and it is dialogue heavy. It is exactly 3,000 words. It is Harry/Hermione in spirit. There is no real exposition in this one. And no part two.

Kids, let this be a lesson to you…don’t be like Harry…just say no…

__________________________________________________________________________

MY OWN WORST ENEMY

[] OR, BhutIbHawwyPohtter

__________________________________________________________________________

Ow.

Ow.

OW.

“Oh…my…God…” he whimpered, rolling over in his bed.

It was bright. It was ever so bright. Merlin, why was it so bright in the dorm?

Harry Potter moaned softly and buried his face in his pillow. He slowly withdrew his face from its cool embrace to remove his glasses, which had dug themselves into his features. He dragged the offending item off and then went facedown into the pillow again, the glasses held limply in the palm of his hand.

That was better. It was cooler. It was dark. Cool and dark. That was nice. It felt good.

His head didn’t seem to be throbbing nearly as much now, with his face in the pillow. He didn’t think his head had ever hurt this badly, not even when Moldyshorts was acting up, making the damned lightning bolt scar twitch. He mumbled something. In his mind, Harry had clearly said, “Oh, merciful Merlin, please make it stop.” What came out was, “Ohmerbibmulmerlunbeasemabeitstoph.”

He heard a laugh, and then, “Glad to see you conscious at last, mate.”

Harry moaned again and barely shifted position. He had moved just enough to reveal one very blood-shot, vivid green eye to the room. It was still damnably bright. “Wobh?”

He saw a tall, pale, ginger-topped blur move closer. “Damn, you are still arseholed. Maybe we should get you to Hospital, have Madame Pomfrey fix you up.”

“Idonwanbahgoshellwellatmeh.”

He saw the haze of ginger shake as Ron Weasley chuckled. “She won’t yell at you, Harry. You are not the first student in the history of Hogwarts to go on a bender.”

“BhutIbHawwyPohtter.”

“Even Harry Potter can get pissed.” The blur knelt next to his bed and Harry could just make out Ron’s features. He appeared to be entertained by Harry’s condition. “It happens. I’ve been soused once or twice myself. And you…you’ve been through…a lot.” He was surprised at Ron’s comment, and he managed to arch an eyebrow. He saw Ron shrug at that, and then he felt a tug on his arm. “Come on, then, let’s at least get you cleaned up a bit. No offence, mate, but you are right foul at the moment.”

He groaned loudly as Ron helped him into a sitting position. “I’m sorry,” he mumbled, closing his eyes tightly at the sunlight that was streaming in through the dorm windows.

He heard Ron chuckle again. “Not sure I am the one you should be apologising to.”

“Huh?”

“No, we’re gonna get you smartened up first, and then I’ll tell you.”

“Oh.”

As Harry wasn’t much in the way to refuse Ron, he was very easily led from the dorms to the showers. Ron, rather unceremoniously, Harry thought, deposited him beneath a shower head and then turned the spigot into an open position.

“FUCKING HELL!!!!” It was cold. Cold. No, cold was too weak a term. The water was freezing. And he was still fully dressed. “WEASLEY!!!!”

“At least you are coherent now,” his best friend laughed.

“AND WET!!!!” Harry roared. He was still beneath the shower head, getting soaked, glowering at Ron. “What in the hell did you do that for?” he hissed.

“Mate, you needed it.”

Harry scowled and turned on the hot water. Once it warmed up, it didn’t feel too bad. Even if he was fully clothed. Harry put a hand out against the tile and held his head under the running water. He did need it. He stood there for a moment, letting the warmth wash over him. He didn’t notice it when Ron left.

He had gotten drunk.

He was still drunk.

That’s not something that Harry Potter would do. Never the Boy-Who-Lived. He would surely never get arse over elbow on Firewhiskey.

“Fuck,” he said softly, holding his head beneath the water. “What…shit, I don’t remember.”

That was the point, wasn’t it? That’s why one gets drunk, so that one will not remember. So that one will forget. And then you had to go off flying…

“Firewhiskeys and Firebolts do not mix,” he groaned. “Before you start, I know that I am supposed to know better. I know that I am supposed to be old enough. I know that I am supposed to be more careful. But what in the hell would have you done?”

I don’t think I would have gotten myself in such a state. That was a total and utter lack of control.

“Christ, you sound like Hermione,” he responded to the voice inside of his head.

Something wrong with that?

Harry tilted his head upwards and took some of the warm water into his mouth and spat it out against the tile. “Yeah, loads, especially when I don’t know what in the fuck I did last night.”

Don’t you mean who in the fuck you did last night?

He eyes snapped open and immediately stung from contact with the water. “What?”

Oh, don’t be such a git, you were drunk. Anyways, you don’t remember anything, just like you said. I wouldn’t worry if I were you. I’m sure you were quite the fine young gentleman…

The niggling voice in his head quickly faded, replaced by panic. All trace of the liquor evaporated from his system in the same instant. Harry was completely and horrendously sober due to that single comment. It rang in his ears.

…don’t you mean who in the fuck you did last night?

“I don’t know what in the fuck I mean. Oh, Merlin…did I…?”

In a daze, he turned off the water and trudged upstairs to the dorm, his drenched clothes creating a path from the showers to the room he shared with Ron and his mates. He stood outside of their door for a moment, the water pooling around his soggy trainers. The water dripped from his jumper and ran down his jeans. He could only blink at the door. He couldn’t feel the damp against his skin. He couldn’t feel anything, not even the blunt pounding that had been in his head moments earlier. What in the hell had happened last night?

He gingerly put a hand to the door and opened it.

Sitting in bed was Ron. Their roommates Dean Thomas, Neville Longbottom, and Seamus Finnegan weren’t there; either they were in the Great Hall, eating breakfast (or, maybe lunch…Harry had no idea of what time it was), or Ron had cleared them off. Regardless, Harry was grateful.

“Bugger, you’re not supposed to come back soaked, Harry!” he croaked.

Harry looked at him vacantly and plodded into the room, his trainers squelching with every step. Ron shook his head and grabbed a towel from his stack of Quidditch gear. He gave it a quick whiff and then threw it at Harry. “Here, it’s all right.”

It was only due to his skills as a Seeker that Harry caught the towel. He trudged over to his bed and stood before the bed stand, staring out of the window. He stood motionless for a little while, gazing at nothing in particular, simply holding the towel in his hand. Then he took a step back, picked up his glasses from his bed, slipped them on and faced Ron.

He was looking at him in a way that Harry found wholly unfamiliar. Ron seemed…adult. It was strange to think of him in that way, but it was the only word to fit. Ron looked terribly adult in that moment, the way in which he regarded him. He wore an expression similar to the one that Harry saw on Mr. Weasley or Mrs. Weasley. One full of care and concern, but underscored with the slightest hint of disappointment.

Shame rooted him to the spot. He hated himself for causing that look to appear on Ron’s face.

“Ron,” he said softly, “what did I do?”

His friend glanced down at his hands before answering. “You got drunk, Harry.”

“I know.” He finally made use of the towel and ran it over his hair. He then draped it over his shoulders. “I meant, after.”

“I know what you meant.” Ron stood from his bed and walked round to the opposite side, turning to face Harry. He wrapped his arms around the poster at the foot of the bed and gave him a very sad look. “We’re not sure what you did after you left the Leaky Cauldron, mate.”

“We?”

Ron nodded. “Me and Hermione.”

“Oh.”

He sighed and continued. “We think you went to the Shrieking Shack and got shitfaced. That was my theory, at any rate. Hermione wanted to go there to check, but I wouldn’t let her.”

“That was pretty smart of you, Ron.” Harry stared at the floor. “I did go to the Shrieking Shack. I don’t remember much after that. Just juggling the bottles of Firewhiskey while climbing those damn stairs.”

Ron nodded sagely. “Yeah, there were a lot of bottles.”

“You saw?”

He didn’t meet his gaze. “When it was half three and you still hadn’t come back to the dorms, I went out looking for you.” Ron smiled crookedly. “The only time I’ve ever been happy to be prefect. I, ah, nicked your cloak, just in case. Found you in the Shack and brought you back here.”

“How’d you do that?”

“Remember that Muggle ‘spell’ that Lav and Parvati were practising in the Common Room last week? ‘Light as a feather, stiff as a board’?”

“Yeah?” Harry blinked slowly, and then realised. “Don’t tell me that it worked?”

“Sure did. You were…you were saying stuff and it seemed like you needed a laugh. So, I waved my wand, said that shite, and the next thing I know, you are levitating. But I’m not about to tell them they’re right, especially about a Muggle spell.” Ron chuckled at that.

Harry shook his head and regarded his friend carefully. “What was I saying, Ron?”

“How’s that?”

“When you found me in the Shack. What was I saying?”

Weasley sucked in a sharp breath. “Oh. Well. Just…you were drunk. The things that come out when you’re pissed. That’s all.”

“What things, Ron?” he pressed.

Ron let go of his hold on the poster and climbed onto his bed. He knelt on the coverlet and avoided Harry’s questioning gaze. “You…look, I know you were in no state. I know that. You…you kept saying that you’d be better off dead. And that the sooner you killed He…the sooner you killed…the sooner he was dead, the sooner you’d be dead and it would all be over.” Ron finally looked at him and Harry was nearly struck down by the sadness in the other boy’s eyes. “You kept talking about that, Harry.”

“Oh God,” he said simply. “Ron…Ron, I—” With that, Harry sunk to his knees and sat on the floor in a pool of water. “You heard all of that.”

“Yeah.”

“Thank God Hermione didn’t hear that.”

There was an awkward silence. It hung in the room like a shroud; it even seemed to dampen the light.

Finally: “Harry…she did hear that.”

“What?” he whispered harshly, staring up at Ron.

He nodded slowly. “You…when I got you back to the Tower…Hermione…she was waiting in the Common Room. She…heard you.”

“No.” Harry stood to his feet quickly, almost slipping in the water collected on the floor. “I have to talk to her.”

“No.” Ron scrambled off the bed and moved to intercept him. “You can’t.”

“Why not?” There was the hint of aggression in Harry’s tone.

“Because, mate…that’s not the only thing she heard.”

Green eyes widened at the statement. “What do you mean by that?”

Ron looked down at his hands again. “You…you said something to her.”

Harry groaned loudly and dropped his knees. “Shit,” he moaned. “Fuck. Did I call her a Mudblood? Or worse?”

Ron shook his head in a mute negative.

“Did I lay into her? Did she start to lecture me on drinking and did I…did I make her cry?”

Ron shrugged. “I dunno about your making her cry, Harry. I haven’t seen her since early this morning.”

“Fuck me, I yelled at her?” Harry sat down on the floor again and held his head in his hands, his eyes shut. He started to slowly rock to and fro. “God, I am so fucking stupid….”

“Shut it, Potter, you did no such thing,” Ron snapped at him.

He looked up at him, confused and angry and sick. “Then what…?”

“You told her that you love her, you git, that you are in love with her. All right?” To Harry’s stunned look he said, “You made me tell you. So don’t make a face like that. You fucking made me, mate.”

“I told—”

“Yeah, you damn well did.” Weasley ran a hand through his red hair. “I know…I know it’s something you been hiding. Hey, I told you just a moment ago, don’t make a face like that. I’m not thick, Harry. I’ve been your best mate since first year. We’ve been roommates since then. You’ve stayed summers with me. You’re like a brother to me. I ought to know.”

Harry was disconsolate. He shrunk into himself, almost folded himself in half, then rolled over onto his side and then onto his back. He lay sprawled on the dormitory floor, staring at the beamed ceiling. “I…I didn’t want her to know.”

“I know.”

“He would hurt her, Ron.” This came out as the softest of whispers.

“I know,” Ron replied softly. “But she knows now.”

“What’s next?”

At that, Ron laughed. He laid himself on the bed, chest down, and peered at a bewildered Harry from over the edge. “I am the last bloody person in this world to ask about that. Witness my track record in dealing with Hermione. You don’t want my advice on that.”

Even Harry had to smile weakly at that. “Thanks for the warning.”

“Anytime.”

“I guess I should find her at some point.”

“Or, let her find you. I should think that…it’s up to her now. After last night.”

“Yeah. Last night.”

“She was hurt, at the Leaky Cauldron. She hid it pretty well, but I saw it on her face. You…your reaction to Krum’s letter…I think it maybe confused her more than anything.” Ron paused at the remembrance. “It was confusing, Harry. It was…scary, almost. I tried to downplay it, but, Hermione, she’s never been easy to fob off, has she? And then, when you bought all of those bottles of Firewhiskey…” Ron paused and twisted his mouth into an odd shape. “I knew that you were squiffy; I had no idea you knew all of those names. Some of them were very inventive for Krum. I’ve got five older brothers, and some of the stuff you were calling Krum had me after turning red.”

Harry shut his eyes tightly, as a dull ache started to spread across his chest. “And that hurt her,” he said quietly.

Ron sighed. “I think it did.”

They laid in silence for a moment, Ron staring at his hands yet again, Harry staring at the ceiling. “What do I do now?” he whispered.

Ron moved on the bed so he could climb down. “First, get some dry clothes and take a proper shower. I’ll be back in a bit. Gonna get some coffee and some toast for you, see if I can get some Pepper Upper potion from Madame Pomfrey. Sure I can make something up about one of the first years.” He moved toward the door. Harry rose to a sitting position and opened his mouth to object, but Ron waved him off. “Not a word, Potter. Just do as you’re told. For once.” He flashed him a toothy grin. “Get cleaned up proper like and we’ll talk more afterward, if you want.” The grin faded and he regarded Harry seriously. “It happened, mate. You can’t take the words back. All you can do is try to move on. What that means exactly, I don’t know. But I do know you are carrying a weight on your shoulders, have been for years, and it’s about time you stopped. You’re not in this battle alone. He – fuck it, Voldemort is a threat to us all and we’re not backing down from him and we are not backing away from you. Whether you like it or not.” Then he winked. “So stop being so damn stroppy.” With that, Ron opened the door, stepped out, and disappeared down the stairs.

Harry mutely watched him leave. The door swung to a close, shutting him in the dormitory, cutting him off from the rest of Hogwarts.

He suddenly felt very alone.

“I can’t take the words back. All I can try to do is move on,” he echoed. He stared at the door, his head now starting to swim and ache due to the consequences of his actions. Not only from his drowning in a sea of Firewhiskey the night before, but in the knowledge that his two closest friends now knew his two deepest secrets. “I can’t take the words back.” He slowly rose to a standing position, holding his arms out from his sides to steady himself. Harry carefully made his way to his chest and began to pull out a change of clothing. “All I can try to do is move on.” He turned to face the dormitory door. “Dammit, Ron, when did you grow up? You…you’re an adult now. An adult. I guess we all are by now. But I never thought that with you…it must have happened when I wasn’t looking. Dammit. I should have paid more attention, mate. I’m sorry…I’m sorry…” he said again, to someone else entirely. Someone else who weighed heavily in his heart and in his mind. Someone who now knew…

Harry walked to the door stiffly, still unsure on his feet. He drew in a deep breath, opened it, and stepped back into Hogwarts and into an immediate future unknown to him or his friends. He took a small step toward his life.