Disclaimer: Any characters from the Harry Potter universe do not belong to me. The only profit I gain is your review.
Author's notes: This was inspired by Jeff Buckley's rendition of "Lilac Wine". I hope that wherever I take this, it'll be satisfying, and possibly interesting, and remotely inspiring, and perhaps entertaining. I write because I like to, and I post just to please.
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"Hello Harry."
He was drinking again. The smooth liquid burned a path down his already raw throat, making him cough and sputter. He squeezed his eyes shut, embracing the momentary pain with every swallow. He needed this. He needed to feel again. Feel something. Feel anything. The glass was cool against his lips and he welcomed its kiss. A heavy shoulder brushed against him roughly, causing the soothing liquid to spill from Harry's tipped glass. His tongue reached out to catch the falling liquid, but it only drenched his chin and the front of his shirt.
"Sorry, mate," the owner of the shoulder called out.
"S'okay," Harry mumbled.
"Hello Harry."
Harry squeezed his eyes shut and grimaced. A hand grasped the half empty bottle and clutched it to his chest in a possessive manner. Harry shuffled to the fireplace and took a handful of floo powder from the chamber pot that sat on the bar. He stumbled into the hearth and with two words he was spat back out into his living room. He lay sprawled on the soft carpet, the bottle still clutched tightly to his chest.
After a beat he rested his cheek on the floor, pressing his nose to the carpet, and he inhaled deeply. He could still smell her. She had chosen this rug just two days after they had moved in and at first sight he had instantly hated it. But she loved it, and he loved her. So he took it in and welcomed it with open arms.
The golden band glinted in the firelight as he raised a trembling hand from the bottle and let it rest gently on the surface of the rug. His lips parted, he took another breath, and he shut his eyes.
"Hello Harry."
She was smiling at him. So he smiled back.
"Hey, Hermione," he murmured.
There was a sharp knock on the door and his eyes darted open. Harry held his breath. A moment of silence.
Knock
Knock
Wonderful. Harry made no move to get up and only tightened his grasp on the bottle.
Knock
Knock
Maybe if he waited they would go away.
Knock
Knock
He wondered if he should chance getting a bite to eat from the fridge.
Knock
Knock
He was a little hungry.
Knock
But then that would entail standing.
Knock
And he wasn't going to move from that wonderful spot on her rug.
"Mate, I know you're in there. Now open up!" Ron's not so muffled voice shouted from behind the closed door. Quite a persistent best friend, wasn't he?
There was another loud rap on the door and Harry grit his teeth. "I'm not home," he muttered.
"You clearly are, you daft drunken git! Now let me in!"
The pounding was incessant now and didn't even bother to wonder how in the world Ron managed to hear him. These days it seemed like the man could read his mind. Yet Harry refused to get up and instead glued his eyes to the carpet. Ron was a wizard. No locked wooden door could keep him out. A moment later it seemed that Ron had managed to figure it out, for Harry soon found himself being pulled to his feet and dragged from one room to the next. He was mildly aware of Ron's voice and of his own legs which were somehow managing to knock things down in their path.
Ron dragged him through the doorway and onto the smooth floor of the bathroom. Harry's eyes dully inspected the floor, which was oddly swept clean. He'd have to ask Ron about that later. Right now though, Ron seemed to be too busy filling up a bucket of water.
"You'll thank me when you're sober," Ron said.
Then Harry was drenched from head to toe.