Entombed

Astonishingly, the only good thing that’s come from tonight is my newfound knowledge of what being drunk feels like; and I'm not particularly sure if that’s good at all. I’ve been sitting outside amongst the statues and trees for about half an hour now–trying to pay no mind to the fact that everyone's having a great time but me. Pansy, my date, has taken it upon herself to dance rather presumptuously with Blaise, and all the while I’m sat here alone with a bottle of firewhiskey pondering the cruellest possible revenge plan for her.

I thought maybe I’d be a fun drunk, or at least I’d loosen up a little, but I’ve discovered that all I can think about is running away and never looking back. Though I know that’d be a drunken terrible mistake; I can’t help but think it’d do me a great deal of good. I’d never have to even look at my father again–I’d be able to start my life as a different, changed man; with no trail of prejudice or elitism following behind me–I’d be able to do kind things without people wondering what I’m secretly scheming. Granted, I usually am scheming something but it’s not always evil.

The longer I sit here in dismal silence the more I realise how much I hate this party and how desperately I want to go home. I think home is that tree by the black lake, but I don’t want to go there. The library is usually comfortable for me; but I don’t want to go there, either. Maybe I just haven’t found home yet, but is it insane to want to go there? I mean, if it doesn’t exist, how can I possibly go there? Unless I go and find it.

I don’t realise how drunk I am when I lift myself off the tree stump and can hardly stand. The muffled sound of the yule ball’s orchestra goes in one ear and out the other and I can’t believe I came in the first place. One step after the other, I attempt to guide myself into the plethora of towering trees and the drowning, deafening silence of the forest. I try to think of what I’m looking for, but nothing comes to mind; so I continue on looking for nothing in the hopes that I’ll find something.

“Malfoy? What on earth do you think you’re doing?” A snooty voice stabs me from behind and I stop and stare at her. I might’ve scoffed, but it’s second nature when I’m around her at this point.

“Walking. Why are you here, Granger?”

“Looking for Neville’s toad, have you seen him?” It sounds sarcastic as it leaves her mouth, but I didn’t know she was capable of humour; so I’m not sure.

“I can’t tell if you’re being serious.”

“I’m not.”

“Oh.” She’s not funny. “You know what a joke is? Full of surprises, you are.”

“Oh, shut up.” She snaps. “Why are you here, Malfoy?” Her eyebrows crease together and she crosses her arms.

“I asked you the same thing and you didn’t answer, why should I?” Everything feels like it’s moving in slow motion.

“If you must know, I’ve run away from Ron. He’s being a twat.”

“As always.”

“Are you drunk? I’ve seen a lot of people drinking tonight.” She leans in closer and whispers behind her hand, which is ridiculous because there’s absolutely nobody else here, “Ginny threw up in front of everyone and had to be sent to her dorm.”

“A little. Give her my condolences.”

“She’s not dead, Malfoy.”

“Throwing up in front of people is worse than dying. I’ll send her a thinking of you card.”

She rolls her eyes. “What about you? Why are you scurrying around in the woods? Looking for better friends?” I’m a little offended at her comment.

“I didn’t like the party. Are you talking about Blaise and Pansy?”

“No…I was talking about how Adrian’s been a pervert all night. Why, what’s happened with Blaise and Pansy?” Since when has she gossiped this much?

“Adrian’s not my friend. And nothing, really.” Adrian has been awarded with three detentions this past month for not being able to keep it in his pants. And whilst I was previously his friend, I couldn’t possibly defend him for what he’s done to a number of girls.

“Well, I didn’t like it either if that’s any consolation.”

“It’s better if you’re drunk. Well, actually, I’ve found alcohol’s made it worse for me; but other people seem to like it.” I shrug.

“What, you can’t handle some firewhiskey?” She starts walking deeper into the woods mid-sentence; I’m baffled until she signals for me to walk with her. Normally, I’d tell her to fuck off and walk my own way, but I don’t think I’m in any condition to be alone; so I go with her. Against myself and everything I stand for, of course.

“I–hey!” She snatches the firewhiskey right out of my hand and takes a sip. And then she just keeps it in her hand as if it were hers.

“I need it; I’ve had a terrible night.”

“As have I.”

“How bad our nights have been is not a competition, Malfoy.”

“Yes, but that firewhiskey is mine.” I slur, embarrassingly.

“Is it? Or did your daddy buy it for you?” I’m not enjoying being here.

“No. He wouldn’t let me have any.”

“Poor you.” She takes another sip, but it’s not much of a sip; more of a gulp.

“Careful. I don’t want to have to carry you back.”

“Stop being so dramatic. Is this expensive? It tastes like it.” She looks down at the bottle to inspect it, but I doubt she can even see it.

“Blaise gave me it, so I assume so.”

We continue walking until she drags me to sit on a disgusting mossy fallen tree and I hate to admit it, I really, really, hate to–but I’m having a much better time than I was at the ball.

“So, you really walked all the way out here because you didn’t like the ball? Why not just go to your dorm?” I’m a lot more drunk than I was before because I feel the need to tell her the whole truth, and then tell her everything that’s been bothering me since September, and then tell her how pretty I thought she looked when she first walked into the great hall.

“I was looking for somewhere to be alone and think, but I guess that’s gone out of the window.” I will not be telling her that she looks pretty, no way.

“Well, you can be not alone and talk, if you’d like.” Fuck off.

“Fuck off.”

“Unnecessarily hostile.” She scowls at me. “Fine. I’ll talk, then.” She sighs. “Do you want to know why Ron was being a–a…well, mean?”

“Not really.”

She continues anyway.

“He said I was fraternising with the enemy …I mean–Viktor’s been nothing but nice to me and everyone else and Ron was the one that was obsessed with him since the World Cup! Why–ah, ugh! Why on earth suddenly say he’s the enemy? And you should’ve seen the look he gave me. It was like I was a worm he stepped on.” It feels like she’s been talking for hours and though it’s only been a couple of seconds I am already bored out of my mind.

“That’s it?” I emphasise.

She makes this confused, offended face at me.

“Well–it’s not much, is it? You’re acting like he’s just murdered four people and stolen a small fortune. Pansy’s cheating on me with one of my best friends right now and you don’t see me sulking, do you?”

She stands and stomps her feet like an unsatisfied 5-year-old. “Wha–I have a right to be upset! Who do you think you are?!”

“Someone who genuinely doesn’t care about your insignificant problems.” I never asked her to start talking. I never asked her to start complaining.

“Why are you here then? Why can’t you just listen? Is that so impossibly difficult for you?!” It was clear from the start that I never wanted to listen or talk to her.

“The only reason I’m here, Granger, is so that if I pass out in these woods I won’t stay here and rot.” Her mouth starts falling open as if she has any reason to be shocked or surprised.

“You are the rudest boy I ever saw! I cannot believe I thought you were being moderately nice to me!” And with that she storms off; the twigs and mushrooms crushing and snapping beneath her feet.

I suppose I might rot here.