vices | D.M. + H.G.

four: scars

A/N: Betawork done by AlmondMilkTeaDoubleBoba, LeilahMoon, and lost_poetx.

Sorry this one is a bit late! Life happened, you know?

In case you weren't aware, I'll be taking a short writing break as I wrap up my last two weeks of college. Contingent will next update on the weekend of May 8th, and Vices will update on the weekend of the 15th.

xoxo, carm

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They were sitting in silence again.

She'd gotten so used to it because the two of them had been doing it quite a lot lately. The only good thing about it was that the silences had consistently grown more comfortable as time went on. He would sit there, one ankle propped onto his opposite knee, leisurely sipping on his glass of Firewhisky while reading a book. Sometimes, his head would tip back and he'd stare blankly at the ceiling.

Hermione, on the other hand, favored a blunt. Sometimes she'd switch it up between a joint, edibles, or dabs – different methods had different effects. Smoking was infinitely easier with magic on her side – she couldn't imagine rolling a joint the Muggle way. Whatever the case, she very much enjoyed the way it felt coursing through her bloodstream.

This time, she caught him casually eyeing her freshly lit blunt. Deducing the obvious, she inhaled once more and then wordlessly offered it out to him. His eyebrows raised a touch before he leaned forward, bracing his left arm on his knee while reaching his right out to accept.

Her fingers brushed his as he gently plucked it from her hand. Hermione cocked her head, her hooded eyes staring into his own as his lips wrapped around the blunt and he inhaled. He mimicked her posture – he leaned back in his chair, uncrossing his legs and widening them as his head tipped back and smoke slowly escaped the confines of his mouth.

She was entranced, watching him as he willingly pulled the drugs deep into his lungs before expelling them into the atmosphere.

"This is good shit, Granger," he said, the smoke coating his vocal cords, making his voice thicker than normal.

"Well I'd hope so," she quipped, "Zabini says he sells the best, and I'm inclined to believe him."

"I didn't know that's what Zabini was up to these days," he said, taking one more pull and passing the blunt back to her.

"Well, are you surprised?" She paused for another inhale. "His name is Blaise."

"I guess you're right," he acquiesced. "That is a good point."

"See?" she giggled. "I really am always right."

He shook his head, reaching back out to take another hit. "I don't know how Potter and the Weasel would have survived without you."

The tone of the conversation darkened slightly, and Hermione decided to let it. Maybe this was a hump they needed to get over in order to move past their differences. He'd responded well when they'd talked about Lucius, so maybe he'd decide to open up more.

So she'd start with self-deprecating humor.

"Well, if you want to get technical, we almost didn't," she snarked. "Harry almost died in first year. Second year, they solved it while I was petrified. Third year almost went completely down the drain – I've never hated a bloody rat so much. Fourth year, we lost Cedric and Harry was a complete social pariah. Fifth year, that bitch Umbridge ruined everything – and we can't forget us all almost dying in the Ministry. Sixth year, Harry lost his mentor and then we all left to go hunt pieces of the Dark Lord's soul."