I'll Catch You (A Harry Potter Fan Fiction)

Just a Tad Tipsy

Hours later, I found myself running through the corridors, my sadness officially turning to rage as my feet slapped against the cold stone floors. Why should I spend any tears on wastes of oxygen like Seamus Finnigan or Pavarti Patil. They were both snakes, worms, useless vile little creatures who belonged in the earth. While I did have that much experience with men, I could easily deduce that I had no fault in this situation whatsoever. And what had I ever done to Pavarti to deserve such betrayal? We were never friends, but at the very minimum I would consider us well-acquainted enough to not SNOG EACH OTHERS BOYFRIENDS.

I hope they snog so hard up in the Anatomy Tower that they eventually just fall off the roof.

Okay, maybe that was the Firewhisky talking. I pulled the small bottle out of my cloak and stopped, leaning into a doorframe and taking another swig. It wasn't really the best tasting thing in the world, it burnt my throat on the way down and I felt as though my stomach was so hot that the brightness of its fire was visible right through my cloaks. I slid the almost empty bottle back into my uniform, wiped a tear from my cheek, and then continued on my way down the corridor.

I had to get out of this hallway. If McGonagall caught me like this, she'd give me detention until I graduate. Getting wasted at school and stealing from the school kitchens? Yep I would be screwed. Forcing myself to stand up straight, I made my way down the corridor, only taking a few steps before I tripped.

Nobody tells you how difficult little things suddenly become when you drink. Little things like walking, talking, balancing. Now, I was known to be a bit of a klutz, but I swear that this was caused by one of the mobile suits of armour.

"Hey? Watch where you are going!" I turned and yelled to the suit of armour that had stepped into my path. "I know this was you! I'm not moving from this spot until you apologize!"

I was officially locked in a starring contest with a suit of armour. Apparently I was a sloppy drunk. "Ya know mate, it's pretty rude to ignore someone when they are talking to you" a voice said from right beside me. I jumped back to my feet, and quickly lost my footing once again as my balance betrayed me.

A pair of outstretched hands caught me before I hit the stone floor, and they tugged me back to my feet. "A bit tipsy are you?" said the sing-song voice of George Weasley. I turned my face up to him and he gave me a brilliant smile, his teeth nearly glowing in the dark.

"I'm going to assume you've gotten your hands on some..." he leaned down and sniffed the air around me. "Firewhisky?"

"How could you tell?" I asked, brushing off the dust from my robes and I settled into my newly upright position.

"You smell like cinnamon. And don't even get me started on the lovely shade of rouge you've turned." My hands flew to my face and I felt the burning hot sensation of my cheeks against my palms. So it wasn't just my stomach that was on fire, it was my face too. "Don't you think that you-" he lightly poked the end of my nose in an endearing way, the way you'd treat a little baby, or a puppy "-are too young to be drinking?"

"I'll have you know that I'm almost fifteen; you're barely two years older than me." I slurred and took a shaky step out of his arms.