wild side| ron weasley

Dazed and Confused

The rain seemed to become more aggressive, how heavy it seemed, like it contained the weight of the world. Pummelling against the windows with such a force, that she found herself nervous, scared that it was going to break at any second. It was dark, gloomy, outside the foggy windows, so desolate and baron, that the normality of the desolate beauty of the Scottish Highlands were erased from everyone's sighs. The carriages were crowded, full of sweaty bodies, and she noticed the constant scoffing of Mandy at the sights of the first years, how eager they were to change into their robes, the pathetic reminder that they were once no better.

But Mandy had a destination in mind, her high mind, and stoned eyes were set on the trolly just several carriages infront of her, and Antheia kept her hand loosely wrapped around hers, holding her stable so she didn't barge into students out of pure frustration, and into the sides out of pure instability. But dealing with Mandy, dosed up on weed, stinking of the smoking bud, could never be as bad as the moment Fire Whiskey was in a close enough proximity for her to notice, she could deal with the munchies, the need for the 'meaning of life chat', and the spooning in her bed, in the dark listening to the melodies of Jimi Hendrix over that of alcohol.

Mandy was simple when intoxicated with simple things. Alcohol seemed to be an undefinable conquest she was still trying to master, and admittedly, the politically charged girl was a mess when drunk. Countless of times had fingers been charged down the back of her throat to get her to be sick, just so she wasn't choking on her sick, the fights and arguments to get her into bed, then dealing with the hangovers, and the bad attitude late in the day after. Weed was a damn God send when it came to her attitude, and knowing the accomplishment Anthony got of pissing people off, there was no doubt that alcohol was making their way into the scene of the first Friday night at Hogwarts.

Mandy looked up at her, eyes relaxed, and mouth kind of uneven as she looked up at her, brows furrowed as she tried to rest against the rattling window of the train's carriage. "Dude" she whispered, pulling her hand slightly, as Antheia looked down at her softly. "You got a bruise, your glasses" she said slowly, and what words that weren't politically, and grammatically correct, seemed to hold a weight, thick between them. She swallowed hoarsely, unintentionally bringing her free hand up, to gently brush against her cheekbone, centimetres away from the slope of her tired eyes. The fresh cut, inflicted several days ago had turned into a nasty scab, circled deeply of a painted purple, spreading into the uninteresting shade of yellow.

Something had seemed to of twisted uncomfortbly within her stomach, a tension of words and confirmation of fears. She sometimes found herself reckless, days when caring seemed far from her mind, and no matter how often she smoked, how many lessons she skipped, or homework she ignored, forgetting to hide a bruise, something so clear, so loud to understand without words, had taken recklessness to a whole new level. She didn't need people to pry, or to even see it, whatever it was that they thought it was, could be banished with their previous fucks given.

And though it was the only visible mark that people could see, she found herself growing nervous, faint, even at her ignorance of her home life; being around her friends, realising that Anthony had a journey of his own through the summer, that Terry had accomplished something he had been fighting for months, had made it pass her mind. She knew it was probably because she was safe around them, that they knew, just like she knew theirs, but stepping out the stunk-up, and smoked out toilet cubicle with Mandy had made it slip her mind.

She didn't say anything, only wincing when her glasses got tangled in a knot of messy curls at her roots, as she pulled them back down, covering her eyes, and shading the bruise. It didn't do much, and she couldn't be arsed to glimmer it, or cover it. She gave Mandy's soft, and small hand a careful, and kind squeeze, the soft reminder meaning more than it should. Because they looked out for one another, they had too, being let down and hurt by so many people who were there to protect them, only reminded them that they only had each other.