Acid Pop Junkies

Chapter 10-

Hermione awoke from her precious ten minutes of sleep about an hour before dawn. She slid off the bed and onto the cold stone floor and sat there trying to collect herself as best she could. The little demons in her mind set to work immediately, forcing gory images to flash before her eyes, which had only just seen the light of day. The sky was a shocking blue for November, and the sun was shining for the first time in days. Apparently Mother Nature didn't give a damn if Sirius was dead or not.

Hermione's hair was worse than usual- she could tell without looking, her clothes were disheveled, and her shoes... There was a speck of blood on her left shoe. She stared at that insolent little speck for what seemed like a decade. All she could think of was how just hours before, that blood had been running through Sirius' veins and then onto the floor.

Hermione ripped off her shoe and threw it out the window in a fit. She then dashed into the bathroom and turned the bath taps violently. She was in the furious process of unbuttoning her shirt when Dante revealed his hiding place behind the door. Hermione screamed in surprise and then burst into tears without a pause.

"Good Morn-" Dante began. Hermione's face was buried in the crook of her arm as she pointed to the door and yelled for him to get out. As soon as she heard the door close, she let herself rest on the wall and slid slowly to the floor.

* * * * * * *
Draco groped blindly for his book. Again he came up empty handed. The wind rushing past the car made faint howling noises.

"Fuck, bloody fuck!"

Needless to say, Draco felt like an absolute fool. The only possession that was irreplaceable to him had been left behind with Potter and McGonagall Junior. He was certain the moment they got their hands on it they would stare at it stupidly for a few minutes, scratching their thick Gryffindor heads, and finally destroy it once they discovered what it was.

He laid his heavy blond head against the window pane and watched the fast moving scenery. It was pretty: the dawn about to break on the horizon and tinge the sky pink and yellow. But Draco had seen it all before; landscapes become dull very quickly and right now Draco was mostly interested in where they were headed and how far away they were from trouble. He lifted his cold and aching head, turned to Malia and blinked in an absurdly slow manner. Malia kept facing the road.

"It's funny how you get that feeling when someone is STARING at you," she mused. Draco just continued to gape.

"I don't think it's that funny."

Malia sort of half grinned. She must have been pretty tired to not fully appreciate his rapier wit. But then again, there were equally important things to appreciate. They were really free. Draco got away without so much as an accusation, which was exactly what he feared. Whoever said running away from your problems didn't work probably only had one leg and very small problems. There was no one to make him feel guilty except himself. He supposed that might be a problem, or perhaps just a small thought. Eventually his mind would build a brick wall higher and higher around this annoying little thought until he couldn't even see it anymore. Besides, there was no one mud-blooding up his day anymore.

Suddenly, the car came to a very brusque halt that jostled them all. Malia turned the key wearily and mumbled,

"We're here."

Draco craned his neck over her head to see where "here" was. A little off to the side of the road was a cottage that a salesperson would probably describe as cozy, or charming. He tugged on Malia's sleeve as she turned the key.

"What-," he began before he was interrupted by her slurred speech.

"We're making a stop here."

Draco sat puzzled for a few seconds.

"Oh, I see. We're here to remove this fugly shit shack from the face of the earth. Well, who knows a good fire spell?"

Pollocks was so eager he tripped over the words of the charm. Malia's eyes widened a touch.

"No! No more arson. We're staying here for a while so I can catch up on my sleep. We're lucky to have even found a place."

"I like it!" Pollocks announced happily.

"Shut up, you!" Draco snarled. "These quarters are much too close for my liking," he sniffed in disgust. No one seemed to be listening to him. The boy saw no other choice than to accept this as their temporary lodgings. He took a look at the creature in the back seat.

It was quite a sight. Their stowaway had fallen asleep along the way and now had long trail of drool starting at the corner of his mouth and the gum in his hair looked suspiciously like a fungus. However, Pollocks was wide awake now, smiling dopily at the house and then at the back of Malia's head.

"How embarrassing," Draco remarked without feeling. He nudged Pollocks with an old, greasy shoe he found in the car habitat.

"Hey, fuckdust, get out."

Malia laid her head on the steering wheel.

"Don't call Bollocks fuckdust," she murmured, obviously half asleep.

"Point taken," Draco said. "Now you, Rocket, help me get Malia into the house, I believe she's fallen asleep."

Pollocks nodded and began to squirm uselessly in his seat belt. His strife turned suddenly into panic and he began to yelp,

"Help, help, I'm trapped! I can't breathe!"

"Oh, shut up!" Draco snapped. "It's just your stupid seat-thingy."

With that he kicked open his door and lifted his tired body from the ugly contraption. He contemplated the current events so far.

"Well, this promises to be one hell of a vacation."
* * * * * * * *
Hermione dried and brushed her unruly hair as best she could and laid the brush down on her bedside table delicately. It seemed that all her actions lately had been 'delicate'. As if she were afraid of breaking something or disturb the near perfect quiet that had taken over the castle. With the gentle, but insistent fear, she began to lower herself back into bed. She wanted nothing more than to lie here forever where the only sound was the rustling of soft sheets. She wanted to purge all the bad feelings Sirius had unwittingly left behind by crying her eyes out until there was nothing left. But most of all she wanted to see Harry again, her only friend in the world. But she knew he wasn't going to be Harry for a long time to come. Hermione ripped herself away from the bed. She realized that she had spent the entire morning feeling sorry for herself. She was ashamed to admit she didn't want to face Harry, but she had to do something. As soon as she set foot outside the dormitory, she was accosted by a flapping, redheaded boy.

"Goooood morning!" he chirped, oblivious to her present state. She was a terrible mess. Her skin had paled overnight, her eyes were red rimmed and empty. She looked as if she had been given the Dementor's kiss. Dante gave her a quick up and down look he knew she would have hated.

"You look tired," he commented offhandedly. Hermione narrowed her eyes at him.

"Leave me alone, I don't want to talk to you."

Dante made a "tsk, tsk" sound and continued to block her way.

"Come now, that's no way to be on your birthday."

Hermione's annoyance broke through her grief.

"It's not my birthday," she hissed. Her first venture outside the dorms was not going well.

Dante sighed fakely.

"You're right. It's mine!" Then he smiled what he thought was a very winning smile, but to anyone else would seem a little unhinged.

"So?" Hermione asked, nonplussed. Dante started to look through his leather jacket for cigarettes.

"Soooo, a celibatory breakfast seems necessary."

"Celebratory," she corrected automatically. Dante remained absorbed in his search.

"That's what I said."

Hermione's tone was unchanging.

"Considering what's happened, I think you can understand why I don't feel like breakfast." She struggled to be polite. At this point Dante was starting to realize that his conquest was going to have many more obstacles than planned. For example, he might have to wear a tie and refer to her as Professor Granger.

"Then we'll have lunch," he concluded. Hermione became rooted to the spot. She forgot Dante and her surroundings for the moment. A thought was surfacing. She shook her head to clear her mind and turned to him.

"All right. I'll go..."

Dante looked unsurprised but proud.

"...As long as you'll answer a few questions for me."

Dante's smile seemed to be going through a spot of turbulence. One of the corners of his mouth twitched slightly.

"Absolutely." He put his hands behind his back like a guilty child. He shrugged oddly and walked on ahead of her.

"I think I'll make ice cream. My favorite." He nodded satisfactorily. "Yes, lots of ice cream... and cigarettes."
* * * * * * *
If one were to walk into the kitchen with Dante and Hermione for afternoon tea, not only would the person in question have tea, but they would also have anything their stomach desired. Lining one wall were a long row of giant cupboards filled with any food that could stay fresh on its own. On the opposite wall were doors that led to freezers magically set to conserve meats, dairy and such. Written on each door was the type of food inside. In the middle of the room there was an island strip of marble counter tops with every imaginable size and shape of pots hanging above the smooth surface. Finally, on the far side of the room, beside the fireplace was the small, unassuming, circular table. Available for any unexpected situation.

Presently, Dante was eating chocolate ice cream with a giant soup spoon, the only utensil he could find. Hermione was in no mood to eat. Sirius' splayed body was still fresh in her mind and was refusing to decay. Her stomach hadn't stopped churning since last night and it showed no signs of stopping. She and Dante were sitting around the small pine table in the kitchen. The red haired boy finally looked up from his massive bowl. His expression was sober and his mouth smeared with ice cream, a strange combination.

"You know," he waved his oversized spoon as he talked. "I've never spent my birthday lunch in the company of a half-blood." The last wave of his spoon caused an offshoot of the goo to fly onto Hermione's face.

"Well, I'm honored," she lied as she dabbed her face with a napkin.

"Yeah," Dante shivered and plunged his spoon back into the mountain of sugar. The room slowly acquired an awkward silence punctuated by loud slurps emitted by Dante.

"Do you,- do you ever notice how it smells in Snape's classroom?" He asked as he jabbed at his food.

"Mmm," Hermione murmured. She was staring absently at a large copper pot.

"It smells like ashes. God I hate that!" he said savagely. "I hate going there, it feels like I'm breathing in my grandmother!"

He glanced furtively at Hermione. She had a heavy frown on her face and her eyes stared blankly at something Dante obviously couldn't see. He didn't like that look. It was the look of someone who was thinking very deep, significant thoughts. Dante, being a very impulsive person, rarely thought his actions through at all. For him, split second decisions often ended in bad dates and disastrous end of year exams. He was a little jealous of her intellectual ability and almost wished Draco would die in his arms so he could look like some kind of sage. In yet another moment of impulse, Dante brought his fist down on the table with a bang. She nearly jumped out of her skin for the second time that morning. Dante coughed.

"The ice cream... it's, cold. Sorry."

He didn't look sorry at all, in fact he looked like a cat that had just caught an early supper. Hermione rolled her eyes, this was definitely not going to be easy.

"So," she began. "Do you mind if I ask,-"

Dante abandoned his meal and put a hand up to halt her request.

"No, no, no," he objected. "You're too straightforward. There's no pardon me, no may I please. You have to ask a question that goes with the conversation." He finally brought his twitchy eyes to hers and stared dully into them for a moment. "That way, I don't know you want something from me. Hmm?"

Hermione was flustered by his sudden shift in mindset. His tendency to change moods suddenly made her feel as if he knew what she was thinking and was deliberately trying to confuse her. She had never liked Dante Foxx in school and she liked him even less now. When he was around her she felt like she was keeping some kind of wolf at bay. Nevertheless, she was determined to get answers, for Sirius' sake. She cleared her throat and tucked her hair behind her ear nervously.

"Well, um, do you have any idea where Malfoy could have gone?

Dante leaned restlessly on the table and rolled his eyes upwards so that only the white part was showing. He slammed his fist down on the table.

"CONSTANT VIGILANCE!" he bellowed. Hermione was getting more and more impatient.

"Foxx, would you just answer the damned question!"

Foxx pretended to be hurt by her outburst.

"Where is Malfoy?" she urged him, pronouncing each syllable carefully. Dante raised one eyebrow suggestively and then leaned over the table. He motioned for her to lean in and share his secret.

"Come now, I won't bite."

Hermione hesitated, then leaned in a little.

"More."

And a little more.

"More."

And a little more until her face was in front of his. He brought his mouth to her ear.

"I DON'T KNOW!" he screamed in her ear.

Instinctively, she pushed him away. He fell back in his chair with and infuriatingly wide grin on his lips.

"That was completely pointless," she fumed, unwittingly trying to puff herself up. Dante stopped grinning.

"I think I got my point across."

Hermione sat back down in her chair and stared back at him fiercely.

"Listen, I know that Malfoy is somewhere in Hogsmeade or the grounds. He can't leave, I put a barrier charm on all of us, so he must be sneaking around here somewhere. I just have to know where to look!" Hermione had balled up her fists. He was keeping her in suspense. She knew it, and he knew it killed.

Finally he sighed and lifted his hands. He made the shape of a blackbird with his hands and made the shadow of the bird fly across a patch of sunlight almost comically.

"Gone." Hermione felt her mouth go dry. She had to struggle to get her voice to make a sound. "H-how..."

"Have you ever had a nice little sejour in France?" he cut in sharply. "Because they should be arriving there in say, oh... a day or so."

Hermione inhaled severely.

"They?"

Dante smiled, showing all his teeth.

"Oh didn't I tell you? Variety Girl and her idiot savant went along for the ride."

Hermione couldn't believe her foolproof spell had been broken.

"Impossible," she breathed. Dante leaned back in his chair contentedly.

"No sir. The wicked witch's spell has been broken. The prisoners are free. Liberte, Egalite... I forget the rest."

* * * * * *
When we last left our favorite heroes and heroine, they were wearily, but merrily, halting their journey to rest their tired little heads.

"You can't Wingardium Leviosa a person, fuckdust," Draco said as he and Pollocks stood just outside the car, wherein, Malia had drifted into sleep. Pollocks frowned deeply.

"Well, we have to get her into the house somehow."

"Ok. Good luck with that."

And without another word, Draco strode to the house kicking piles of snow out of the way as he went. It was really a pathetic little shack. As he approached he noticed the cracked windows, the crumbling foundation and several entry holes for mice... or small Jarveys. Still, it was the kind of place that made Hagrid's hut look like Mount Olympus. He was standing on the front step of the house, when a black object hit the door directly in front of him at a tremendous speed, causing him to jump about a foot in the air.

Draco whipped his head around to spot the culprit. Of course, there was no one in sight except Pollocks Rocket, and he was busily helping Malia out of the rust bucket of a car. He tried to regain his bearings. Having partially succeeded, he started to paw through the snow to retrieve the object. He swept the last layer of snow away and stared perplexed at what he found.

The diary, the black book he had protected fiercely then lost in a fit of irresponsibility, was sitting there in front of him, a proclamation of its own peculiarity. Draco felt a chill run through his body. It made no sense. There was no one there, but obviously someone was responsible. Some one wanted him to have his book... Draco felt the hairs on the back of his neck rise in suspicion, almost like a dog. He suddenly remembered that the book was still in the snow and he bent to pick it up. As soon as his long fingers folded around its inky black edges, he felt a delicious warmth start there. As it warmed his hands he suddenly felt as if he had found a part of him that was missing. In his pleasure at the recovery of this treasured object, he forgot about the how and why for the moment and ran one long index finger along the spine. He then touched the damaged spot on the front of the book experimentally, but something was different. He riffled through the pages curiously. His fingers did not deceive him, there were now more clean, yellow pages.

The book was healing itself.

* * * * * * *
Hermione jogged up the stairs as fast as she could, Foxx trailing behind her at his own leisurely pace. Tears were attempting to overflow, but Hermione kept blinking them back. She had just had to pass the dead body of Sirius. Naturally she had faced away, but that hadn't stopped her from catching more than a glimpse of the gore that covered that part of the ground.

"Oh Lord, oh God, what are we supposed to do with it? Sirius! I meant Sirius- too late for you now and oh I don't want to touch."

It was not until Dante had begun shuffling around it, arms spread out saying,

"Nothing to see here folks! Move along, move along."

That she got a lump in her throat. She hardly knew Sirius and he wasn't even her Godfather, but she still felt awful. And that made her feel guilty which meant she felt guilty for feeling awful.

If things were different, she probably would have laughed at herself; she sounded like one of those stupid romance novel heroines with complex emotions and tragic lives.

She concentrated on getting up the next few flights of stairs, on getting to Harry. He was the very epicenter of this. If anyone was grieving it would be him and Hermione hadn't even bothered to go to him the night before. At the time she was too afraid to even look at him in the eye, but logic told her she couldn't just avoid her only friend in this world. So here she was, climbing countless flights of stairs to go to the first and last place she went to look for anything, the library.

She scaled her last staircase. Her breath came out in short puffs, emitting small clouds of vapor, the sure sign of an early winter. Dante was taking the stairs two at a time behind her singing,

"Don't step on a crack, or you'll fall and break your back."

Hermione knew where she was going. She trotted over to the door of the library. She felt like nothing as she breezed through the door. It was the sight of the room that caused her to freeze up. Only one word could have described it properly: chaotic. Two tables were piled high with dozens of books. Many of which Hermione had never even seen before. Some were open, many had pages ripped out of them, one was teetering on the edge of the table. One of the books was called "How to find It: At Any Point Of The Compass."

Hermione followed her ears to the shuffling sounds of pages being turned. Sitting at the more burdened of the desks was Harry, disheveled, dirty and frantic. He scanned the page furiously, his eyes only inches away from the page. When he had not found what he was looking for, he slammed the book shut. Upon closer inspection, Hermione noticed a small, metal chain was attached to the spine of the heavy volume. That meant that it was from the restricted section and that Harry had literally ripped it off the shelf. He seemed to have finally acknowledged Hermione's presence. To her surprise, he gave her a fleeting glance and returned to his insane studying with zeal. His messy hair hung in front of his face, but he didn't bother to brush it away. His eyes were flickering around so violently it was almost Dante-like. There was a streak of dried blood on his dirty forehead from holding Sirius to him the night before.

"Rrrrrrriiip."

Harry tore another page from his book and Hermione winced at the sound. Hermione's hands was trembling.

"Harry?" At least her voice was under control. He did not respond.

"HARRY!"

She finally caught his attention, but he was looking at her as if she was blocking the view of something more interesting. Hermione tapped her finger on one of the stacks of books.

"What's all this?"

Harry hesitated before replying.

"Well, I've decided that starting from now, I'm going to study really hard, then kill Malfoy."

Hermione suddenly felt very tired. Should she try to put a stop to this? Her exhaustion told her not to bother.

"Do you honestly mean that?" she said without emotion. Harry nodded fiercely.

"Yes."

Hermione sighed drearily.

"All right. Pack your bags, we're going on a trip." Hermione began to walk towards the door.

"Oh well, let the boys have their fun," she thought.

The trip to visit Harry was... odd. She almost would have preferred it if Harry had been despondent and sulky. Instead, he had turned into a Mad Hatter, bent on a revenge Hermione doubted he would ever achieve, no matter how many books he took from the restricted section. But if Harry's plot meant getting out of this God forsaken place she was all for it. Then her guilty conscience would rise up screaming "NO BURIAL NO BURIAL."

Thankfully this was interrupted by Harry. He was trying to balance a hoard of books in his arms.

"I'm bringing these," he stated. She left the library door open behind her.

"I don't care."