Stand

___________

Lately I've been feeling like a falling bomb.

The ground is getting closer and the sky is falling down.

-- Thursday.

___________

Harry Potter apparated just outside of Hermione's flat, leaning on the wall of the elevator as a little 'ding' indicated its passing each floor. His foot tapped on the ground impatiently and it was with much luck that the elevator wasn't out of order today; otherwise he would've had to walk up thirteen sets of stairs just to get to said flat. He had become worried when Hermione didn't phone into the Ministry today, and it was also a worrier when she didn't show up to her job as an Inspector because of one of her many virtues: "Not to miss work, no matter what." She, as a responsible individual had shown up for work even when burning with the flu.

The doors opened when the elevator reached the appointed floor, and Harry exited, sweeping his obsidian black cloak along with him as he reached the door to Hermione's flat. Pulling a spare key from his pocket he unlocked the door, pushing it open carefully. He peeked inside with raised eyebrows.

When he initially entered the flat, he immediately knew something was wrong because the place was in a state of disarray: scattered clothing about the front area, uneaten Chinese food on the kitchen counter and work documents randomly placed on the floor and furniture. As he walked through the hallway, he glanced in every room for Hermione, a horrid feeling of worry panging in his chest.

He wasn't sure if someone had broke in and robbed the place, or if she was even there, if she was even okay...

Her bedroom door was shut. He gulped. He was scared - scared for her. Holding out a hand reluctantly, he grabbed the knob of the door, twisting it to the side before pushing it open.

The scene before him was a bit of a shocker, and reasonably so. Hermione was lying naked in the middle of the room, a sheet covered over the lower half of her body, and she was positioned on her side. An arm partially covered her breasts and her frizzy hair framed her pale face. Her lips were parted and drool was rolling down her cheek in a thin stream. Near an outstretched palm lay another bottle of Odgen's Old Fire Whiskey, and the contents seemed to be dried up of; some of the liquid stained the cream colored carpet.

Sweeping his cloak to the side he knelt down beside her, running an index finger lightly over her cheek, his breath shuddering. The cheek was still warm - she was only passed out. Sighing in relief, he pulled the sheet up and over her chest before placing one hand on her arm shoulder and shaking her gently.

"Hermione," he whispered. "Wake up Hermione."

He pulled away his hand as her eyelids fluttered, and what were once warm brown eyes - now only cold shadows of them - stared up at him.

Hermione looked confused, and she sat upwards, the sheet falling away from her as her upper body was exposed. He looked away. She wiped at the drool on the side of her lips and looked at him almost like a confused child.

"Oh," was her only response as she pulled the sheet up to cover her chest.

"Hermione...what happened?" he asked, clearly concerned. She shot him a resentful look and turned her face away from him, staring at the floor.

She opened her mouth to speak but then shut it. It was as if she was fighting a war internally with herself, debating whether or not to speak to Harry. Like she was pleading the Fifth Amendment.

"C'mon 'Mione, what went on here?" he tested gently, and she looked at him with an ashamed expression.

"I was sleeping, that's all," she lied rather poorly, and he shook his head as he allowed himself to stand on his feet.

"Did you throw a gathering last night?"

"No."

"Ah...well, you didn't come to work this morning so I came to check on you," Harry sighed. "I was worried."

"I'm sorry; my alarm clock must not have gone off."

Harry stared at her with a look of skepticism. "You don't have an alarm clock."

She opened her mouth in a small 'o' and lay back down on her back, staring upwards. Tears brimmed her eyes and her expression kept changing sporadically, as if she was caught in a moral fight with herself.

Harry knew what the matter with her was. She was clearly drunk, and there was evidence enough to determine that. He'd never seen Hermione even go near any type of alcohol and it troubled him. Feeling weary, he sat down on the edge of her four-post bed, fidgeting a bit as his radiant green eyes watched her. She had her arm extended towards the ceiling, tracing patterns in the air.

"I think maybe you should try to get up," he said apprehensively. Hermione only glanced at him before turning back over on her side, giving him a clear view of her bare back.

To say the least, it startled him. He could see her spine clearly, as if the skin was stretched over her too tightly, she was extremely thin. The thought only occurred to him earlier for a brief moment as he entered the room when he had got a good view of her stomach.

Now it gave him a feeling of extreme fretfulness. He decided to keep his feelings on her fragility to himself for now. His thoughts were brought to a halt as her shoulders began to shake, and a sob emitted clearly from her throat. Hermione was crying and trembling all over her.

He immediately dropped to the floor, timidly placing a hand on her shoulder. She let out another sob and Harry felt helpless.

"God Harry, I feel so stupid," she choked out, curling up into a ball. His eyes softened and he wanted to say something, but he couldn't think clearly at this point.

"You're not stupid," was all he could say. She turned and looked at him with glazed, red eyes, tears streaming idly down her cheeks. His heart broke at that moment.

"Yes I am," Hermione said. "I'm so stupid - stupid - stupid - S-STUPID!"

He recoiled, looking at her with wide eyes for a second. His back leant against the bed, and he swallowed.

"Stop being so hard on yourself, we've all been blitzed before," Harry reasoned.

"I need to get in the shower," she declared acidly before standing up, holding the sheet around her like a loose gown. "I'll Floo you later, see yourself out."

Feeling the air suddenly go cold, Harry merely nodded. Hermione had never been so icy, but he figured it was just the alcohol. He watched as she stumbled across the room, slamming open the door to the master bath.

"Alright...you going to be okay, 'Mione?"

Her head peeked out from the door and she narrowed her glassy eyes. "I'll be fine, now go."

He put one of his hands in the pocket while he ran the other through his messy, unruly black hair. "Okay, okay. I'll-"

"Please GO already!" she yelled out, her face turning red. He stiffened and waved a hand before exiting.

He could hear her sobs resounding from the bathroom as he disapparated from the flat.

***

"Bloody good game that was," Ronald Weasley concluded, pulling out a chair from the kitchen table before plopping down. Harry only nodded with a small smile, which resembled more of a grimace.

"Would've liked it better had the Cannons won," Harry said pointedly.

"Still, it was damn well exciting," Ron responded with fervor.

The two twenty-four year olds sat in silence at the table before a woman with vibrant red hair entered looking ill-tempered and most of all disappointed. She glared at the two with her hands planted securely on her jean adorned hips. Her freckled cheeks were a light scarlet, and her white jumper was wrinkled as if she had just been lying down.

"Ronald! You were supposed to go on a date with Freda today!" she bellowed. Ron shot Harry a look of fright that one only got from a little sister.

Harry only watched bemusedly. For the past three weeks or so, Ginny, Ron's younger sister had been setting up lunch dates for the single red headed banker, who had taken up a job at Gringotts recently.

"I forgot Gin," he whistled innocently, looking heavenward.

"That's a bunch of rubbish," she snapped. "She owled me just now and was positively distraught! She hates being stood up-"

"And that's my problem how?" Ron glared, sitting up straight as his arms crossed against his chest.

"It is now, because I rescheduled it for tomorrow afternoon. You'll be meeting her at Madam Puddifoot's. Two PM sharp!"

Ron stood up and slammed his palms onto the table top. "Absolutely not! I refuse to go to that...that...revoltingly frilly tea shop! That's where couples go-"

"Which is exactly why you'll be going to Madam Puddifoot's, because it's where couples go," Ginny looked wound up. "Listen Ron, Freda is a lovely girl-"

"Maybe you should stop worrying about my love life and look at yours. You haven't had a boyfriend since Hogwarts," Ron snapped bitterly.

Ginny looked taken aback. Her lips pursed and she turned away from him, her long mane of red hair sweeping behind her.

"Oh Ginny, I know that was uncalled for-"

"Then why did you say it?" she asked loudly, whipping around to face him once more. Suffice it to say she looked tremendously livid.

"I want you to leave me alone - just for once - with all this chuff!"

Ginny looked at Harry about to ask for advice when he raised a hand to silence her. "I'm not getting into this."

"But Harry, even you know Ron needs a girl-"

Harry shook his head. "Maybe it just isn't the right time for him."

Ginny sighed sadly. "You two are simply insufferable. You'll end up dying alone and by yourselves, and I'll laugh because I told you so."

"How sweet of you to say," Harry grinned. "It's comforting to know you think I'll die all by myself."

"Only being honest Harry," she retorted, giving him a sarcastic smile.

"Listen Gin, I just don't feel comfortable going out on a brunch with this girl tomorrow. A girlfriend just isn't my main priority - I mean...it would be nice to have one - but really. I just started a new job and I still live with my parents, how embarrassing is THAT?"

"Ahem, I still live here too. I'll just tell Freda you're gay. That'll do that trick," Ginny nodded thoughtfully; Ron looked horrified.

"No - no need for that! I really must insist, tell her I'll be there-"

"Fabulous!" Ginny remarked, sticking out her tongue at Ron before whirling around. "I'll go owl her right now!"

And with that she fled the room, skipping up the stairs.

"What is it with girls and love? Bunch of bloody grot it is."

"No clue," Harry smiled amusedly.

"By the way, did you hear from Hermione today?"

"Actually, I visited her before I went to the Quidditch game with you," Harry said.

"How is she?"

"She's-" Harry paused. Did he want to tell Ron? "She's fine; took the day off to run some errands."

Ron tilted his head. "Think I'll go Floo the girl."

The two stood up from the table as Harry followed Ron into the living area of the Burrow. The room was a cozy, country styled nook with a couch, a rocking chair, loveseat and several pillows lining the sofa. On the walls were pictures and sentimental drawings, plaques and things of the like. Ron lit the fire before throwing some Floo powder into the grate. In turn the flames turned a shade of brilliant green.

"Hermione's flat," Ron said in demand.

The duo waited for a few moments before Hermione's head appeared in the fire. Her bushy brown hair was slopped into a messy bun and a quill was between her lips. An eyebrow was furrowed in thought and Harry decided she looked well enough.

"Ay-up 'Mione," Ron grinned toothily. Hermione's lips twitched at the side but she allowed a smile back.

She took the quill away from her lips and responded, "Need something?"

"Now do I always need a reason to Floo my favorite Hermione?" Ron inquired slyly.

"Of course not."

"Something got you down?" He asked concernedly; she shook her head.

"No. I'm feeling a bit worn out though. I've so much to do before the morning," she looked down for a moment. "Lots of document work."

"Poor 'Mione," Ron said, shaking his head sadly. "You've got to come over Saturday though, Mum's gonna be cooking a big dinner."

"I'll try," she laughed softly. Her eyes flashed to Harry who was sitting still and quiet. "Hullo Harry."

"Hey there," he responded meagerly. Ron turned to give Harry a confused look.

Ron looked to have an epiphany for a moment, his blue eyes lighting up in a glow. He put his fingers on his chin and looked back and forth at them attentively for a moment. Harry thought in bemusement how much he looked like Sherlock Holmes.

"You two had a row, didn't you?"

"Ron! Of course not," Hermione laughed nervously. Ron looked back at Harry.

"We didn't. I'm not feeling talkative at the moment is all."

"Oi, you two are hiding something."

"No we aren't Ron," Hermione sighed irritably.

Harry looked at Ron. "She's telling the truth."

Shortly afterwards Hermione excused herself, claiming she needed to get her work done.

"I really hope she shows up this time," Ron broke the silence that had rounded about when the Floo conversation ended. "She didn't show up the last couple of times."

"She said she had work to do so I believe her," Harry supposed.

Sitting down on a sofa chair, Harry propped his feet up on a footrest before him. He rubbed at his temples, thinking about Hermione and the little incident earlier. He couldn't get it out of his mind - it was driving him mad. It wasn't like her to act as she was lately. He knew her well enough to conclude that.

Ron had exited the room to go make some tea, leaving Harry alone. He maneuvered himself around until he was comfortable, removing his glasses. Immediately his vision was blurry but a scratch in one of the lenses had been irritating him for quite some time.

"Oculus Reparo," he murmured, feeling a rush of memories surge through him. He had learned the spell from Hermione - who had used it many a time. When it came to Harry and his glasses, they were enemies and Hermione was usually the mediator. It seemed as if every time the two met in a social gathering or for lunch, she would repair the glasses with the simple charm - and it was regarded as a "Hermione memory."

The lens was mended and he once again adorned the spectacles. He sat in the chair for a few moments, thinking of the intelligent, sharp girl he usually knew contrasted to the drunken and short-tempered Hermione.

Hearing a large clatter in the kitchen, he shot up from the chair as his thoughts of Hermione disappeared and ran straight into the other room. Harry stifled laughter as he watched the scene before him. Ron was on his back, a dinner plate shattered on the floor in several fragments. A thin blonde woman stood before him, gazing eerily at him with focused blue eyes - never taking them away from his.

"Oi, Luna, you scared me!" Ron growled. He sat up, using his arms as leverage to keep propped upwards.

"Silly Ronald," Luna shook her head.

"Don't call me that," he shot up at her, a vein in his forehead twitching.

"Why Ronald?" she asked before tilting her head to the side. "It's such a lovely name-"

"-That only my mother can call me."

Harry stepped over, helping Ron up to his feet. Ron gave Luna a sour look.

"Reparo," Ron mumbled, and the plate's pieces came together again.

Harry turned his attention to Luna, aka Loony Lovegood. She was a woman of twenty-three, tall and skinny. Her stringy dirty blonde hair cascaded down her back and over her shoulder some limply. Her eyes were quite protuberant - a shade of bright blue. He lightly noted her clothing wasn't as extravagantly original today; she only wore dark red robes with a regular yellow turtleneck and khaki shorts. With slight reminiscence he noted that Luna still wore the butter beer bottle caps around her neck, and it was enough to make him smile slightly.

"How are you Luna?" he questioned. She turned her head towards him, the same dreamy look she always had even in school etched upon her features.

She smiled. "Oh I'm fine Harry. I was just taking a stroll when I remembered Ronald lived nearby."

"What a crock of shit. You're here everyday, so of course you remembered-"

"Of course Ronald. I could never forget anything about you."

He gave her a distressed look and mumbled something like "...needs to be put in a loony bin..." before setting the plate he held in his hand onto the counter. Turning his back opposite to the sink he placed his hands in his pockets, crossing his legs at the ankle.

"You look very pretty today Ronald," Luna concluded with an expression unchanged.

He stared at her as if she were mad. "Pretty? P-pretty? That's something you say to a girl - and I look rather ruddy today-"

It was almost true. Ron was wearing a plain gray t-shirt with a pair of faded khakis, which looked to be at least two years old.

"Oh Ronald...marry me! You're beautiful!" Harry said mockingly. Ron glared daggers at him and he laughed amusedly.

Luna let out a very loud and obnoxious laugh, ending it with a snort. She had the tendency to...over-exert her chuckles. Ron gazed at her perturbed; Harry slunk against the opposite wall and yawned casually.

Ron sighed. "It wasn't that funny Luna."

"It was so! You two are hilarious!"

"Was that Luna I heard?" Ginny's voice sung out as she strolled down the stairs and into the kitchen.

"Hello Ginny Molly!" Luna smiled.

"Please just call me Gin," Ginny interjected.

"Sorry Ginny Molly!"

Ginny was the only one who could tolerate Luna besides Harry. Luna was Ginny's long standing best friend and so she had learned over the years to ignore Luna's offhand behavior. During school Luna was regarded as "Loony Lovegood," and reasonably. Her father had been the editor-in-chief of The Quibbler, a tabloid that believed in such things as deceased Sirius Black being a musician, and that Crumple-Horned Snorkacks exist. Nowadays however, Luna was the editor-in-chief of The Quibbler and the stories hadn't gotten anymore truthful or believable than what they had when Lucas Lovegood ran it.

The vivid red headed Weasley only smiled kindly. "Let's get away from these two priggishly mean boys. We can go search for something for you to write an article about in The Quibbler," Ginny said persuasively.

"That sounds fabulous Ginny Molly!"

Ron sighed gratefully as the two girls stalked up the stairs. "Women," was all he could say.

Harry laughed. "Agreed."

"I tell you, that Loony gives me quite the headache," Ron joked. "She's a strange one. I never will get why she's so fixated with me."

"Because...you're oh so 'pretty'!" Harry grinned. Ron narrowed his cerulean blue eyes back at Harry, not quite as pleased.

"For one, it annoys me - because of just who she is, and it confuses me because after seven years she insists on...flirting in her own off-beat way with me. And she decides to show up on the strangest of times, yesterday she was over at five in the morning...it's unbelievable," Ron mumbled while running a hand through his short tufts of red hair.

Harry could only allow himself to smirk. It was true, seven years later, and Luna was still crushing on Ron. Harry himself didn't understand it, he always thought that Luna would go for someone like herself, at peace and so far away. Ron was so far from that, he was a hot-headed, temperamental and crude man with a tendency to overreact to situations.

"Well, she is Luna Lovegood after all, we must remember that one little detail," Harry reasoned.

"It doesn't excuse it, she likes to make a loud entrance. Yesterday I awoke to her climbing in through my bedroom window, then knocking over an entire shelf of books, heavy books - you know, the one Hermione insists on buying us - 'bout scared the living boggarts out of me. It's a surprise she hasn't been put in the loony bin yet-"

"I think she's just at peace with herself," Harry muttered in theory. "She's just misunderstood, s'all."

When Harry had talked with Luna that night several years ago, he had come to a crossroads in which he decided to be friends with the weird witch. He had also come to believe - amazingly - in one of Luna's beliefs. She had said that one day, everyone would be able to see their deceased ones again. He had thought about it for a long while during the summer after his sixth year, when Sirius Black, his godfather had died. It was with much consideration that he concluded that Luna was right - and that he would see Sirius, his parents and even Cedric once again someday.

Ron shook his head at Harry in doubt before opening a cupboard above the sink. "Extremely misunderstood. I don't think I'll ever be able to understand her - she's just nutters - that's the best explanation I can come up with."

***

Hermione Granger leaned backwards on the sofa couch that she sat upon, surrounded by various document papers and other things of the like. Wrapped around her shoulders was an afghan, woven and given to her from Molly Weasley. Sweeping her bangs from her eyes, she sighed heavily before reaching over to grab a large binder full of even more papers. She hated her job. She hated the documents with a passion. Leaning over, she dipped the quill she held in her hand into a bottle of ink, tapping it on the side before scrawling some notes onto a piece of parchment.

Pressing down a bit too hard, she left several blotches of ink on the parchment - with a growl of frustration, she tossed the binder along with the parchment aside. Hopping up from her seat, she allowed the afghan to fall to the floor. Stomping into the kitchen area, she flipped on the light switch and opened a drawer, glaring at the contents. Pulling out a bottle of vodka, she opened a cupboard and pulled out a shot glass, pouring herself some of the clear liquor. Pulling back the unruly, bushy brown of her hair she swallowed the contents in one gulp, enjoying the burning sensation in her throat.

She went to pour herself another glass, but thinking otherwise she instead took the bottle and began to gulp from it instead. Retreating to her bedroom she ignored the messy state it was in and plopped onto the feather mattress of her four-poster, drowning out her frustrations with the alcohol.

With a dizzy notation, she reminded herself that she needed to buy a new bottle of Smirnoff from the corner store.

***