Who: Ioan Cadwallader and OPEN Where: A hallway on the upper level of the school When: Late. Like, after both curfews. But when has that ever stopped anyone? What: Here there be drunk singers. If you're looking for intelligent conversation, seek elsewhere. Rating: That depends on the other person's willingness (or lack thereof) to molest an inebriated Hufflepuff.
There was a bottle of firewhiskey dangling from his fingers. Ioan couldn't remember where it had come from or how many he'd had prior to this one. He also couldn't remember how he'd gotten to this particular hallway on the...what floor was this again? His vision was blurry and his movement akin to a ship on storm-tossed seas. It was a miracle he'd made it this far. It was a miracle he was still alive.
With that thought, he remembered at least one thing: why he'd starting drinking in the first place. He'd been sleeping, warm and comfortable in his bed, when the dream began. In the dream, he'd woken in his cell in Azkaban. Dressed in the tattered remains of the clothes he'd been wearing the day he was captured, he was freezing, every part of him quivering violently. There were footsteps and voices in the hall outside and his door opened. He winced at the sudden appearance of light in the small room, raising his arm to shield his eyes.
The men who walked in were the Death Eaters-dressed-as-Ministry officials who had tortured his mother. They dragged him to a windowless room and threw him into a hard wooden chair at its center. He was bound with magical rope and the questions began. Questions to which he had no answers but the truth, and the truth wasn't enough. In the end, the ropes had been removed, and he slipped from the chair, broken and bleeding. At the moment when he would've hit the floor, he woke up in reality, his face tear-streaked.
Silent sobs racking his form, he'd half-crawled to his trunk, where his secret stash of firewhiskey was hidden. He finished the first bottle in one long swallow and the rest was all a blur of burning alcohol and aimless wandering. He would regret it tomorrow, but tonight, he needed to forget. Lifting the bottle to his lips, he started drinking again.