Chapter 1

Hermione stood in the bathroom of her modest London flat, staring at her pallid reflection in the mirror. She had lost quite a bit of weight in recent years, a side effect of her grief, accompanied by a streak of blonde hair running through her bushy brown mane. She wore a satin robe, lazily tied, and she easily slipped it off of one shoulder and pressed the tattoo of an elaborate rose her lover had drawn there.

Not a few moments had passed, when there was a soft knock at the door. She opened it and saw a large man grinning devilishly from beneath his black goatee and brandishing a single red rose. She took the rose half heartedly and met his dark gaze for the briefest moment before retreating back into the hall, knowing he would follow.

"A bit earlier than our usual time, love," said Albert Runcorn, taking off his cloak, then ripping off his shirt to reveal a massive chest and terrifyingly strong arms. "Not that I'm complaining…" He walked up, half-naked, behind Hermione, who was standing with her back to him, staring out the window of her sitting room. She knew what she had to do, though she was unsure how to do it. "What's the rush?" He began kissing her neck but she turned around to face him.

"I didn't call you here for that." She slid out of his grip.

"Is something wrong? Has Snape been bothering you again? You just give the word and he's"-

"It's not Snape. I just can't- I can't do this." She tried to walk away but he caught her arm. A look of comprehension on his face, he reached out to touch her cheek.

"Ah yes, for a moment I'd forgotten your true desires, you naughty girl," he said, removing it from his pocket and pointed it under her chin, sliding his other hand to her waist. "Very well, I am here to please," He drew his wand back.

"Imper"-

"No!" Hermione swatted his wand onto the floor, "it's over! I can't do this anymore! I just wanted to tell you… in person."

"Over?" Something beyond lust gleamed within the depths of his narrowed eyes. Runcorn pinned Hermione against the wall so fast that it took her breath away. She couldn't scream. She couldn't think. If he desired to hurt her in earnest, he had always been able to do so, and had refrained, but perhaps now that she was ending it he would not be so lenient.

"What?" Runcorn was suddenly aware of Hermione's terror. "Are you afraid? Don't know what I might do?" He searched her face for some respite, some small sign that she had come to trust him in their short months together. He found nothing, however, and he released her, backing away and picking his shirt off the floor. Now fully dressed, he looked around almost sheepishly, then watched Hermione tighten the drawstring of her silk robe and wipe a tear that had escaped onto her face.

"I have never hurt you, Hermione. Not unless you wanted me to." Runcorn said.

"You… are bad for me," Hermione said finally.

Runcorn closed the distance between them and was now towering over her, making her feel helpless. "But we don't have to use the Imperius Curse at all! That was your idea, anyway. We can just be together. No enchantments." There was a tenderness in his voice that Hermione had never heard, or perhaps she'd never let herself hear before.

"Really?" She said sarcastically, determined to make him understand, "a muggle-born, Harry Potter's best friend, and a Death Eater? Together? In a relationship?" She forced a derisive laugh. "Don't be ridiculous."

"Ex-Death Eater," Runcorn said quietly. He gathered his cloak gruffly from the floor and unbolted the door. "Wish you could understand that." He left and a moment later Hermione heard a small crack from outside. He was gone.

She felt proud of herself for standing her ground; not giving into the temptation of being sedated and taken advantage of by a gorgeous and dangerous man. He had been the only one that could fulfill her desire to be controlled. One flick of his wand, a muttered word under his breath, and her mind went blissfully blank. Every command he gave her was gladly obeyed; everything he made her do caused pure, unadulterated pleasure to course through her veins...

Now, she sat on the window sill completely sober and completely alone. Her thoughts became increasingly more and more depressing as her night spent in solitude wore on. Memories of Ron flooded her; pictures of the past, as if leafing through a photo album of their friendship- Ron with her arm around her, Ron stabbing the cup of Hufflepuff with a basilisk fang; the three of them, she and Harry and Ron… how it all used to be.

She got up off the couch and set her book down. Rummaging through the kitchen cabinets, she searched for a bottle of firewhiskey left over from that cloyingly saccharine baby shower of Ginny's she had volunteered to host. She was happy for Harry and Ginny, of course, but sometimes she went overboard with her generosity and enthusiasm; as though trying to hide her own bitterness. She found it. There were at least a few shots left in the bottle. She poured herself a generous one and sipped it, shuddering. She'd never been much of a drinker, but after ending her Imperius curse addiction, she had to find a new one, didn't she?