Gradually

I have never agreed to any of this. It happened gradually. I reckon very clearly how it started though. How I put myself in this mess, how I ended here I can't really explain. But I know exactly when it started.

I was just out of work. Ron and I had split up again. Why I chose that bar to drown in self-pity when I could have done so as well at home I don't know. Maybe because of the many picture frames in my place.

That had been Molly's idea and frankly, if she could for once in her life mind her own business, I'd feel a tad better.

So, I went down to Diagon Alley, passed all the closed windows and ended up in Knockturn Alley. This bar is hidden from view, not really a crab place per say but bad enough that none of my regular acquaintances would ever set foot there. Yes, I say acquaintances since apparently my workaholic personality rebukes people and according to Ron I no longer have any friends. He is supposedly, except for Harry, the only one left to pity me enough to stay around.

Like I give a bloody damn what he thinks of me.

So, I entered the bar, sat on a greasy stool at the counter and signed for a very disgruntled bartender to come take my order. I noticed the wizard's black eye but didn't even bother to feel worried. The place was crowded with oddly quiet patrons, who seemed to mind their own business.
No one had granted me a look when I came in and frankly I felt grateful for the lack of attention.
Any other establishment and I would have at least been recognised by some annoying nosy idiot. Or have met an acquaintance who would certainly have pitied me so much I would have felt obligated to grab a drink with them.
There, no one spared me a glance and when the bartender had left a full bottle of liquor on the counter next to a very questionable looking glass, I was left alone with my gloomy thoughts.

Up until the whispers tuned a little higher. I didn't expect the slash of pain that seized the back of my neck only mere seconds after hearing the voices get louder, and gasped, grasping my neck under my curls and rubbing at it.

When I turned around I realised I was really drunk. What I saw didn't surprise me.

Blaise Zabini had his wavering wand drawn, aiming at me. He didn't scare me though, I could outdo him in a matter of seconds, drunk or not. I only looked at him blankly.

He drunkenly mumbled something close to filthy mudblood and I only shrugged. Like I cared for his meaningless words.

He drew his wand again and prepared to shoot another stinging hex, to my face this time. The coward had apparently found a minuscule pinch of courage.

I shrugged again, daring him to try.

Draco Malfoy, who I only noticed then, took a step to the drunk tall man and hissed between clenched teeth:

"I told you to stop that Blaise."

That for sure I hadn't expected. Perhaps he worried I'd have him in trouble if he participated. I would definitely have.

Well, it is what I thought until Zabini burst out in drunken laughter, calling him a muggle lover, and aiming at me once again.

Malfoy punched the shit out of him. Zabini fell to the floor, and I realised what had just happened only when Malfoy froze on the spot, leaving Zabini to recover from his own surprise, on his arse, his lip bloodied and already swollen:

"What the fuck mate?"

"I told you to stop that." Malfoy spat and then turned to me. He seemed to realise suddenly what he'd just done and his upper lip curled in a vicious drawl, hate emanating from him in waves, glaring at me with such a force I shuddered. He strode away without a backward glance at anyone.

I turned around too and grabbed the bottle of liquor from which I drank straight.

That's how it started. That's the first time I saw him again.

The last is right now.

But I am too weak and drunk to even attempt to shove the covers off his bed, stand and go away. Weak emotionally I mean, because I know that I should be running away from this thing. That thing that doesn't have a name. It has nothing to do with a relationship. It's a hateful kind of casual sex thing. Although casual is an understatement.

The shagging is more than regular.

He comes over whenever he wants, insults me, sometimes manhandles me, and we fuck.

I come over whenever I want, insult him, sometimes provoke him, and we fuck.

But his door is always open. Day and night. Mine is too. Which I guess is the only reason why this keeps happening.

It's the most shameful thing I, we, have ever done.

But it's the least unpleasant thing I've got around. I know that it's the case for him too.

We are rather lonely people. Neither liked, neither present enough to keep friends around.

War takes a lot from you and I guess it took a lot from him too. I was also left empty, lacking something. Purpose for sure, but determination also. My life was left flat, uneventful. Painless.

I actually lacked the pain at this point in my life. And this, with him, it's painful.

It wasn't supposed to be anything, it isn't really anything. It happened once, one drunken night out after the punch night, and he left after I called him a fucking bastard, himself calling me a whore, banging the door after him.

The next time was harsh, passionate, near violent. We crossed path in a Ministry event and he taunted Harry as always. Then I saw him on my way to the bathroom and insulted him again. He retaliated by pinning me to a wall, hissing a list of atrocious names to define me. It had only fuelled my anger. Fed it.
He apparated me to his flat and … that fuck. I knocked off one of his beside lamps, he tore apart my dress, I dug my nails in his back, leaving marks, no, scars.

And then it happened, again, and again, each time differently, each time closer to the previous.

Until he'd just come over at least once a week, which I found myself doing too shortly after he'd started.

Now, his face is buried in his pillow and his left arm laying loosely over my breasts. The cover doesn't hide him entirely and man that bum.

I don't know what he sees in me, physically I mean, especially the breasts he insists upon every single time. They're very small but then maybe it's his thing.

The only complain he's ever had concerns my hair, which I answered by slapping him across the face. Which of course led to a very unhealthy but grandiose fuck.

I call it fuck because that's exactly what it is. There's no feelings, nearly no kissing, except if bruising, and sincerely, all I, we, care about when it happens is our very own selfish pleasure.

I usually go away before his alarm clock rings or exactly when it does, which he does too.

But today is Saturday night, he came around before I had the time to decide whether to get out to get pissed or not.

The shouting resulting from that argument woke the neighbour, so he apparated me to his flat without asking my opinion on the matter.

We kept arguing and …now I'm in his bed, supposed to sleep off the soreness.

But I can't.

I'm usually too drained physically and emotionally, or too drunk after, that I always fall asleep soundly before he does. Tonight though, he fell asleep first, and he snores. Well, lightly. Alright he breathes loudly!

It's annoying anyway and it keeps me up.

I turn slightly on my side, his hand drifting away from my naked torso. Having my back to him doesn't help. The room is spinning anyway. Maybe I should shake him.

Nah. I take the pillow and put it atop my head.

"Would you fucking stop fidgeting? I'm trying to sleep."

Good. Now I have to go. I stand, difficultly. Snatch my dress from the floor, glare at him in the dark and open his bedroom door to go.

"Seriously?" He barks.

"I can't sleep and as always I'm bothering your highness so I'm going home." I hiss.

"Right, fuck off then."

I bang the door to his bedroom close, not without hearing the 'bitch!' he shrieks at me. I hear a loud thud then but ignore it as I fumble around his fireplace for the floo powder. The door I just banged closed bangs open.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" He barks.

"I'm too drunk to apparate."

"I'm out of floo." He drawls.

"I'll walk then." I spit and turn around to the front door. Damn this long corridor! Why can't he just be poor and have a decent flat? Why does it have to be so humongous! I have to slap my hand against the wall several times until I reach the door.

At his mocking chuckle I realise I'm still naked. The dress is in my hand and I growl.

"Fuck." I unfold the intricate piece of clothing, berating myself inwardly and apparently aloud for choosing such a complicated dress. Like I need that atop the liquor. He laughs this time.

"Shut up!" I bark. "God damn it!" The dress is torn apart. On the front.

"What is it Granger? Weren't you just going? I'd like to lock the door once you're gone. Hurry out I'm tired." He sneers, laughter in his eyes.

"Fuck you. Where's my wand anyway?"

"I think you forgot it in the bedroom." He smirks. I want to slap him just then. Slap that idiotic condescending mocking smirk off his beautiful face. "You can go take it if you'd like." He smirks the more, positioning himself in the middle of the corridor, blocking my way. I try to walk steadily to him and when I reach him, give him a hard shove that does nothing but make him laugh.

"You're pathetic." He hisses.

"And you're fucking the pathetic. What does that make you?"

"Compassionate."

"Fuck you, let me pass."

"As you wish." He sharply withdraws and I realise I was keeping myself steady by gripping his shirt. I stumble and he laughs, but grabs my forearm to keep me standing.

"Come back to bed you wench. You'll go when you can stand." I find nothing to say to that, and he doesn't let go of me. I walk back to the bedroom with him.

He releases me only when I sit at the edge of the bed. He climbs back in and as I don't move, angrily sulking against my own stupidity - who drinks that much anyway? - he grabs me by the shoulder and forces me back on the bed.

I feel his hands pat around my legs, and then the cover is back on me.

"Sleep."

"I fucking can't." I spit. He sighs then:

"Come here."

"What?"

"Come the fuck here!" I turn to him in the dark and he sighs once more, gripping my forearm and pulling to make me turn entirely to him. Then, he does something he's never done before. He pulls me against him and wraps his arms around me. I am too shocked to move.

"Sleep." He drawls but I can hear he's not angry.

I fall asleep.