Warning: This story is dark. It deals with drug use and alcoholism. It deals with the trade of sexual favors for illegal substances. If you have triggers with any of those topics I would not recommend reading.
Winter 2006
"You don't have any right to tell me what to do anymore, Ronald!" Hermione hissed, yanking her arm from Ron's vice-like grip. She stumbled back from the force of the release, wobbling in the too-tall heels her stylist selected for the evening.
"Well, someone needs to!" Ron snapped, his hands lifting to push his fallen fringe back in line with the rest of his perfectly coiffed locks in a weak attempt to compose himself. "You're a fucking mess."
The words stung, like a slicing hex straight to her heart. It had been eight years since they broke up, but the pain of the rejection still felt as fresh as the day she signed the contract. No boyfriends. No unapproved functions. No work. No communication with old friends. No freedom. No fucking choices. She felt tears prick in the corner of her eyes, betraying her need to stay composed in front of the colossal prick that her former friend and lover had become. "Fuck you."
Cornflower blue eyes snapped toward her as a cruel laugh left his lips. A sneer eerily reminiscent of their fallen potions professor masked his features as he looked her over, evaluating her body in the most crude manor possible. "I'd rather not. I've had it before. Nothing worth sticking around for."
And just like that, she felt two centimetres tall. The insecurities of the past eight years came flooding back to her instantly. She wasn't worth it. She wasn't loved. She would be alone forever. No one would want her; she was broken. She wasn't worth anything. She stumbled back further until her back hit the cold, tiled wall of the Ministry hallway, her hands trembling as the consuming darkness began to take hold. "T-That's…That's…"
"The truth. You're a drunk. You can't even make it through an awards ceremony without emptying the bar," Ron continued. "Get the bloody fuck out of here before you make yourself look like a bigger idiot than you already have."
She wanted to tell him to go away. She wanted to shout that next to agreeing to a life of post-war fame at the behest of the Ministry, he was the biggest mistake she had made. She wanted to tell him she hated him for abandoning her, but all she could do was sink to the floor, her tears spilling down her cheeks, hot with shame. As Ron continued with his verbal evisceration of the last remaining specks of self-respect she had, her hands rose and she pressed them firmly against her ears, praying it would be enough to drown out the reaffirmation that all her fears were founded. "Stop it," she cried, her nails biting at her scalp as she curled her fingers around her ears. "STOP IT!"
Hermione wasn't sure what finally pulled his attention away from her, but when she watched his shiny leather shoes move from her peripheral vision and disappear down the hall towards the room they had vacated, she allowed her hands to slowly drop to her lap. His departure did little to stem the trail of tears that flowed down her cheeks, smearing her makeup.
Taking off her heels one by one, Hermione threw them as hard as she could against the wall, praying that it would shatter into a million pieces and mirror the way she felt. It had been nearly a year since she had last seen Ron, and the gutting pain of abandonment felt more real than ever, calling forth the ever-present mantra in her head: she was alone. She wasn't worth it. She was broken. She was going to be alone forever.
The darkness came, weaving its inky black tendrils into every crevice of her mind and soul until everything she felt was empty and cold. She needed to get away. She needed to hide, to forget the world around her. She needed release. Brown eyes cracked open, and she looked down the hall in search of the small clutch she had dropped when Ron roughly ejected her from the ballroom. Spotting the tiny metallic handbag, she crawled on all fours towards it, the seams of her gown ripping in protest, but she didn't care. She needed what lay inside.
Snatching the clutch, she unzipped the top before dumping it out on the floor. Her lipstick rolled away, and the small bottle of perfume her agent stashed within burst as it hit the ground, but mixed among the debris of glass and the overpowering scent of rose water was what she was looking for. Small. Beautiful. An iridescent blue pill in the shape of a dragon's egg. Her savior. Her release.
Painted fingernails plucked the key to her temporary freedom from the glass and perfume and she placed it on her tongue. Despite the bitterness of the rose water, she could taste the sugary coating that wrapped around the pill, the first layer of the bliss this little miracle drug brought. Swallowing it down, she felt the pill settle in her stomach, mixing with the whiskey she had consumed less than an hour ago, and almost instantly she felt relief. Rushing like the warmth of a heating charm, it started at her toes and worked over her skin until she was enveloped with the rapture of its sweet embrace.
The crushing void began to fill until she felt whole. The pain and anxiety that riddled her body vanished, and instead her thoughts began to shift from how right Ron had been about her to how fucking wrong he was. She wasn't a mess. She wasn't a drunk. He had the problem. He was just jealous. He didn't like that she was having a good time. He didn't like that she'd found the secret to fixing the chasm of emptiness inside her. He was jealous. He was obviously just jealous.
Half-lidded eyes looked down the hall once more to the door that would lead her back to the ballroom, and she released a soft breath. She'd prove him wrong. She'd show him just how wrong he was. Pushing up off the floor, Hermione steadied herself against the wall before moving toward the ballroom. She walked right through the broken glass, not even wincing as it sunk into her skin. She left a trail of bloody footprints along the crisp white tile as she made her way back into the throng of guests.
Lazy smiles were given to the guests. Her world had been black and gray before, but now it was technicolor. The twinkling lights strung around the ballroom burst like supernovas, their rainbow sheen illuminating the room as she stumbled back towards her table. Each step felt like she was walking on a cloud, her feet sinking further into the fluffy cotton until she could barely stand up. Grasping the closest thing she could, Hermione latched onto a Nigerian Consul, using him for support as she swayed. "Sorry," she mumbled to the surprised wizard, and as she ran her hand across his crisp robes, the thrill of the fabric sliding beneath her fingertips sent goosebumps up her arm. Her eyes widened and instead of pulling herself away from the wizard, she stroked his chest once more, relishing in the delicious tingling that reverberated in her soul.
From across the room, Harry stood shoulder to shoulder with Minister Shacklebolt as he spoke to several members of the French Ministry. A champagne flute was poised against his lips as he stood frozen in place, watching as Hermione fell to the floor in a fit of giggles. Her cheeks were flushed, and a sheen of sweat ran over every bit of her exposed skin. "Excuse me. I've—got to go," Harry mumbled, not bothering to wait for a reply before slipping from the group.
Setting his champagne glass down on the nearest table, Harry began to wind his way through the crowd of people and towards Hermione, concern written plainly across his face. He hadn't seen her in months, but this was out of character for her, wasn't it? She looked sick, delirious even. She clearly needed help, and everyone around her was just gawking.
He made it halfway across the ballroom towards her when he felt a tug on his arm, halting his progress.
"Mr. Potter." His agent spoke in a clipped tone that he was more than familiar with. She did this whenever he did something she found 'excessively foolish'. "The Minister for Magic is requesting your presence in conference room 421. He stated that he wasn't done with your conversation when you abruptly left."
She'd been watching him again, hadn't she? She always did that, spied on him from across the room at these type of functions, constantly making sure he was playing his part. Harry reached up to adjust his glasses on his nose, as he often did when he was nervous, only to find them missing. Contacts; yet another change she insisted he make recently. "I'll be there in a moment, Aurora," Harry replied before looking back over to Hermione, watching as she tried to pull herself up off the floor only to fall down once again. "Hermione needs my help."
"The proper people have been notified, Mr. Potter," the bespeckled witch replied crisply, violet eyes glancing past her client to Hermione, pity penetrating her normally collected demeanor. It was disarming to see his agent wear something other than a careful mask of apathy. "Best not keep the Minister waiting."
Harry hesitated as he chewed on the inside of his bottom lip, torn between rushing to aid his friend and his obligation for the night. Perhaps Kingsley's meeting wouldn't take long? He could floo call her once he got home to make sure she was safe. "Someone's coming?" he confirmed, looking back at his agent once again.
"Yes. Someone's coming," Aurora confirmed before giving his arm a slight tug, and she gestured behind her toward the exit that would lead him to the lifts. "Come along. This won't take but a minute."
Harry nodded, emerald eyes sweeping across the room, watching as Hermione pulled herself up into a chair, her dress practically hanging off her shoulders, torn from the struggle to get off the floor. He turned away, following the sharp clip of his agent's heels. It would be alright. Someone was coming to help her.
Spring 2008
Hermione shifted nervously from her left to right foot, willing her shaking hands to calm by sweeping them over the thighs of her jeans. She needed to remain calm. She needed to act like her world wasn't closing in. She needed to act normal. Normal. She could remember what normal felt like, couldn't she? She waited anxiously for Charlie to say something—anything! She knew she was taking a risk coming here, considering she had seen him just last week with a similar plea, but she was desperate. She needed a fix, and she was beyond broke. Her vault held nothing but dust bunnies, and she was already in debt 200 Galleons to her landlord, but the shakes wouldn't stop. The emptiness wouldn't subside. She had consumed enough Firewhiskey to incapacitate a small army over the week, but it wouldn't go away. It wasn't enough. She needed something more. She needed her freedom from this consuming darkness. "Charlie." She broke the silence with her plea, dark eyes lifting from the floor to the long haired wizard.
Charlie raised his index finger toward her, cornflower blue eyes, so similar to Ron's, not lifting from the ledger book he had opened on his desk. When she left last week with only ten pills, he figured it would last her longer than this. Most of his clients were only taking one a day at a maximum, but it seemed like the Golden Girl was sinking faster than he had anticipated. Her tolerance for Dragon's Breath was impressive, especially considering she was a Muggleborn. His eyes ran across her page, sweeping over the payments and credits, watching as more and more red began to splash across his page as he worked his way down to the total at the bottom. 250 Galleons. Not his highest debtor, but considering he knew her finances—or lack thereof—she was in no position to exceed her credit limit further. With a heavy sigh, Charlie laid down the book on his desk, his tongue running across his teeth in thought as he lifted his eyes to examine her. He watched the steady tremble in her fingers, the fidgeting, the gentle sway of her body that told him she absolutely could not sit still. He should feel sorry for her, but he had long ago given up the good inside him and made room for a much darker personality. "You're maxed out, love. I'm afraid there's nothing I can do unless you've got a hundred Galleons squirrelled away in the pockets of those jeans."
A hundred Galleons!? A hundred galleons!? Was he high?—She thought it was likely, but she never knew Charlie to take his own supply while working. A hundred Galleons? How was it even possible? Had he padded her debt? Was there interest tacked onto it that she didn't know about? Was that even a thing? Drug dealer interest? Merlin, how was it one hundred Galleons? That was half her fucking rent. Gulping down the rising sense of dread at his rejection, Hermione took a tentative step forwards, her fingers brushing the top of his desk. "Charlie, come on. It's me—I'm your friend. We've known each other for ages," she tried to reason.
Charlie's head tipped back in a hollow laugh that seemed to echo off the bare walls around them. It was like he could see the gears ticking behind her eyes, trying to find a way to make this work. She'd been coming to him for years now, surely she knew him better than this. If she wanted product, she was going to need to offer something up in return. And, since money was clearly off the table, there was really only one thing he was interested in...
"My friend?" he questioned as he straightened his spine into a more authoritative pose in his chair. "You were never my friend, Hermione. You hung around my baby brother and the boy wonder. I just happened to be there on occasion."
"That's not true, Charlie. We have been friendly for a long time!" Hermione defended, her tongue darting out to moisten her dry lips.
"Friendly. I would hardly call our relationship a friendship," Charlie balked, giving Hermione a definitive shake of his head. "Just because I passed you mashed potatoes at Yule does not make us friends, Hermione. Beyond that, it's been years since either of us were graced with an invite to my mother's. No, we're more like acquaintances, especially now. You are my customer; I could never be friends with you."
He wasn't her friend. He wasn't her anything. She was alone. She wasn't worth it. She wasn't loved. She would be alone forever. No one would want her. She was broken. She wasn't worth anything. Hermione's eyes dropped to the floor as the words emerged from the blackness within her soul, vibrant, white. Scarring. She bit the inside of her cheek until she tasted the metallic tang of blood. She needed to prevent herself from crumbling here in front of him. It was bad enough she was back here begging for more. She wouldn't let him see her cry. She wouldn't let him see her fall apart.
Shaking hands slid across her hips once more, wiping away the sweat from her palms as she took a stuttering breath. How could she argue with him? He held all the power. If she were to point out the things they had done that would clearly define their relationship as more than acquaintances, he would use it against her. The things that made her sick to her stomach. The things that almost made it not worth the freedom his little blue pills gave her. She didn't want to bring them up, to relive the memories. She didn't want to do them ever again.
Shifting her weight between her feet once more, she brought a trembling hand up to push her shoulder length curls behind her ear, her eyes still staring at the filthy floor, praying he would have a shred of compassion left in his bones. "I'm not here to argue, okay? I—I just was hoping you could front me until the fifth," she explained in a voice barely above a whisper. Glancing up through her eyelashes, her eyes sought out his once more. "I have an interview payout that day. I just need enough to last me until then."
Charlie only offered her a simple shrug of his shoulders before he leaned back in his swivel chair, the spring squeaking in response. "I'm afraid not. I don't make money off handouts to the needy. I've got bills to pay, just as you do, sweetheart."
"I'll pay double," she interjected quickly as a slow creeping panic began to set in. The inky blackness. The consuming fear. He couldn't deny her. She needed this. She needed this to get through the interview. Fuck, she needed this to get through her fucking day! She needed him to understand. She needed him to have some compassion, anything. She needed a friend.
He wasn't her friend. He wasn't her anything. She was alone. She wasn't worth it. She wasn't loved. She would be alone forever. No one would want her. She was broken. She wasn't worth anything.
Charlie's eyes flicked to the large wizard who stood near the only entrance and exit to room, noting the way his guard was just waiting for the smallest of signals to escort her out. Charlie's fingers flexed, the impulse to remove her beginning to grow stronger. He didn't need the promise of her money. She was in the hole to him for far more than she likely realized already. She knew exactly what type of currency he was wanting and the more she acted like that card was not on the table, the more agitated he grew. "I will not repeat myself again, Hermione. This begging is far less cute now that you're nearing thirty," he snapped.
"Charlie… please, Charlie," Hermione implored, taking another tentative step forward until her trainers touched the edge of the desk, her thighs pressing against the hardwood. "I'll do anything—I'll do… it."
She would regret this decision the moment she walked from his building, but the pull of the drug was too much. The need to find her freedom. The need to have the weight lifted from her shoulders, even if just for a moment. She knew it lay just inside his desk drawer, inches from where she stood now, and she could almost taste the sweet intoxication that would wash over her the moment it hit her tongue. Her body shivered, from withdrawal or anticipation she would never know. It had been less than twenty-four hours since her last pill, but it seemed like it had been an eternity.
Hermione's heart thumped unsteadily under her chest in a rhythm that felt closer to a gallop than a beat. She watched his eyes study her face, scanning her for what? She didn't know, but he seemed to find it because his hand rose to his guard, and with a quick wave, the burly wizard moved from the room without so much as a word.
"Come here," Charlie commanded, pushing himself slowly away from his desk until there was room for her to slip in front of him. Fiery red hair spilled from the bun on the top of his head, wisps of fringe framing his freckled face as he watched her move with tentative steps, the tremble in her hands growing stronger the closer she got.
Once Hermione was within arms reach, Charlie guided her between his parted thighs with a hand on her hip. The back of her legs bit into the desk as she scooted as far back from his touch as possible, her skin burning under his hold. Her lips parted to release a heavy breath, afraid to utter a single word, praying he wouldn't change his mind.
"Well," Charlie began, the silence lingering between them palpable. Lifting a single brow at the curly haired witch, he swept his hand toward the floor before him. "You know what to do Granger. On your knees."
Hermione's heart sank at his words, and any speck of self-esteem she still held vanished like smoke in the wind. The blackness swallowed her up entirely, extinguishing all light. She wasn't worth it. She wasn't loved. She would be alone forever. No one would want her. She was broken. She wasn't worth anything. She told herself she would never do this again. She would never allow herself to be this desperate, but here she was. She was worthless. She was going to be alone forever. No one would want her now. Not after this. Never after this. Her fingers curled into fists, praying that the shake would go away. Praying that the world would just disappear, and she wouldn't feel so fucking lost. "C-Charlie… I—"
"Don't act so fucking coy, Hermione. Do you want the pills or not?" Charlie snapped. He was growing impatient of her back and forth tonight. Most of the time, she made this so bloody easy. She was practically crawling in his lap by the time she became this needy. Clearly he had been too generous with the amount he'd given her last time. He made a mental note to not make the same mistake twice as he reached down to unfasten his trousers before pulling down his zip.
Hermione's mouth went dry as she watched him prepare himself, tugging down his trousers low on his hips until he sat in his green boxers. Her mind swirled like a tempest-tossed storm, churning to find the solution for this problem. She didn't want this. She didn't want to feel this way, but she knew her happiness lay only moments away if she could just do this deed one more time. It wasn't like anyone would ever want her again anyway, right? She was alone. She was going to be alone forever. What was one more time? One more time. One more time. The phrase repeated in her mind as she gulped down what remained of her pride. "How many?"
Charlie's face broke into a slow smirk. Smart girl. Negotiate up front, then do the work. Leaning over, Charlie pulled open the top drawer of his desk and removed a small glass vial before setting it down on top of the desk next to her left hip. The drawer self-retracted with a loud snap, causing Hermione to jump.
Brown eyes flickered to the vial, counting the little iridescent blue pills that lay inside the bottom and her heart stuttered. Five…Five fucking pills? That wouldn't even last her until Friday! He wanted her to suck his cock for FIVE FUCKING PILLS!? "This is—this is less than last time." Her voice trembled.
"Last time you were sloppy," Charlie responded deadpan, and when she flinched at his words, a cruel laugh spilled from his lips once again. "You want more? Show me it's worth more."
Hermione reached out, picking up the small vial and she swirled the pills around the bottom of the glass, her mind racing from one thought to another. Was it worth this? Five fucking pills, he had to be joking! Maybe she could go to another dealer? She could try and use what little celebrity she had left to persuade them for a free sample. But did she know anyone who didn't work under Charlie? Probably not. Maybe if she didn't look for Dragon's Breath, but something else. Some different kind of high. It didn't matter though, did it? This was it. She was alone. She wasn't worth the fight to save her pride. She was worthless. She was nothing.
"Do you want them or not?" Charlie snapped, pulling her from her spaghetti string of thought. "I've got plenty of other witches who will happily take your place without asking for free product." When Hermione made no immediate response to his question, he released a frustrated sigh and leaned forward to snatch the vial from her trembling fingers.
"No!" Hermione jumped, pulling the vial tight against her chest, and her fingers curled tightly around the glass. "I-I'll do it," she stammered as she slipped the pill vial into the front pocket of her jeans before she slowly sank to the dirty floor.
The ground was filthy, covered in what looked like years of dirt, spilled liquor, and bodily fluids. She gagged, trying to keep down the rising bile as she crawled towards his parted thighs, the grit from the floor biting into her skin through the holes in her jeans.
Charlie watched, smirking when he felt her hands tremble as she reached for the waistband of his boxers. She could barely curl her fingers around the elastic. Fucking addicts, they never made this easy, did they? Reaching over the top of Hermione's head, Charlie pulled open his top drawer once more.
Hermione gasped, having to duck so it didn't connect with the side of her head. What was he doing? She told him no cameras after that one time. It was bad enough he made her do this, but photographic evidence wasn't needed. Her career was already failing; she didn't need it to burst into flames. She watched as Charlie slammed the drawer closed and between his index and forefinger sat one single pill. The yellow hue of the artificial light in his room made the sheen less beautiful, but it still glistened as he lowered it towards her.
"Because I'm so generous…"
She barely heard his words over the thunderous beating of her heart. Perching up on her knees, she wrapped her lips greedily around his fingers, her tongue lapping the little blue pill free. The sugary sweet coating splashed across her tongue, and almost instantly she felt calm. It was coming. Her freedom was coming. The pain would go away, and she would be whole once more. She would be free. Her eyes closed and an audible moan was released as she swallowed the pill, feeling it travel down her throat to settle in her empty stomach.
Charlie chuckled, and the hand that had just fed her moved to rest on the top of her head, guiding her back towards his lap while his other curled around the back of his neck. His eyes lifted to watch the clock that he hung above the door to his study. He knew it would take approximately two minutes for her trembling to subside, and fifteen before the full effect of the drug would take hold and leave her near incapacitated. It was just enough time for her to swallow his load and use his floo to get back to that shitty little hovel she called a flat. When her lips wrapped around his cock, his eyes fluttered closed and his head tipped back, a slow grin washing over his features. This is exactly how he liked her. Desperate and on her fucking knees. It took him nearly two years to help push her habit to this point, and now that she was here, he was more than happy to reap the benefits.
Harry was staring at his mobile, eyes flicking across the screen, reading the email his agent just sent. Although the majority of the Wizarding World still relied on owls to deliver messages, the younger generation was coming up with ways to incorporate Muggle technology. With the help of the creative team at Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes, they were able to not only market the first Wizarding cellular phone but also mark the development of something called 'The Roost,' a social media platform specific to Wizarding folk across the globe. That is exactly what this email was about. George was looking for a new face for his campaign. Someone recognisable. Someone the public adored, and, according to Aurora, Harry was perfect for the job.
Just as he reached the details regarding his upcoming appointment with George and the marketing team at WWW, a loud slap pulled his eyes up. He watched a magazine slide quickly across the table, nearly knocking over his chalice of ale as it skidded to a halt in front of him. "Well, it's nice to see you too, Ron," Harry mumbled, his thumb pressing the button on the side of his mobile that blanked his screen, and he set the device face down on the table.
"She's at it again, Harry," Ron snapped, not bothering to lower his voice. It wasn't like anyone in this part of the restaurant wasn't already completely aware of what lay on the cover of that magazine. Everyone was talking about it. Hell, he'd found out about it from the barista at the cafe by his flat. "She's dragging our image through the mud and you bloody well know it."
"You say this every time I see you." Harry reached out, plucking the magazine from the table. Hermione was on the cover underneath the arm of some rising star in America, a dark haired fellow that reminded him of a young Viktor Krum. She looked different. Sick almost. She was gaunt, skinnier than she ever had been. Her skin looked several shades lighter than he remembered, and her eyes were sunk in. Although he knew they were supposed to be brown, they appeared black. The depths of her sorrow was visible in the endless darkness. She looked like she hadn't got proper sleep in weeks—no, months. Possibly years. She looked like a ghost of a person, floating through existence, a shadow of the woman he once knew.
Harry ignored Ron's rambling. He'd heard it all before; it was simply noise at this point. Ron had been at odds with the witch for what felt like years, always scheming to make her disappear from the public's view. The truth was, she wasn't ruining their image. She hadn't been associated with him or Ron in a little over two years now. Their agents made sure of that. What she was doing was ruining her life. Flicking open the magazine, he thumbed through the articles until he found hers. The images splashed across the page told enough of the story without any need to read the actual article. Pictures of her drinking straight from a bottle, pictures of her on the dance floor, her clothes practically falling off her boney frame. Pictures of her snogging various club attendees—wizards and witches alike—pictures of her falling down in the middle of the dance floor, barely able to stay conscious based on the glassy look in her eyes, and, finally a picture of her being carried out by a wizard who looked old enough to be her father, the American she entered the club with two steps behind on his phone.
"—she's a fucking menace Harry. This is unacceptable. She knows how bad this looks. She knows what she's fucking doing to me! She's doing it on purpose—"
Emerald eyes scanned the page again, floating across the images. He had this magazine at home, but this article had been removed. Aurora, going through his fucking mail again. "Protecting him." From what, he had no idea, but he sensed it was more like a protection for herself. So he wouldn't see shit like this and try to help. He knew it was bad; he heard the stories from other people, but he didn't know it was this bad. How long had this been going on? How far down this path of self-destruction had she run? Closing the magazine, Harry set it down on the table before he reached for his ale and took a large gulp.
"We need to stop her. We need to make sure she doesn't keep doing this," Ron snapped, jamming his index finger on the cover of the magazine as he loomed over the table.
"You're absolutely right," Harry agreed. He felt responsible. How could he not? If they had never been friends, none of this would have happened. If she never got famous, she would still be the same Hermione he knew growing up. Smart, clever, and outspoken. She was hard to love at first, but her devotion to him had never waivered. She was a better friend than Ron had been in the end, and this was how he treated her? He hadn't seen her in two fucking years, let alone taken a break in his schedule to owl her! What the hell had he been thinking?
"I'm writing the Public Relations team at the Ministry. I'm telling them they need to cancel her contract immediately or I'm leaving."
Ron's announcement cut through Harry's thoughts like ice water, and he looked up at the wizard with lifted brows. "Excuse me?" He had misheard, right? Ron hadn't said what he thought he did. Sitting up in his chair, Harry pressed his elbows on the table top as he leaned closer to Ron, who still stood looming over the table. "Ron, you can't do that."
"The bloody hell I can't," Ron snapped, ignoring the gasp from the patrons around him at his tone. "I fucking work my ass off. I do not need to worry about picking up whatever mess she makes. I'm done with her bullshit, Harry."
"Picking up her mess?" Harry almost laughed but figured that Ron was already pissed off enough; he didn't need to stoke that fire any further. "Ron, you haven't had anything to do with her for the past three years. I'm not sure what sort of delusional world you're in, mate, but you really need to wake up."
"Wake up? Wake up?! Harry, my eyes are wide fucking open. She is fucking killing herself in the most public way possible and taking us down with her. Our names are forever associated with the fucking slag she's become."
"Hey! Watch it!" Harry growled in warning. Ron might have been his best mate at one point in time, but the time he considered him such had long since passed. "She just needs help. We can get her help."
Ron balked at the idea, his nose wrinkling as his lips pulled back in a sneer. "You want me to spend money on her?" His questioned dripped with disdain, as if the idea of trying to get Hermione help was the most offensive thing he had heard in his life. "Abso-fucking-lutely not, Harry. You're madder than a box of chocolate frogs if you think I'm giving that trollop one fucking knut of my money."
"Ron! This is Hermione!" Harry tried to reason, his voice growing louder in his frustration. "This is our childhood friend. The same girl who fucking risked her life beside us. You know, your ex-girlfriend?"
Ron stood up straight, his face falling, a mask of apathy hiding his disgust as he looked at Harry. "I'm not doing this." His voice was deathly calm, sending a chill down Harry's spine. "I thought you'd be on board. I thought you'd finally seen my point."
"That Hermione deserves nothing? Ron, she fought alongside you and me. She deserves a lot more than what she's been given," Harry pointed out, his finger tapping on the cover of the magazine to prove his point. Emerald eyes watched as Ron began to back up, his head shaking, ruining his perfectly coiffed hair. "So you're leaving? You ask me to lunch, shout at me about our oldest friend, and leave because I don't agree?"
"I'm not doing this, Harry!" Ron snapped as he narrowed his eyes. "I'm leaving. I need to get away. I'm going to Paris with Noémie. I can't fucking deal with this bullshit, your bleeding heart, or her fucking mess." Turning on his heel, he left the room quickly, nearly knocking over the waiter who carried in Harry's lunch order.
As the brunette lowered his steak salad to the table, Harry muttered a soft apology for Ron's behavior. The hunger he had felt moments earlier was gone, replaced with a gnawing guilt that made him sick to his stomach. Reaching out, he scooted the bowl away before he looked back at the magazine. Pulling it toward him, he ran his fingertips across the cover image of his friend, a woman he barely recognized, a woman who was falling apart. His heart sank. He needed to fix this; he needed to make this right. He was responsible. He was part of the reason her life was spiraling out of control. He needed to find his old friend again. He wasn't going to take no for an answer any longer.
Author's Note:
I know- I don't need another WIP, but this plunny has been with me for a couple months now. I have several chapters lead and I am at the point where I feel comfortable putting it out. I hope you like where it's going.
Huge massive thank you to Disenchantedglow. She's been my rock through this. encouraging. proof reading. being the most amazing alpha you could possibly image.
Additional thanks for islandgurl777 & Ravenslight for beta'ing this chapter to perfection. 3 I hope everyone enjoys.
Posting Schedule - once a week.