She stood outside the door, the pouring rain soaking her blonde hair, hating herself.
Extending out from Knockturn Alley, growing ever larger as years went by, was the rundown district of New London. From rough cobblestone roads, to messy concrete houses pressed up tightly against each other; people that couldn't afford one of the shiny new houses built by the ministry usually came here, if they wanted to stay in London, anyway. The ministry didn't really come here, so long as people avoided drawing too much attention.
Unless they discovered you might be hiding a 'dark' creature.
The squat, gray building, inset with a thick, steel door, was before her. The few small windows were blacked out, covered in grime and newspaper. Raising a hand, she hesitated.
She hated this place, hated it so fucking much.
But… But she had no choice, and it made her want to cry, to scream against the unfairness of the world, to rail against those that had forced her to this. For the memories were simply too strong; she needed it, needed a way to help her forget, to help her sleep at night.
She couldn't let Morgan know, she didn't think she'd be able to take it if the one person that showed her any kindness, the one person that gave her another chance, knew she was spending the money she'd been given like this, that she even still needed this.
She couldn't take seeing the disappointment, not from her.
Her tight, sweaty fist pounded on the cold, wet metal, the sharp thuds echoing out into the empty street. It took a few minutes, but eventually the door was opened with a squeal, revealing a short, fat man in a stained, bulging black suit.
He looked her up and down, the grey light of the late afternoon reflecting off his shiny, head. "Heh, I knew you'd be back" he leered, eyes roaming her.
That fucking look, she hated it. It made her feel disgusting, brought memories closer to the surface, scratching at the borders of her composure.
For a moment, she was back in the ministry cell, waiting to be shipped to Azkaban as he held her down, forcing her. She could still feel it, smell his breath, still-
"Well, come in then" came James' slimy voice, pulling her out of the memory. She shakily followed him into the building, the door closing with a heavy clang.
They walked through a large room lit by a red glow, the air smoky. Bean bags were thrown around the room, the occupants lounging with blank eyes, staring at nothing. She could see needles and potion bottles scattered around the floor, almost standing on one of them.
She kicked it into the distance, the bottle skittering across the hardwood floor, but that only brought her eyes to other people, the source of the moaning that filled the room.
She hated this place.
She hated herself.
James led her into a room at the back, his office. Sitting at a chair in front of a desk, she waited as he disappeared into a side room, coming back with a familiar green bottle and placing it on the desk.
"Finally decided to spread those legs, eh?"
She glared at him, revolted. That was why she had originally sought out a new dealer. When he'd demanded… more from her, she'd refused to go that far, no matter how addicted she was.
Little consolation to her self-loathing considering how far she'd already gone. She hadn't exactly had any money.
"I have money, now" she said, voice filled with contempt. "And I don't need… that. Just the drugs, I can get the rose on my own." She wished she didn't need the rose, wished she'd never been tricked into drinking spiked drugs, but it was too late now.
He sneered at her. "So you'll spread your legs for others, but not for me? I see how it is."
She did not spread her legs for anyone, this goddamn piece of shit!
Grabbing the bottle, he took it back into the side room, coming back with another, clear bottle.
Her eyes were riveted upon the light blue liquid, a yearning rising deep within her at the sight of the unspiked bottle. Finally, finally, some relief from the constant thoughts plaguing her. She could feel her heart speeding up, a steady thump in her ears. She wiped wet hair out of her face, reaching for the bottle.
The heavy thump of his fist hitting the desk interrupted her. "Payment first" he growled.
She scrambled for her skirts pocket, grabbing the small coin pouch within.
"I don't want money."
What? Her heart dropped at the words, staring at him with a dawning horror. He couldn't still want her to… He couldn't! She had the money! She'd sworn never to do anything like that again, not after Morgan had finally saved her!
He lounged back into his leather chair, creaking under his weight. "You know what to do."
"But, I can pay now! I have the money right fucking here!" But it was futile, she could see that. And he would throw her out if she refused, as he had done before.
He looked at her contemptuously. "I don't need your money. Now get to work or get out."
Penelope just looked at him, hands clenching and unclenching. She'd promised, sworn to herself, that she'd never allow this to happen again. She- she was worth more than this! She had more magical ability in her finger than this shitstain could even imagine!
But she could still feel the chill of the Dementors, demanding their food as they made her relive her worst memories, over and over for six months. Relive being raped over and over again.
She shuddered, shivers creeping down her spine, seeing the inside of her cell with those black stone walls. The air was foggy, ever on the edge of being unbearable, as the mad ravings of the other prisoners echoed off the walls. Her body started shaking and she could feel the Dementor get-
The shock of her knees hitting the floor brought her back to reality. Her vision was clouded by tears as she crawled under the desk, wet streaks trailing down her cheeks. Her hands quickly undid the belt, pulling him out. Damn it, damn it, damn it! She needed the drugs, she couldn't do it anymore.
She didn't hesitate, just wanting this over with, taking his warm length into her mouth.
All she could see was Morgan, leaning over her, saying those words that shook her so much. You are a diamond, Miss Clearwater. And her eyes, filled with such conviction, showing just how much she meant what she was saying.
She sobbed bitterly as she worked, feeling as though she was betraying the one person to have shown faith in her.
Morgan could never know about this.
She sat in a dim alley, shielded from the rain, staring at the bottle in her hand. Her reflection could just barely be made out, her eyes red-rimmed from crying, droplets still falling from the corners of her eyes and splashing upon the glass.
It would barely last a week. Merlin, she'd need do that again, she'd-
She could still taste the fucking stuff, the salty, disgusting flavour that would never go away.
One day, one day, she would get revenge on everyone that had caused this. The corrupt ministry that threw her into Azkaban on some old, bullshit law; him; James; all her old friends that spat on her when she asked them for help.
She would get her revenge on every fucking one of them. Once she got stronger...
A fluttering of wings caused her to look up, dashing away her tears as she blinked at the tawny owl hovering above her. The letter in its claws was dropped, landing in her lap before it flew away.
Who would be writing a letter to her? There was only-
Her breath caught, picking up the paper with a shaking hand. It couldn't be-
It was. That handwriting, smooth and flowing, penning her name to the envelope. That was Morgan's handwriting.
For a moment, she was certain Morgan knew what she had just done, that she had written a letter telling her how ashamed she was, how disgusted she was to see what Penelope was really like.
With a thick throat, she opened it, barely able to keep her hands under control. Reading it, she sagged in relief, feeling a weight lifting from her shoulders.
She could hardly believe it. Barely a day had passed and she already had access to the library, through Morgan anyway. She'd need to put together a list or something.
Then the guilt hit, harder than ever, almost breaking her. Morgan was getting her access to the greatest library in Britain while she was sucking dick for drugs like a worthless whore. Her face scrunched up, ready to break into tears once again, before she shook it off.
She would just have to work harder to prove herself.
Rita, huh? She smiled viciously, standing up and stretching, dusting off her navy skirt. She supposed paying her a visit was one way to lift her spirits. Truthfully, she didn't hate Rita that much anymore, not after the other night. Her friends would have turned on her anyway, she should have seen it before, should have seen the poison hidden beneath the surface.
But that didn't mean she was blameless, she still made the problem worse, and until she got her hands on the others, beating up on the child-fucker would have to do.
What was the point anymore?
Rita stared at the empty bottle, listless. With a lazy wave, she threw the bottle away, clanging as it fell onto the floor and rolled away from the sofa, joining all the others that were strewn around the living room.
This was her life now, wasn't it? To be used, squeezed for all her worth, before being thrown away. All her aspirations, gone. All her precautions, worthless. She'd worked so hard, and it all turned out to be for someone else, in the end.
She stared at the ceiling, bitter. She had tried, but failed, to feel any hope for the future. She was trapped, under the thumb of some unknown.
And that was the main problem, wasn't it? She didn't even know who her new 'master' was. An eleven year-old? What a joke, there was no way.
One of the two figures that she hadn't seen the face of. Possible, but who were they? She'd never seen their faces, she only knew one was a man and one a woman called Maria.
And more importantly, who had sold her out? Who had discovered her animagus form? Bozo? Someone from the Prophet?
She didn't know. No matter how hard she thought, she couldn't find a way out. She didn't even know who she had to look out for. It could be anyone, anyone she'd ever met or wronged in some way.
And even if she did know, what then? It didn't change the situation, they still knew her animagus form. With just that she was trapped, but with the recording...
The recording. Just the thought made her feel queasy. She'd slept with an eleven year-old, slept with a child. If anyone ever knew, she'd be lynched, her career would be finished. Potion or not, no one would care, not for her.
And she couldn't stop thinking about it. Even though the potions effect was gone, it was difficult to regret what she'd felt while under it. All she could remember was how good she had felt, how attractive she had found the girl, how much she loved the little moans and squeals…
Merlin, why couldn't she stop thinking about it! She wasn't under the effects anymore, she'd had herself checked!
So why did the memories still make her feel so aroused!? What the hell was wrong with her!? She wasn't even gay!
She needed another drink.
Unfortunately, before she was able to even get up for one, she heard knocking from down the hallway, coming from her front door.
She froze, heart pounding. She'd taken the day off, so it probably wasn't work. It- it could still be-
"I know you're in there, you child-fucking slut! Open the door!"
Penelope. She could feel chills throughout her body, mind once again going back to that horrible night, to the parts that she didn't enjoy remembering. Why- why was she here!
She didn't want to move, she wanted to freeze up on the sofa and hope, pray, that she went away, but-
"Don't make me get my toys~"
She jumped up, slipping on the smooth wooden floor, the alcohol getting to her. Scrambling, she practically ran to the door.
Her teeth were still aching and back still stinging. She wouldn't go through that again, not again!
The large ornate doors, inset with coloured glass depicting a blue flower, were thrown open, almost tripping over herself in her haste.
A slap greeted her, knocking her to the ground. She cried, clutching her stinging cheek as she looked up at Penelope, grinning at her with a malicious delight. "Next time I ask you to open the door, you do it immediately, got it?"
Rita nodded frantically, standing and shutting the door as Penelope strode into her home.
She wished, wished so badly, that she had never wrote that article. But how was she to know? It was just meant to be an easy job, one she was getting paid a large amount of money for. Someone had wanted Penelope buried and Rita had been all too willing to go along with it.
And now, here she was, the- the bitch of a teenager.
She picked up her glasses that had been knocked to the floor, following Penelope into her living room, freezing when she saw the look of disgust on her face. "Fucking disgusting" she said, looking at Rita like she smelled something rotten.
Rita flushed, looking around at all the empty bottles and food wrappers covering the room. "W-what do you want?"
Another slap hit her cheek, the stinging finally causing tears to finally fall as she stood there.
"That's not how you ask me something. Ask me properly, as I taught you."
"H-how can I help you, miss?" she weeped. She'd once been on top of the world, but now she was this. This pathetic mess that had to scrape at the heel of a fifteen year-old.
She'd thought she was prepared for the potential risks of what she was doing, but she wasn't, not by far.
Penelope sneered at her. "That's better. Morgan sent me a letter, says it's time to show you the carrot or something. Here" she said, thrusting a small slip of folded paper into her hand.
Carrot and stick, an old muggle phrase. What sort of carrot could be used to justify such a big stick?
But as she read, she felt the light of hope kindle ever so faintly within her. The pain of the slap diminished into nothing in the face of the sheer potential.
This- if this was true, if Dumbledore really did once side with Grindlewald, if he really did once dream of doing this…
She'd become one of the most famous people in journalism, worldwide. The one who exposed the darkness hidden within the so-called greatest wizard of modern times. It might even make all this worth it.
Her mouth was dry as she stood tall, demeanor entirely different. A quick spell and she was entirely sober and clean, bustling about as she gathered her things. She could already see the fame she would achieve if this was true, could see the money flowing in from the book she could publish.
"Well? Don't just stand there girl! Do you know what this means? Morgan says you need to help me, so come on, we've got interviews to do!"
All the previous abuse was suppressed, squashed into a corner and locked away. Nothing would get in the way of this, not even her own feelings.
Penelope was gawking at her. Stupid girl, did she not see what this could mean? "What…" she mumbled oafishly.
Rita grabbed her by the hand, dragging her out of the house and into the rain, beyond the anti-apparition charm, lush grass stretching out in all directions from her mansion. "I know you don't like me, and I'm sorry for that. If I could, I'd take it back. But this is not the time!"
Penelope was still just blinking at her as she twisted, apparating them away.
Huh, why are all the characters I write so broken? Ah, right, that's the world they live in. At least Rita can bounce back quickly, the damn weeble.
