Disclaimer: The characters, places and situations of the Harry Potter series belong to JK Rowling. The plot and original characters belong to me, although they are derived from many different and varied literary and film sources. The song 'Disease' is the musical property of Matchbox 20.
Author's Note: Chapter in which a lot is explained, Tom for one thing, rehab, bars, drugs and a coffee house.
Anatomy of an Addiction de·pen·denceNOUN:
1. The state of being dependent, as for support. 2a. Subordination to someone or something needed or greatly desired. b. Trust; reliance. See synonyms at trust. 3. The state of being determined, influenced, or controlled by something else. 4. A compulsive or chronic need; an addiction: an alcohol dependence.
Chapter Two
Mistakes
Three And A Half Weeks Earlier
She served coffee for a living. It was the only way to pay rent. Her stories brought nothing.
Base.
Trite.
Unoriginal.
She had been from publishing house to publishing house.
Rejection was starting to hurt.
Six months out of school and she had fallen straight into the life everyone had thought she would end up living. A nobody. A nothing. Invisible.
She wanted everyone to know her name.
Praise.
She wanted to be the name on everyone's lips.
She was laughed at. Who would know her?
No one.
She turned the sign to Closed. That sign would hang on the door from seven a.m. to seven p.m. and would permit London's drivel to walk through the door and accost her. Twelve hours of serving coffee to the rude, the impatient, the caffeine-driven.
God I hope that I'm not doing this for the rest of my life.
She turned the lock on the door.
Feels like you made a mistake…
Dismantling the brew-heads from the espresso machine she let them soak and turned to the sticky counters. She sprayed them down and let them sit. The crystallized syrup dissolving into Lysol All-Purpose Cleaner. She swept the floor and refined the plot of her next venture. She knew what it was that she wanted to write about. Instead of delving right in she skirted the issue. It was too brazen.
Too incriminating.
How long had he been knocking?
She looked up. Surprised.
Harry was beaming at her through the half-shaded window.
She unlocked the door and looked at him expectantly.
Where had he been for the last fourteen months?
"Don't scatter my dirt," she commanded as opposed to what she wanted to say. Damn her chronic ineloquence!
He carefully skirted the dust and looked around the place.
"Are you alone?" His eyes fell on her again and his face lightened with a smile.
"We're closed…so, yeah. I'm alone."
Another moment and she stared at him in awe. He was still beaming, a smile that went from ear to ear.
"I thought you had gone…somewhere," Ginny asked after he didn't speak. She clutched the broom with one hand and cocked her head. She knew how impertinent that sounded. Well aware that he had left the country after a bad breakup with some girl, she blushed after the words had already come out. "Sorry."
You made somebody's heart break…
Harry's smiled had not abated. "Don't be."
"So, why are you suddenly back…from wherever you were?"
"I was offered a job…a very good job."
Ginny pulled two chairs off of a nearby table.
They sat.
"Indeed?" she said. "What kind of job."
"While I was in Washington, D.C. I sort of became interested in law," he began to explain.
"You became interested in law," Ginny repeated. She felt she was missing something. She didn't want to be rude.
She let him continue.
"I studied there for a while."
"In Washington, D.C."
"Yes. Tate and Telleson offered me a job. Sought me out specifically," Harry said proudly.
Ginny raised her eyebrows in surprise and smiled. "Corporate Law? Wizarding Corporate Law?"
Harry nodded.
"How impressive," Ginny offered. "That's tough stuff. Mean people. They're going to eat you alive."
"Thanks for your vote of confidence. Anyway, I'm back and still working my way through school. The firm is paying for the rest of my schooling though." Harry stopped and looked down at the wood grain tabletop. "Your mother said that I could find you here."
"You can. She was right," Ginny said with a smile. "It's good to have you back, Harry. I hope everything works out for you."
"I suppose you have to get back to work," he said, surveying the half-clean café.
Ginny nodded.
She unlocked the door and let him out. "Good luck with everything, Harry," she said with a bright smile.
He said nothing and left.
Her hand was on the lock, about to turn it and continue sweeping when he knocked again.
"Would it be all right if I called you sometime?" he asked self-consciously.
Ginny blushed.
After all of this time he hadn't changed.
"You do have a phone?"
"Yes, I have a phone and I'm listed."
"Could I take you out for dinner sometime?" he asked hopefully. His eyes were bright and he pressed his lips together waiting for her answer. It was cold out and his nose was getting red.
Ginny smiled and nodded. She didn't trust herself to speak.
It was the instant she had fallen in love with him…or had thought so.
As he drove off in her car, leaving her with her bags at the front steps of Serenity Hills Substance Rehabilitation Center she thought she would miss the car more. But no. She would miss him.
She had been missing him for a while now.
Long before all of this.
She missed the old Harry. This one, the one that watched her eat, filled her voice mailbox with worried messages and kept track of her drinking…that was a different Harry. Harry Potter 2.0.
She hated it. Not him. But it.
But now I have to let you go…
I have to let you go…
***
Two Days Before Serenity Hills"There are no words, Draco," his father said while he was pacing.
"Buggered. Fucked. Shit out of luck…" Draco sat with cuffs on his wrists. He was watching his father's uncomfortable state as he tried desperately to hover in this Muggle shit-hole.
"That's enough!" Lucius Malfoy bellowed. His lawyer jumped but Draco seemed immune.
The lawyer cleared his throat. "I would take the deal if I were you, Mr. Malfoy."
"Well, you're not me, are you," Draco said leaning forward and staring with hostility.
"Draco," his father said, placing a restraining hand on him. "I have done what I can. Take the offer. It's only twenty-eight days in a rehabilitation center. You could get five years in a Muggle penitentiary."
Draco stared at the lawyer a while longer. He finally nodded.
The timid man scribbled something on his legal pad. "It's a good deal for an assault charge."
"A better deal would be to get off entirely."
The lawyer removed his glasses. He looked evenly at Draco. "Let me level with you, Mr. Malfoy. You beat this guy in front of twenty witnesses. He pressed charges and they will stick. You were in possession of an illegal substance at the time of arrest and it was in your system as well. Rehab is as good as walking. Take the deal. Your father and I have exhausted any other means of escape on your behalf. There are no other options."
Draco said nothing.
"Can I have a moment with my son, Mr. Moon?" Lucius said.
The lawyer left the small cinderblock conference room.
"There will be no more of this. Do you understand me, Draco?" He crossed to where he son sat, standing over him. "I have let it go on long enough. You will come back from the rehabilitation center and perform the roles and duties that are expected of you. I have lost my patience and the Lord is losing his."
Lord. Lord Voldemort.
He would pay for these mistakes with dull and impersonal servitude. But detoxification and twelve-step hell would come first.
"Yes, father," Draco said.
His father turned on his heel. A crisp and elegant movement.
Draco was alone.
You left a stain on everyone of my good days…
***
No drinking.
No drug use of any kind.
No visitors after visiting hours on visiting days.
No leaving the premises at anytime.
Rooms clean everyday.
Therapy and counseling sessions three times a day.
Christ.
It was a convent.
A coed convent.
But still.
Christ.
You may smoke. Nicotine is a habit as well but not as hardcore as the drugstore that you're used to pumping into your system.
Carry your own bags.
Hilde. The attending nurse.
Rays and rays of sunshine that one was.
Ginny dropped her bags heavily on the floor of the room that was to be hers for the next twenty-eight days. Two beds. A bathroom. A lamp. A window. Third floor.
On everyone of my good days…
She felt her lip tremble and a great helplessness settle on her shoulders.
Withdrawing a cigarette she placed it between her lips. Fiddling inside of her lambskin jacket she brought a lighter out of her pocket. Her hands shook.
Goddammit, Harry. How could you leave me here?
She stood in the center of the room facing the window. She began to cry.
But I am stronger than you know…
I have to let you go…No.
No crying.
She threw her bags on the bed and pulled her computer out. This was it. This was the time and the place.
Damn it. She was going to write that one piece of fiction that she had set out to write ten years ago. It would be the heart and soul of what she couldn't have, lost, frustrated, hopeless, angry. This story would be her.
She lit a cigarette as the screen came to life. Her hands were shaking.
You have to do this, she repeated to herself.
Her other attempts had fallen short.
No. They were instant successes on the Bestseller List. But they weren't what she had hoped they would be.
She couldn't fail now.
Berlin.
1939.
The end of the world.
Katerina hadn't thought so at the time.
But in time…it would be.
Her whole world was contained in two bags. She came into the city on worn shoes. She'd walked the whole way.
The village that had been her childhood home was far behind her now.
Mother…a distant memory.
Here lay opportunities that would not have crossed her path in the village.
She knew that she would find fame…and maybe love.
Maybe she even knew, deep down, that she would find sorrow, her end, the end of the world.
But not now.
Now she would sparkle.
She stood in a darkened street. Possibly she was unaware of the full progress the Party had made at this hour in damning the city that shines. There was no luster save the glow of the moon on gloomy puddles of the half-deserted streets.
The stares of the passers by told her 'go away. There is nothing for you here, child.'
Defiant to the last she said with her eyes and a chin raised high, 'no. I have come all this way. I will make this city remember why she shines.'
She didn't know that the city had lost the memory of herself.
There was a man leaning against the wall of a side alley nightclub.
He stared at her.
His stare was different than the others.
It said, 'come and be a part of life…of the life worth living…of living fast and dying young.'
She answered.
She entered the door on the silent street and only once she was inside did the noise and the light and the jubilant sounds of life intoxicate her. She stepped in and felt her bags, her life being gently coerced from her grasp. She was mesmerized by the feel of it all.
A voice in her ear said, "You need work? Here's the only place in town where you'll get it. Need a room. I'm the only one who can offer one. Stick with me, kid and you've got it made."
"Who are you?" she asked.
Turning around she was met with a deliciously sinister smile in a handsome and mischievous face. Black hair and dark hazel eyes.
"Tom," he said. "You'll love Berlin."
"Tom," Katerina repeated. She liked the way it sounded. Not Thomas, but Tom. It was romantic, American, perfect.
He smiled a sinful smile. "What's yours?"
"Katerina," she heard herself say. She nearly grimaced. Not as romantic as Tom.
"We may have to change that," Tom said. "Welcome to the Mondshein Kabarett." He displayed his dazzling underworld of jazz and liquor with pride.
She felt a thrill and a despair. She didn't know which feeling she liked more, or the feeling of Tom's arm around her.
Ginny looked up as her roommate Eden walked in.
Eden Sinclair.
Heroin.
Seventeen.
Splendidly tragic.
She watched Ginny from the corner of her eye. She moved silently to her bed and grabbed a notebook.
"New story?" she asked enthusiastically after a moment.
Ginny nodded.
"I loved the last one." Eden tried to peek over Ginny's shoulder. Ginny shut the laptop. She did this as nonchalantly as humanly possible.
Eden sucked on her lollypop. Heroin addicts, Ginny was learning, always had some sort of sweet in their mouth. Recovering addicts, that is.
"Camille'. It is possibly my favorite. It was too sad that Tom died at the end, though. Ginny, why is he always named Tom?"
"Who?" Ginny asked. She knew 'who'.
Eden sat down on the bed. Ginny sat looking up at her from the floor. "The guy who's always too perfect for words. He never gets the girl though. I think he's made me hate all other men."
Ginny smiled. "Me too." Her smile fell and she pushed her computer off of her lap. "Entertainment Weekly didn't have your enthusiasm for my last book."
"Their book reviewer is crap," Eden said, handing Ginny her notebook. "We have a group meeting in five."
Ginny stood.
She liked Eden.
This place was already starting to become comfortable. Even only after one day.
She could do this.
She could return to her life and be everything for everybody and be nothing for herself.
She felt she could do this.
***
A lot of things changed after the accident.
She wasn't speaking to her mother. But that wasn't anything new. She had never had a deep relationship with her. Too many children. There just wasn't enough time to talk when she was younger. Older, and she didn't see the need in a relationship at that point.
Harry was Molly's favorite.
They talked.
They talked about Ginny.
No one's ever turned you over
No one's tried to ever let you down…
"I drink a lot. Damn it, Harry. You told her that I'm a drunk?" Ginny threw her bag down on the sofa. Harry emerged from the bathroom tying his tie.
"I believe the correct words were, 'her drinking is bothering me.' I never stipulated the amount."
"Jesus Christ, Harry. You didn't have to," Ginny said.
"Stop this!" he said, crossing the room to stand in front of her. "She's worried about you. We all are. Ginny, you don't see what you're doing to yourself. But I do."
He had a strong grip on her shoulders. She winced and he let her go.
Reaching for her bag on the sofa, Ginny removed her prescription phial and popped a pill. She turned away from him and retreated into the bedroom.
"I'm sorry," Harry called after her.
"It's not you. My back," she said.
Beautiful girl
Bless your heart…
Knowing that she had a way of heaping guilt on him, she did this often. Her mistakes were his fault. She made him pay dearly. He stayed and put up with this and she loved seeing how far she could push it until he finally gave up.
He never did.
Who had taught her that to treat someone this way was acceptable?
She emerged moments later wearing something highly inappropriate for the reservations that they had in a half and hour.
"Ginny, we're meant to be meeting some friends for dinner. Remember?"
"Cancel it," she called decidedly over her shoulder, grabbing her bag and shutting the door behind her.
I got a disease…
She walked now.
She would only ride in a car if Harry were driving.
Never a taxi.
She gave up driving herself.
But she lived in London and driving wasn't really necessary anyway.
It was at her bar on this particular night that she met Ian, a tall blond German who was studying at university there.
It wasn't that he was foreign, or that there was anything else appealing about him, other than the fact that he wasn't Harry.
Deep inside me...
He was at one end of the bar, she at the other.
He was drinking a Moscow Mule. She could tell by the color of the liquid, its consistency and the glass.
Moscow Mule: the drink that kicked vodka into American drinking mainstream. The Idiot's Guide To Mixing Drinks.
She sat with her own drink. A scotch neat. Stared into the amber-hued lowball glass.
Harry used to come here with her sometimes. That's probably why she was here now. Missing him. Missing the old him.
Makes me feel uneasy baby…
She smiled. Wearing a dress that suggested nothing could be worn under it but stockings to her thighs, she could feel the eyes of several men on her, covetous. She only had eyes for Harry.
"A writer," Harry said with surprise.
I can't live without you…
She felt eleven again. Her stomach in knots when he looked at her. When her dreams and illusions hadn't been shot down yet. Some small part of her missed that. She missed Tom.
"A wannabe writer. I haven't actually made any money off of it yet. That's why I serve coffee. Bills to pay and all that." She looked down into her drink disappointingly.
He took a sip of his Gin Rickey. She could still remember the drink he had had, the way his fingers looked slim against the highball glass, tracing the edges.
"What do you write?" he asked.
She blushed and looked away. "Crap."
Harry smiled. "Ah. Romance. Smut."
"There's a bit of war in there too," she said hotly.
Tell me what am I supposed to do about it…
Harry shook his head and laughed. "You're going to be a household name one day. Everyone will love you."
"That's my goal," Ginny said smiling.
She winked at the bartender and waved him over. "Harry's found his calling as a lawyer, Jake. Give him something special to celebrate."
"Sure thing, doll."
That's why she loved this place. Jake. He called her doll. A throw back to better times.
A shot glass was set in front of Harry.
Keep your distance from me…
Ginny threw her head back and laughed. She knew what was coming.
Into the shot glass Jake poured vodka and triple sec and limejuice.
Harry looked at Ginny uncertainly.
"A Kamikaze, Harry. It won't kill you," she assured him.
He threw it back bravely.
"But it sure as hell will mess you up," she added, tossing one herself.
Don't pay no attention to me…
Your place or mine?
Yours.
I got a disease…
Ginny could hardly get her key into the door. Too much to drink. Harry was doing something interesting to her ear.
A hand sliding up her thigh and under her dress.
The door gave way.
A lamp crashed to the floor.
Feels like you're making a mess…
They laughed about it.
She knocked a table over.
Mad sloppy Hollywood sex.
You're hell on wheels in a black dress…
She pictured it in black and white. It was always more attractive that way.
The bright morning sun filtered through her closed lids.
She felt the stinging light acutely.
You drove me to the fire…
A hand was draped over her stomach.
She rolled over and opened her eyes, shading them from the light.
It wasn't Harry.
And left me there to burn…
***
Draco lit his cigarette with the butt of the one he had smoked previously.
The black town car pulled away. Draco hefted his bags.
Several people loitering around the entrance stared. He flicked the spent cigarette at them.
Inside he was accosted by a plump nurse names Hilde.
Rules.
What you can and can't do.
He would have a private counseling session with Greg because he was a "special case." Meaning: he had fucked someone up and now he was going to be watched around the clock.
He blew her off as soon as she had given him the number of a room. Fourth floor.
He pushed past a group of swaying, hand holding idiots.
Bleeding Christ! They were singing for God's sake.
Lean On Me.
You've got to be joking.
Serenity Hills. Serenity Fucking Hills.
What the hell was this shit?
Reprogramming center. That's what it was: a reprogramming center.
All my life oh was magic…
Their job was to tell you that you didn't need whatever it was that you did need so much that you had to come here to stop needing it.
He liked heroine. It was fun. It made things feel good. It made him feel…
"Who the fuck are you?" he said dropping his bags, hoping that he'd gotten the wrong room.
"New roomie?" the short slob said.
"I guess," he said, surveying the kid. He wore flannel and he scratched at his dreadlocks almost compulsively as he spoke. "Don't ever call me roomie again, you little grungy flea."
"Ah, it's Jimmy," the kid said, proffering a hand and standing. Determined not to be intimidated by Draco. Draco half-smiled.
He missed Blaise. Blaise was ridiculous. But he didn't look like he was carrying a host of diseases. Draco took the hand and shook it.
Taking his cell phone from his bag—a Muggle invention that Draco relied heavily upon. It would come in even more use now that he was stuck in Mr. Rogersville.
A beautiful day in the neighborhood.
He had to get away from the singers.
He trotted back downstairs and dialed Blaise quickly.
"Don't touch my stuff while I'm gone, Flea."
"It's Jimmy," the Flea called after him.
"Zabini," Blaise answered.
Draco looked around the grounds from the entrance. There was a path leading off the main road to the lake. He turned that way.
"It's me," Draco said. He hated that he almost sounded panicked. Panicked…this place scared the shit out of him.
"What?" Balise said, not coldly, but knowing Draco wouldn't call unless he wanted something.
Zabini, Malfoy and Parkinson. A network of dealers and users. They dealt amongst themselves and used amongst themselves.
God he missed his friends.
There used to be four.
She committed suicide.
He swallowed hard. He didn't want to remember that.
"You'd better fucking show up tomorrow. Visitor's Day. Noon."
Blaise chuckled on the other end. "Christ. Are you inviting me to come to Visitor's Day so you can show me where you do your chants and where you do your Pottery Therapy and all?"
"No, you little shit!" Draco said. "They check bags here, dumbass. I need you to bring me something. I swear that Godzilla nurse in there almost strip searched me."
More laughing. "You're joking."
"No. They're watching my every move."
"How am I supposed to just walk in there with shit and hand it to you. Better yet, I'll just leave it at the desk for you."
"Leave it in the car. Hide it by a tree before you come in. Use what little imagination you have left." Draco was pacing by the lake now.
"You know, I've heard that shit is bad for you anyway."
"Blaise!" Draco said. "Don't joke. You're irritating me."
"So what? You irritate me all the time. I'm looking forward to a twenty-eight day vacation."
"Fuck you! Noon. Tomorrow." Draco slammed the phone shut.
"Christ, I need a drink!" Draco rounded a stand of short trees.
"You and me both, doll!" a female voice answered.
Beautiful girl
I can't breath…She smiled. "Sorry, I didn't mean to listen in." She closed her book and threw her spent cigarette in the lake. A swan chased it for a while and then lost interest.
"The Idiot's Guide To Yoga, 2nd edition," Draco read disdainfully.
"Sounds like you're in a dire straight," she said, standing up from her perch on the rocks.
"You're not going to save my soul or convert me to Christianity or some shit, are you?" Draco asked warily.
She laughed. "I've always wanted to save someone's soul, but no. I'm not going to save you."
"You do that?" Draco asked. Taking a drag on his cigarette he pointed to the book. He took in her attire. Black yoga pants, the kind that you have to have the ass for.
She did.
A white shirt that said I don't mind stupid people.
She looked like Sally-Anne. He wanted to leave.
I got a disease…
A tentative step and she had stopped him with a word.
He stopped and listened. She was mental-ward insane.
Deep inside me…
She began to read from the orange book. She had a mocking smile on her face.
We would describe the twenty-first century world as materialistic but optimistic. As people become gradually disillusioned by, recover from, materialism, discovering that it doesn't bring happiness, they are searching, in increasing numbers, for a way of life more satisfying and fulfilling.
"Christ," Draco said.
Makes me feel uneasy baby…
"I know," the redhead nodded. "Six commas in one sentence…Brilliant."
Draco cocked his head and looked at her as if she were nuts. She was, she really was.
He walked back to the path, shaking his head and looking back at her after a moment.
He laughed all the way back to the lodge.
The back of her shirt said, I'm giving you the time of day, aren't I?
"Jesus," he said, still laughing.
***
"You didn't come home last night," he said from the sofa.
"Why are you sitting in the dark?" Ginny asked. She switched on the kitchen light. It whirred to life, becoming the only sound in the apartment for an interminable second.
I can't live without you
Tell me what am I supposed to do about this…
"I was worried about you," he said. "You didn't come home."
Ginny sat on the sofa next to him. He did look worried. He had waited up for her all night. His face was gray and his eyes were tired. He should have already been at work. They missed him undoubtedly.
She drew him into her arms and kissed his forehead. "I stayed with David. I was angry with you, doll." She rubbed his back and felt horrible inside. In time she would get better at lies. And liking lies.
Keep your distance from it
Don't pay no attention to me…"Don't be angry with me. I'm sorry. Don't leave me again," Harry said.
He didn't see the tear that rolled down her cheek.
She remembered better times.
Their first night together.
The next morning.
An apartment on the other side of town.
It had been raining but now the rain had dissolved into a half-hearted trickle.
I got a disease
I think that I'm sick
But leave me be while my world is coming down on me…
"Ron told me that it was because of a girl. Was it that blond you were seeing? She was a tramp." Ginny lie in his arms and listen to the rain. It sounded like it was dripping in the bathroom.
Another time.
She would worry about that another time.
"Sort of. But I broke up with her, contrary to popular belief."
"Don't all men say that?" Ginny laughed.
She felt Harry take a deep breath. "It wasn't her. It was me, I was in love with someone else."
"Who?" Ginny asked. Fighting a sick feeling in her stomach.
"Someone that I was convinced didn't love me," Harry said.
She lifted her head. "She didn't love you?"
You taste like honey, honey
Tell me can I be your honeybee…
Harry smiled and brushed her messy hair from her face. "I think she does now."
Ginny stared into his eyes for a moment and then broke into a grin. She buried her head in his chest and the sheets.
"Do you love me, Ginny? Or am I wrong still."
"No," Ginny said, voice muffled by sheets. "You're not wrong still."
He let out a breath that he had been holding.
Ginny sighed heavily.
Be strong
Keep telling myself that it won't take long 'til
I'm free of my disease…
Now she had cheated on him. In her mind it would have been cliché if he had cheated on her. She always entertained thoughts of him and Hermione.
But the word cliché never entered her mind when she thought about what she had done.
She didn't even silently promise herself that it wouldn't happen again.
***
He skipped dinner.
Skipped evening groups—whatever the hell that was.
Flea had finally buggered off.
Draco lie on top of the frighteningly cheap covers of his bed. The lights were out.
He thought of his friends.
"You Nancy-coward!" Pansy shouted.
Christmas Eve at Zabini's.
Dinking game.
Blaise was teetering on his chair.
Pansy was ready to go another round.
"Fuck, Parkinson! I can't feel my fingers," Blaise argued.
"If that was an invitation for a romp later, you're on," Pansy slurred.
Draco sat behind Blaise watching the game.
Blaise thought for a moment. "You know…it might have been an offer."
Pansy smiled and poured another round.
Sally-Anne had caught Draco's attention as she came from Blaise's bedroom. Making a signal. She needed a needle.
When had drug culture developed its own protocol?
He vaguely wondered this as he got up. Not caring who would win the game. Pansy, most likely.
He handed her what she had asked for.
She grabbed him by the shirt collar and pulled him in, slamming the door behind them.
God he wanted one more fix.
He lifted a hand and looked at it in the moonlight. It was a pale and shaking hand. The shaking continued down his arm and to his chest.
He gritted his teeth and closed his eyes.
He couldn't breath.
How could shaking hurt so much?
Missing her hurt too.
Blaise had better bring him enough goddamn heroin to set him up for his stay. He couldn't handle this place.
Her.
Memories.
Yeah well free of my disease
Free of my disease…