A Post Hogwarts Affair 11

"I am not going," Ron declared, looking at the big brick building with fear evident in his eyes.

"We'll all go," Harry said, rolling his eyes. "Don't worry. The big-bad-alcohol-taking-away-machine isn't going to eat you."

"There's a big-bad-alcohol-taking-away-machine?" Ron whimpered.

"No, Ron," I snapped. "Harry (and here I glared at him) is being an idiot, as usual. We will all come with you; it's time you quit drinking!"

Ron sighed. "Look, I don't drink that much. I'm sober right now… look, I'm completely and perfectly sober."

"Well this is the first time in three months that I've seen you sober," I pointed out, "and I live with you! Isn't that insane? Don't you realize you need major help?"

"What's this place called?" Ron asked suspiciously, still refusing to follow us as we climbed up the steps.

"It's called Wizard Alcoholics Anonymous, based directly off of the Alcoholics Anonymous that muggles have. But it's much harder to quit something if you're a muggle; you'll have magic helping you out," I explained as I dragged him up the steps, Harry pushing him from behind.

"No spiders here?" Ron asked.

That made it final. He wasn't sober, no matter what he said. "Damn it, Ron," I said, through gritted teeth, trying to be nice—I did like him, a whole lot!—"What did you drink before you came here?"

"Nothing," he said sullenly.

"Liar," Harry said wearily. "You had some of that Fiery Beer, didn't you?"

"Listen, I'd never had that brand before," Ron sighed helplessly. "If it makes you feel better I didn't particularly like it."

"But you drank it anyway," we pointed out.

"I guess that really means I'm an alcoholic," Ron said despairingly. "All right, let's go."

Feeling terrible for our friend we entered the building and shivered because it was probably three degrees in there. "Why do they keep it so cold?" Ron asked.

"Because they want to wake you from your drunken stupor," Harry said ingeniously. "Oh, look, here's the office."

A woman wearing spectacles, a tawdry green jacket, and light lipstick glared at us as we stepped in front of her. "How can I help you?" she asked, although her voice was far from pleasant.

"We need to register him for WAA, and we want to be there with him. We need some information about your program; how long will it take, how well it will work, what will come of it, how much will it cost, and when it wi—"

The silly bint cut me off with a low, "Hmph!"

Damn her.

"Down the hall and to your left is our preliminary WAA meeting. You're lucky that this one isn't quite full yet."

Harry dropped the correct amount of galleons on the counter, shot her a look, and we waddled our way down to the room. Stepping in it was like another cold breath of air and I huddled closer to the boys.

The room was quite full; some families, some single people, but mostly couples. I grinned at Harry, who mouthed something like, "this makes me look so gay."

"Oh, please," I said playfully, "you're straight as an arrow."

"Arrows can be bent," pointed out Ron.

We turned our attention back to the rest of the room. Some people were clearly drunk, but for the most part everyone was sober and apprehensive. Finally a woman walked into the room. Thankfully she was not the same one as the lady at the welcome desk: this woman seemed a million times more conversational and apt for a job like this one than the other one.

"Welcome," she began lightly. "I'm so glad that each and every one of you is here today, whether you're here to help someone out or here to get help."

We all nodded, and even though I felt horrid for thinking it, I couldn't help but say yada yada yada in my brain and hope she would get to the important bits. She continued. "The first step to solving a problem is recognizing that problem, so congratulate yourselves; you've already recognized that you have one."

Ron raised his hand. Harry shot him a look and I lightly pinched Ron's elbow. The woman called on him anyway. "Yes?" she asked, a bit confused. "I really was just introducing everything, we can all ask questions and share our personal stories later…"

Ron didn't care. Instead he said suspiciously, "Are you sober?"

The woman looked aghast. "I don't drink," she told him seriously. "I'm actually in this field because…because…my father was an alcoholic."

I sighed and looked down at the ground. Ron had just set us up for the sharing period. The lady, who we found out was named Belinda Taylor, told us about her father succumbing to the "Evil" that was alcohol; how he felt its "clutches" at his hands; how he "pushed" it away to no avail.

The poor man had been drinking and flying when he had crashed head-long into another broom in the air and had tumbled to his death sixty feet below. It was devastating, and suddenly I was so glad I had brought Ron here. He had to quit.

We went around the room sharing our problems. There was a woman who said that she had to have eleven, count 'em, eleven Cosmopolitans everyday or she didn't feel complete. There was an older man who claimed that his own Irish beer was good for the heart, but his wife (an elderly lady who was absolutely stunning; I was jealous) had made him come and admit his "problem"—he didn't see one.

It was finally our turn and Harry spoke up for Ron. "Well, my best friend, Ron, and his wife, Hermione," he began, stressing the 'wife'; I suppose an effort to look straight, "have been having major problems. We've all been friends since our school days, and Hermione and I are very worried for our friend. We want him to stop drinking; it's ruining his marriage, his life, his everything."

Harry said it heartwarmingly and charmingly. With just the right amount of charisma sprinkled with a drizzle of pleas.

Needless to say everyone clucked in pity, although our story was hardly the saddest. It was just Harry's puppy dog eyes, the disheveled black hair, the sorrow in his eyes, perhaps the childish voice cracking that Ron and I loved to make fun of…

When Harry sat down I informed him that his voice had cracked exactly and approximately three and a half times during his little speech. He sent me a look I suppose only Voldemort had seen before. Nevertheless, it was awfully entertaining.

The session continued in such a manner, with everyone sharing stories, and making a goal sheet and questionnaire at the end of the session. Harry and I decided to fill Ron's questionnaire out for him as he was currently in no situation to do so.

I stared down at the questions, appalled at the gall of some of them. The first was easy enough, however. "When did you start drinking?" We estimated that he had started somewhere around fourteen or fifteen, especially since the twins had been huge on the wonders of firewhiskey at that age. But as the sheet progressed, we were hesitant to answer some such as … "do you drink before sex?" or "how many one-night stands have you had under the influence of alcohol?" Not only were the questions probing and uncomfortable, neither Harry nor I knew the answers. We decided in the end to leave them blank, and moved on to Ron's goal sheet.

Filling in the blanks seemed easy enough – I WILL ONLY DRINK ____ BOTTLES OF ____ THIS WEEK. We put in "two" and "Filibuster's Firewhiskey" (Ron's favorite alcoholic beverage as far as we knew). Shoving it in Ron's face, I gave him a nice, long-winded lecture on the dangers of drinking and how he was absolutely going to adhere to his goal, however difficult it would be.

"And before you go," Belinda spoke up, "I'll put on a simple willpower charm on you which will bring out the maximum self-control you have!"

One selveus fuertedum later, Ron looked energized and pumped. "I won't break it," he grinned goofily. "You both have to help me."

"Of course we will," Harry reassured. "We'll come with you next week as well. Anyhow, I've got to go. I have a date in like, three minutes."

I squealed, in spite of myself. "With Ginny?" I asked excitedly. I somehow really wanted my friends to get back together; they were adorable, and I knew the perfect couple.

But Harry didn't seem to think so. Making a face he shook his head. "No," he said. "No offense Ron, but I am not in the mood to say even one pleasant thing about your sister."

"So who's it with?" Ron asked dubiously. "You sure someone else actually wants to go out with you? Found that Creevey kid again?"

Harry scowled deeply. "Shut up, you. I'm actually taking out, well, Mandy Brocklehurst. We got to talking at Parvati's party, after I'd tried my best to reconcile with Ginny… but since we got such little time due to the mishap that…er, Hermione had… I decided to ask her out. I'm glad I did. Hope it goes well, you know?"

I smiled warmly, not wanting to continue on "Hermione's little mishap…" I gave him a huge grin and told him good luck, and watched as he Apparated away. Turning to Ron I informed him there was no way in hell that he was going to go "play Quidditch" i.e. drown himself in stuff today, and to my surprise he readily agreed.

"Let's go out," he said. "I feel so fresh, being sober and everything… that charm really helped. I know it wasn't supposed to make me sober, but it turned out to be a side effect, I guess."

"Ron," I began, "if you'd paid any attention to that special charms class that Professor Flitwick taught us approximately three classes from the last in seventh year, then you would have definitely known the side effects of certain charms such as, for instance, the willpower charm, or the personality trait charm."

"Gods," he teased. "You're incredibly boring. That's why I love you."

I froze. He must have noticed my discomfort because suddenly he became shy and awkward. "What? I'm not allowed to tell you that you're boring?"

I shook my head, still in shock with his words. I love you? What had he meant by that? Had he meant it in a platonic, silly, friendship sort of way? Had he meant it in the way he used to mean it when we were dating? Did he really love me like that? If he loved me he would never drink, never leave me every night in favor of a party at the hottest club…

"Hermione," he said, effectively slicing my thoughts. "You think way too much."

I shook my head. "I have to," I responded softly. "I have to keep up on top of things."

"Why?" he asked, just as quietly, as he moved closer to me. "Why do you have to be so perfect?"

I closed my eyes, suddenly feeling light-headed and uncertain. Ron was too close; I didn't like this… didn't want this…

I felt cool lips on mine and before I could help it I pushed him away. "Ron! What are you doing?!"

"What?" he asked, stepping away from me, disbelief etched on his face. "I'm not allowed to kiss my own wife?"

I'm sure I flashed disgustingly red but I shook my head, unable to speak for fear I would say something really hurtful. But I had alerted him to a problem he had previously been quite unaware of. "What is going on?" he asked darkly. "What is this? Why are you acting this way? I'm your bloody husband for goodness sake, and I'm not allowed to kiss you?"

"Ron," I replied, breathing heavily. "When was the last time you kissed me?"

He looked around the park that we had inadvertently walked to in our heated battle, swallowing hard. Forlornly he turned back to me and shook his head. "I dunno," he said softly. "I'm sorry."

"Ron, I can't do this," I said, all of a sudden finding words spilling out of my mouth. "I can't take it anymore. I love you so much… but only as a friend. Platonically."

He had moved his hands to cover his face and as a result his words were muffled. "What are you on about?" he asked, a dangerous edge to his voice. I could feel the tension and the seriousness of the situation between us, and even though I yearned to lighten it up a bit I couldn't think of a funny or easing thing to say.

"I mean that," I bit my lip nervously. "I mean that … look, tell me honestly… look into my eyes and tell me you love me. Romantically."

We moved to a park bench and sat down, the cool metal relieving against my uncertainty. Ron gulped and turned towards me, and his brown eyes met mine. "Hermione," he began unhappily. "I… I…shit."

I couldn't help it; I burst into tears. "See, this is what I mean, Ron!"

He nodded, putting his arm around me and trying to comfort my body which was still wracking with some very unwanted sobs. I hated to cry, I've always felt like it makes me look incredibly weak but I couldn't help it; my marriage was tearing apart in front of me.

"Ron…" I began slowly. "Ron, I want a divorce."

I could feel him suck in a breath and he turned to me, disbelief easily visible in his eyes. He let out an elaborate sigh, and whispered something to himself.

Would he give it to me? I knew that as a rule pureblooded families weren't allowed to divorce, yet Ron's family was anything but the ordinary family. "Ron," I repeated. "Give me a divorce. Please."

I trembled as I waited for his response. After what seemed an eternity, he finally nodded. "I'll always give you what you want," he said shakily.

We couldn't help it; the two of us had dissolved into a mess of salty tears. It was really over.

A/N: I'm sorry for the incredible shortness of this chapter, not to mention the incredible lateness of this chapter… but this is the best I can do. It took me a very long time to write this; these chapters are somehow really difficult for me to write. I know this didn't really fall in the humor category, but hey, divorce is serious. I can't make light of it because this isn't supposed to be a really silly fic.

Oh, by the way…someone was confused about the diablo line; I'm not the one with a daughter that knows Tom Felton, heh, that's definitely JK Rowling's kid. I'm much too young for kids! Anyway, yeah, that was disappointing, as many of you noticed. But then, so what if there's no romance between Draco and Hermione for their sixth and seventh years of Hogwarts? A Post Hogwarts Affair, baby!  That's what I'm talking about ;) So yeah, thanks for the reviews, I'm trying hard to get out more chapters, but I have such a horrible writer's block that I'm trying to overcome big time. Please review and tell me what you thought; took me forever to write.