#kingwsly

Don’t stray far.Give me just a few moments and we’ll be on our way.Then we can go and introduce you properly.

Oh, but she didn’t wait.  Maybe she should have.  But she didn’t.  Gripping two boxes of chocolate frogs so tightly in her hand (don’t worry, there was nothing in them though to the naked eye?  it might be hard to tell) that the boxes were crumpled and wrinkled.  Her freckled, pale skin bleeding out the color to ivory in her knuckles and tendons.  Veins puffed out from the adrenaline rushing through her veins.  A natural, unpreventable reaction she hadn’t quite predicted would hit her so hard when she strayed far and forgot to wait a few moments.  

Around her, children gasped and cheered at the vast array of candy and toys.  Gadgets and games she had no real idea of how they worked.  Most like the rest of the world the young woman had walked into at her mother’s side.  She was old enough to be in her fourth year from the school she knew they all attended.  Yet never set foot inside it.  It was why they were here.  To work things out.  A decision her mother didn’t take lightly but there was something going on she was told she wouldn’t understand. But promised she’d be made to at the end of this.  What kept her up at night?  Was the promise that there was someone here she would meet.  Someone who was ingrained in her DNA.  Blood to blood.  Bone to bone.  Soul sliver to soul sliver.

And he was right there.  Close enough to touch.  Waiting for her to answer a simple question.

If only it were that simple to do.  Open her mouth and say something.  Anything.  Other than the silence and the echo of cardboard crunching even worse in her palms.  His face was inside the container.  Laughing and waving like an idiot who just won the world.  The same stupid laugh she had when she truly lost it.  Not the one that was so much like her mothers when she was holding in and letting out silent chuckles and rolls of her eyes.  He had to be her age then.  Judging by the picture that moved and took her breath away the second she saw it happen for the first time.  All around her was a world she was clueless about.  And her key to it?  The top part?  She was outside talking to a woman she didn’t know.  

     ‘ if i recall correctly, mr. weasley —— and i usually do —— punishments handed out by prefects are restricted to the likes of giving lines or taking house points. forgive me if my eyes deceive, but it would appear that you hexed that student. could you explain that for me ? ’

Whether or not her jacket had masked the instinctive breath that jolted her system, automatic disbelief. She didn't want to be so pessimistic, but if Hermione had learned anything growing up with Ron, it was that willpower wasn't his strong suit when he was battling his demons. This was no different. The sad part is, none of them knew the true cause of the addictions. Even as she stood there, eyes locked onto him, tears welling with a feigned nod -- hope, he needed it. She did too, but why did it hurt so much? If you expected nothing, you couldn't be disappointed, but that still didn't stop them.

"Maybe you should stay with me. I know the boys get a bit rowdy... I work days but I'll be around. I can help you, you just..." Can't lie, can't go behind her back and sneak off into the bathroom to fix a hit, or sneak off whilst she's at work, only to come back to him half dead on her couch, thrice over. Every time he came around, she went down. Women were taught to bare the weight because women were so much stronger emotionally. Women had taken years of rejection, nos, being stepped on, their resilience was bred into them but... Whatever strength Ron had at one point or another had slinked off into the darkness...

And yet again, she knew if she didn't interfere, he'd be doing it permanently. Never before had he looked so hardly there. The last time he'd stayed it had ended in screaming and him storming out and falling into another bender, but at the end he'd gotten clean... For a few weeks. If only they could go to an island, take away all the measures and she could sit with him as he detoxed. Society offered salacious portals at every turn, often encouraging... No one saw the real demons.

The tears rapidly spilled from Hermione's eyes, bypassing her cheeks entirely and falling directly into her hair -- onto her coat. "You have to try... I don't want to lose you, I don't want to see you gone." There was no stability in her words, but fuck, she would do anything to try and keep him tethered to this realm with her. The loss of Harry hit them both, but the mystery of the Red Room wasn't ever going to be solved if they both went.

"Then we need to get back to ourselves. We've fallen through the realms, we need to get back to our vibration. It's far more quantum than they ever touched on. We need to get back to our source. We can't do it locked down here, we're essentially fasting which is lowering every bit of energy and strength we have, not to mention we haven't had sunlight in days. Our bodies are slowly shutting down and while we have weeks, we're never going to be able to get out of this. It's why Remus spoke so strongly when he taught us how to conjure a patronus." Oh what simpler days those were. Harry was probably scrambling to get them back, but until they could return to their timeline, it was only going to get infinitely worse.

"We need to channel those emotions." The thick swallow that came after was nothing more than understanding prior to her own comprehension, tugging Ron back around to look at her. "No more negative thoughts, only good. Think back to happier times." Times before the world had fallen apart, times before their universe was ripped into shreds, people thrown out amongst the cosmos and timelines, wreaking havoc and chaos beyond what they ever knew. The Wizarding World had so much, but the muggles had their own misunderstanding of what they did in the world, and their ignorance and thirst to play God wasn't helping, especially not when said Muggles had a deity of destruction proudly displayed on their campus for the all to see.

The hand cannon is the best...

The hand cannon is the ruddy best.

"For Heaven's sake, Ron -- move." An apologetic flare hung to Hermione's words, brows knitted together as she brought the rocket launcher up to lock on her sight, slung over her shoulder. She nestled her ear into the nook of her sweater before squinting, bracing for impact as the wide-eyed ginger ducked out of her way, 'Bloody hell!' that looked more like it said 'you crazy bloody woman!'. Thankfully they were always on the same team, at least until they weren't, but Hermione had faith in the universe that things would shift back to what they should be, and she was right every step of the way.

The clicking of the launcher pulled into place, a mechanic ritual springing to life as she made her choice, Ron scrambling behind her as the three remaining squad members approached them, smirks perched high upon their lips, the scene spiraling out of control a little too rapidly for their underdeveloped brains to make sense of the whirlwind. It hadn't even collided with the ground at their feet before Ron's shield was throwing up a protection bubble around them, a triumphant and all too proud smirk forming at his own lips.

        SO HE DID CARE. News to her. Well. Maybe not. Hermione had suspected there was something Ron hadn’t been telling her and she wanted some solid proof. Maybe she’d found it in the scrunched brows, his expression distinctly surprised and a little judgmental. Yikes. As if she needed to be paying more mind to who received her number and the chance to potentially capture the heart of the bright Miss Granger. But there was something else, something in his eye — Hermione had caught it just before he’d turned back over his shoulder, brows pulled high as he shook his head. What else was he trying to say. 

        “I think he’s rather handsome.” Hermione shrugged, sitting up a little bit straighter against the wall. Her fingers had been fanning out gently over the page corners of her book. It had sat idle in her lap for over thirty minutes now, ever since Ron had come in and disrupted her peace and quiet. Not something she minded, usually, unless he was like this. Giving her a hard time when he did refused to do anything. 

        “Seamus reckons he’s going to be the next big footballer, maybe even better than Wayne Rooney. I think he’s got what it takes, but we both know that’s hardly what I’m interested in. If anything, I thought you two might get on because of it. He’s actually quite smart you know. He speaks three different languages and went to one of Bulgaria’s oldest private schools;verrrrry interesting stuff.” Hermione mused, lips pursing from spewing more details Ron wouldn’t care about in the slightest. Yet every bit of her hoped he would. Just hoped for some reaction or confirmation, or anything after all this time. 

         PUSH IT ASIDE? The hurt was immediate, but rather or not it would get through Ronald’s thick skull and register as it was was another question considering there he was again, completely blind to the reality. Too absorbed in his own world. The drugs, the pity, the aimless nothingness he was so fucking well obsessed with. Addiction was a disease, Hermione knew that — the guilt hardly bubbled up these days when resentment took over, wondering why he couldn’t just try harder considering that’s what she had to do for as long as she could remember. She was the problem solver, the “strong” one. How blind had they been for all these years? Bitterness sent venom pooling into her mouth as liquid frustration shimmered over her narrowed glare. God forbid she ever need help. Advice. Anything. 

        The only thing that reeled her in when her anger boiled over, threatening to explode and leave temporary scars  — third degree burns hot as molten lava  — was the fact that at any given time  — this could be the last time she’d ever see Ron. Sobriety, to him, was a bigger joke than the gags Harry and him had played upon her long ago within the walls of Hill House. Back when they were children; though make no mistake in assuming innocence had ever occupied their lives, no —  not when they’d been shoved off, murdered, dead, or purely unwanting parents sending their children off into the night. The Orphanage had left it’s own scars and her’s didn’t sleep  — her’s didn’t get pushed aside like he’d so ignorantly assume. 

       Grasping for compliments and praise, and any positive reinforcement is where Hermione had found her worth when she’d transitioned to her adolescent years. A more naive girl would have dissected his sentence and saw the blurred line where he’d commended her strength, her resilience. But that Hermione and that Ron had died years ago. They weren’t those people. They could never be those people again.Not as long as he kept poisoning himself, kept playing Russian roulette. Even if this was the last time they saw one another; that was on him entirely. She took no accountability for his blatant disregard for life, and instead overcompensated in controlling every single aspect of her’s. 

     “Let’s not act as if you’re making any attempt to change.” Hermione spat cooley as her arms crossed against her chest, back straightening in defense. “As if you’ve ever made any attempt to push through.” How much money had she sunk into rehab? Drugs? Food? Doing whatever she could to help Ron in the moment, just so he could come back, shoulders slightly heavy with remorse; if that’s even what he had the capacity to feel. Hermione would wager her savings against it. “You think it’s so easy for me because I’m always strung together for you! And for Harry! It’s always me holding you up. I’m not happy with us, Ronald! Because frankly, there isn’t much of one, is there?” At some point, she’d gotten impeccably shrill, emotion wavering each word as they walked on unsteady ground — threatening to topple over at any moment. “I’m trying to change, but you’re making it impossible!” Holding her down. Back. Over spent. Exhausted. Worried up all night. Constantly on edge. Waiting for the phone call and the inevitable news.