“Can I borrow some money for a hotel room or something?”
Growing up, It had always amazed Hermione exactly how many shades of white Ron could turn. Being a ginger gave him a particular advantage in that arena, though some could easily call it a curse where the sun was involved. Then again, the sun was never really the culprit was it? If the sun had been their biggest worry as children, or through life, it would be a fair assumption to say that they may have turned out normal. Somewhat normal, even. Any grasp of reality she would settle for. Still, Hermione had never truly known his palest shade until he’d gotten into drugs. More specifically when Ron had tried to get off drugs. Repeatedly. Because they always called him back and it was always another failed stint in rehab. He just couldn’t pull it together.
He just couldn’t be an adult.
Was that a grossly unfair thought to have? Let alone forbidden words that wouldn’t fall from her tongue unless that red hot anger and resentment sent her spiraling into a tearful breakdown? Why was SHE always the one that had to pull it together? Why was SHE always the one that had to be their solid ground? Their footsteps felt heavy upon her heart, yet they were the only family she had. Even if they hardly kept in touch these days. Perhaps it was easier. Perhaps thats what they wanted. To scrub every bit of their past until they felt clean and untouched by the hands of Hill House. The orphanage had been a prison on so many levels, though Hermione came to realize while the cell walls may have disappeared, the shackles only tightened.
But she tried not to think about it.
She tried to do her best to function. Therapy could only do so much and while there was little she could thank her childhood for, reading a room and realizing what others considered nothing more than illusions of grandeur and overactive imagination, and worst of all mental illness kept her lips tight and she could credit that for the reason she hadn’t found herself within the walls of a looney bin. After all, given the trauma they’d experienced — all three of them, it wasn’t a stretch to see why they were the way they were. She just hated it had to come like this. She just hated that she had to be the strong one. The strong and very alone one. Harry and Ron had been like glue once upon a time, but even Harry grew exhausted with the antics. But it was Hermione who slipped through the cracks, left to her books and cats.
It should have been peaceful.
But it wasn’t.
Between Ron, and the inevitable popping up and reminding her how marked she was?
How marked they all were?
Hermione’s eyes were void of emotion, a hollow coldness and resentment brewing behind unspoken words because now wasn’t the time. Now she would get herself fired up and speak her mind, only for it to go in one ear and out the other, not a word capable of retaining. At least not in her mind. Everything slid off Ron like oil and water, at least when it came from her mouth. At least that’s what routine told her. The constant stints. The one thing she could count on however, was the inevitable plea for money.
The inevitable broken promises.
Again and again. “Hotel room? Is that what they’re calling it now-a-days?” The brunette questioned sharply, though the emotionless cold still took hold as if begging him to reconsider for fear she’d get stuck like this forever. Hell, it was happening. It was always the drugs. That was the one thing she could count on. She wanted to forget just as bad, but if she couldn’t stand tall and put the boys in their place, who else would do it? “Or is the ‘or something’ what I’m supposed to latch onto?” That way it wasn’t lying. Keep it vague. Better to ask for forgiveness than permission in his eyes, wasn’t it?
As if to center herself, she inhaled deeply, eyes closing for the briefest period as Crookshanks hissed from the darkness of the living room. The conversation had lasted the entirety of the foyer, but Hermione refused to let it go any deeper. Not now. “I don’t have any money right now.” As it was, the last week had not been kind and the death of her Ruby had taken her by surprise and had significantly left her devastated. Not that he knew, nor cared. “You can sleep on the couch— but if you take anything and vanish…” Her words trailed off but the finality, while utterly false (though she was almost near convinced herself) remained etched into her words as a final warning. A final plea of her own.
