What Has Become of the World?

What Has Become of the World?

By Harrynhermione4eva

Chapter 1: Bloody Fantastic

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I don't own Harry Potter, I just like to use Mrs. Rowling's characters.

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Warning: Detoxification scene and strip club scene ahead

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“Harry Potter. Potter, Harry.” The voice was too loud, much too loud for the pounding headache that was attacking Harry's head at the moment. “Harry Potter.”

“Geroff me,” Harry muttered, swatting at the voice. Someone thumped him on the back as he tried to open his eyes. It was difficult seeing as the slightest twitch of his eyelid felt like sandpaper rubbing against his eyeballs.

“It's time for you to get up. We have to take your vitals,” the female voice spoke again, very rough and demanding.

Harry's eyes shot open as the events from the night before began piecing together in his mind. The Bobby,* the firewhisky, wherever he was now. “Oh, fuck,” Harry grumbled, running his hand over his face.

“That's enough, Mr. Potter. We need you to come to the nurse's station to take your vitals.”

Harry groaned, but slid out of bed uncomfortably, his muscles still aching from all the alcohol he'd consumed the night before. He stumbled a bit as he followed the lady to what he assumed was the nurse's station.

“Hello, Mr. Potter,” a model-like woman said to him cheerfully. “Let's see what that alcohol level is right now.”

Harry grumbled but let the woman hold the breathalyzer up to him as he blew into it before hearing the click. The woman frowned and shook the machine a few times.

“That's funny, I'm getting a reading of zeros.”

“That's what happened last night,” another woman at the desk said. “He kept blowing zeros, but he kept failing all the tests the Bobby had put him up to.”

Oh fuck, Harry thought.

“Well, let me try again,” the nurse said with a look of scepticism etched in her face. Hesitantly, Harry blew into the machine once again, waited for the click, and let the nurse look at the reading. More zeros.

“There must be something wrong with this machine, she said. “We'll try again in five minutes. Would you like a vitamin B 12 pill?”

“What's that,” Harry asked.

“It helps with the hangovers. Here, it won't hurt.”

“No, thanks,” Harry pushed the pill away from the woman. He didn't want to take any chances of muggle medicine screwing him up. That was, he assumed he was in some sort of a muggle clinic.

“All right. Just let me know if you need it,” the woman said, fitting a blood pressure cuff around his left arm.

“Bloody fucking fantastic,” Harry groaned. He couldn't believe he'd gotten so drunk that he'd driven, and then gotten caught by the Bobby. For all he knew, he could have killed someone! Maybe it was good they took him in before he'd had the chance to run anyone off the road…

“Mr. Potter?” A man appeared in the doorway. The nurse removed the cuff from around his arm and Harry stood up facing the man. “I'm Doctor Wheeler. Would you please follow me?”

Harry hesitated slightly, but finally tagged behind the man, and found himself in a clammy little office. Dr. Wheeler pulled out a chair for Harry, and then sat directly across, pulling out a file and clicking open a pen.

“Where am I?” Harry asked.

Dr. Wheeler cocked an eyebrow at Harry. “You mean they didn't tell you?”

“Well, I don't know,” Harry said irritably. “I woke up this morning after a night of being completely pissed, and find myself here. What is this place?”

“Harry, you're in the London Detoxification Centre.” Harry sighed. “I'm about to read to you your file and the officer's complaint of you from last night.”

Harry sat back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. “I still don't think I belong here.”

“Mr. Potter, that's not for you to decide.”

“It bloody well is for me to decide!” Harry shouted. “I thought England was a democracy, or am I lost on the times and we've become a fucking dictatorship all of a sudden?”

“Mr. Potter's vehicle was spotted on the corner of Chelmsford and London Road at twenty-three hundred.” Harry sat back again and tried to not listen to the man. “No suspicious activity until he attempted to turn left at the London Road circle, cutting off traffic. Officer Kingsley followed him a short way as a precaution and pulled him off to the side of the road after the suspect exceeded the speed limit by thirty kph and was swerving severely in his vehicle.

“When Officer Kingsley asked the suspect to step out of the vehicle, the suspect refused. It took a while for the suspect to finally comply with the authority, and Officer Kingsley administered a breathalyzer. The suspect blew zeros, but authority wasn't convinced of his sobriety.

“Officer Kingsley asked the suspect to walk in a straight line, which he failed. He also administered a one-legged test, and word association to test the suspect's verbal abilities. Assuming his breathalyzer machine was not working, Officer Kingsley told the suspect that he would be taking him to the London Detoxification Centre.

“The suspect went into a rage and threatened Officer Kingsley with a stick he'd had in his pocket. The suspect referred to it as his wand and said, `I'll jinx the balls off of you, you toad. One step closer and I'll shove my wand up your arse.'

“Officer Kingsley found the suspect to be much too intoxicated and delusional and found it in the suspect's best interest to bring him to the London Detoxification Centre.”

“Bloody hell, I'm not crazy,” Harry shouted after Dr. Wheeler had read off the police report.

Dr. Wheeler flipped some papers in the file and produced Harry's wand, which was wrapped in a plastic bag labelled, “Evidence.”

“Oh, fuck, it's not what it—”

“Mr. Potter, I don't know where you got this, but your Bobby officer last night found it in your best interest that you be brought into this centre to not only have us look after your medical needs, but your psychological needs as well…”

“I'm not mental, for Merlin's sake!”

“Excuse me?”

“I—I said,” Harry faltered. “That I'm not crazy!” Harry snatched his wand from the doctor and before he could say anything, Harry pointed his wand, still in its bag, at Dr. Wheeler. “Petrificus Totalus!”

Dr. Wheeler was attempting to stand up when his arms and legs snapped together. He fell sideways to the floor. Harry pulled the rest of the plastic off his wand and cast an obliviating charm on him, and then waved one onto the rest of the clinic, dissolving his files. Restoring the doctor from his petrified state, Harry apparated out of the clinic before Dr. Wheeler could stand up.

Arriving in his flat, Number 3 Humber Side Lane, Harry sighed and walked into his kitchen, taking a tumbler and a bottle of firewhisky from the cabinet.

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“I don't know why you get so flustered about him, Ginny,” said the blonde at the vanity next to her. “He comes every night and pays you a lot of money.”

“I don't want his charity, Lacey.” Ginny Weasley said sourly as she slipped on her fancy knickers with the sexy fringe. “Besides, I've known him for years, and he's nothing but trouble.”

“Then why are you putting on your lucky knickers?” Lacey smirked knowingly in her direction.

Ginny scoffed as she fixed the last strap on her stilettos. “Because I'm hoping if they're lucky enough, he won't show up.” With a playful swing of the hips, Ginny walked out of the dressing room, and over to the curtains where she would start her number at any moment.

“Ginevra, come on!” Her boss, Mr. Styles, was motioning frantically for her to get on stage. “I haven't got all day and there are loads of perverted men waiting to watch you dance!”

Ginny didn't say anything, and instead walked out into the bright light. A few men began to cheer at her scantily clad form, and soon the entire pub was in an uproar of agreement with the way she looked.

It made her sick.

But at the same time, she felt powerful. It was incredible how she could use her body to bring men to their knees. When she was younger, she would go from boyfriend to boyfriend, looking for the right one, but really only wanting one…Harry Potter.

They'd tried dating again after the war ended, after Harry had killed Voldemort. He'd been too damaged by that time for anything to work out. Harry had become an alcoholic, and when Hermione was put in Azkaban for her role in leading the House Elf revolution, he'd gone to the deep end. Ginny had left him with a few parting words, and nowhere to go.

The night she and Harry had broken it off, she'd found herself in a muggle pub in London. A pretty woman kept looking over at her, and at first Ginny had though the woman had been interested in her. The woman had eventually made her way over to Ginny, telling her that she had the body most men would die for. Lacy had given Ginny her card, and ever since, Ginny found herself employed on the Upper St. Martin's Stringfellow's strip club.

Unfortunately, Draco Malfoy had discovered her new alias only months later and showed up every night she was there.

The lights dimmed out as a seductive glow filled the room, and the music began. It was times like this that she was able to forget everything: the men staring at her, Harry, Draco…

Bloody hell, he was here.

Draco Malfoy sat in the back, puffing away on a cigar as Ginny spun around the pole in a sensual dance. She glanced at him every so often, and couldn't help but think how proper he looked: cigar in hand, dressed up, sitting in one of the club's many fancy booths…

Another woman approached Ginny from behind, moulding their bodies together and running her hand down Ginny's breast. The men's jaws dropped, but Draco only smirked as he put out his cigar. No matter how many times she'd had to go through with this—having women touch her in such a private way—she'd never get used to it. It paid the flat, though.

Actually, he paid her flat hire.*

Spinning around the pole a few more times, flashing her scant knickers to the audience, and giving a fake smile and curtsy, she jumped off stage and went straight for a group of men, avoiding Draco completely.

She smiled politely as a forty-some year old man felt her up, and tensed when she saw Draco coming her way, a smirk playing on his face. She knew what he was up to; she could expect it every night.

“You know the drill, Red,” he said to her matter-of-factly. Ginny sighed and jumped off the man's lap, facing Draco with her hands on her hips. “I've got you for the rest of the night.”

Ginny nodded unwillingly, but still courteously, due to her strict conduct, as she followed Draco to one of the private rooms set towards the back of the club. Before they could make it to the private room where she knew there were cameras, she pushed him up against the wall in the hallway.

“What the fuck do you think you're doing, Draco?”

He only smirked at her. “Come home with me tonight?”

She scoffed. “Do you think my answer's going to change?”

“No, but its fun to play this game with you.”

“I'm sure it's fun for you, you sick dim-witted…”

“Hey,” Draco demanded, holding up a wad of fifty-pound notes. “I paid good money to get you for myself, now I want to see your cunt.”

Ginny scoffed and let him go, following him back to the room as she forced tears to stay in her eyes. Sometimes she felt as though this life was worse than that of a geisha's. At least those women were honoured, whereas if Ginny had ever told her family what she did for a living, they were sure to disown her. Only Ron knew of her double-life…

Draco held the door open for her and she entered the room, opening and setting her purse on the table. She adjusted her garter to fit as low as it possibly could without falling off, and sat down in one of the chairs.

“No, I don't think so,” Draco shook his head. “You get up there and spread your legs. I want to see you dripping wet by the time I leave.”

“You know we can't touch,” Ginny said. “It's against the rules.”

“Sod the rules, you just…”

“I said, we can't touch.” The last part she said through gritted teeth and a fake smile.

“So I can look?”

“Yes.”

“And I can make you talk as dirty as I want.”

Ginny sighed. “I might need some reassuring.”

Draco put one of the fifty-pound notes in her little purse.” All right then you slag, get up there and spread your legs for me.” Ginny did as he said. “No, no. Pull your thong aside.”

“That requires some effort.” He put another note in her purse and she obliged, but only for a second.

“Your family really is dumb, Weasley,” He said, putting two notes in her purse. “Hold it aside; I want to look at you.” She did so, hands trembling like always. He got close to her and took a deep breath in. It took all of Ginny's energy not to throw up on him. He slipped a wad of notes in her garter, taking much too long as he ran his hand across her slender thigh.

He smirked when he felt her shiver. “You like it, Red. Just admit it. You want me.”

“You wish,” she hissed. She could see the faint outline of a bulge working its way into his pants.

“No, actually, I don't,” Malfoy laughed wickedly. “You see, I don't fuck purebloods that betray the family line.”

“So that means we're practically related, then, and you're just a big pervert,” Ginny shot out, desperate to get him out of the room.

“I've done a bit of research, Weasley, and we're no more related than Potty is to Voldemort.” His face was close to hers, and she held back the urge to spit in his face. “You're just lucky I haven't told anyone about you're little night time gig.”

All the colour drained from her face. “If you dare…”

“Why would I tell anyone when I can have the fun of coming here and torturing you myself?” Ginny was seething, but there was nothing she could do. This was her job, and technically, he was a paying customer. Draco fucking Malfoy, her paying customer. She shivered violently at the thought. She knew it was the wrong thing to do when a smirk came over his face again. “You're getting hot, aren't you, Weasley? Perhaps you should take off that little top you call a coverings.”

“I paid a lot for this thing.”

“Well here's the money to buy a new one,” he said slipping another large wad of notes into her garter. “Now strip.”

Although she'd done this hundreds of times for him, it always seemed to get worse. She unclipped the sparkly bra from behind and let it drop at her ankles. Her stomach turned queasy when his pants twitched. Against her will, her nipples were hard as diamonds.

“Come to my flat, Red,” Draco said breathlessly. “I know you want to.”

“I can't believe you're begging me to,” she said, turning around and bending over. She knew this would tease him beyond belief, and the only satisfaction she got out of it was to know he would go home with a very uncomfortable problem in his pants.

He threw the rest of his money onto the table. “Take off your knickers, your garter and those ridiculous-looking shoes. I want to see you.” She stood up and removed her garter, putting the money on the table next to her purse. Bending over she pulled down her thong, revealing her most intimate spot to him. Sitting on the floor with her legs wide open, she slowly removed one of her stilettos, and then the other.

Draco was breathing heavily. “Is there a rule against jacking my John Thomas in here?”

Ginny scoffed in disgust as she stood up. “Um, yes, there is. You can't.” Draco's eyes widened as he took in the form in front of her, standing free of clothing, and of her mask. Suddenly he stood up, collecting his coat and heading out the door, slamming it behind him.

Slowly, Ginny began to redress, and then moved to the table where all her money was sitting…all of his money. She began to fold it neatly to be stowed away in her purse, when an overwhelming feeling came over her, and she sat at the table, head in her hands, and bawled.

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So, what'd you think? I know, a lot different, and I was trying to model the strip club scene after what I saw in the movie Closer. Hopefully I did justice…

Thanks to Rylee! You're amazing!

British slang:

*Bobby=Police

*Hire=Rent

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What Has Become of the World?

Chapter 2: Harder than It Seems

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The sun filtered through the hangings and burned the outerside of Ron's eyelids. He groaned, covered his head with his pillow, and then realized there was a pair of arms wrapped around him from behind.

He groaned again.

Slowly trying to pluck her arm from around his waist, he pulled back the covers and crawled out of bed. Ron threw on a pair of trousers, not bothering with a shirt before tiptoeing out of his room so he wouldn't wake up…wake up… Damn, he couldn't remember her name.

He couldn't remember any of their names.

Not after Hermione. She's been everything he'd ever wanted in a girl, and so much more. She was beautiful, smart, and even funny when she wanted to be. The laughter she produced had always brought him out of any bad mood, but the memory of it now only stabbed at his heart. He didn't have to worry about her laughing much lately; she'd been in Azkaban for a little over a year.

He hadn't been stupid, though. She'd clearly loved Harry, and Ron had always hated being second choice to Harry. Call it jealousy, whatever. He hated being second string to anyone. It was all or nothing, and these girls had given him all, but it just wasn't good enough. They couldn't be her, and it killed him.

Ron huffed and wrenched open his refrigerator door, grabbing an ale and pushing it shut. He drug himself over to his kitchen table and plopped himself down in a chair, opening the beer and taking a swig. Down the hall the door squeaked. Damn, she was awake.

“Ron?” The girl said from the hallway. “Ronald, where are you?”

He sighed. “I'm in the kitchen.” The girl—fuck, what was her name—poked her head shyly around the corner. He could see she was wearing one of his oversized shirts. They all did this, trying to look sexy for him. It was pathetic, really. They all thought they could get to his heart by sleeping with him. He almost felt bad for using them, but in the end, he didn't care. Hermione had hurt him badly enough, even if she hadn't done anything directly, but just knowing she'd gone with him out of pity made him infuriated with her. He never wanted to see her again, but he knew that, even now if she'd asked him to bed, he wouldn't hesitate. Fuck, he was so pitiful.

She sat at an angle from him at the table, staring at him with a crooked grin. He looked away from her and she placed her hands on his. “Last night was wonderful.”

“Yeah,” he said disheartened. “It was nice.”

She stared at the ale in his hand. “Gaelian Cheer? I've never heard of…”

“It's imported,” Ron said quickly, knowing full well that no muggle would know of the wizarding beer that he threw back constantly. Ron reached for a pack of smokes in the centre bowl of the table. He knocked the pack once on the edge of the table, forcing one of the fags up and settling it into his mouth. Throwing the pack back into the bowl, he took his lighter and lit up; taking a deep drag and puffing it back out. Instantly he felt the nicotine flood his veins and he began to relax. Merlin it felt good, especially after a night of lousy shagging.

“You know those are no good for you,” the girl coughed.

Ron shrugged. “I know.”

Their small talk was getting them nowhere, and he could almost feel the awkwardness she was feeling. After having slept with as many women as he did, he didn't feel awkward anymore, mostly because he didn't care. The only woman he cared about didn't want him, so why should he care about other women? Fuck `em all.

“Can I try some of that?” She asked, motioning to the ale he held in his hand.

Ron shook his head. “I don't have many of them left.” The girl sighed and stood up.

“I'll make you some breakfast, then.” She walked over to the refrigerator door and opened it, pausing for a moment before closing it again. He knew she'd seen all that he had in his fridge: case after case of Gaelian Cheer mixed in with a few take away boxes of mouldy food he reckoned should be tossed away.

He didn't care when she moved swiftly back to his bedroom, and came back out moments later, dressed fully in the scanty attire she'd been in the night before. A few tears fell down her cheeks.

“You're a pig,” she shouted at him, before walking out of his door and slamming it behind her. Ron only sighed as he reached for the pack of cigarettes again, pulling out another one and lighting it off the old one, so that a red ember burned in the new fag. He put out the old one out in an ash tray nearby and sat back to puff away on his new cigarette.

What did Hermione see in Harry anyway? Ron couldn't see what Harry had that he didn't. They'd both been there to defeat Voldemort, and Ron had even helped to revive Harry after he'd killed his long-time nemesis. Fuck, he'd done everything he could have for his best mate, and this is how Hermione repaid him? Ron would never get over it, and he knew Harry still wondered why Ron had cut all connections with him after the war; after he'd broken up with Hermione.

She'd never come out and told him directly, and thought her a coward for that. No self-respecting Gryffindor was as much of a coward as she was when it came to their relationship. He imagined she'd fancied him since third year, and never said anything. Finally when Ron asked her out, it hadn't been anything like he'd expected. He'd expected her to jump in her arms and scream, “Yes! Yes!” as though he'd asked her to marry him, but she only nodded and said, “Okay,” in that stupid way she did when she was contemplating a tough issue and made a rash decision to please her questioner. Knowing full well he should have never forced her into the relationship, he reasoned that she had never shown any signs of being distressed with the fact that they were together, so he continued to press on with their relationship. For a bit she seemed happy, but that had only been the beginning when it was all holding hands and kissing on the cheek, or even a peck on the lips. That was stuff they'd already done on a friendly basis, but he wanted to go further. He wanted to really kiss her.

That was when she had told him she was too busy with work to get into a serious relationship. His jaw had dropped, but he hadn't been surprised. It was something he was dreading, but it just didn't surprise him. He'd been expecting it, but hoped it wouldn't come. But it had. And he'd yelled, she'd cried. He'd demanded to know what other bloke was in her life. She'd said there wasn't another, and he'd called her a liar. He'd shouted that he knew she was in love with Harry and how sick it made him; so sick that he wanted to spew his guts all over Harry's dead parents' graves. Ron knew it was the jealousy in him that was forcing him to say such hurtful things, but Hermione didn't care. She loved Harry, and Ron knew she'd defend him over Ron. That night she had left, her eyes dry and stoic, and he'd never seen her again.

A few months later he'd read in the Daily Prophet about her arrest and sentence to a year or so in Azkaban for propositioning the House Elves to leave their masters by tricking witches and wizards into accidentally giving their servants a piece of clothing. He knew she'd gotten the idea from Dobby, who was essentially freed by Harry.

Fuck, Ron knew that Hermione loved Harry for his compassion, which was initially set off by that first House Elf he'd freed. After Dobby, however, Harry had showed about as much interest in SPEW as Ron had, which was very little. They'd allowed Hermione to put their names on her distribution list, but after their break-up he had stopped receiving newsletters. Hermione had found more followers, but Harry still remained second to her on the list, whether Harry wanted to or not.

It was a fruitless attempt on her part, Ron thought. She couldn't be sure that Harry even felt that way for her. It pissed him to fuck thinking how Hermione was wasting her energy, pining over Harry, when she had a perfectly good man waiting for her to return any day. Of course, Ron was about half, if not a quarter of the man he used to be, but if she returned to him, he'd be whole again.

Ron knew Ginny was having the same trouble after her break-up with Harry. She'd even gone so far as to find work at a strip club in London. Entirely by accident, Ron happened to come across Ginny at her new job and almost threw up. His little sister, the little redhead with the girly crush on Harry Potter was dancing half-naked as she straddled and bounced in a strange man's lap. Needless to say, Ron had rushed across the room as fast as he could and nearly pummelled the guy before security put him in place. Ron had pulled off his coat and draped it around Ginny's small frame, and she yelled at him, but still seemed to hug his coat tighter and tighter around herself. He could tell she was miserable, but she did it anyway; she danced for money even though she hated it with every cell in her body.

Her boss had excused her for the night, and even threatened to fire her if Ron came in again. They'd made their way to a pub down the street to talk about their recent heartaches and struggles. She'd told him about how she'd left Harry because of his drinking issues, so finished with him that she didn't care whether he died of alcohol poisoning or not.

“I'm so fucking sick of his drinking,” Ginny hissed as she puffed furiously on her cigarette. She'd picked up the same terrible habit Ron had. “I mean, I care that he's depressed and upset about Voldemort, but if he'd talked to me in the least bit, I know I could have helped him.”

“He's a bastard, Ginny, we both know that now.”

She had looked at him with an eyebrow crooked. “Why's he got your trousers pinched?”

“He hasn't, really. I—I just—fuck. I think Hermione broke up with me because she's fucking in love with Harry.”

Ginny scoffed. “Who knows what Harry's thinking. Remember in school when he'd shut up and not tell us anything?” Ron nodded. “Well it's gotten worse. He snaps at me when I even look at him, and half the time he's too pissed to even speak. And that's when he isn't just flat passed out. I almost thought of putting him in one of those homes, but was too afraid he'd get all upset and hit me or something, so I just left. I sent Kingsley Shacklebot after him though. It's all I could think of to straighten him out.”

“You did the right thing, Gin,” Ron said, putting his hand over his sister's. Ginny was really the only person he trusted in the world. They'd teased each other relentlessly, but in the end, they'd always had the other to lean on.

Ron glanced up to see a white-haired man looking at them through the window, but the man had run away before Ron could recognize his face.

“What are you looking at?” She'd asked him before taking the last puff of her cigarette.

Ron shook his head. “Nothing.”

The phone suddenly rang, pulling Ron out of his revere. He looked at the fag in his hand and saw the ash had burned down to the filter before he'd taken a second puff. What a waste of a good cigarette.

The phone rang again, and he huffed, putting out the fag and walking over to answer it. “Hello?”

“Is this Ronald Weasley?”

Ron furrowed his brow and leaned against the wall of his flat. “Yeah, who's this?”

“This is Healer Mardling from St. Mungo's,” the voice said. “Miss Lovegood is asking for you again. She says she's seen Hermione Granger walking out of Azkaban's gates.”

“Fuck,” Ron cursed over the phone. “Uh, yeah, I'll be right over.” Ron slammed down the receiver before cursing again.

Luna Lovegood. He couldn't believe he'd ever agreed to be her secondary caretaker after St. Mungo's. Every fortnight it seemed he was over there, trying to calm her down. Deep down he knew she wasn't crazy like everyone was carrying on that she was, but he couldn't do enough to convince them to release her. Every two weeks she'd say that she saw the day Hermione was walking out of Azkaban, and they automatically thought she was mental.

Ron knew she wasn't. Of course she was seeing Hermione walk out of Azkaban…because Hermione would eventually walk out of Azkaban. It worried Ron that her primary caretakers could be so thick, when he'd once been deemed the thick headed prat.

The only thing that kept Ron from rowing with her healers over dispatching her was the fact that she had gotten a bit depressed after the death of her father. She had seen her mother die once, and then her father. Ron would never know what it was like to watch two of the closest people to you die at such a young age, but he understood her pain, and he sympathized with her. And he really didn't mind visiting her all that much.

He raced to his room, threw on a shirt, and ran back to his sitting area. “St. Mungo's,” Ron said lazily as he threw his floo powder into the flame before stepping into it. Moments later, completely dizzy, he stepped out of the fireplace at St. Mungo's Hospital for Magical Maladies and Injuries. He passed the Welcome Witch and headed for the lift, riding it up to the fourth floor and Wing 49. As Ron entered the room, he all but cringed to know what he would momentarily be in for…

“Hello there, young lad!” Gilderoy Lockhart shouted jovially. “Would you like an autograph? I can get you about fifty of them to share with your friends?”

“Umm, sure,” Ron said, passing by the egotistical man quickly. “I'll pick up my stack on the way out.” This seemed to satisfy Lockhart for the time, and Ron continued on back to where Luna would be.

“Is Ronald coming?” He could hear her asking one of the nurses.

“Of course, dear, your healer called him up only a few—well look who it is!” The lady shouted. “I told you he'd come, dear. Now I'll leave you two alone to talk for a bit.”

Ron chuckled a bit and nodded towards the departing woman. “Still treating you like a child?”

“Worse,” Luna replied, flopping back down onto her bed. “They think I'm completely mental.”

“Are you?”

“Am I?”

“I don't know,” he replied, sliding in next to her. She grabbed his hand like she always did, and passed on her vision to him…

It was a beautiful day; one of those days you'd curse if your work forced you to stay inside. The only problem was, in the middle of the sunny sky that stretched in all directions lay a single patch of deep black sky. He knew why it was black: the dementors.

Luna focused him in on the entrance to the prison, as a shrunken, bushy-haired girl stepped out of the doors, looking around and sighing before climbing into a boat that would take hear across the sea to brighter waters, and land that would take her back to Harry…

Ron couldn't watch any longer and wrenched his hand free from Luna. She sat up and ran her hands through his hair. It felt soothing, it felt…

“I know you miss her, Ronald,” Luna said softly. “But she's gone. Even when she gets out of Azkaban, she'll be gone.”

Ron's face grew harder, even though he knew she was right. “How do you know so much about my love life, Luna? How do you know it's true?” Ron stood up on wobbly feet.

“I can feel it in your aura; you love her very much, but she's communicated very different feelings to me…”

“So you've talked to her now?” Ron shouted, his sudden tears blinding him as he reached for anything sturdy to hold him. “What'd she have to say about Harry? Does she want to shag him? Does she want to fuck him sideways until neither of them can walk straight?”

Luna stood and reached for him. “Ronald, I know it's hard. I can help you get through the pain if you just watch…”

“I don't want to see any more of your fucking visions, Luna!” Ron was sobbing now, and collapsed on the empty bed next to hers. “I think they're right! You are mental, and that's why you're here!”

“Ronald.” Luna was crying a bit now.

“No, don't use that on me!” Ron clutched at the sheets, wanting to tear them apart for the way she was stabbing at his heart.

And then she started humming Weasley is Our King, softly at first, and then a bit louder, or maybe she'd been humming it the same the whole time, and the blood pumping through his ears had just settled down a bit. Still sobbing, he let her take him into her arms as she rocked him back and forth, waiting for his tears to subside.

“I'm starting to think you're the mental one, Ronald,” she joked. He chuckled dryly and calmed down as she petted his hair. “I know she hurt you, Ron, but you have to move on. I know how hard it is, and how much it hurts to love someone so deeply, and to not see that love in their eyes when you want it to be there so badly.” He looked up at her, into her eyes and it depressed him to see her love for him burning a hole in his heart. He could only stare at her blankly before she sighed and moved off the bed. “Like I said, Ronald, try your hardest to get over it, or you'll end up in here with me.”

He felt as though she was only half-joking, but saw a tear slip down her cheek before she slipped back into her bed and pulled the covers over her. That was his cue to leave.

Ron slipped out of the room quietly, luckily dodging Gilderoy Lockhart who was still furiously scribbling at pictures of himself. Taking the elevator down again, Ron passed by the Welcome Witch and disappeared in the floo network again before finding himself back home where he opened another can of his ale and lit up a fresh fag.

Back in ward 49, Luna was crying softly, and sniffling as she communicated with Hermione.

I'm so, so sorry, Luna. I wish I could get him to love you back.

Its okay, I, well I guess I'll be here until he comes to his senses.

I hope, for both your sake that won't be long.

Thanks, Hermione.

I'm a bit tired from the dementors and trying to get my mind through the wards, but I'll talk to you later.

You'll visit me soon?

Only a few days.

Luna smiled a bit. Hermione would be getting out in only a few days; hopefully she would bring Luna out of this slump, and back into the real world; a world Luna wished only to share with her Ronald.

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Well, that's chapter two. Thanks for all the reviews on chapter one! Keep `em coming. :)

Thanks to Rylee for her wonderful betaeing skills! :)

Hope you enjoyed this chapter, even though it was a little sad. :( I promise it gets better from here. :)

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Soooo sorry for having been MIA! See bottom for author's note. :)

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What Has Become of the World?

Chapter 3: Confusion

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The wind was blistering, and every once in a while the water would splash, drenching her and freezing her to the bone. There was nothing she could do; she had on the clothes that she'd worn to prison a year previous and the boat was rigged to go straight from Azkaban, to the land across the water.

Free land.

When she'd imagined what Azkaban would be like when she'd been sentenced, it paled in comparison to how it really was. She'd become so thin because she could barely muster up the energy to eat. Her clothes that had once clung to her nicely were now, all but falling off her shoulders and hips. She hadn't been able to eat, because every blissful emotion of Harry was sucked away from her the moment it had formulated in her mind.

The first month she'd cried constantly, knowing she'd never make it. Her soul wasn't fit for Azkaban; she'd be much too weak by the time she was allowed to leave…if she made it out alive. Thinking about never seeing Harry again only made her sorrow worse.

After the first month, she'd tried to do what Sirius had done: think about how she shouldn't be in there. Of course, she was guilty of her crime—if one should call her selfless act a crime at all—and she knew it was lawfully fit that she should be here amongst the foulest wizards and witches of her time.

How did she truly fit with them? She didn't. She'd freed house elves as an act on her campaign. For once, Hermione hadn't read the fine print, and she was jealous of Harry for getting off so easily with Dobby.

A rule that had been made hundreds of years prior, and hadn't been changed stated that the act of freeing someone else's house elf out of trickery would land them in Azkaban for the number of days in accordance to how many house elves they'd released. Hermione had freed 384 of them.

The only reassurance she had was that 384 house elves were living free lives, and the world was beginning to change. Her happiness was short-lived, however, as it was sucked out of her upon reaching Azkaban, replaced with the grief that she'd be apart from Harry for so long…

Oh, Harry. She worried about him constantly. His drinking problem, she feared, would kill him before she got out. For all she knew, he could already be dead. She supposed the fact that Luna never mentioned Harry was a good sign.

Hermione pushed a tear off her cheek, trying to remember when he'd told her he loved her. She'd been with Ron at the time, crawling her way through a most awkward relationship. Ron had been so happy that she'd agreed to go out with him, though, and it pained her to leave him. When he'd finally plucked up the courage to ask her out, she couldn't say no. It was impossible for her to tell him that she'd fallen out of love with him and in love with Harry, so to make him happy, she'd agreed to try things out.

When she had told Ron she would, he'd seemed a little disappointed at first, but then drew her into a tight embrace, petting her hair and whispering to her how long he'd wanted to tell her. She'd hugged him back, but kept thinking of how badly she wanted Harry to be the one holding her tight and petting her hair. She'd pulled back, kissed his cheek, and told him she'd see him the next day, disapparating into her own flat and breaking down on her sofa.

After Ron had announced their relationship to Harry, Harry's drinking had seemed to worsen. She'd felt terrible for Ginny, whom she knew was taking the worst of it. Sooner than later, Ginny broke up with Harry over his drinking and Hermione had found Harry in her flat, rummaging drunkly through her liquor cabinet.

“You've gotta have s'more, Hermione,” Harry mumbled as he threw an empty wine bottle behind him. It crashed into the wall and fell to the floor in pieces. “Don' you drink wine at least?”

Hermione had shaken her head. “Even if I had some right now, Harry, I'd still cut you off. Soberius.”

Harry stopped his motions, turning an angry face towards Hermione who still had her wand pointed at him after muttering a sobering charm. “What the bloody fuck'd you do that for?”

“You're ruining your liver, Harry.”

“I don't give a fuck.”

“You've grown a foul mouth, too.”

“So's Ron and Ginny, and I don't hear you bitching about them.”

“Harry, come here; sit down.” She'd taken his hand and led him to her sofa. “Harry, you've got to stop this. I know breaking up is hard, but this is unhealthy.”

“I'm not upset about Ginny if that's what you're wondering.”

Hermione had cocked an eyebrow. “Then why exactly are you drinking yourself stupid?”

His face had gone pale, and now, after the situation, she knew he'd been nervous as hell. “I—it's hard to explain—Hermione. I—I can't really tell you.”

Hermione had frowned. “Well why not? I'm your best friend, right?”

“Well, yes…”

“Would you rather talk to Ron…?”

“No!” he'd shouted. “I—I mean, I don't think that'd be a good idea.”

“Harry, what's wrong?” She'd put her hand over his, and from her spot next to him on the sofa she could feel him shiver. The moment he'd flinched, she'd known. She'd been elated, ecstatic, beside herself, but all she could get out was a pathetic, “Oh.”

“Look, I know you're with Ron and all, and I just broke up with Ginny, and I really don't know how to tell you otherwise, and it's…”

“Harry, stop.” She'd giggled slightly. He'd been rambling, something she was usually prone to doing. “I understand.”

He'd looked down at his hands clasped in his lap. “Right, got it. Well I'd better be…”

“No, stop.” He'd stood up, but she wouldn't let go of his hand.

“Hermione, please…”

“I said, stop, Harry.”

“No, I shouldn't have come over, I—I don't want to…”

“Harry I know this is crazy; we shouldn't be doing this, but I love you too much to let you walk into that fireplace and leave me here tonight.”

He'd only stared at her, and for the longest time. Initially, she'd been afraid that she'd read him wrong and had completely spat out words that would scare him away. Perhaps he'd meant something else when he'd been rambling about her and Ron and Ginny and him and how he'd…

…kissed her…

Harry had pulled her flush against his body and attacked her lips with his own. She'd tangled her hands in his hair, pulling his head closer. Fleetingly, she'd felt terrible: she'd never gone this far with Ron, and here she was cheating on him with his best mate, their best friend. She couldn't stop herself, though; she'd wanted Harry for too long.

Harry pulled back from her for a moment. “Hermione, we should stop.”

“Oh, Harry.”

“This isn't right. You're going out with Ron.”

“I don't care.”

“You should, and I do care.” He pulled himself further back from her, she figured so he wouldn't be tempted to kiss her again. “He's my best mate, and your boyfriend.”

Her boyfriend…

“Oh, damn!” Hermione cursed. “Why did I ever say yes to him?”

Harry kissed her forehead quickly. “You go back to Ron, Hermione. I know you'll be happy with him, I just—” she could see the pain in his eyes and he clenched his fists at his side. “I just needed to tell you how I felt.”

“You never did.”

Harry smiled at her smart remark and kissed her chastely. “I love you, Hermione Granger.”

He'd disappeared into the fireplace and no sooner did she follow him, her destination quite different.

“Hermione,” Ron had moved towards her with purpose, happy to see her. “Hermione, I thought you had to work late tonight…”

She had winced at her previous lie. “Well, yes. I just got off. We need to talk, though, Ron.”

His face had paled, much the same as Harry's had earlier, but for a much different reason. She'd tried to push Harry out of her mind for the moment while she explained to Ron a complete lie as to why she was breaking things off with him. “Ron, I've been so busy this past year. And it's not that I haven't enjoyed my time with you this past month, I just…there's too much work to be done, and I can't keep up with it all. I think it's time that we slow this down and perhaps see other people.”

She'd looked at her feet for an uncomfortable amount of time. After five minutes had passed, she'd looked up; expected him to be shocked, or even tearing at the eyes, but his lips had drawn themselves into a thin line and his eyes were so livid that it frightened her. “You slag.”

“Ron, what are you…”

“Slow this down? That's bullshit, Hermione. You fucked Harry, didn't you.”

It wasn't a question, and it took Hermione back. “No, Ron! Why would you…”

“You're lying!” Tears were beginning to form in his eyes. “I know you are.”

“Ronald Bilius Weasley! I have not shagged Harry!”

“But you're planning on it, aren't you?”

“Ron!”

“Hermione! How could you do this to me? I—I thought at some point you'd…”

“Ron, I do love you.”

“NOT LIKE I LOVE YOU!” Ron had screamed. Hermione had settled herself into one of his comfortable chairs, tears pouring out of her eyes. “FUCK, HERMIONE! CAN'T YOU SEE HOW BLOODY MUCH I'M IN LOVE WITH YOU?”

“I know.” Her voice had been small and unsettled. “I know, Ron. I know how much you love me, but I'm so busy with this campaign…”

“Fuck the campaign, Hermione! There's some other bloke in your life and I want to know who it is if it's not Harry!”

“There's no one else!”

“It's Harry, then! You're in love with him!”

“No…” she had cried.

“LIAR!” He'd shouted, his face inches from hers. He'd made his way over to her and perched a hand on either side of her, pushing her against the wall. “YOU'RE LYING TO MY FACE! YOU'RE A PATHETIC EXCUSE FOR A GRYFFINDOR!”

“Ron…”

“It makes me sick, you know!” He'd stood back from her and she'd let out a long breath she'd been holding in. “It makes me so sick that you're in love with him, that I want to toss up all over him. I WANT TO TOSS UP ALL OVER HIS DEAD PARENTS' GRAVES, HERMIONE! THAT'S HOW MUCH HE'S HURT ME.”

“He's never hurt you, Ron!” She'd stood up and faced him with all the courage in her. “You have this silly jealousy in you! I suppose all the Weasleys have it because Ginny's said a thing or two that hurt me over the years! If you're going to be so childish about this, then I'm leaving! We're through! And don't ever ask me out again! Ever!”

“How do you know he loves you, Hermione!?” Ron had shouted at her as she passed him on her way to his fireplace. “For all you know, he could be shagging stray women who like alcoholics at the pub down the street! He could be completely diseased!”

Hermione had stopped before she threw the floo powder into the fireplace. She hadn't been crying anymore, though her previous tears had stained her cheeks with mascara. “Ron, when you've finally matured a little, let me know and we can talk. Until then, stay the fuck away from me.”

Hermione had almost felt Ron flinch before she threw the powder in the fireplace, and she'd surprised herself with the language she'd used. She never cursed, but Ron had made her so upset that she couldn't contain it any longer.

Instead of stepping out of the fireplace gracefully, she tumbled out into her drawing room floor. She gasped from the floor when she saw Harry sitting on her sofa.

“Hermione,” he'd breathed as she collected herself. He'd crossed the room to help her up and she'd smiled at him weakly.

“Thanks, Harry.”

He'd wiped her cheeks free of tears “Where'd you go, Hermione? I came back five minutes after I'd left and you were gone. What's wrong?”

She'd sniffled and looked down at her feet. “I broke it off with Ron.”

When she'd looked up she'd expected him to be happy for some reason. Instead, a frown was etched across his face. “What?”

“I broke up with Ron. I—I couldn't keep going on with him knowing that you shared my feelings.”

Harry had actually looked upset. “Hermione, you shouldn't…”

“Well not you too!” She'd shouted at him, hysterical from her row with Ron. “I did this for us, Harry!”

“Oh, fuck, Hermione! He's going to hate me!”

“He was already jealous of you, Harry!” That had seemed to take him back. “I told him that I'd been tied up at work and the first thing he'd asked me was if we'd shagged!”

“Oh, Hermione…” Harry whispered, taking her into his arms.

“I mean I'd always known he was a bit jealous of you, but this is ridiculous!”

“You don't know how much he loves you, though,” Harry said softly, as though the truth would send her back to Ron. “He's loved you for a long time now.”

“I used to, you know.” Harry pulled back from their embrace. “I used to love him; I used to even love the stupid things he did to get my attention and make me jealous. I'd even play along and get him more jealous, but he took too long, and I was too afraid to ask him. And then…and then…”

“What, Hermione?” Harry had leaned his forehead against hers. Their noses were barely touching and she'd felt his breath mingle with hers.

“I fell in love with you.” Her lips had touched his, and that had been it. He'd pulled her to him with a maddening force, running his tongue along her bottom lip and slipping it into his mouth. She'd gasped, he'd groaned, and she'd asked him if he could possibly love her as much as Ron did.

“Merlin, Hermione. You have no idea how much I love you.”

“If it's unbearable, then I think I do know.”

“Hermione, we shouldn't…”

She'd taken her hands from around his waist, silencing her hands from ripping his shirt off. “Oh, Harry…”

“I want to—bloody hell, I can't tell you how much I want to—but we can't…not until this settles down a bit.”

“You're right,” she'd said. “Merlin, I'm a mess.”

He'd kissed her soundly on the lips. “We should get you washed up.”

“How can you be so calm?”

He'd laughed. “I don't know. I suppose it's because I want to do this properly, you know? Court you, woo you…”

“Woo me?” She'd laughed as he'd lead her to the loo. “We're not in Shakespeare, Harry.”

He'd smiled crookedly. “I know. I just…I guess I just love you too much to mess this up.”

“I love you too, Harry.”

He'd kissed her then, and for the first time in 384 days, that memory wasn't sucked from her mind.

As the boat Hermione was in neared the shore, her withered hair began to grow again in volume, its pathetic curls growing bouncy once again. Her pale face grew tingly as it took in the warm rays of the sun, and she took her first deep breath of fresh air for the first time in 384 days.

The boat hitched itself to the dock as she climbed onto the wooden panels feebly. Her face turned towards the sun and she smiled.

Harry, she had to see Harry.

She was frightened, though. They'd been apart for more than a year and she wasn't sure what their first meeting would bring. He'd been strong to keep them from going too far at first with their relationship, but after this, she wasn't sure if either of them had enough control left to stop themselves from falling together. Hermione wasn't sure if she was ready for it.

She'd been ready for it a year ago; she wasn't sure why she doubted herself now.

With every last morsel of energy left, she collected herself and apparated to Harry's flat, knowing if he hadn't had anti-apparation wards around his flat before, he sure as hell wouldn't have them now.

She knew she was right when she tumbled unceremoniously onto Harry's sofa, making the figure next to her almost jump through the ceiling after a moment's delay.

“Bloody `ell, Hermione,” Harry slurred, a tumbler filled with a brownish liquid in his hand. His eyes were bloodshot and his clothes and hair were more tousled than ever. He was wasted.

“Oh, Harry,” Hermione sighed before falling into his embrace, being crushed by the force of his hug.

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I'm soooooooooooooo sorry for having been sort of MIA for the last few weeks, but I've started working again so I don't have much time on my hands anymore, lol.

Thanks to the wonderful Riley for betaing this for me! I couldn't do it without her!

Thanks for all your wonderful reviews! I shall be updating “Without You” and “Missing Harry” as soon as I can find the time! :)

Harrynhermione4eva

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