Harry Potter and The Consequences Of The Unresolved(A HP horror fanfic)

2. A Tangled Mess

Ron and Harry had taken their lustful and vehement exploration of each others bodies' from the living to the bedroom, after Harry had finished and they two of them had switched places. Ron was peacefully asleep next to him, snoring softly. It was good, like always, Harry thought as he stared out the bedroom's window that framed the old brick building across the road, a dull pain pulsing between his thighs. He was drunk; the bottle was half finished; he wished he had stolen two. But still he sipped, fulling his mouth with faux expensive wine, well wine that is considered expensive by the common people that filled the dirty streets outside. 

The window was open, letting in a chill breeze and the sounds of a city filled with muggles and maggots, a labyrinth of nightly workers, music, blaring car horns and the sounds of tires crawling quickly across tar. Harry Potter, unfortunately The Chosen One, was wasting away. Drinking by day, and drinking by night while fucking his best friend and cheating on his girlfriend. 

A great white owl swept in through the window, a letter clutched in its beak. It resembled her so much, that for the slightest moment Harry thought that Hedwig had risen from the dead. It landed next him, its claws digging into the white duvet cover, tearing it. It gawked at him, urging him to take the letter and once he did, the bird flapped its wings, stirring the air and fluttered through the window.

The letter was sealed with the Malfoy emblem, pressed into Xanadu green wax.

He will not tell Ron of this. 

---

Hermione was alone in the castle's library, her quill soaked with black ink and tears pouring from her eyes, her hand jittering causing the letters to be uneven and look like the script of a six year old. 

Hello Ron, My sweetling, she  started the letter off, already wincing as everything felt forced and unnatural, How are thing going there in London? I've heard from your mum that Harry has moved into his flat, she already knew about this; she discussed Harry's flat in the last letter she sent, the second one that went un answered. Why am I talking to Ron about this? What's wrong with she? She thought to herself, she continued the letter: I fucking hate it here, she knew she won't send it but it is relieving to admit it to paper, I hate it so fucking much, you can't even begin to fathom, everyone is staring at me, gaping with their mouths open like fish out of water gasping for oxygen, the anger that had been simmering for the last two weeks was staring to boil and bubble over the rims of her body, readying to spill, causing her skin to be warm to the touch, I fucking hate them, and I know now how Harry felt. How did he survive? They should be fucking thankful; they all know we saved their lives, ungrateful twats, the words seemed to tumble out of her body and splash across the paper and morph into these vain words. I hate them

I hate them.

I hate them.

I hate them.

I hate them.

She sobbed, gulping at air: she hadn't been breathing while spewing the hateful words, the wet tears rolling thickly down her cheeks and onto the letter, forming dark dots onto the yellow paper. I fucking hate them, she ended the letter off before setting it aside and starting a brand new one 

Hello Ron, she decided that the sweetling was cringey, How are things in London? she didn't know what to write further, I hope things are well there, she added, I was thinking the other day and hoping that maybe you and Harry could visit Hogsmeade so that we could see each other again, I miss you. She wiped the tears from her glistening cheek, sniffing deeply as she picked this letter and the previous one up and collected her other things, readying to leave the library.