Chapter 14– I Just Wanna Bury My Face Between Paul McCrane's Thighs, Okay?

Part Numero Dos of the Previous Chapter; I'll shut up now so y'all can read it. Or just laugh at me for making crack start OUT as crack and then having it turn into an angst filled Rom-Com...

"TONIGHT, ON UNSOLVED MYSTERIES, FIND OUT WHO GIVES A SHIT ABOUT BIGFOOT. UPDATE: APPARENTLY NO ONE GIVES A SINGLE SHIT ABOUT BIGFOOT, SO, FUCK HIM!"

"God fucking damn it Hairy, YOU'RE GONNA WAKE UP THE NEIGHBORS!"

Hairy now stood in the doorway of Hermione's bathroom, leaning heavily against the doorframe, a toothbrush hanging out of his mouth as he went on yet another drunken tangent, spitting toothpaste all fucking over the floor of the poor witch's apartment with every word.

"UPDATE: LAST WEEK, SOMEONE BROKE INTO MY OLD DORM AND STOLE 600$ WORTH OF MY SHIT! THAT'S RIGHT, LADIES! 600$ WORTH OF BUUUULL SHIT!" On the last sentence, the fucking toothbrush just fell out of his mouth and onto the floor. About 10 seconds later, HE WAS ON THE FLOOR. Hermie had to admit, she's seen him come close to overdosing on PCP numerous times, but tonight he was a REAL FUCKING MESS.

"Oh mother fuck—HAIRY GET YOUR KRUNK ASS OFF THE FLOOR, FOR GOD'S SAKE, YOU HANDLE YOUR LIQUOR LIKE AN ABSOLUTE PUSSY!" Hermione whined at him, trying yet again to scrape him off the ground like a pimp and his prized meth whore.

"LEAVE ME, DARLING. THIS IS WHERE I BELONG." Hairy wailed, practically dry humping the fucking floor in an attempt to weigh himself down as Hermione yanked on his legs.

"Well FINE. LAY THERE LIKE A CUM DRENCHED WHORE FOR ALL I CARE. Just don't puke or anything you GOD DAMN SON OF A PANSY!" Hermione yelled after some more fruitless struggling, abruptly dropping Hairy's legs, leaving them to hit the floor with a thud, earning an "OW, FUCK, GOD DAMN IT WOMAN!" from the intoxicated wizard below.

Our red headed hero trudged back out to the living room, sitting down heavily on the black leather couch that took up half of it. She put her head in her hands, "Well, at least he's not in tears about this whole day..." she thought to herself, digging the heels of her hands into her eyes, trying to rub the exhaustion out of them when she heard a noise from the Cheap Foldout️ across from her. Looking up, she saw Hairy. Although she had eventually convinced him to borrow one of her makeup wipes and get rid of the cheap lipstick that he'd smeared fucking EVERYWHERE, he still had toothpaste running down his mouth. His glasses were crooked to shit, and his jEANS WERE ON BACKWARDS FOR CHRIST SAKE. He looked like a rabid coyote with Down's syndrome.

He looked back at her, a grumpy, droopy-eyed expression on his face. For a second there, Hermione had to bite back a smile.

"I'm sorry, mom..." Hairy said in mock defeat, wiping a trail of white foam from the corner of his mouth. This earned a laugh from the red headed witch as she shook her head.

"Shit. You've really done it this time, Penis..." She stated, her shoulders shaking slightly from her laughter.

"Blame the strange Mexican guy working in Longbottom's Liquor Store. Josè gave me that WHOLE BOTTLE 'A GIN FOR 3 BUCKS AND A WALGREENS CLUB CARD!" Hairy yowled quite proudly, as Hermione glared at him with slight disapproval.

"You're an idiot, Penis. You've been walking the streets drunk for hours, for the love of God, you could've tripped over a curb and split your head open!" He waved her off as she started on another one of her damn lectures. "I'm serious, Hairy! What would've happened if some schmuck had taken advantage of your public drunkenness and stolen your wallet, or better yet, BENT YOU OVER IN AN ALLEYWAY AND RAPED YOU, JESUS CHRIST, ISN'T FIVE TIMES ENOUGH FOR YOU?! ONE OF THESE DAYS A JOHN MIGHT JUST END UP SLAUGHTERING YOU WITH HIS BARE HANDS AND RAPING YOUR ROTTING CORPSE FOR WEEKS, ALL BECAUSE OF THIS-THIS HABIT OF YOURS!" Hairy merely stared up at her with darkened eyes. "I MEAN MY GOD, YOU'VE SPENT ENOUGH TIME ON THE STREETS TO KNOW HOW DANGEROUS GETTING BLACKOUT DRUNK BY YOURSELF CAN BE, OR DO YOU JUST NOT CARE?!" By now Hermione had stood up from where she'd sat on the couch, coming a few steps closer to the wizard, towering over him from behind the coffee table, looking him straight in the eye.

"Maybe I just don't care so much anymore." He said simply, his lighthearted drunken mood died like a teen in an American high school, leaving a grim look on his face and a bitter, yet leveled tone in his voice. Hermione faltered, surprised at the quietness of his answer, as if she'd not just been shouting at him about his poor life choices.

"Well...god damn it Hairy, you haven't been off the wagon that long, and who knows, maybe after a week or so you can make an appeal to Dildodore, earn yourself another chance at a tuition, keep yourself away from the PCP and the alcoho—"

"DON'T YOU GET IT WOMAN?! I'M A LOST CAUSE!" Hairy yelled, darkness filling his eyes. "AND FOR FUCK'S SAKE, I HAVEN'T JUST BEEN USING SINCE MID JULY, I'VE BEEN ON A DOWNWARD SPIRAL SINCE I WAS BARELY EVEN WITHIN THE AGE BRACKET TO WIPE MY OWN ASS, YOU JUST WEREN'T AROUND THAT EARLY ON TO SEE IT!"

Silence filled the dark apartment as Hairy looked at the floor, his emotions threatening to break through for the umpteenth time that day. Hermione returned to her spot on the couch across from him, looking at the broken wizard in front of her, completely lost as to what she should say next, worried that whatever she came up with would make him feel worse.

She shifted her gaze to the skylight above them, looking to the plentiful amount of stars, the pale, full moon, God, Voldemort...ANYTHING that would give her an answer.

Instead, she made the startling discovery of a hobo who'd somehow found himself on the roof of the famed apartment complex, who was now pressing his hairy, greasy nuts against the window pane, giving her a toothless grin. As you can imagine she looked back down with the speed of a Kenyan on coke, deciding on giving a thousand-yard stare to the novel on her coffee table "Dick Me Down and Call Me Betty: What to Do When Life Crams Lemons Up Your Dry Asshole" and hope for the best.

Thankfully she didn't have to wait for that "sign from a higher power" bullshit, because Hairy decided to re-approach the subject of his sudden explosion, a quieter, calmer sound to his voice.

"I guess you could say it all began when that noseless old gremlin killed my parents." His eyes were fixed to the floorboards, his hands folded in his lap, as he sat straight, despite his drunkenness."The rest of my family hadn't been so crazy about my coming to live with them...so, naturally, they treated me like a garbage can with legs."

He looked back up at Hermione, a curious, yet cautious look in her eyes that willed him to keep venting about his under appreciated mommy and daddy issues.

"Every attempt to fit in with the rest of the family was pissed on like a dumpster fire. The family portrait I drew with crayons as a hapless four-year-old? Shoved in my uncle's paper shredder. Made my auntie a Mother's Day breakfast? She tossed it in the shitter and told me that if I ever 'woke her up for some shit on a shingle at this ungodly hour, again, for as long as either of us lived, she would sneak up from behind and shove me off the roof the next time my uncle made me clean the gutters'. Tried to hop in the actual family portrait being taken by a professional photographer? My uncle literally threw me out of the shot and told me to wait in the fucking car...all of my life, I just sat around and took it, took it all right up the big chocolate highway, and watched as my childhood shriveled up and died before my eyes..." Hairy's fists clenched as he kept going, gaze trained out the large window they'd been looking out that very morning, after the Strip Club Cornhole-Catastrophe.

"You know how this shit works. My cousin was treated like a saint, and I—I—" he paused, trying to find the right words. "I just—hung around and hung around— even when I finally reached the age in which fed up, moody ass kids grab their DS's and their favorite MCR hoodies and run away, I still just...hung around. Didn't look for any other family, didn't even stay with the neighbors and con meals out of them." Hairy moved from his position on the fold out, lying on his back amidst several soft Walmart throw blankets, continuing to monologue his sorrows into the night.

"Eventually, after I-...you know, started at Hogwarts, kept at my studies, and EVENTUALLY got cut off financially by those slimy cocksuckers back home, I realized something..." Another pause. In the distance, a lonely mistress calls out for her lover.

"GOD DAMN IT DARIUS WHERE ARE YOU?! YOU'RE SUPPOSED TO GIMME MAH 500 BUCKS FOR THAT STEAMBOAT-WILLIE!"

Unfazed, our favorite wizard continued.

"The financial cut-off. The fact that they don't even call on birthdays and holidays...they raised me from when I was less than a year old. And they never told me outright, I just assumed...but that shit they pulled proved that they didn't..." Hairy turned his head to look at GangBanger, who was still looking intently at him, listening to his every word.

"Those leeches never loved me. They just saw me as a liability. A pet they were forced to take care of after my parents met Jesus personally. But I loved them...I never really understood it before, but during my first months in the dorms—I realized I missed them." He stared at her with a darkness in his eyes that made her heart drop. "Me. I missed them. Those sons of whores who tended to me until they could just forget about me while I'm living in this bloody HELLHOLE without CPS getting on their asses..."

"Hell, I still miss them...they raised me, God damn it...I love them..."

And, without warning, all of Hairy Penis' ugly, pent emotions from the day came forth like special K from an overfilled needle.

"I FUCKING LOVED THEM!" He sobbed, screaming so hard he lifted his whole upper body off of the foldout a whole 2 or 3 inches. "I LOVED THEM! I LOVE THEM! I—...I—..." he paused, as tears streamed freely down his cheeks. "HERMIONE I FUCKING HATE THEM! I HATE 'EM, I HATE 'EM, IHATEEMIHATEEMIHATEEM I—"

Hairy's aggressive fit of screamcrying was muffled by GangBanger's shoulder as she pulled him up and held him to her tightly, her heart breaking at the sound of his choked sobs as she tried to calm him down.

"I FUCKING HATE 'EM I HOPE THEY DIE IN A FUCKING GAS CHAMBER AND GO UP IN FLAMES AND TURN INTO ASH AND I CAN PISS ON THEIR GRAVES—" she held him tighter as his tirade intensified, rubbing circles in between his shoulder blades, whispering what she hoped to be comforting words in his ear. He was as tense as a first-time bottom in a YAOI manga written by a horny, yet sexually frustrated 17-year-old emo boy there in her arms, hell, Hermione was scared that if she moved one wrong way his rigid body would snap clean in half.

"You know, the Christian charity workers at the homeless shelter I work at get quite a fucking sick kick out of handing me and those other emancipated minors pocket bibles instead of food or money of any other kind of SUSTENANCE..." Hairy deplored, voice muffled by GangBanger's thrift store jacket, still shaking and miserable, his throat aching with tears. "And every time they're there, mocking us with their formal church clothes and their useless vouchers, they say that same old line; 'Don't worry, it'll all get better soon! This trying time in your life is just part of God's PLAN.' WELL I FOR ONE WOULD LOVE TO KNOW WHAT THAT PLAN IS INSTEAD OF TRYING TO FIGURE THIS SHIT OUT FOR MYSELF!"

"Believe me, Penis. You're not the only one getting frustrated pondering God's disaster of a grand plan—if he even fucking exists..." Hermione said quietly, deciding to quit rubbing the wizard's back and just hold him as he finally relaxed in her arms.

And they sat there. For a long ass time, too, they just sat on that shitty Couch Foldout️, listening to the sounds of the busy street through the thin walls of Hermione's slum; the shoddy, rough-sounding engines of used cars passing by, the sound of wasted drifters begging for drug money, becoming aggressive and stabbing the shit out of those passing by after coming up empty, the horrible moans and yowls of "passion" coming from prostitutes making a quick buck on some lonely old neckbeards and single fathers looking for cheap thrills; and my God, did they sound awful. Like elderly cats having been caught in a wood chipper, giving the most ear-raping strains to all of those within a 2 mile radius before their ugly demise.

Oh, well, I digress. I am just the narrator of this middle-American (supposed to be set in the butt-fuck middle of ENGLAND) sob story.

A strip club shooting followed by NACHOS from Red Lobster. Finding out that he CANNOT return to school this year and is doomed to a life of prostitution and homelessness. Making a total FOOL OF HIMSELF RIGHT IN FRONT OF HIS BEST FRIEND, WHO HE WAS IN LOVE WITH. Mindlessly wandering the streets like a pot head AFTER said embarrassment. And after one big ass bottle of gin, and the venting of his rather turbulent childhood, our dear Hairy J. Penis had cried himself to sleep in the arms of that SAME best friend.

My GOD, what has this silly little crack fic come to?!

And so we're left alone with this final scene~

Sensing a change in Hairy's small, belittled form, Hermione picked up on the fact that he'd most likely passed out, drunk and dead tired from the total FUCKFEST that had been just another hot summer day in their lives.

Knowing the wizard would be blissfully unaware of her hesitation to move away from him just yet, Hermione kept holding him. Running her hand through his hair, straightening out his rumpled shirt from time to time. Well, because, YOU KNOW. It was a long day for both of them, and she just wanted to be ABSOLUTELY, POSITIVELY, COMPLETELY, UTTERLY, ENTIRELY, AND THOROUGHLY CERTAIN THE EXHAUSTED YOUNG MAN IN HER ARMS WAS ASLEEP.

And that was that.

Nothing else. No other deeper, more profound reason behind it.

After another good 2,3, maybe 5...okay, maybe 20 minutes of this strictly pro cautionary action, Hermione eased Hairy off and away from her shoulder, lying him down carefully on tHe FoLdOuT️, covering him up with the Walmart brand blankets. She even took the liberty of gently pulling off his big, dorky glasses too, setting them down on the coffee table to find when he waked up in the morning.

And, OKAY. Maybe she did look at him for longer than necessary, as the street lamp cast a warm, orange tinted ray over his sleeping face, admiring how calm and vulnerable and unafraid he looked when he was out cold. But that, my dear reader, means absolutely NOTHING. Nada. Nichts. Niente. There, you've got it in four languages now, so you have to believe it.

And, maybe, just before she padded off to the over stuffed leather couch on the other side of the coffee table, maybe, just maybe...

Our dear Hermione GangBanger leaned down over Hairy's forehead, brushing the hair away from his face. And, just maybe, she planted a brief kiss on his head.

Right over the little lightening bolt shaped scar at the start of his hairline.

But, then again, he was passed out drunk, and it was pretty late.

Yeah. It was probably nothing.