Memories of those weeks she spent living in Kingsley's flat just after running away from Hogsmeade crept up into her mind. Part of her didn't believe she would ever walk away from his flat. She was convinced that she was going to die in a puddle of her own vomit. It was nothing that she didn't deserve. She'd wasted her life and allowed herself to become an addict. No one forced the potions down her throat. No one, that is, until Rodolphus the night she ran away. Before, she didn't need much encouragement to swallow a vial or several. She desired and craved the nothingness she felt when it was present in her body. Would it be as bad as it was when she almost died under Kingsley's care? She wasn't sure that she had enough strength to go through that experience again.