Hogwarts Anon.

It all started with the club. I didn't want to go at first; Harry and Ron dragged me along. In the end I was glad they did. I didn't know what it would do for me, how it would impact my life.

"Come on! Just go, just once."

"Why? Why? Why should I go to some stupid addict's club just to sit there and hear about everyone's obsessions? No thank you!"

But in the end I went anyway. I'm not sure what made me do it. Something in Ron's eyes, I think, is what changed my mind. Something that tugged at my heart as the Fat Lady closed over the common room door.

"Wait! Harry! Ron! Wait! I'm coming."

That was the longest walk I can remember, the one going to Hogwarts Anon. that first day. It was a struggle. I had left behind everything that day. Everything. I didn't even bring my books to comfort me, because that would've shown weakness. I am not weak - or at least I'm not now.

As I sat down in that seat, thoughts were already clouding my head, and my mouth watered for that taste.

Dobby was first up at the podium. He started to say something about socks... and my thoughts began to wander.

Oh how I longed for it...

"...yes, how Dobby loves socks, Dobby does..."

That soft, bittersweet taste! What I wouldn't give for it! To melt it in my mouth and feel such ecstasy again!

"...and Dobby was supplied, yes, Dobby was, by Harry Potter, even. Dobby was a bad house elf. Bad, Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

Here I was distracted from my cravings by loud thudding noises that I soon found out came from the lectern. The disturbed house elf was whacking its head against the nearest thing to it, which at that point was the prefect from Hufflepuff, who was also the leader of the Hogwarts Anon. Club. Dobby was hauled of the main stage by said disgruntled-looking prefect who stuffed him in a bag from which every now and then we heard the muffled wailing of "Bad Dobby! Bad Dobby!"

"Sorry about that," the prefect apologized, "Maybe we will discuss destructive tendencies another time. Someone else?"

I lost myself in another wave of cravings...

Mounds of brown, piled high.

My parents did not know what I did in my room all the time. I feared the day when they found out. My addition - it was too awful to name. They would never understand. Ever. How could I tell them? It would break their hearts. I just couldn't, and that, I decided, was that.

But, oh, to sneak back to the dormitories and put some in my mouth! Just to let it sit there, my tongue absorbing its essence until I felt stronger, more alive. Until I felt sane again.

What if I were there right now? Among my precious stash, popping piece after piece into my face, undisturbed...?

I was hallucinating now, but I didn't care.

Chunks of brown, piled high on my dresser, sacks of it. A cauldron full, melting and bubbling...Not many people melted their own, but I took special pride in mixing up the object of my obsession.

I was awakened by a poke in the arm. It was Harry.

"Hermione! Go up there! Go on!"

Ron nodded reassuringly.

I hesitated, then remembered why I was here. Finding strength in my friends' faces, I walked up to the stage to confront my problem once-and-for-all.

"Hello," I said, "My name is Hermione."

(Hello, Hermione)

"...and I'm a chocoholic."