A/N: I'm really sorry that I haven't worked on this story for so long, but it should procede faster from now on.
I had some problems with my last beta LittleRedPink, but now I've found a new one (Thank you starscribe!) and I'm pretty sure that the next chapters'll follow soon (or at least a whole lot sooner ^^)
So, here's the revised first chapter.
Have fun, the second chapter will follow soon!

Amrei

Disclaimer:
I'm not JK, so I don't own Harry Potter.
The lyrics are from Pink's song 'Sober' -which I also don't own.

Sober

I'm safe
Up high
Nothing can touch me
But why do I feel this party's over?
No pain
Inside
You're my protection
But how do I feel this good sober?

Pink- Sober

* * *

Chapter 1

Ginny walked down the dark corridor, head down, face hidden behind a curtain of red hair. She felt bad. Worse than she did anyway since she got back to school.

Neville had spoken up against the Carrows again. The others couldn't believe how brave he'd become and neither could she; it made her feel even more pitiful. Since Harry had taken Hermione and Ron and left without looking back, Neville had become the leader they lacked, and she'd…

Well, what about her? Brave, vivacious Ginny? She'd grieved quietly and looked away.
Smiling ruefully she turned the corner and climbed up another staircase. After Harry left she had thought her world had just shattered around her feet.. Everyone thought they understood. Little Ginny couldn't handle her crush walking away from her. Here's a cup of tea, just how you like it, and isn't it already a bit better?
She had to admit, she had been disappointed when no one had known how she felt. It wasn't just giving up the corny dreams she had imagined as an eleven year old. No, she could've handled that. But it was another matter with the very concrete, yet unspoken promises.

Like when he had kissed her before he went away. Long and desperate, so that her stomach felt light and warm.

She really had believed he'd take her with him. Well, obviously he didn't. He said he'd to go alone. Well, of course, it was his job to rescue the world, after all. She'd understood that, she really had. So he went alone –with Ron and Hermione.

She brushed her fingertips over the cold stone of the wall. After Harry had left she'd felt numb. Not like a knife was thrust through her heart. Not even like something cold had replaced her blood, like they said in the stories. Just numb.

It wasn't even just Harry. It was the realization that she wouldn't change a thing, that she couldn't grab her own piece of this whole mess. She just couldn't be part of things. So in the end she'd stopped trying.

When they all—or rather all except the Muggle-borns—returned to school she didn't launch into the revolt, as all the others did. Neville had spent afternoon after afternoon putting a brave face on while serving detention, for speaking up against the new school government. She hadn't served one. Somehow she managed to stumble through this whole mess unnoticed. Somehow that just made her feel worse.

Ginny looked, slightly confused, at the tapestry of Wendelin the Weird –currently whistling joyfully while burning on his stake- in front of her. She hadn't noticed that she'd already walked this far.

Probably suppression, she thought grimly. She had hated Slughorn's little partieswhen they were still that—parties—and not covert Death Eater promotions, but now…

Now she felt ill when she received the invitation. And with how things were at the moment, she felt bad anyway. Maybe she was coming down with the flu…

With a sigh, she turned left and walked slowly down the corridor, in direction of the music that became louder and louder with every step as she neared Slughorn's classroom. With a last hesitation Ginny opened the door and entered. The room was its usual self—when one remembered past occasions of celebration.

It was far biggerthan it normally should've been –probably because of a fair bit of magic- and already filled to it's last with pupils and guests talking, drinking, and obviously enjoying themselves.

Seriously, she didn't have the slightest idea why Slughorn still insisted that she come . . . she grabbed a glass from the tray of a passing house-elf. Since she didn't feel the slightest need to speak with any of the other persons present she might as well find herself a comparatively quiet corner and enjoy her drink like a wallflower. The sparkling wine was after all quite good…

She cringed as someone called her name. It seemed as if it was already too late to hide….

"Oh and there's young Ginerva! Come here, girl, come over here!"
Ginny could only bring herself to a rather forced smile before she turned around to face Professor Slughorn.

The old man smiled at her, turning his back to a small group of people.

"My, my, Miss Weasley, why is such a fine young lady as yourself standing there all alone?" He winked at her and gently pushed her to the others.
"Let me introduce you to a few acquaintances."

Ginny choked on her drink, as she looked from face to face. In the far corner of the circle a old man in a rather pompous coat was talking to his two companions, ignoring her completely. On Slughorn's right side a slim, somehow shabby man observed the crowd in front of him, but next to him the one and only Marcus Flint glared daggers at her.

"Sir, may I ask what she is doing here?" he asked with obvious rebrobation.

Ginny had to hold herself back from scowling. The dirty little Mudblood-loving bloodtraitor,wasn't that exactly what he'd originally wanted to say? If she just could tell him what she thought of him and his stupid supremacy right into his arrogant face . . . She tightened her grip on the fragile glass. With an admirable obliviousness, Slughorn looked from one to the other with a cordial smile.

"You must know that young Ginevra plays for the Gryffindor Quidditch team, so I'd think one could say she's a kindred spirit." He laughed deeply.

Somehow, Flint didn't seem to find this too funny. Ginny watched his face freeze, before slowly darkening.

That was as far as she remembered the first moment. She wished Slughorn would start one of his infamous anecdotes, preferably before Flint got the chance to start his. Funnily enough Slughorn didn't seem to realize this, or at least did a fairly good job of pretending not to, since he gave them a last smile before turning his back at them and walking over to the brooding wizard. She couldn't help but gulp another quick mouthful of her drink. From the look of Flint's expression she'd need all the alcohol she could get. Not that she hadn't developed quite a habit in that direction from past absolutely unbearable parties anyway…

Flint cocked his head and a smirk spread over his lips. "So what do you suppose we do with little girls trying to live up to standards they'll never compare to, being the little blood traitors they are?" Ginny could feel his warm breath on her face as he bore down on her, glaring, his smirk turning more and more malicious.

"Tell me," he whispered in her ear.

She could feel her blood run cold, degree by degree, as he came nearer and nearer…

"Marcus, no need to take your revenge for the whole of the Gryffindor Quidditch team besting you out on one single girl. Remember the good, old, vicious days and let her be." A blond man, Ginny hadn't noticed before stepped up to Flint and laid a hand on his arm. Flint scowled at him.

"Wouldn't be as if that one wouldn't have deserved it anyway… little Mudblood-whore that she is…" He pushed Ginny in the stranger's direction, causing her to stumble and slosh a good part of her drink on the floor. "Here, I think I'll search another sort of entertainment. As far as I heard the bowl is good." Flint raised an eyebrow inquiringly, before he finally turned around with a bored shrug.

"Have fun," he told the stranger and his tone made her shiver with misgiving.

Ginny kept her gaze down, while bringing her hair back in order with one hand and gripping her glass so hard her knuckles turned white with the other. After all, she knew she could have just come out of the frying pan into the fire. Warily she glanced up from under a few misplaced red strands.

The man was in his mid twenties at most, and lean. His gold-blond hair was barely brushing his shoulders and glimmered in an odd shade off red, reflecting the dim light shining down on him from one of the Chinese lanterns, hanging down the ceiling. But what Ginny struck the most was the fact that he was staring down at her with a thoughtful expression she just couldn't interpret.

Blushing, she looked away. What had she gotten herself into now? She didn't even know if she wanted to know the answer to that…

Her rather confused train of thought came to a crushing halt, when she heard a quiet laugh. The strange man chuckled quietly under his breath, still looking straight at her. He carefully brushed the hand she still clutched her drink with.

"Do you intend to break it? It seems as if you're overestimating the stability of this glass."

Ginny felt the blood rise to her checks as she let him loosen her grip finger by finger.
"See, the glass is still whole…" she murmured, more than just slightly embarrassed. While she watched the blood return to her white hand, she couldn't bring herself to deny the fact that she hadn't been far from breaking it, though. He smiled and she somehow just couldn't shake of the thought that she had missed something.

"Oh yes, it is, silly me." Looking around for a house-elf to come by, he took her empty glass and exchanged it with a full one from one of passing trays.

"So, wilt thou forgive me, or would it be presumptuous, to hope that you, fair lady, would bear my nerve-wracking presence just a little longer?"

Ginny smiled in spite of herself. "I think I could endure it for awhile," she said, taking a sip of her now-full glass of wine. A warm and dizzying feeling rose to her head. But still she couldn't remember why that normally would have been a bad idea; her head was just spinning too much. She couldn't bring herself to mind though, not when he took her hand and led her onto the small dance floor in one corner of the room, where several pairs were already gathered and were dancing; not when she, giggling, accepted the fresh glasses of wine he handed her; not even when she fell in love with the dancing lights flickering over the ceiling.

Ginny laughed more this evening than she could remember having done the whole term. It all blended into a bright mess off light, music, and laughter. For once she felt free of the burden she carried around.

"Like flying up high…" she whispered.

"I beg you pardon?" her mysterious saviour questioned. His voice was near to her ear and when she gazed up at him she saw him looking inquiringly down at her with his slightly blurry green eyes. Light green, with golden sparks, so unlike Harry's clear bottle-green ones and yet so fascinating…

"Nothing," she said, smiling blissfully.

"Come on, come on," Ginny sang quietly to herself, while pulling him to her. He brushed a strand of hair out of her face.

"You're a strange one," he murmured.

She leaned her head against his shoulder and took a deep breath. The air hung heavy in the overcrowded room. It was full of smoke, smelled treacly and stuck in her throat. "Will you go out with me for a moment? I can't breath in here anymore…"

For a moment he looked puzzled, but then he shrugged. "Sure, why not?" he answered, and let her pull him through the crowd. Ginny frowned slightly. She didn't even know why she'd asked him, but was glad anyway.

The corridor was dim, only illuminated by a light on one end. Thus far he'd at least proven he didn't intend to do something to her while she wasn't watching. Maybe she would worry about the calmness that thought gave her, or the calculating glance he'd given her just now, when her thoughts weren't a mere blur any more. She leaned against the cold wall and watched him close the door behind them, before leaning against the wall opposite of her.

While the room had been heated, the corridor was cold and Ginny started to rub her arms, lost in thoughts. Now, out in the cold, she couldn't remember why she'd decided to wear something sleeveless. She couldn't help but be a bit envious of his coat.

Um, him…

"Now that I think of it, what's your name, anyway?" Ginny asked suddenly.

Surprised, he looked up.

"Adrian. Adrian Pucey."

She smiled. Adrian…

"That's a pretty name. I'm Ginny—or Ginevra—Weasley."

Adrian chuckled.

"Oh, thank you. You don't have a plain one yourself."

He simply smiled, his gaze lingering on her, causing more goose bumps to erupt on her arms.

"You're cold, are you sure that you don't want to go in again?" Adrian offered, but Ginny shook her head violently. She couldn't breath in there, she couldn't rest in there, and most of all she couldn't bring herself to leave this hallway where she was alone with him.

"No, I don't. I am not." Ginny said, clenching her jaw to keep herself from shivering.

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well, maybe a little," she admitted. "But I don't have to go in there again. I don't want to," she added as an afterthought. Lazily, she crossed the hall and came to a halt right in front of him. "You wouldn't make me, would you?" she challenged him, probably with more courage than she'd have, hadn't she already drunken . . . Well, she didn't even know anymore how much wine she had had, nor did she really care at the moment.

She was so close to him she could feel the warmth going out from him. She held her hands out to him. "See, not cold at all." She said proudly.

Carefully he took them in his and snorted. "No, they're indeed not, they're freezing." Slowly he loosened a hand out of her grip and stroked her cheek. "You are ice-cold", he murmured.

Ginny shook her head. By now she felt rather warm. At least, her cheek was burning… a nice feeling. One she intended to hold on to.

Holding on…

So Ginny rose up on her tiptoes and kissed him. He tasted like summer, and better days, and most of all, even if it wasn't so poetic, like wine.

And she held on. She held on when he brushed his fingers over the skin of her waist just under her blouse; she held on when they stumbled into an empty classroom down the corridor and even a good while after that. Especially after that.

She held on and she felt a warm, dizzy feeling in her stomach.

It felt like flying up high.