Story summary:
Draco finds his parents' choice of a beau, the rather shallow and impish Daphne Greengrass, to be revolting. Ginny is frustrated with Harry leaving her. The two former foes pretend to become lovers to make Harry jealous and to nauseate Daphne. But will fake become something more? And what will happen when Ginny finds out that Draco is hiding more than he lets on?
Disclaimer: I do not own the characters or any references made to the happenings in the Harry Potter books. They all belong to J.K. Rowling. This disclaimer shall suffice for the remaining chapters.
A/N: Although this story takes place after Deathly Hallows, I've changed a few things as you will notice in the story.
Chapter 1: The Peeling
Ginny Weasley was a woman who possessed little, if any, patience. In fact, one could say that her tolerance level for matters she found irritating could be compared with a woman in labor heeding the attempts of her jittery husband to pacify her; which was to say that Ginny Weasley did not follow the mantra of patience at all.
Those who knew her, if even in passing, would quite easily say that she was, no doubt, a vivacious girl, quick to speak her mind and just as prompt to snap at others for things she considered tiresome. They would go on to describe her rather vibrant personality as well versed in the art of choice words whose effect was further intensified by the scorching look that came into her brown-turned-amber eyes; her lustrous mahogany hair would crackle with unseen electricity while her normally pale cheeks would color with a startling shade of magenta.
All in all, if one was given the choice of chancing an encounter with Ginny Weasley during one of her foul spells or of facing the Dementor's kiss, they would be quick to choose the latter.
This was not to say that she was a wicked individual who took pleasure in arguing the happiness out of everyone around her; no, from her perspective, it only meant that she was one of the few who liked to take a stand for what she believed in. Time and again her weak disposition had made her suffer and lose sight of the goals she wanted to achieve until she realized that the best path to follow was one of complete assertiveness. All those other people who just cringed and wordlessly accepted their fate lacked a backbone and, according to Ginny Weasley's dictionary, were an antonym to the word intelligence.
Although, of course, there was always an exception to her definitions: others should take a stand for what they believed in as long as that stand wasn't against her. To her, the concept of persuasion was not a two-way street; it wasn't even a U-turn but more of a dead-end. In other words, she was used to cornering people into agreeing with her side of the argument and, as long as she had it her way, there was no room for offering another viewpoint.
But, then again, no one said taking a stand for what you believed in was an easy course to follow, especially if your opponent in the debate was one stubborn Hermione Granger.
"Come on Ginny," Hermione pleaded for the umpteenth time. "You've completely cut yourself off from the people that care about you…please, I'm asking you to reconsider your decision…come to Luna's holiday party. If not for her…at least for me?" She looked with anticipation at Ginny, hoping she had persuaded her into going.
Ginny pursed her lips petulantly; she was quite sure that a vein the size of Hagrid's moleskin coat was visibly twitching near her temples due to the fact that her bushy-haired friend had been pestering her about aforementioned topic for a good hour or so. And while she had managed to curb her biting remarks for the sake of their friendship, there was only so much self-control she could exhibit when faced with sleep deprivation, below-zero temperatures, and her friend's bossy demeanor.
"I can't, Hermione; how many times do I have to tell you?" Ginny sighed. They were sitting across from one another at Ginny's kitchen table, drinking from steaming mugs of hot chocolate at twelve in the morning. She wrapped her hands around her mug to bring some feeling back into them, the arctic temperature of the room threatening to turn her already numb fingers into freckled icicles. "I have an important report due on Monday on finding novel ways to administer magical law enforcement on those who try to disturb the status quo of the wizarding world. I'm sure my boss will have no problem coming up with a hearty punishment for me if I fail to turn it in."
If she were to be honest with herself, she knew that the law enforcement report was just a well-crafted excuse not to attend Luna's party. In fact, she had finished writing the (rather useless) report ages ago. Truth was, she didn't want to go; she didn't want to go to a party where everyone would be in a sickeningly jolly mood, exchanging sickening felicities with sickeningly cheerful grins carved into their sickening faces. She almost felt tempted to say, "Bah! Humbug!" for she really did feel as if she was a long-lost relative of Ebenezer Scrooge. She smiled a little at her rather silly inside joke, taking another sip from her mug.
She didn't consider herself a Scrooge in the sense that she hated Christmas because she had no one to share it with (Merlin knew that the entire Weasley family was more than enough to alleviate anyone's loneliness and then some). In fact, it had always been her favorite holiday since childhood. She remembered that it was even more special because it was the only time of the year where her dad was allowed to leave early for once instead of laboring in his cramped office until midnight; for thirty-one days, she clung to every minute of his time as if to make up for the lost time during the rest of the three hundred and thirty four days. Her mum would joyfully cook up a storm, enchanting the gingerbread men so that they sang Muggle Christmas carols. Fred and George would devilishly steal Ron's gifts and replace them with boxes filled with automated Dungbombs (much to Ron's displeasure). Bill and Charlie would always bring her back exotic trinkets from Egypt and Romania (and Molly Weasley would continue her attack on Bill to cut his "ghastly" long hair much to his displeasure). And Ginny…well, she would just bask in the warmth and happiness that Christmas brought her, from her over-the-top family to the delicious food and, finally, to the beauty of the snow flurry that promised the birth of many snowmen and snow angels. Just thinking about it all made a foolish grin spread across her face.
"I know it's more a matter of won't, rather than can't," Hermione stated intuitively, causing Ginny's smile to turn into a frown at her friend's clairvoyant-like capabilities. The witch really was too smart for Ginny's liking. So why did she continue to talk to her and subject herself to auditory misery? Hell, why did she even remain in contact with her again? Oh yes, well there was that little matter of Hermione's future relationship to her as prospective sister-in-law…if her prat of a brother, Ronald Weasley, ever drank Felix Felicis and felt lucky (or brave) enough to propose.
Ginny sighed again as she heard the authoritarian voice of her companion once more. "For Merlin's sake, turn on the heat…it's positively freezing in here! I wouldn't be surprised if I saw penguins dancing around underneath the table!" As if to confirm her observation, she vigorously blew her nose, which was quickly resembling a squashed cherry, into an elegant handkerchief.
Ginny narrowed her eyes at Hermione until she was sure that they resembled nothing more than two thin stitches. "Well I'm sorry if my humble abode isn't pleasing to your refined tastes!" She snapped, losing her patience. "I've already told you…I have barely enough money to pay my bills…I can't indulge myself in luxuries such as heating!" A faint blush was beginning to appear on her cheeks, signaling the onslaught of a temper tantrum.
It was all very well for Hermione who earned more Galleons in one month as the head of the Department for the Regulation and Control of Magical Creatures than Ginny did in half a year. Sometimes acting as diplomatic ambassador for the Ministry and other times as the leader in archeological expeditions, she traipsed around the world frequently, encountering a vast variety of magical creatures and people. Because of her tremendous knowledge, experience, and familiarity with the mechanics of the magical world, more than once her triumphant-looking face had been plastered across Acromantula Weekly, always listing her discovery of a new creature or some other spectacular accomplishment.
Additionally, to Ginny's further aggravation, Hermione resided in a neighborhood that was predominantly magical, ensuring her the use of her wand whenever it was needed, and rendering her immune to the law that disallowed magic in areas that were inhabited mostly by Muggles (the law had been created after the Second-War when the wizarding world was on the verge of discovery by the Muggles, making it so that there would be minimal contact between Muggles and magic). Yes, Hermione Granger's life was all rainbows and sunshine painted across a startling blue sky when compared to her own rather desiccated life.
Oh bother.
She sounded like a jealous toad. An extremely Umbridge-like jealous toad. Hell, she wouldn't be surprised to find the old hag's face staring back at her instead of her own reflection if she were to look in a mirror.
But, as much as it irked her to admit it, she was a tad bit envious of her friend. Well, perhaps that was an understatement for she knew it probably was more accurate to say that her envy bordered on resentment. To say it was because Hermione was happy and successful while she was not was absolute hogwash for Ginny wished for nothing more but those two things for her friend. No, the cause of her well-hidden jealousy was something much simpler than that: while Hermione Granger was content with her life, Ginny felt as if she was wasting away her own.
Ginny's flat was in a small town called Ipswich, a good sixty kilometers away from London and from the Ministry of Magic, where she had been working in the Department of Magical Law Enforcement for more than a year now. Her measly salary was due to her position as the undersecretary to the assistant of the head of the department, the latter of whom was, much to Ginny's displeasure, Romilda Vane. How in Voldemort's name Romilda had managed to become head was beyond her comprehension; all she knew was that the former Hogwarts colleague despised Ginny for having snagged the Boy Who Lived and was determined to demote Ginny to a janitorial position or perhaps even have her booted from the Ministry. It was just her luck to be under the sway of someone who had substituted an arse for a brain and had the maturity level of a twelve-year-old with the way she held onto uncalled for grudges. Once again, why she chose to remain at the much-detested job was a mystery in itself, as so many things these days were to her.
It didn't lighten her mood when she considered the fact that she also lived in a largely Muggle-populated neighborhood, which was why she couldn't magically just heat up her flat. Yet, she knew she was in no way allowed to complain as she was the one who had so willingly confined herself to said neighborhood, away from the wizarding society she had been so desperate to escape for reasons obscure to even herself (or as she tried to frequently persuade herself into believing so). But still, that didn't prevent her from sulking about the unfair no-magic-in-predominantly-Muggle-neighborhoods law. Who was the bastard who had come up with the supposedly brilliant idea anyway?
However, Hermione was, as always, characteristically oblivious to the heavy scowl gracing her friend's features and her aforesaid psychic capabilities apparently failed to permeate the redhead's sour thoughts; thus, she bludgeoned on with her questions. "And the party? You really won't come?" She frowned, peering into her friend's face, as if the answer to Ginny's abnormal aversion to society lay in its contours.
Ginny scowled back defiantly at her. Her friend's pushy and domineering nature might have won the heart of her somewhat-of-a-dupe brother and while she could see how the older girl's steadfast temperament had a certain charm to it, Ginny was not Ron Weasley and thought Hermione's obstinate inquiries to go to Luna's party to be equivalent to an angry bumblebee buzzing around in her ear, refusing to go away no matter how many times she swapped at it. So it came as no surprise when she found herself snapping back heatedly at her overzealous companion.
"No, no, and even if Voldemort comes back from the dead and marries Bellatrix Lestrange in all of Azkaban's glory…NO!" She said firmly and took a sip of her, now lukewarm, hot chocolate but not before sending a glare her friend's way as if to say, I dare you to ask me to come to that cursed party one more time.
In Ginny's opinion, Hermione Granger was one of those people who saw others as onions rather than human beings (although she had protested quite fervently to this observation when, one day, Ginny had happened to absentmindedly voice these thoughts to her). She liked to peel away, layer by layer, the mental defenses surrounding people until there was nothing left except the naked core; the bundled-up raw emotions that had nothing to protect them from the scrutinizing human eye. Being the know-it-all that she was, Hermione would then proceed to tell said person, which usually turned out to be Ginny herself, the remedy to their problem.
Yet, similar to how viruses build resistance to antibiotics (which, ironically enough, Hermione had painstakingly tried to explain to a very confused Ginny), Ginny too had, over the years, learned of and withstood Hermione's technique and was able to tell when she went into her "prying mode." Hence, she knew that Hermione had not bought her story of not being able to attend the party due to her need to finish her report and was now bent on figuring Ginny out, just like some Arithmancy problem.
Well, unfortunately for Hermione, her attempts to get down to the nitty-gritty details of why Ginny did not want to go to the party would bear no fruit. Ginny Weasley was not a mystery waiting to be solved. She was not like one of those pathetic women she had seen on those Muggle reality shows where the host announced that the woman's baby was not her husband's but rather belonged to her father-in-law. Nor was her life a cauldron mess that needed cleaning up by the female version of Filch (but perhaps mentioning to Hermione about her resemblance to the old Hogwarts caretaker would help in getting her off of Ginny's back). Simply put, the core Hermione was trying to get to was either shriveled up or nonexistent; the onion she was trying to peel apart was layerless. Yes, she could honestly say that there was no need for her to have defenses because there was nothing—
"Is it because of Harry?"
The effect was almost immediate. The lights above flickered as if an unseen Dementor had just glided through them, muting their brilliance by way of draining them of their cheerfulness. The mug Ginny had been holding shattered as the shock from hearing her former beau's name caused her magic to spiral out of control. The mental-jolt she received was enough to have her spewing the entire contents of her beverage from her mouth. Unfortunately for Hermione, she happened to be the poor victim that was in the line of fire or, in this case, regurgitated hot chocolate.
Hermione blinked a few times as the liquid made its way into her eyes, but said nothing. She remained quiet as she mopped her face with the new handkerchief she had taken out of her purse, having disposed of the bogey-filled one earlier on. She continued to be silent while she cleaned up the shattered remains of Ginny's mug and discarded them in the trash bin. Ginny, still shaken by her friend's earlier insightful statement, was too flabbergasted to say anything and just wordlessly watched Hermione sort out the mess of liquid and fragmented china on the table.
Finally deeming the dining area to be in order and to her liking, Hermione purposefully resumed her seat by Ginny's side. Ginny quickly lowered her eyes to her tightly-clenched hands in her lap, hoping that, if there was no eye contact, the older girl would have no incentive to start her Umbridge-like inquisition again. Yet, when moments had passed by and not a word had been uttered by the girl next to her, curiosity, but mostly impatience, got the better of her and she found herself furtively glancing at Hermione from the corners of her eyes.
To Ginny's horror, her attempt at being surreptitious was lost as she heard Hermione, who was staring at her with a triumphant look in her eyes, say with a smug smile, "I will take that as a yes."
Ginny didn't know whether to laugh or scream in indignation at her words but Hermione's presumptuous tone and exultant expression made her settle for the latter. "Don't put words in my mouth! I said nothing of the kind!" she retorted, half rising from her seat angrily and wiping the spittle from her mouth with the back of her right hand.
"Even so, I figured as much from the look on your face," Hermione smiled apologetically, but then grew serious once more. Taking care to choose her words cautiously (for she was well aware of the hazard a disgruntled Ginny posed), she took Ginny's hands in her own and rationalized, "Harry and you broke up ages ago. I'm sure it won't be awkward for him to see you there."
Once again, Hermione's remark left Ginny speechlessly staring at her as her mind failed to come up with a witty retort to negate her friend's comment. She was still in the process of registering her earlier query for, she had to admit, the question had caught her off-guard, like slipping on one of the twins' mischievous toys (which they claimed they had "accidentally" left lying on the ground). She couldn't help but gaze in a puzzled manner at Hermione as she tried to ascertain exactly how the witch had managed to delve into the deep recesses of Ginny's mind and extract the bit of information that even Ginny, herself, had managed to set aside, however painfully.
But, of course, subconsciously it had always been there.
She had never spoken of the boy who had captured her sentimental little heart at the age of ten ever since their fateful parting three years ago. And, if she had it her way, she would have liked it to remain so until she parted from this world or at least until she was in St. Mungo's seventy years from now, old, unconscious, ready to die, and not at risk of facing extreme humiliation from discussing the blockbuster failure of her love life.
Even now, she willed herself to push memories of him from her mind; memories all too traumatizing, too provocative, too… vivid for her tormented heart to handle. Many people sought to forget bitter recollections that were too painful to be remembered but for Ginny it was the exact opposite; she worked hard to forget the tender memories about him.
She knew that if anyone were to find out that she was still attached to her first love that they would snicker at her foolishness and would brand her a silly, immature girl. They would say she was too engrossed in those vapid Muggle romance novels to actually age mentally; that she was still stuck in a fantasy wonderland where the hero forever remained in love with the run of the mill peasant girl. They would dismiss her feelings as mere infatuation, nothing more than an obsession or a phase that she would pass with time. But, she knew that ten years of waiting for him was more than enough to scratch those theories off the list.
Apart from the risk of being considered as an obsessed fangirl by the ever so scandalous Daily Prophet (for Rita Skeeter had decided to resume her slanderous ways), she had chosen to remain silent about their split because she refused to be labeled as a Lavender Brown; one of those girls who moped around, shrilly moaning about how their lives were wretched and awful just because they had parted with their boyfriend. Yes, Lavender had started up such a ruckus after her split up with Ron, and then afterwards with Seamus Finnegan, that she had managed to secure her name as a noun in the Wizard Jargon Dictionary, albeit a negative one at that. Which made her come back to the reason why she didn't discuss with anyone her breakup with Harry; she didn't need their 'oh-there-there' looks and she certainly didn't want to be mollycoddled. She didn't need people covering their ears, thinking 'here she goes again' every time she felt like she could do with a hearty cry. She just didn't need any of it.
Ginny wasn't an ignorant, insufferable brat; she knew that breakups were trivial ordeals that happened sometime or another to everyone which is why she had decided to take her breakup in stride and had maintained her usual lifestyle. So what if she was seriously lacking in the dating department and hadn't flirted with a guy since Dean Thomas in her fifth year at Hogwarts? So what if her hormones were dried up to the point that they probably resembled a desert (as Parvati Patil was so keen on telling her every time she saw her)? Many people didn't meet their significant other until much later in their lives or not at all.
As her dad always told her, she had a good (if not sometimes feisty) head on her shoulders; her world didn't need to revolve around finding a man only. She shouldn't have to be defined by a man, her success didn't depend on one, and it didn't make her any less of a woman if she didn't have a boy toy (as those horrid "society" women liked to call their flings) hanging on her arm everywhere she went. Yes, she no longer was with Harry, but she was young, with plenty of opportunities to mingle in the future; she was blessed with a rowdy, but loving family and sincere friends; and, although her job was as exciting as watching her dad pluck his nose hairs, she knew all that mattered was that she had secured a stable position at the Ministry. Thus, she had little, if anything, to complain about (well, except for the almost nonexistent social life which was, mostly, her fault).
And, yet, she couldn't stop her heart from sinking as forbidden memories threatened to invade her thoughts again. With each unbidden thought that came to her, she couldn't stop herself from feeling as if someone was kneading her internal organs like dough. With each memory that flashed before her eyes, she realized the cubicle of denial she had managed to barricade herself in.
This was anything but a revelation, or an epiphany, or anything else she saw people have in those Muggle movies where a long, reflective walk in the park resulted in them suddenly realizing things that apparently they had failed to notice on the millions of long walks they had gone on before. No, it was one of those things that she stashed away in the back of her mind (along with those memories of him, recollections that had been stamped as "illegal" by her inconsolable mind simply because they weren't solely hers, simply because she shared those memories with him), hoping that, with time, it would disappear, or at least fade in transparency. As she had justified to her protesting conscience, she had done so purely in order to move on with her life, so that she wouldn't be bogged down by the unpleasant happenings of the past.
Ginny inwardly snorted. That impressive lie had probably managed to put her on Father Christmas' "naughty kids" list for a good three years or so, that was, if he actually existed as those Muggles claimed he did.
A rustling noise from beside her as her companion shifted in her seat awoke Ginny from her pensive stupor; she turned to find Hermione studying her miserable profile. Once again, that feeling of being mentally dissected overcame her much to her bother; yet, hours of interrogation from her bushy-haired friend had managed to wear her down and all she could do was sigh in exasperation and close her eyes.
Yet, her eyes didn't remain closed for long as Hermione's next perceptive words had them flying open faster than she could say Knuts.
"You still have feelings for him, don't you?" It was more of a statement than a question.
Ginny cursed silently. The brightest witch of the century was proving to be more of a nuisance than she could handle. And Ginny, for one, did not handle nuisances well.
She opened her mouth to cleverly dismiss Hermione's comment but, instead, felt an odd lump forming in her throat. "I—" She stopped, afraid of how Hermione would react, but more afraid of how hearing the words she was about to say out loud would affect herself. She could feel her breathing growing ragged as an onslaught of emotions overwhelmed her.
Yes, I still care for him more than I've let on! She wanted to yell. Yes, he's the reason why the only date I've ever gone on in the last three years was with my mum to go underwear shopping! Yes, it's because of him that I've chosen to live in a Muggle neighborhood far away from wizarding civilization! Yes, I avoid going to wizarding gatherings so that I don't have to meet him there! Yes, yes, yes! She wanted to say. Are you happy now Hermione? Happy that you've finally managed to figure me out? To peel me to the core?
But, as much as she wanted to blurt out those words, and as hotheaded as she was, she had learned over the years that responding rashly, which was an inherently Weasley thing to do, was not the best path to pursue (as it had gotten her into her fair share of troubles). Consequently, it was this line of reasoning that made her nod mutely, casting her eyes down dejectedly.
"Pathetic, isn't it?" She said glumly and cringed at how wretched those words made her sound. Three years of blatant denial had lead her to this point. Three years of not letting go of past relations had culminated in her feeling as if she was that ten-year-old girl again at King's Cross Station. She had always looked down upon those clingy girls who practically threw themselves on their ex-boyfriends because they had felt a connection or other whatnot rubbish with them. She had always thought of them to be the pathetic ones.
And now here she was, more or less in the same position as them. The irony of it all almost made her want to laugh.
Almost.
For, as much as she didn't want to risk sounding like those clingy girls, Harry Potter had effortlessly left a mark on her heart. Yet, although he had glided in and out of her life, erasing said mark had proven to be a greater task to uphold. It was like a chocolate stain on a white blouse: disagreeable to the sight, but pleasing to the smell. Which was mostly why she struggled to efface him from her life: the short-lived relationship they had shared was too memorable for her to forget, for her to want to forget.
Her thoughts were disrupted as she felt the life squeezing out of her. When her eyes managed to focus on the mass of bushy hair that was shielding her view of the rest of the dining room, she rolled her eyes.
Apparently Hermione had decided to wield her deadly hug-giving powers.
"Oh Ginny! No it isn't!" She cried and progressed to tighten her hold on Ginny's neck. Ginny couldn't help but think that Hermione's spontaneous acts of sympathetic affection would make a fitting fourth addition to the Unforgivable Curses for, indeed, she felt them to be near-death experiences. Hence, Hermione's resilient embrace had Ginny gasping for breath in record time.
"Hermione!" She coughed. "You're probably going to be charged with first-degree murder if you don't let go soon." She was quite sure that at least one of the veins in her neck had popped and the jugular would probably follow before long.
Hermione quickly let go. "Sorry," she apologized and hastily settled back into her seat. She once more settled her penetrating gaze back on Ginny, much to the latter's extreme discomfort. Suffocating to death suddenly seemed like a more appealing alternative than going through another round of personal questions; questions that she was not ready nor willing to answer.
In hopes of deterring Hermione from continuing on her inquisitorial warpath, Ginny tenaciously got up from her seat and went over to the counter behind her where a Wizarding Wireless sat. She turned it on and immediately Celestina Warbeck's melodious voice singing "When the Last Teardrop Falls" filled the silence of the room.
Every day I borrow, tears from my tomorrow…
Before she could stop herself, a soft gasp escaped her lips. Her fingers tightened around the edge of the counter until she felt as if her fingernails were going to make a dent in its marble surface.
I'm crying over you just like a lonely fool…
She felt her own throat closing up as she felt a stinging sensation in her eyes, a sensation she had not experienced for a few years now. Or was it because she had felt it so much that she had just become subconsciously immune to it?
Time and again because I'm here without you…
Unable to listen to it any longer, she abruptly switched the wireless off and remained standing with her back to Hermione, not trusting herself to keep a blank face, or an even voice.
The night had proven to be trying enough without throwing in additional emotional baggage. Not only had her mind weaved in and out of consciousness but her heart seemed to have decided that it would rather be a bludger than a vital organ and had threatened to rip out of her chest. She had remembered things that she wished she could now Obliviate; she had felt emotions that she thought only those weak enough experienced. The song had only been the final blow to an already emotionally draining ordeal. It was what she had repeatedly listened to after her breakup with Harry until, sick at heart with its gloomy lyrics, she had vowed to never listen to it again. Hearing it now made her realize that it had summarized in three sentences what had taken her three years, a lot of coercing, and paragraphs of denial to understand.
All thanks to Hermione sodding Granger.
Suddenly all too aware of the witch who had managed to uproot her sense of peace, Ginny turned around briskly, ready to set things straight with her nosy friend. But before she could even open her mouth, she was alarmed to see that the pensive look on Hermione's face was quickly turning into one of determination.
All thoughts about giving her a piece of her mind were forgotten as Ginny groaned privately.
That look could only mean one thing.
"Right, that settles it. You're coming to the party," Hermione said, a note of finality in her voice. She stood up and began donning her cloak, signaling her departure home.
Ginny felt her jaw go slack as she struggled to comprehend her words. "W-w-what in Merlin's beard!" She sputtered. "I don't see the logic in that…if anything it should have convinced you to not make me go!" Was there a loose connection in Hermione's brain? Or did her mind just not function as well in matters of the heart?
Hermione stared incredulously at her as if her statement was the most foolish thing she had ever heard. "Ginny, in order to overcome your feelings for him, you have to face them head on," she told her simply, as if it was the most obvious answer in the world.
"Who are you to decide—" Ginny started heatedly.
But Hermione, who was already pulling on her dragon-skin gloves to protect her from the biting cold, breezily cut her off. "Now I expect you at Luna's tomorrow at seven' o'clock sharp. And if you don't come…remember what happened to Cho Chang's friend, Marietta? You will fare worse." She gave Ginny an encouraging but no-nonsense smile and, with a loud pop, she was gone, leaving a frustrated Ginny glaring at the space she had been standing moments before.
"Is that a threat?" Ginny yelled after her, knowing very well that Hermione was long gone and could not hear a word she was shouting.
For a very long time, she just stood there, scowling darkly at the spot that Hermione at Apparated from. She was a bit wary of the fact that, in her sensitive state, any quick movement from her could cause a cataclysmic reaction in her mind, forcing her to hunt down her bushy-haired friend and pummel her senseless. It was just like Hermione to be demanding and always have her way. She should have known to keep her mouth shut. It was simple and yet, she had been too caught up in her emotions to think clearly; to blatantly deny, deny, and deny any incriminating statements Hermione sent her way.
When she crossly strode over to the sink to put the empty mugs in it, she saw the basin already teeming with grimy dishes just sneering at her to be cleaned.
And just like that, the sight of those dishes, brimming to the top of the sink the way her emotions were brimming to the surface, made her anger slip away, only to be replaced with an acute sense of bitterness and weariness. She turned her back against the sink and slid down to the ground, resting her head against the wooden cabinets that housed the (most likely morbidly overflowing) trashcan.
Despite the feeling of being overwhelmed by the sudden tumult of thoughts and emotions (among other homicidal tendencies) and as much as her heart condemned Hermione's advice to her as being ridiculous, the rational part of Ginny's mind told her that, simply put, the older girl was right.
And yet, she felt too numb to use her mind because, the fact of the matter was, when it came to her, she didn't think when she was upset but rather, she felt, she acted…she spewed garbled nonsense from her mouth, which would cruelly decide to take on a life of its own. It was another one of those unflattering Weasley traits that she had been unfortunate enough to acquire.
Ah, fortune.
How could she have forgotten her persistent, proximate, pesky adversary in all of this? How could she forget when, time and again, it failed to accept her extended hand as a symbol of friendship? When it refused to give her its blessing?
She had never been blessed when it came to fortune; being the last child in a family of nine, she had never even known what fortune was. She blamed her lack of fortune for what had made circumstances turn against her tonight. She readily pointed an accusatory finger at fortune for not interfering when Harry broke up with her. And she just as eagerly would be willing to indict fortune for what would be her spiraling descent from dignity to the ditches of disgrace tomorrow.
And it was those unsettling thoughts that made her think that things weren't going to be as easy as Hermione had made them out to be.
Before you all go on a Ginny-being-pathetic bashing spree, I would like to let you know that there's more to her story than this chapter reveals. Yes, we're all tired of reading about stories where Ginny is madly in love with Harry Potter but I'm tired of reading stories where Ginny is just too strong and feisty. I wanted to make her more vulnerable in this story and less perfect.
Second, those of you who read the previous version will notice that the summary of the story is different; a lot of the details from the previous version have been changed. Chapter one has been split into two chapters while chapter two is now chapter three (with more detail of course).
Also, there is a no-magic law where Muggles are concerned but you can Apparate; I think it would cause delays for the Ministry if they didn't allow their employees to Apparate from their homes.
I don't plan on this story being filled with nonsensical fluff; neither will it be filled with clichés. Hopefully, if you stick with the story, you'll, well, come to enjoy the different characterizations of all the characters introduced.
The lyrics for the song "When the Last Teardrops Fall" is from the song "Tears" by The PJ Grand Band.
Don't forget to R&R please as I'd appreciate your constructive criticism.