Now used to her mother's confused and distant looks, and her father's absent-minded ways, Ginny allows herself to be dragged out of the countryside and into London. She was tiring of her little village in any case, and is eager to explore the wider reaches of London. Exploring the Underground, she memorizes the tracks, and familiarizes herself with the pockets of oblivious travellers, just to see if she can. She spends the majority of the humid summer days acquiring a magpie's pile of treasures. She learns her ways around the streets, enough to know the gang parts, the sketchy parts, and the busy parts.
It's on a hot and muggy evening in early August when she finds herself outside. She's smoking a cigarette, happy to escape the stifling atmosphere inside headquarters. Ron and Hermione are irritating, fighting and flirting and generally oblivious. She inhales, feeling her lungs protest, before exhaling, watching as the little cloud of smoke floats away. She rests her shoulders against the brick wall of the alley and tries to relax, giving herself five minutes to breath before returning to Number 12. The sound of footsteps coming her way makes catches her ear, and she turns her eye to the side of the ally as a grimy, pudgy looking man covered in soot races down the street as though the devil himself were on his heels, with – was that a cauldron under his arm? Distracted, but not completely oblivious to the sound of thundering feet not far behind, she observes as the thief, newly named 'Piggy' for his heavy grunting as huffs his parcel and his body down the alley at speed, skids left at the crossing. Sure enough, as soon as the man turns the corner three goons come barreling into the alley, chasing after him. They reach the intersection, and the two stupider stop and take a rest, panting heavily with hands braced on knees. The third one, the leader of the little group, catches sight of her and straightens before making his way towards her, face red and damp with sweat. He tries for what would have been a menacing snarl had he not been so painfully out of breath. She names this one 'Big Boy'.
"Oi! You there!" he shouts at her.
She blows a puff of smoke at him in response, eyes narrowing in amusement as she sees him obviously feeling the distance between him and the thief growing with every passing second.
He walks towards her, gait slow and heavy as he tries to regain his breath.
"You better tell me where 'e went in the next three seconds or else that pretty face of yours ain't gonna be so pretty no more."
Raising an eyebrow at Big Boy's attempt to cower her, she merely tips her head to the left, baring her throat while indicating the side alley the thief had run down. Looking back at him, she sees him gulp as she brigs the cig back to her lips. She hides a smile, pleased.
Before he can turn around completely, she gives a good sharp whistle. Startled by the sound, he turns to look at the girl, who now has her right palm up, the end of her cigarette dangling from her fingertips. Big Boy scowls and spits at her feet, before reaching into his pockets and throwing her a packet of fags. Grunting at the two others, he leads them off once again after the little thief, eager to get the chase over and done with.
She tosses the butt of her cigarette at his back, but waits until he's well out of sight before sighing, taking out another one from the newly gifted pack and lighting it. When she looks up, she's not surprised to see the thief, Piggy, come into view in front of her. She'd seen him re-enter the alleyway when Big Boy had been turning around, and had whistled to get his attention, warning him that the boys were still in the alley.
A slight coughing sound comes Piggy, and she takes the time to study him now. He's a short man, with straggly greasy hair and a tangled beard on a pudgy face. He cradles the stolen cauldron carefully in his right arm as he scuffles nervously towards her. His little eyes are tired and bloodshot, and even from here she can smell the tobacco and alcohol wafting from him like rancid cologne. Piggy had definitely been the right name for this one.
"Err – thanks for that missy, truly, I-"
She pushes off the wall, interrupting him by pointing at the cauldron with her newly lit cigarette and saying "Do you even know what that is?"
He fumbles with the cauldron, nearly dropping it before looking at her with surprise, "Do you?"
They eye each other for a bit before accepting the impasse.
"Mundungus Fletcher" he says, extending his left hand, which is greasy and sweat soaked, for her to shake. "But you can call me 'Dung. Everyone else does."
She snorts, Piggy indeed.
"Pleasure," she says, releasing his hand. "Gin Weasley."
His eyes widen comically, and this time he actually does drop the cauldron. It crashes down on the cobbles with a bang, and they both look around, weary. He quickly bends over, grabbing a cloth to pick up his bundle, and tries unsuccessfully to stuff the cauldron under his open coat.
"With hair like that, there isn't by chance a relation to the lovely Mrs. Weasley putterin' around a certain Number 12, now is there?" She stiffens, eyeing him uncertainly, but nods her head all the same. Piggy's a member of the Order then, though obviously one of less moral standing than the others she's encountered.
"And," Piggy continues, "You wouldn't happen to be the little red head terror messing around with Arnie's gang now would ya?"
She smirks, pleased that she's made a name for herself. The arrogant prick was the drug dealer for her school and the neighbourhood, and had made the mistake of thinking she was fresh meat ready for the taking when she'd been coming home from lessons late one night. Needless to say, Arnold 'Arnie' Armstrong would now be walking a bit more cautiously around town, and maybe with a bit of a limp.
"Darlin'," Piggy says, a wild grin spreading across his face, "I think this might just be the beginnings of a most marvellous partnership."