Chapter 2: A Sprung Trap

The thunder of the slammed door reverberated through the room. As its echoes died out, Ginny heard the rhythmic thumps of Harry's footsteps rapidly heading away from her. That too soon died away, and silence engulfed the ancient house once more.

She flung herself across their king-size bed, unable to breathe or even think. Her eyes stung, a sure sign of impending tears, but she squeezed them tightly shut, refusing to cry.

As expected, Harry hadn't come in after her. That wasn't his way, she'd come to learn. When she was upset, he tended to back off until she was ready to speak to him again. Most of the time she appreciated that; now was definitely not one of those times. Harry's reaction, or rather a lack of one, only further flamed her growing fears and doubts about their relationship—if it still existed, that was.

As she lay there, a million questions bombarded her.

Was she making a mistake, turning down the boy she'd spent six miserable years pining after? For that matter, what witch in her right mind would turn down a happily-ever-after with the handsome and brave Boy-Who-Lived? Or would she be an even bigger fool to wait for him, yet again?

Bugger it. Right now she didn't want to think about or feel anything at all. Focused solely on that objective, her next course of action became stupidly clear.

A few minutes later she had squeezed herself into a dark pair of Muggle jeans paired with a plain, modestly-cut black tank and a gray cardigan, dressed with the only intention of blending in. A pair of pumps and a black handbag finished her ensemble. She'd need Glamour Charms as well but would have to wait until she was past the wards prohibiting usage of magical disguises. The wards, recommended by Hermione, had been newly set up around number twelve, Grimmauld Place ever since the prison break at Azkaban.

As a standard precaution before leaving, she glanced through a window to check if anyone was about and was surprised to find two vaguely familiar figures in Aurors' robes stationed just outside the door.

"You've got to be joking," she spat at them when they barred her from even stepping down to the pavement. She didn't know them very well but recognized their faces as having been among the newly certified Aurors she'd met at the congratulatory party she'd attended with Harry just last week.

Unsurprisingly, they seemed startled by her acerbic tone. For Harry's sake, she had tried to maintain a polite persona for the public, one of constantly biting back inappropriate jokes and retorts. Right now though, she didn't give a damn about potential PR disasters.

The petite brunette Auror recovered her wits first and hastened to explain. "I'm sorry, Ms. Weasley, perhaps Mr. Potter did not get a chance to inform you, but he'd requested guards for number twelve for your protection when he is unable to be here."

"The building is already protected by a renewed Fidelius Charm. Why do you even need to be here?"

"Please go back inside, Ms. Weasley. We were ordered to make sure you did not leave the building—for your safety, of course. Or if you'd like, we could escort you to the Burrow."

Ginny gritted her teeth, her hands clenching into tight fists.

Harry Potter, you are SO dead.

"Don't you Aurors have something better to do than babysitting?" she snapped. "Like say, rounding up those Death Eaters you let escape?"

The brunette seemed to be at a loss for words, forcing her shaggy-haired partner to pick up the slack. "You can rest assured that we are hard at work on the matter, Ms. Weasley, but the protection of high risk targets is also a priority of our esteemed office."

"Won't the Muggles suspect something with you two standing out here in the middle of the night?"

"You don't need to worry. We're charmed, so their gaze will pass right over us."

"Thought this all out, did you? And when is Harry scheduled to be back?"

"I'm afraid his training exercise isn't likely to conclude before dawn."

Damn it.

She could see them both eyeing her nervously as she idly twirled her wand and contemplated her options.

There was a visible swallow from the male Auror before he spoke again. "Please stay calm, Ms. Weasley. We were told to use force if necessary in order to ensure that you don't endanger yourself."

His words sounded more like a plea than the threat they could have been had they come from a more hardened official.

She could probably take them both on, given how hesitant they were at the prospect of potentially hexing Harry Potter's fiancée, but that would risk having an entire team of Aurors and Harry scouring all of England for her the rest of the night. Of course, that would be on top of the legal trouble she would land in for attacking the Aurors in the first place. Ginny was peeved, but not nearly upset enough to be irrational. Not yet, anyway.

Resigned, she turned to go back inside after shooting the Aurors a final glare and slammed a door for the second time that day.

Using the front door was now clearly out of the question. The Floo wasn't an option either because Harry had cut off access to the Floo Network as well, also in the name of safety. Flying by broom was a possibility, but it was risky; either the Aurors or Muggles might spot her leaving or returning. She could cast a Disillusionment Charm on herself and exit from one of the windows if it wasn't for the blasted wards against spells of disguise.

Each possibility struck down was fuel to the angry fire blazing through her. When had her new home become a prison?

It was in the midst of her furious thoughts that inspiration struck. Rushing up the stairs, Ginny thanked Merlin that Harry wasn't Hermione. For once, Harry's tendency not to think things through was going to be a boon for her. Of course, he would've never expected what she was about to attempt, but Hermione wouldn't have left anything to chance.

Back in their bedroom, she easily found her quarry right where Harry always left it, hung on the inside of the wardrobe's door. As she took down his Invisibility Cloak, her conscience weakly protested, but it was quickly subdued by her anger at Harry. A quick test confirmed that the Cloak was indeed exempted from the wards against magical disguises, just as she had suspected.

Her next destination was the first floor drawing room, which overlooked the front of the house. Once there, she gently pulled back the curtain on the far-left window.

"Muffliato," she muttered with a wave of her wand before pulling back the window's latch and pushing up the lower sash, the old wooden frame squeaking in protest.

Cool night air wafted into the room as she covered herself with the Invisibility Cloak before leaning out to look down below. The Aurors remained stationed on either side of the front door, occasionally sweeping their eyes across the empty street. With the tip of her wand barely sticking out of the Cloak, she surreptitiously cast a Cushioning Charm on the ground below before stowing the wand in her bag and proceeding to the trickiest part of the operation.

With the Cloak pulled down low over her head and wrapped tightly around her, Ginny ducked through the window and stepped out onto the ledge outside. She oriented herself towards the front of number thirteen and simply stepped off into empty air. The Cushioning Charm did its job, allowing her to float gently down to the sidewalk with hardly a ruffle of the Cloak.

The Cloak hung long on her as she descended, effectively hiding all of her as she softly touched down on solid ground and immediately headed up the street, trusting the Muffliato spell to mute her footsteps. Her muscles tensed in anticipation of spells, shouts, and running footsteps directed her way at any moment, but none came. Only when she was able to turn up the next street did Ginny finally relax.

Honestly, I've moved out of my parents' home and still have to bloody sneak out of my own house. She would've laughed at the ridiculousness of it all if she wasn't so irked.

Now sufficiently beyond the wards, she proceeded to cast a spattering of Glamour Charms with practiced ease while remaining under the Cloak's cover, transforming herself into a plain Jane with mousy brown hair and eyes a subdued, forgettable shade of green. Such spells had become an indispensable part of going out without being hounded by the press and public alike.

Originally, she had only intended to stock up on alcohol at a nearby supermarket and get wasted at home. It was only natural to be wary, after all, knowing more than a dozen Death Eaters were about and likely out for revenge, even without factoring in her family background or her relation to Harry. Ginny, however, had always had a stubborn streak in her, particularly when it came to being told what she couldn't do for "her own good". There was no way she was going back to that prison of a house, especially after spending all that effort just to get out.

I'll show him I'm more than capable.

After all, she rationalized to herself, with no all-powerful leader to back them this time around, those dirty snakes were more likely busy with running for their lives and saving their own tail. That was the Slytherin way, after all. Besides, she didn't look anything like Ginny Weasley at the moment, and she was sure they wouldn't be so stupid as to risk being recaptured only for a momentary thrill of attacking a random witch or Muggle.

With her mind made up, Ginny Apparated into Muggle London under the cover of the Cloak, to a busy district littered with pubs and nightclubs. After what had happened tonight, the hen do she'd hosted here two weeks before seemed a lifetime ago.

Stop it. You came here to forget, not to reminisce.

She found her way to a narrow alleyway between two buildings and checked and double-checked that no one was in sight before whipping off the Invisibility Cloak and stuffing it into her handbag. As she wandered back into the main street to join the Muggle crowd milling about, she was glad that she was a bit underdressed for a night on the town. Hopefully, being next to all the scantily clad tarts, she would be ignored and left alone to get drunk in peace.

Ginny passed by the rowdier clubs with their blaring music before opting for a quieter pub up a side street. Picking one at random, she encountered a dimly lit interior that was a bit seedier than she would've preferred, but she parked herself on a stool at the bar anyway, hoping simply to rely on the burly barman to deter any problematic patrons.

She ordered a pint of lager from him to start, but found it to be lacking; she wasn't getting drunk nearly fast enough. Her anger was dissipating all too soon, only to be replaced by less desirable and more wretched emotions. She wondered briefly if she should've chosen a more raucous joint where the general din and deafening music would have helped to drown out her thoughts.

Just don't think about it. Not now.

The phrases repeated themselves like a mantra in her head as she switched to straight whiskey, relishing the way the heavy liquor burned her throat raw. Twice she was interrupted by men sidling in next to her to chat her up, but they were waved away without too much trouble.

After some time, her head movements were starting to make the room waver before her.

Am I drunk yet? She couldn't tell, so maybe she was. She also really needed to pee.

She meant to ask, "Where's the loo?" but it came out somewhat garbled to her ears. The barman seemed to understand anyway.

"To your left, down the corridor. Third door on your right. And take care now."

She got up unsteadily, grabbed her handbag, and stumbled in the direction he indicated. Her head felt woozy, rendering clear thinking impossible just as she had desired, but she wasn't quite at the falling-over-drunk stage yet.

On the right he'd said. Or was it left?

The meager lighting in the corridor might as well not have existed, for all the good it did. There was a sign on the door she stopped at, but she couldn't make out the words to be sure it indicated the loo, given the bad lighting and her currently dodgy vision. It was probably the right place though, if she had remembered the directions correctly.

Ginny tried the handle only to find the door was locked. With a bladder uncomfortably full, she knocked and then pounded on the door again impatiently when no response came.

Still nothing.

Just my luck. Some idiot's locked it.

It probably wasn't wise to do magic in a Muggle establishment, but Ginny didn't feel up to stumbling all the way back to get someone to unlock the damn thing. Besides, no one was around to see her anyway. So she fumbled for the wand in her bag, but it took several frustrated tries before she managed a successful Alohomora.

Finally, with a satisfying click the lock came undone, and the door cracked open, a brilliant light from within spilling out into the corridor. Huh? She was sure there had not been even a hint of light seeping through the closed door at all.

She swiftly opened the door the rest of the way, only to be confronted by a bizarre tableau that was definitely not the loo. Whatever sparse furniture had been present—a dresser, a table, and some chairs—had been pushed to the perimeter. In the center stood three masked figures dressed entirely in black, looking as if they had come straight out of one of those Muggle heist movies that Harry liked so much. Except, these men had wands clutched in their gloved hands. On the floor between them, a young man lay on his side with his hands and feet bounded by rope. A ghastly cut had been slashed across one of his cheeks and a nasty bruise was swelling up around one of his eyes. He was almost too beaten-up to be recognizable, but there was something disconcertingly familiar about his shock of white-blond hair and the pointed features still apparent in his battered face.

All this she processed in mere seconds. In the same time frame, the room's occupants were taking in her abrupt appearance. The grey eyes of the man on the floor widened at her. Startled, the masked figures had taken a step back.

Time froze as they stared at each other before speeding back up again, and several things happened all at once.

There came simultaneous shouts from the masked figures.

"What the hell? How did you—"

"A wand! She's a witch!"

"Don't just stand there, idiots!"

"Run!" screamed the man on the floor.

At the same time, recognition clicked in Ginny's mind.

"Draco Malfoy?" she exclaimed in disbelief.

A split-second later, wands were being raised, but in her shocked and alcohol-addled state, Ginny moved too slow to dodge the trio of red and green spells heading her way before everything went dark.

Author notes:

Please be so kind as to leave a review. It's my first foray into this fandom so feedback, positive or negative, is especially greatly appreciated.

Thank you so much to the wonderful TheSecretAdmirer for taking on this story as a beta for me. She's amazing at it. Any wonky phrasing that remains is solely due to my own oddball preferences. I'd also like to thank ThornedHuntress for helping me tweak the first chapter.

A note on the magic used: I stretched the application of Muffliato beyond what it is explicitly stated to be used for in the books in that here it deadens any noise the spell caster makes to unwanted ears, beyond just speaking. Though that might possibly be considered canon as well because Harry notes in DH that a corridor was as hushed as if a Muffliato charm had been cast over it.

Thanks for reading!