"Name this device."
A large picture hovered in the air and the group burst with suggestions.
"I know that, it's a regenerator!" Pansy said excitedly.
"A refrigerator, actually," Hermione said dryly, carefully inking in the answer.
"Well, I was close. I knew it started with an 'r'."
"This is unfair, Muggleborns have an advantage," Hannah Abbot called out from her table.
"Well, you should have taken Muggle Studies then," somebody shot back and a brief argument ensued. The barman quickly broke up any trouble by announcing it was happy hour. New arguments broke out:
"Okay, it's Seamus' turn to take orders."
"I'll have a rocks, hold the scotch."
The table burst into laughter; Seamus looked around murderously, trying to locate the voice. Eventually, he settled on Ron.
"Shut up, Ron!"
"What? It wasn't me, it was bloody George!"
George looked injured: "I am deeply wounded by that false accusation."
"Yeah, Ron, stop trying to blame George for everything."
"What? But he –" Ron was puffed with indignation. Somebody laughed and pelted him with a peanut.
"No peanut fights!" Harry said firmly, as Ron grabbed a handful of peanuts himself. "Food is not to be used as ammunition, remember?"
"Yeah, it's a tragic waste," Theo snapped.
"And Pansy's allergic. Remember what happened last time she got hit on the nose?" Hermione said responsibly.
"Yeah, didn't her nose swell up to the size of a balloon?"
The table rang with laughter – "Fuck off," Pansy retaliated morosely, gloomily staring at her empty glass.
"Where are your manners?" teased Theo.
"Up your arse. Someone pass the butterbeer."
"Hullo!" Lavender fumbled her way over, waving and beaming around.
"Lavender! You're twenty minutes late!"
"I know, my parents visited unexpectedly, to say happy birthday."
"It's your birthday?"
"Dean must've known, why didn't you say anything!" Hermione berated Dean. He just grinned.
"Well, it's no big deal," Lavender shrugged, but there was a sudden surge as everybody tried to rush to the bar to shout her a drink. Whilst various beers and shots were placed in front of her, Luna straggled in behind everyone, and proudly dumped a bottle of wine in front of Lavender.
"Why didn't I think of that?"
"Luna wins, I think."
"Hands down, I'd say."
"That wine's not half-bad, either. Be a sport, Lavender, share it round!"
"Cheers to Lavender, on her twentieth birthday!"
"Cheers!"
"This calls for serious drinking, my friends," Dean said, getting up on his chair and raising his glass, as a blushing Lavender began pouring wine into some unused highballs.
"A toast to Lavender and her generosity!"
"Pour us a glass, Lavender!"
"Many happy returns!"
They were laughing, the wine was spilling, somebody started singing and Ginny raised her glass, watching it clink against the others', the glass and ice glittering, the richly-coloured wine splashing through the air.
And she forgot for a moment; a radiant and completely involuntary smile flickered across her face, and she thought she was close again, close to the warmth, closer to sunrise instead of sunset, on the right side of midnight.
The next Thursday, however, was much more unhappy. Blaise was on patrol, apparently already forgotten the pool cue incident (and the subsequent photographs that were passed around afterwards.)
It was also serving as a sending-off bash for both Luna, whom was going on another work-incited trip (however this time, she would be gone a month), and Lavender and Dean, whom were going on a three-week trip to France.
"It's going to be wonderful." Lavender was thrilled, merrily talking about her French cousins and how she missed them. Dean looked a bit nervous.
"I hope they like me."
"Don't be silly, of course they will. I've owled off pictures, they think you're gorgeous."
"Pictures?" Dean looked slightly ill. "What pictures?"
"The ones my mother took last Christmas, Dean," Lavender said patiently. "Remember? When we were up at Leeds."
"Not those ones! I looked terrible!"
"Don't be silly, you looked cute, especially when you wore those Christmas robes your parents sent you, and that cute little Santa hat –"
"Not that one!" Dean gave a strangled cry.
"You know, I wouldn't mind seeing those photos myself," Seamus sniggered, and Dean shot him a look that would have curdled milk.
"Looking forward to your trip, Luna?" Ginny asked quickly, before any mischief could erupt.
"Oh, yes!" Luna said excitedly, and began to discuss the various beasts she hoped to encounter. Pansy poured herself another stiff drink and observed Harry.
"What?" Harry looked at her irritably; he never enjoyed being stared at.
"You're looking pale," Pansy said.
"Oh, no you don't. Put your inner Healer away, Pansy," snapped Harry.
"I was just making an observation."
"Pansy," Harry said warningly. Pansy had the somewhat unfortunate ability to correctly diagnose people, sometimes just by glancing at them as she went past on the street. Whilst this quality made her admired and highly sought at work, her friends loathed this ability. It was very upsetting to be told, just before somebody downed a whiskey, that they looked slightly jaundiced and perhaps their liver needed a check-up – even if it turned out later that she was right. 'I'd rather not know' was the motto of her friends. Whilst Pansy had gotten better at keeping her diagnoses to herself, sometimes she still couldn't help herself.
"Well, just –"
"I don't want to hear it."
" – just take a Pepper-Up potion tonight, and lay off the firewhiskey," Pansy finished.
"Now I feel worse," Harry muttered. "And it's your fault."
"My fault!" Pansy said.
"Yes, now that you've said something, I can't help but think about it, and it makes me feel worse and now my throat feels all scratchy..."
"Well, don't think about it then," Pansy replied unhelpfully.
"Think about having Dragon Pox instead," Blaise grinned, and Pansy rounded on him.
"Oh yes, Blaise? And whilst I'm in Mediwitch mode –"
"So what, I feel perfectly healthy," Blaise said.
"Really? Because I suggest you get a check-up," Pansy said coolly, staring at his nether regions.
"For what?" Blaise demanded, staring at her stupidly.
There was a long silence, wherein everyone began sniggering.
"For what?" he repeated. Pansy cleared her throat loudly; realisation dawned.
"Well, at least I'm getting some," Blaise snapped.
"I didn't know pool cues could pass on sexual diseases," Seamus said, the table roaring with laughter. Blaise just took Luna's bottle of butterbeer and stormed away.
"Well, at least we got rid of him," Ron said cheerfully. "Anyway – a toast to Luna and free work-funded trips!"
"And Dean and Lavender!"
"May they all return safely."
They wound down, growing quiet. Nobody had been drinking particularly heavy, and besides, their numbers were thin (which had given them a lower score than usual): Draco had come down with an unexpected flu at the last moment and owled to say he couldn't make it after all; Hermione was absent, in order to devote her night to working on a presentation she had to give the next morning. Neville was at a relative's birthday celebration, and Theo was filling in for another team. The result was a small straggle of Harry, Ron, Ginny, Lavender, Dean, Luna, Seamus and Pansy. Eight people suddenly seemed too small, compared to the usual raucous crowd of twelve.
Ginny turned instinctively to Luna.
"Doesn't our group seem small?"
"Where I'm going, there'll be nobody," Luna said dreamily.
"That will be lonely." Ginny shivered.
"That will be a change," Luna corrected.
"Doesn't change scare you?" Ginny asked, but Luna merely gave her a vague smile and drifted away.
Change didn't scare Ginny. Being alone did. She wanted to surround herself with people, and never go home.
But she went home this time, walked the long steps to her apartment, amazed and despairing at her own change. Had she not looked upon her apartment as her own little private space? But now she wanted to hold somebody, hold on and never let go. She thought of Harry, Hermione and Ron, their perfect world. She wanted to hold onto them, forever, but the best she could do was ask to stay a while, before drifting back to her own universe.
She counted the stars, trying to recall Astronomy. Cassius there, and there was Andromeda, and Draconis, and Sirius the Dog Star, and Bellatrix.
Why was everybody named after stars? It was the romance again, thought Ginny. They liked to think their children would be like stars, floating above the earth, alone and glittering, perfect jewels, looked up to and wanted by all the people staring wishfully at them below.
But it wasn't like that at all. Andromeda and Sirius had fallen, falling stars, falling away into darkness long before they should. And Draco, he wasn't alone and cold anymore, was he? His star had drifted through space and come to lay with Harry.
Bellatrix, perhaps the worst. She was the literal star. The true star, the real one. A soulless, jagged mess of rock and ice, alone in the darkness, whose fate could only end in death, destroyed by warmth, by the heat of anger.
Ginny liked the fact her family had solid names. Bill, Charlie, George. Strong names, old names that had nothing to do with flowers or stars or anything romantic. She had been told her name meant 'fair one' – a plain meaning, not complex or romantic in any way. She liked it that way. Simple Ginny Weasley, straightforward and practical.
But five months ago, on the eve of winter, a letter had landed on her kitchen counter as she daydreamed, and it made her life so much harder. But in the end, only the people she loves matter, and Ginny had lots of people she loved and wanted to care for, and it was easy to ignore everything when she had so much love in her world.
That night she dreamed about stars.
