Disclaimer: J.K. Rowling owns the Harry Potter novels, and all characters and situations contained within. I'm making no money off of this work of fanfiction, and I intend no copyright infringement.
Three Years After
by Phoenixflame
Three years ago, she had graduated from Hogwarts into the post-Voldemort era. The sky was blue, the flowers bloomed, and her family was so happy to welcome their daughter into the world of adulthood... starting with the parade, of course, of nice young boys her mother thought would make excellent husbands for Ginny Weasley.
Ginny was eighteen years old, and the youngest child in a family with seven children, counting her. She had, for seven years without fail, lived at Hogwarts for nine out of twelve of those months every year, smothered in black robes, broken promises, and the stereotypical regard for her as 'just another Weasley'.
So, in a move that shocked her mother, her friends, and her elder brother, Ronald Weasley (husband to Padma Patil, formerly of Ravenclaw, a member of the Chudley Cannons, and longtime friend of the 'Boy Who Lived', also known as Harry Potter), who were now given to checking surreptitiously to see about any suspicious diaries she might be concealing about her garret in Diagon Alley, or any strange artifacts left over from the most recent wizarding war, she accepted a job as a reporter for the Daily Prophet, the justly maligned newspaper to the magic community of Great Britain.
Percy, overseas in America, had expressed a sort of distracted dismay and outrage via owl post, but he had his own matters to deal with. Charlie and Bill were hardly ever in Britain to begin with... and the twins, of course, thought it was a wonderful joke, then persisted in sending her their newest products, all of which found homes in the magic disposal bin... she'd ceased opening such anonymous packages in her fourth year, during which she'd been a second-string target for the Death Eaters, and assumedly, a candidate for Harry Potter's girlfriend prospects.
Little Ginny Weasley had herself grown up to be quite a stunner. With a thin, pale face of oddly attractive angles, soft brown eyes, shoulder-length red hair, and a trim build, she cut quite a figure. Bearing a Dicto-Quill with no-nonsense black ink, and a Never-Ending Vellom Roll as her constant companions, she had aqquired a reputation for ferreting out all sorts of wonderful little secrets the famous witches and wizards loved to keep secret. Once again, her mother bemoaned the scathing articles and ruthlessness of her youngest child, shocked at the callousness of her 'little' Ginny. So annoyed was Ginny that she took to using her full name within a year of graduation. Virginia Weasley was not the inexperienced and naive girl she'd been in her first and second years. This was a grown-up and disillusioned woman.
Loathed by wizards and witches alike, she was one of the few things that kept the foundering Daily Prophet from going under... and she knew it. And so we begin out story... seven years after the events of Goblet of Fire and the Rising of Voldemort, in the offices of the Daily Prophet.
*************************************************
The Daily Prophet had once occupied the entire brownstone building, from basement to roof, and from wall to wall. But, sales having fallen off due to the reputation the newspaper had aqquired during and after the Rising of Voldemort, they were now renting out the building to various other tenants, and only occupied the fifth floor.
Private offices were few and far between. Fortunately, Virginia, being the 'star reporter' of the publication, had one with a... charming view of Diagon Alley, such as it was from the brownstone. Over the roof of the Ministry of Magic building, beyond a chimney... if she just squinted, she could see the crowded streetway and the robed figures hurrying to and fro.
With an exasperated sigh, she swung back around, then winced as the chair wobbled ominously, and emmitted loud screeches. Charms and grease could only do so much for a chair that had been around for at least twenty years.
The window was covered in dust, as was most of the room. Empty tea cups and an Insta-Brew kettle littered the surface of the desk, along with piles of parchment, Dicto-Quills, and various wizarding photos... the subjects of which stubbornly refused to acknowledge her presence. Virginia ignored them, and stared grimly around her office.
Reputation and scathing wit could only do so much. The charm of a Weasley who could wield the sharp side of her tongue on half the wizarding world was wearing off, and the publication would undoubtedly go under... leaving a market, if one cared, for a new publication, assuming no one got to it first.
However, the redheaded reporter had no illusions about /that/ happening, especially not with her reputation. Reputation was, quite sadly, against her, and her friends had learned long ago not to finance her plotting and undercutting.
Friends. Now there was a laugh.
Three years alone in the wizarding world, working to expose the supposed misdeeds of the wizarding elite, had done good to draw what was left of youthful illusions away from her eyes. The bumbling naivete of the Boy Who Lived had long since ceased to be amusing and endearing. The domineering, exacting Hermione Granger, beloved of the Hogwarts Teachers, reminded her of a younger, female Snape. And her brother... she'd never had any illusions about her brother being some sort of messianic savior of the wizarding world.
*More likely the 'Boy Who Lived' tripped over his own feet and stabbed You-Know-Who in the chest with the sword.* She snorted, then stood, seizing a quill and her roll of vellum. Maybe, under the pretense of going out to find a good story, she could fetch some ice-cream and get away from the depressing atmosphere of the Daily Prophey offices. Anything was better than sitting around contemplating her existance.
*Merlin knows if I sit around any longer here, I'll start developing morals.* She emitted a short bark of laughter, then swept her blue cloak on over her robes, and headed out the door. Ice cream. And she knew just the place...
Five minutes later, she sauntered into Florian Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, and sat down at the counter. A few witches eyed her, then, in a rather ostenatious show, moved away from her. Virginia ignored them, and waved to the old man behind the counter. "Hullo Florian."
"Ginny Weasley, what a pleasant surprise!" the old man replied, making the redhead cringe slightly at the name. "Sorry, it's Virginia now, isn't it? I always forget. Such a pity... you used to be such a nice girl... shall it be the usual?"
"Yeah. Lemon ice-cream, orange syrup, and marshmellows. You know what I like." She smiled slightly at the man, and leaned forwards, elbows on the counter. The old man hurried past, carrying a glass tulip glass... he absently rapped her forearm with his free hand as he did, out of long habit.
"Elbows down... some things /never/ change." he harrumphed. Virginia rolled her eyes, but did as he ordered, and clasped her hands on the counter, watching as he went about constructing what most young witches would consider a stomache-turning concoction. "Twenty-five years I order that rag of a newspaper... through the Dark Times before you were born, and up through the peacetime, and through the Rising of Voldemort. Never once did it lie until that witch Rita Skeeter came along, and now it's a sharks nest... never, my dear, did I imagine..."
"It pays the rent." Virginia offered, taking the garishly colored concoction and dipping her spoon into it.
"Yes, well." Florian looked a bit non-plussed by this. "Customers to serve, delighted to see you again, my dear... do try to be a bit more agreeable and a bit less of a hmmm, harridan. You're of the age when a nice young man..." She tuned out the rest of the speech, and dug in, enjoying the sweet and sour taste of her sundae. Eventually, the wizened old man turned and bustled down the line of the counter to a couple who decided, upon seeing her at the counter, to take a booth on the other side of the parlor.
"My word. You /do/ eat that... brew." a suavely malevolent voice said from behind her. Virginia tensed. There were two people she could expect that voice to come from. She chose the most likely, and retorted:
"Bugger off, Draco."
A voice mumbled something behind her, and the stool spun around. The redhead looked up, startled. She swallowed her surprise and unease, then, with a skill honed in the three years since graduation, she summoned up a cool little smile of superiority that didn't do anything to assuage the shock.
Lucius Malfoy stood before her, tall and elegant, a sneer playing about his mouth, a cold look in his grey eyes as he twirled his wand in his hand. "Ms. Weasley. Just the witch I was looking for."
End Part One
Three Years After
by Phoenixflame
Three years ago, she had graduated from Hogwarts into the post-Voldemort era. The sky was blue, the flowers bloomed, and her family was so happy to welcome their daughter into the world of adulthood... starting with the parade, of course, of nice young boys her mother thought would make excellent husbands for Ginny Weasley.
Ginny was eighteen years old, and the youngest child in a family with seven children, counting her. She had, for seven years without fail, lived at Hogwarts for nine out of twelve of those months every year, smothered in black robes, broken promises, and the stereotypical regard for her as 'just another Weasley'.
So, in a move that shocked her mother, her friends, and her elder brother, Ronald Weasley (husband to Padma Patil, formerly of Ravenclaw, a member of the Chudley Cannons, and longtime friend of the 'Boy Who Lived', also known as Harry Potter), who were now given to checking surreptitiously to see about any suspicious diaries she might be concealing about her garret in Diagon Alley, or any strange artifacts left over from the most recent wizarding war, she accepted a job as a reporter for the Daily Prophet, the justly maligned newspaper to the magic community of Great Britain.
Percy, overseas in America, had expressed a sort of distracted dismay and outrage via owl post, but he had his own matters to deal with. Charlie and Bill were hardly ever in Britain to begin with... and the twins, of course, thought it was a wonderful joke, then persisted in sending her their newest products, all of which found homes in the magic disposal bin... she'd ceased opening such anonymous packages in her fourth year, during which she'd been a second-string target for the Death Eaters, and assumedly, a candidate for Harry Potter's girlfriend prospects.
Little Ginny Weasley had herself grown up to be quite a stunner. With a thin, pale face of oddly attractive angles, soft brown eyes, shoulder-length red hair, and a trim build, she cut quite a figure. Bearing a Dicto-Quill with no-nonsense black ink, and a Never-Ending Vellom Roll as her constant companions, she had aqquired a reputation for ferreting out all sorts of wonderful little secrets the famous witches and wizards loved to keep secret. Once again, her mother bemoaned the scathing articles and ruthlessness of her youngest child, shocked at the callousness of her 'little' Ginny. So annoyed was Ginny that she took to using her full name within a year of graduation. Virginia Weasley was not the inexperienced and naive girl she'd been in her first and second years. This was a grown-up and disillusioned woman.
Loathed by wizards and witches alike, she was one of the few things that kept the foundering Daily Prophet from going under... and she knew it. And so we begin out story... seven years after the events of Goblet of Fire and the Rising of Voldemort, in the offices of the Daily Prophet.
*************************************************
The Daily Prophet had once occupied the entire brownstone building, from basement to roof, and from wall to wall. But, sales having fallen off due to the reputation the newspaper had aqquired during and after the Rising of Voldemort, they were now renting out the building to various other tenants, and only occupied the fifth floor.
Private offices were few and far between. Fortunately, Virginia, being the 'star reporter' of the publication, had one with a... charming view of Diagon Alley, such as it was from the brownstone. Over the roof of the Ministry of Magic building, beyond a chimney... if she just squinted, she could see the crowded streetway and the robed figures hurrying to and fro.
With an exasperated sigh, she swung back around, then winced as the chair wobbled ominously, and emmitted loud screeches. Charms and grease could only do so much for a chair that had been around for at least twenty years.
The window was covered in dust, as was most of the room. Empty tea cups and an Insta-Brew kettle littered the surface of the desk, along with piles of parchment, Dicto-Quills, and various wizarding photos... the subjects of which stubbornly refused to acknowledge her presence. Virginia ignored them, and stared grimly around her office.
Reputation and scathing wit could only do so much. The charm of a Weasley who could wield the sharp side of her tongue on half the wizarding world was wearing off, and the publication would undoubtedly go under... leaving a market, if one cared, for a new publication, assuming no one got to it first.
However, the redheaded reporter had no illusions about /that/ happening, especially not with her reputation. Reputation was, quite sadly, against her, and her friends had learned long ago not to finance her plotting and undercutting.
Friends. Now there was a laugh.
Three years alone in the wizarding world, working to expose the supposed misdeeds of the wizarding elite, had done good to draw what was left of youthful illusions away from her eyes. The bumbling naivete of the Boy Who Lived had long since ceased to be amusing and endearing. The domineering, exacting Hermione Granger, beloved of the Hogwarts Teachers, reminded her of a younger, female Snape. And her brother... she'd never had any illusions about her brother being some sort of messianic savior of the wizarding world.
*More likely the 'Boy Who Lived' tripped over his own feet and stabbed You-Know-Who in the chest with the sword.* She snorted, then stood, seizing a quill and her roll of vellum. Maybe, under the pretense of going out to find a good story, she could fetch some ice-cream and get away from the depressing atmosphere of the Daily Prophey offices. Anything was better than sitting around contemplating her existance.
*Merlin knows if I sit around any longer here, I'll start developing morals.* She emitted a short bark of laughter, then swept her blue cloak on over her robes, and headed out the door. Ice cream. And she knew just the place...
Five minutes later, she sauntered into Florian Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor, and sat down at the counter. A few witches eyed her, then, in a rather ostenatious show, moved away from her. Virginia ignored them, and waved to the old man behind the counter. "Hullo Florian."
"Ginny Weasley, what a pleasant surprise!" the old man replied, making the redhead cringe slightly at the name. "Sorry, it's Virginia now, isn't it? I always forget. Such a pity... you used to be such a nice girl... shall it be the usual?"
"Yeah. Lemon ice-cream, orange syrup, and marshmellows. You know what I like." She smiled slightly at the man, and leaned forwards, elbows on the counter. The old man hurried past, carrying a glass tulip glass... he absently rapped her forearm with his free hand as he did, out of long habit.
"Elbows down... some things /never/ change." he harrumphed. Virginia rolled her eyes, but did as he ordered, and clasped her hands on the counter, watching as he went about constructing what most young witches would consider a stomache-turning concoction. "Twenty-five years I order that rag of a newspaper... through the Dark Times before you were born, and up through the peacetime, and through the Rising of Voldemort. Never once did it lie until that witch Rita Skeeter came along, and now it's a sharks nest... never, my dear, did I imagine..."
"It pays the rent." Virginia offered, taking the garishly colored concoction and dipping her spoon into it.
"Yes, well." Florian looked a bit non-plussed by this. "Customers to serve, delighted to see you again, my dear... do try to be a bit more agreeable and a bit less of a hmmm, harridan. You're of the age when a nice young man..." She tuned out the rest of the speech, and dug in, enjoying the sweet and sour taste of her sundae. Eventually, the wizened old man turned and bustled down the line of the counter to a couple who decided, upon seeing her at the counter, to take a booth on the other side of the parlor.
"My word. You /do/ eat that... brew." a suavely malevolent voice said from behind her. Virginia tensed. There were two people she could expect that voice to come from. She chose the most likely, and retorted:
"Bugger off, Draco."
A voice mumbled something behind her, and the stool spun around. The redhead looked up, startled. She swallowed her surprise and unease, then, with a skill honed in the three years since graduation, she summoned up a cool little smile of superiority that didn't do anything to assuage the shock.
Lucius Malfoy stood before her, tall and elegant, a sneer playing about his mouth, a cold look in his grey eyes as he twirled his wand in his hand. "Ms. Weasley. Just the witch I was looking for."
End Part One