Authors Note: Please note that this is based very loosely on the Australian novel 'The Vodka Diolouge' so if you've read the book and noticed similarities that's the reason.
All right, now I'll fully explain what exactly is Ginny and Hermione's job description. They're sexual sleuths, who are women who are paid by other women to see if their boyfriend/fiance are as faithful as they say they are. This is post-Hogwarts, and Hermione and Ginny are around twenty-six/twenty-seven-years-old. They are fully aware that they are witches and wizards, but in this story their magic is used very little, and is rarely talked about. OK, now that's out of the way ...
Disclaimer: I don't own Harry Potter, and I barely own the plot. Gee, doesn't that really depress you?
Chapter One: Prologue
I always had returned to the familiar, and turned away to the unfamiliar. Even after Hogwarts I had decided to live in a flat with Harry and Ron. Then Ginny moved in, and Ron moved out since living with his sister again had been too much. Harry moved out too, when he met a Muggle girl. It remained just Ginny and I and it stayed that way for the next nine years.
Soon, I got a job at a Help Line centre, and a young woman called and asked for help with her boyfriend. She suspected he was cheating on her. Instead of sending her away with the "'it's probably your imagination ... blah ... blah ... blah ..." I enlisted Ginny's help, and we tracked down the girl's boyfriend, before discovering he was sleeping with the girl's best friend.
I found the girl's phone number, and called her to tell her about her barstard of a boyfriend. The girl suggested me onto her other friend, and it began from there. Ginny and I became sexual sleuths. Women who helped women. It was an unspoken agreement that most men were barstards, and that their true colours needed to be shown at one time or another.
"Hermione!" called a voice, breaking most of the sound barriers. Ginny stepped into my bedroom, her bright face identical to her hair. "What in the name of every fuckin' god damn man in town are you doing?"
I looked at her. "Working."
Ginny collasped on my bed. "But you quit that hotline job ages ago."
"I'm writing my article," I said.
Ginny laughed. "What article?"
I turned away from the computer, and looked at her. "The On-Line Dating article? The one I was talking about for three weeks?"
"Oh, the one you talked about when I was either passed out on the sofa or rooting someone in the bathroom?" Ginny asked.
I thought it over. "Probably."
Ginny rolled over onto her stomach. "Why don't you write about your sex diaries ... oh, right ... you haven't had none in, what? Seven ... six ... eight months?"
"Four months," I said, "and that's only because -,"
"Every guy in London is a true blue barstard," finished Ginny, "yeah, yeah, I've heard it before ... look, there are a heap of guys out there. Just pick one and find a bathroom."
"Thanks Ginny, but I'd prefer the conventional way," I told her.
Ginny raised her eyebrows. "The conventional way? That's what ... a sanitary bathroom?"
I shook my head and focused my eyes on the computer screen. "The myth of on-line dating? Is it fact or fiction? So many couples met on the net, but did they last? One lucky bloke, Timothy Thomas - "
"Timothy Thomas?" said Ginny, and I startled as Ginny leaned down over my shoulder. "What a retarded name. I mean, if you trimmed it down it would be Tim Tom." She laughed. "It's almost like Tim Tam. Your friend could be chocolate."
"Ginny!" I yelled. "Would you shut the fuck up? Who cares about his name? This is the rest of my career we're talking about!"
Ginny straightened. "You know, little Hogwarts Hermione was rearing her ugly head there. Anyway, I came in here because we got a job tonight. At The Enterprise. Clean-cut guy, the Mrs wants him out, but he's got dough, so ... if he goes after us, it gives her a reason to take him to court."
My eyes widened. "That's horrible!"
Ginny shrugged. "I think it's smart. OK, you're coming. Get dressed."
I stared after her as she moved to leave my room. "Oh, and wear something he can really get his hand under. I mean, she's paying us one-hundred pounds by the hour. They're really rich."