caress
Disclaimer: Harry Potter, it's settings and characters all belong to the divine J.K. Rowling. I only own the plot and my own typed/written words. Songs on top do not belong to me.
A/N: written for old time's sakes.
Summary: Ginny Weasley had an abortion four years ago when she was sixteen; what happens when she meets up with the father of the child she never had?
///what do you do
what do you do
when everything is broken
what do you say
what do you say
when no one's
at the moment
because you're not here
and even if you were here
all I could say
what do I do what do I do
I am broken
but I can't throw us away///
//you snap it
bend it
burn it
then you find out you can fix it
fall back///
"It'll be fun, Ginny," Hermione advised her logically. "You've been down lately." Ginny looked up, looking at the brown-haired girl with dubiously.
"Oh come on, you haven't been out for years," she insisted.
Ginny scowled. "Not for years. Months, possibly. Weeks, of course. But not years."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Fine. Weeks or months. It's still a long time. Please? All clients from my work will be there, Ron will be there, and Harry..." she trailed off suggestively.
"I do not want to see Harry," the redhead snapped scathingly.
"I am just saying your friends will be there..."
"You mean your friends," replied Ginny bitterly.
"Ginny, come on...please?" Hermione pleaded. Ginny looked at her; she seemed completely sincere.
"Well, alright," she said, sighing. "Fine."
"Great."
"But it doesn't mean I'll enjoy it," warned Ginny moodily.
"You don't have to."
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The music, the lights and the blaring sounds of chattering drummed against her eardrums. The pain in her neck and head was clearly not going to dissolve any time soon. Gazing around at the party, she took one step back. Nobody noticed. Another step. Nobody even looked her way. She turned around and walked through the narrow hallways until she found the bathroom. Stepping inside, she tried to lock it, but found that the lock was broken.
"Damn, why didn't I bring a wand?" Ginny murmured, scolding her idiotic self, and reached into her purse and pulled out the small bottle, unscrewing the top as hurriedly as she could, and drunk it all with one, massive sip, wrinkling her nose in disgust.
She threw the bottle, and it shattered into many pieces on the tiles of the floor, any remaining bits of liquid splashing over her shoes. Her hands tumbled against many items in her purse until she found another small bottle, full. Sighing timidly, she took it out, and began unscrewing the top in an orderly fashion.
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Draco Malfoy stood against the wall, examining the party with a cross between amusement and disgust all at once. He was truly distraught that he had accepted the invitation in the first place. He put his glass of water down, and bit his lower lip, about to leave when a familiar voice prompted,
"What the hell are you doing here?"
He turned around, surprised to see that it was none other than Hermione Granger, who was staring at him disapprovingly.
He smirked smugly. "I was invited."
"By who?" she challenged.
"That, I am afraid, is none of your damn business," he replied with narrowed eyes.
"But..." Hermione stammered. With one, definite glare, she finally turned away from him, disappearing into the crowd of many guests.
This sucks, the back of his mind told him. Get out of here. He sighed in defeat, straightening up so he could see over the many guests, and began to plunge through them with his arms outwards. When he was finally in the hallway, he looked around, puzzled. There were many doors - but which one led to the exit? Trying the first door, he saw that it was a spare bedroom. He shut it tight; in other times, perhaps he would use it for better use with another girl, but he was in no mood to seduce anybody at the moment. He walked to the second door and opened it easily; it was a bathroom. He observed it and a surprising sight met his eyes.
A girl was hunched over the sink, her hair in disarray of red curls, her matching dress wrinkled and crumbled in several places, smashed glass at her feet. She whimpered, and he cautiously went toward her.
"Err...are you sick?" he asked. He had no idea why he was asking in the first place; it was no useful information to him.
She looked up, her brown eyes looking at him, startled. There was no mistaking the slim, curved figure that he had once pressed against, there was no mistaking the creamy white skin that he had touched so many times; there was no mistaking the familiar face, a bit older, but still innocent, her hair a mass of wavy curls that enveloped her face in an appealing way.
He was aghast.
"Ginny?"
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