A Story of Pain

by Voice of Reason

Voldemorte took over the wizarding world, surprise surprise, and Hermione is forced to help rebuild his empire. Much drama and angst with Hermie, Draco, Ron, and Ginny.

2. Part II

Part II: Living in the Suburbs of Hell

Around four years later.

It was three-thirty by the time Ginny stumbled downstairs to the bar. A few hours before she'd have to go work as a waitress inside the small yet stylish restaurant-and-bar combo that their family owned with the Parvati family in the Death Eater rebuilt Diagon Alley. She worked as a waitress, along with Padma, Cho, and Ron, taking orders from regular wizarding folk who were just trying to survive like her and from the Death Eaters who frequented their tavern. They had spent three long years working to get this dump to become a popular place for the Death Eaters to hang out, investing in velveted booths with silence-charmed walls, and expensive mirrors and lamps to give the place a luxurious atmosphere. All the glitzy accents were really meant to attract Death Eaters here so the staff could spy on them.
Or so that was Ron's genius plan, a plan that constantly put them all in the scrutiny of Death Eaters. He wanted to have a place for their useless Resistance to meet and gather information that they could possibly use against the Death Eaters. Really, thought Ginny, Ron should just give up hope by now of ever doing anything that would topple this tyrannical government and concentrate on perhaps making enough money to keep us afloat.
She kept grumbling to herself as she sat at the bar and waited for George to get her something to eat. He was busy replacing the crystal long- stemmed glasses that they served drinks in. Sooner or later he'd notice her, probably later, thought Ginny. Her brother seemed more and more willing to sink into his role as bartender and forget that he had a family left, brothers and a sister who cared about him. I suppose it's just easier for him, Ginny thought wistfully.
"George?" she said, annoyed when her brother didn't turn around. "George?" louder. "GEORGE!" louder. He jumped and turned to face her.
"What?"
"Could you maybe get me something to eat? Before it gets busy in here?" Ginny said shortly. He gave her a sheepish look before walking into the kitchen. She glared at George's back before it disappeared behind the door. Stupid boy, so absorbed in his job or whatever. Ginny stopped grumbling to herself when she heard the sounds of someone walking down the stairs hidden behind the bar.
"Hey, Gin, morning, " greeted Cho Chang, rubbing sleep-squinty eyes at the afternoon sunlight. Ginny glanced at Cho's elegant hands, which she had set down on the bar counter. "Was it tough last night?"
"Nah, not really, just gross," answered Ginny, making a face at Cho, who laughed. "It was Mister Borgin, you know how old and wrinkled he is, it was just plain gross touching that wanker."
"Ewww," said Cho, echoing Ginny's disgusted face.
"How do you do it?" asked Gin, "you always get the young, unwrinkled ones while I'm stuck with these yucky old farts."
Cho agreed with her, saying, "True, but you come back with more useful info for us than I do." Ginny nodded, flicking her eyes from Cho's black orbs to the kitchen door. She was hungry and George had probably already forgotten about breakfast. "Why is that, Gin?"
"It's because the old dudes have been around longer and are trusted with more secrets," said Padma, pulling up a chair on the other side of Ginny, who looked at her in surprise.
"I thought you'd still be in bed," said Ginny. "Are you feeling better already?"
"Not really, but I'm only going to work the floor tonight," answered Padma, looking sorry. "I know it's rough, but-"
Cho reached out a hand across Ginny's body to stop Padma. "It's ok, don't worry about it. Gin and I can handle it. At least you can come back and help us with the tables tonight, I always feel so bad for poor Ron."
"Yeah, Ron was stuck with most of the tables last night, especially when Cho or I had to go upstairs," laughed Gin. "Poor ickle-Ronnie-kins, rushing around, trying to get drink orders and fend off horny old women!" Cho and Padma roared with laughter. It was so true, thought Ginny. Ron, with his long limbs and shockingly red hair, was always attracting attention from the female patrons of their establishment. Sometimes a few men too, reflected Ginny. If her brother was a little more flexible, perhaps they could use him to get even more money out of their customers, but she knew that Ron blushed red when a woman even winked at him, let alone tried to hit on him.
"Finally, Georgie-boy, breakfast!" exclaimed Cho, reaching out a hand for the coffeepot.
"Sorry it's late, girls," he said as he put plates in front of them.

"It's ok, honey, just as long as you're the one bringing out my pancakes in the morning," said Cho coyly, reaching over the counter to kiss George on the check. His ears blushed, but he merely retreated to the kitchen again. Cho slumped in her chair, uttering a huge sigh.
"So he's still chicken?" said Padma around a mouthful of eggs.
"Yeah," muttered Cho. Ginny decided to ignore the problems surrounding her friends and their lives to look out the window. It offered a great view of Diagon Alley and all the foot traffic weaving their way around the shops. Most of them had been completely rebuilt after the Death Eaters destroyed Diagon Alley four years ago and were owned by various people. Some catered to the whims of their dark rulers, offering rare and expensive ingredients for potions while other shops tried to be normal, like the bookstore and the robe shop. But they had to change around things in order to cater to the Death Eaters, for they ruled business and commerce, having most of the money. Initially, they had lent out money to people wanting to start a business here when their old houses or shops had been destroyed and their fortunes seized by the Death Eaters. It had taken them two years to pay back all the money they borrowed on this restaurant, reflected Ginny. Her brothers and herself had formed a partnership with the Patil family. Mr. Patil had been killed, but Mrs. Patil and her twin daughters were eager to do something useful with their lives, now that their Old World had been ruined along with the Weasleys. So they pooled their resources and bought this place, which they named "The Last Chance." The name fit thoroughly, as this place was their last chance to make a living and more recently their last chance to fight back. Yet "The Last Chance" was really too expensive for them to run. The taxes imposed by the Death Eaters were heavy and unnecessary. They were lucky that the small staff lived on the third floor and essentially worked for peanuts to keep the restaurant alive. Parvati used to work in the restaurant, but once she moved in with Malcolm Braddock, she'd virtually cut off all contact with her family. It was strange, thought Ginny, that the Gryffindor would be shacking up with a Death Eater while the Ravenclaw worked with us.
Ginny shoved the last piece of toast into her mouth as George took their plates, telling them to hurry and get dressed before customers started coming in the restaurant. She rolled her eyes and followed Cho and Padma up the stairs to their rooms.
As soon as she made it up to the third floor, she heard Ron throwing his knife into the wall. He did that when he couldn't sleep, practiced throwing, and sometimes forgot what time it was. "Ron, it's after four," she said, chiding him lightly. "Fred's going to open up soon, so you need to get changed."
"And so do you," he said, walking down the hallway to pull out his knife and study Ginny's face. "You're too thin, you know."
"And so are you," she retorted, squeezing his arm. "So you can't lecture me about it." She paused, then decided to tease Ron a bit. "Although I'm sure quite a few women that come here like their men tall and thin, because, well, you know what they say about tall men." Ginny trailed off, watching Ron blush. He could control his temper, resist the urge to say things, but no matter what he did, Ron could never stop blushing.
He just stared at her teasing gaze, then spun around to throw his knife into the wall expertly. He was going to wear a hole in that door if he didn't stop hitting the same spot. Ginny didn't bother to say anything else, but opened the door to her room.
After she closed the door, she pulled the extra-large t-shirt she slept in over her head and stepped out of her shorts. Her black garter belt and tights lay over the chair. Without thinking, Ginny pulled them on then fastened her lacy black bra on. It did wonders for her cleavage, but pinched her skin. Ah, well, the prices we pay, she told herself. After checking in the cracked mirror that she had all her racy underwear on correctly, she walked over to the closet to find a clean skirt and shirt. Black seemed to be the color of the day, as all Ginny could find was a short, flared black skirt. But no shirt. Padma must've stole my shirts, Ginny thought. She was standing in front of the closet, digging through it when Ron stepped in.
"Hey, Ron, have you seen any of my shirts?" she asked, her voiced muffed.
He came up beside her and poked his head inside the closet. "I don't see any in here."
"I know, that's why I'm looking," asked Ginny, pulling herself out of the closet and walking over to the chair. Clothes were piled on top of it, making sitting on it impossible. Maybe she could find one here. "Aha! I guess I'll wear green today!" crowed Ginny, shrugging on the green satin halter. She turned to her brother, ready to ask how she looked, only to see him laying down in the top bunk bed. "Are you feeling ok?" He waved her off, so she turned to the mirror to apply several make-up charms. While she liked her features the way they were, most male customers liked red, full lips and long, black lashes.
Studying her made-up face, Ginny decided she'd spent enough time getting ready and headed out the door. Once she made it down the stairs, she heard Fred saying, "And here, one of our waitresses will show you to your table." Another night had begun.

"I need three Firewhiskeys and two Liquid Curses," Ginny told George. He pulled out a tray and five glasses then began to pour the liquor. She moaned and rubbed at her ankles. The stupid heels she had to wear were killing her; she was convinced that when she died, it would be because of these hideous spikes. And I don't even need them, I'm tall enough, she complained silently, cursing the fact that men thought stilettos were sexy.

"Gin," whispered George, "I think eighteen looks promising, he's had three Firewhiskeys already, been eyeing you all evening. The room's empty and stocked." She looked over at table eighteen, a table meant for two tucked away next to the wall. Antonin Dolohov sat there alone. Old and gross, she thought, it figures.
"Yeah, I've noticed. You think he knows something?" she asked George, who nodded.
"I've seen him with Mulciber and Rookwood, both wizards that gave us good info, so yeah."
"Gee, thanks George for being so fucking enthusiastic, I appreciate it," growled Ginny before grabbing a key to one of the rooms on the second floor hidden under the bar. She plastered a sexy smile on her face and sauntered over to Dolohov's table with another drink. "Here you go, darling. Is there anything else you want tonight?" she asked, sitting down opposite from Dolohov and leaning across the table, making sure he got a good view down her shirt.
"By anything, do you mean yourself?" he asked with a disgusting, leering look on his fat face.
Forcing her mind to keep still, Ginny nodded, reaching inside her bra for the key she'd just tucked in there. She held it across the table, but pulled it back when Dolohov reached for it, drawling, "I don't know if I can do this."
"Oh, understand me, I can make it worth your while," assured Dolohov, dropped several galleons on the table. "That's just for now, sweetie, just to reserve the room. I'll give you the rest when we're up there."
"That's good enough for me," answered Ginny, picking up the galleons with one hand while dropping the key into his outstretched palm with the other. "Give me a minute to clear a few tables."
"Yes, yes, that's good, very good," he mumbled, looking around now. Ginny smiled coyly and got up, knowing Dolohov was nervous because he didn't want any of his fellows to see him soliciting female company in the restaurant. It was the dirty side to working under the Death Eaters, thought Ginny while she carried a tray back to the bar, they liked the good food, expensive liquor, sexy waitresses, and oh yeah, a side of prostitution would be nice also.
"Padma! I'll be gone for a while, think you three can handle it?" she asked the other girl, who was looking a little gray.
"Sure, we're fine, and if not, I'll just get Ron to cover me while I crash in the kitchen," she said. Ginny nodded and walked over to the front staircase. This one led to the rooms on the second floor they kept for prostitution purposes, whereas the hidden stairs behind the bar only led to the staff's bedrooms. Resisting the urge to look for Ron, Ginny swayed her hips and walked up to the second floor.

Hesitating before the door, Ginny tried to care, tried to summon up some feeling that made her question what she was about to do, but she'd stopped caring a while ago. This was just a part of her life that she had learned to separate from the rest of her.
"Hello, hello," she said as she entered the room. Dolohov was waiting on the bed, holding one of the champagne glasses.
Briefly her hopes rose up-maybe he would want something to drink first, then she wouldn't have to do this, could just get her information and leave-but no, her hopes crashed and burned as he said, his voice turning oily with lust, "I think I'd like a blow job, then maybe some champagne. I'm sorry, but I simply don't have time for anything else, I've got to rush to this meeting."
Masking her disappointment by hooking her fingers around her halter strap, Ginny said, "That's fine with me. Would you like.?" When Dolohov nodded, she slithered out of the green shirt, the satin material sliding smoothly and contrasting with her creamy skin. She knew from what Neville had told her one night when they were completely trashed that her complexion was enough to make some guys get hard just by imagining how she tasted and felt. That was a good night, she reflected. Think about that night instead of what you're doing now.
"Like this?" she asked, stepping out of her skirt and standing in front of Dolohov, licking her lips.
"Yes," he groaned, unsure of whether to stand up or remain seated. Ginny decided for him, kneeling with her head between his legs. She reached up freckled hands to caress his face, moving slowly down his chest, until she reached the indecent bulge within his trousers. Confident this wouldn't take long, she unzipped his pants and began to tease with her fingers and mouth.
While sucking on Dolohov's wrinkled dick, she tried to keep her mind clear by remembering that night with Neville. He was such a wonderful person, didn't deserve losing his parents, his grandmother, and this depressing life, but somehow he always had a smile for her. At least he doesn't have to deal with perverted creeps every night, she thought, although this guy is at least traditional, thinking back to last week when Walden MacNair only wanted to watch her and Cho nibble on each other. That had been a test of self-control; Ginny hadn't known who was going to bust out laughing first, her or Cho.
At least she knew that working in the kitchen was a relatively safe job for Neville. She didn't think she could bear it if Neville died or was captured by the Death Eaters because of his connections to the Resistance. And he was always so sweet to her, boyish and shy, but sweet. That was a fun night. The bar had been closed and everyone else was asleep. They'd bumped into each other in the kitchen and decided to share a bottle of Liquid Curse to keep bad dreams away. For hours they'd challenged each other to drink more shots than the other, to sing songs without messing up the lyrics, and then they just talked about everything. Ginny realized suddenly that was the last time she'd really laughed. And they'd stumbled up the stairs and gone to their separate rooms without so much as an innocent kiss between them. Maybe that was why Ginny liked Neville so much. He knew what she did every night, he knew what all the girls did. And like everyone in the staff, he hated it, but understood that it was a necessary evil. So he made sure to completely respect Ginny. Neville was always a gentleman around her, being careful not to say anything lewd or touch her in any way. He treated her like the lady he saw her as, instead of the slut that she had become. Ginny swallowed hard, and pulled away from Dolohov, turning around to go get the champagne to cover up the tears that had sprung in her eyes.
"Would you like something to drink now?" she asked, pouring the bubbly liquid and carrying the glasses back over to the bed, making sure to sit by the headboard.
"Sweetie, can I call you lover-lips?" asked Dolohov, chuckling weakly as he zipped up his trousers and pulled out his moneybag.
"You can call me anything you want to," said Ginny, "but if you don't pay me." she pouted, turning her frown into an exaggerated grin when Dolohov dumped a pile of money on the bed between them.
"All yours, toots. Now let me have that champagne." She handed him his glass, pretending to sip, watching Dolohov swallow the liquid, waiting the necessary time until she knew the veritiserum that had already been placed in the champagne had taken effect. Then she reached behind the headboard and pulled out a wand, uttering a binding spell that caused thin cords to snake around Dolohov's arms and legs.
"What-what're you doing? If you think this is some sort of kinky gag, think again missy!" he sputtered.
"Shut up!" Ginny snarled, sick of this disgusting creep. "I'm asking the questions, you're going to answer them, or I'll take your pitiful dick and slice it off with this," she said, pulling out a knife from under the bed. Dolohov gulped and shut his mouth. Pleased that something would be going right, she grinned wickedly and said, "Now why don't you begin by telling about that meeting you have to rush off to?"

Ron walked in behind his sister into the kitchen, closing the door after the cat that adopted them scurried in, probably hoping for scraps. They were the last to arrive; everyone else was already seated and tucking into dinner. He sat down and picked up his fork, wondering if he was hungry enough to eat or if he could just pick at his food like he did most nights. After stealing a sidelong glance at Ginny, still in her waitress getup, Ron decided that playing with his food was the plan for tonight. Again.
"Well, guys, what have we got tonight?" said Fred, initiating their nightly meeting, pulling out a quill and parchment to take notes. The staff always gathered after the bar was closed for the night to eat and discuss any news, rumors, or events they had heard about during their shift. And Fred always took notes, no matter how mundane the news.
"Hey, where's Cho?" asked Ginny, raising a concerned face to look around the table.
Padma shrugged and said, "I saw her go into our room, maybe she wanted to change first. Not all of us can sit in twenty pounds of underwear like you can, Ginny dear." Padma had already rushed upstairs to change into an old bathrobe, slightly ratty but still in good shape. Ginny stuck her tongue out at Padma and resumed eating.
"I heard from the bar chatter that a couple of the younger Death Eaters are getting pretty bored," offered George. He didn't look up, but kept his gaze trained on his sandwich in front of him. "That they're getting restless with no one to beat up at night, seeing as they're not supposed to terrorize the law-abiding populace like us."
"What are you not saying?" said Ron, knowing that his brother was holding something back.
George shifted in his chair, uncomfortable. "Maybe I heard a few guys talking about wanting more action, willing to face the heat from the boss in order to have some fun. Maybe the words 'muggle' and 'sport' were mentioned in the same sentence.that's all I have to say, really, just a bunch of drunk, young hot shots running their mouths."
"They were probably just voicing their own desires," said Padma, her face tightened with worry. Ron knew the feeling. "Muggle" and "sport" were two words that in a moral world, did not belong together. But in this world, who knew?
"You could be right, but perhaps George heard a rumor of something that's going to become reality," said Fred thoughtfully. "We'll have to watch out for this one."
"But you mean that they might start hunting muggles for sport or something!" exclaimed Neville, the disgust and terror on his face matching most everyone's in the room. Ernie MacMillon and Elois Midgen, the other two cooks, looked green. Ron peered at everyone's faces. There weren't many here tonight, just him, the twins, Ginny, Padma, Cho but she was upstairs, and the three who worked the kitchens. The rest of the Resistance would show up for their sometimes-weekly meeting, as they worked at different places. It is incredible, actually, thought Ron, that we manage to run the entire restaurant mostly with only nine people. Angelina worked here when she stopped by, so did Lee Jordan. They were both free- lancers, roaming the countryside, looking for support against the Death Eaters. When they needed to lie low, this was the place to do it. And having Angelina home always put Fred in a better mood, which made him nicer to everyone else.
"I heard something interesting," said Ginny in a low voice. Fred caught her eye and she continued talking. "From Dolohov, tonight, he told me under veritiserum that someone inside the castle has been working on this new tracking spell."
"That's not news," grumbled Fred, but Ginny cut him off.
"Not like an ordinary tracking spell that takes a lot of time and effort to prepare, that the person being tracked can feel the spell from the moment it hits them, and not like the ordinary spells in that it wears off quickly. No, this spell's special. Been worked on for a year. A whole fucking year." She paused to take a bite of her sandwich. Everyone waited in silence for her to finish chewing and swallow. "This spell can be put on a person with them only feeling a slight tingle, nothing noticeable. And it lasts for as long as the spell-caster wants it too. And it's more advanced, can give audio data continuously as well as movement."
"Who's working on it? When will it be ready for the Death Eaters to use? How does this guy know about it?" Fred rattled off his questions.
"Dolohov didn't know who made it, I questioned him thoroughly, and I don't believe he's got the strength to fight veritiserum as well as take threats about bodily harm," sighed Ginny. "So I couldn't find out who's the evil genius. If Dolohov didn't know, then it must be a highly secretive thing, even within their own ranks. And all he could tell me was that it should be ready within a month for use."
"This is horrible!" cried Ernie. "If this works, then the Death Eaters could track anyone, find out all their movements, listen to everything!"
"Any one of us could be tracked, and then they'd know all about this," said Neville mournfully.
"Let's not panic yet," said Ron. "We don't know if this is all true, or a bunch of Death Eater rumors inside their own castle. We just have to wait and see." His words calmed everyone down, but for the rest of the meeting faces looked tense and worried.
"Yeah, well, while we're waiting about that, today's owl post contained our monthly bills," said Fred. "And I've looked over our finances."
"And we're short again, aren't we?" accused Ginny.
"Yeah."
"I don't understand how this happens!" moaned Neville, placing his head in his hands. Eloise patted his shoulder, looking sympathetic.
"We all knew that this place would be expensive. It's the location, I think, that's cost us so much," said Fred. "Just how much, I didn't realize when we started."
Ron turned to look at Cho. "It's all those lamps that you bought last month, isn't it? That's why we're short this time?"
"They were necessary! They fit in so well, really give the place a classy-look," defended Cho, glaring at Ron. "As I told you when I bought them, with money I earned, classy is the look we want and need if this place will ever make money."
"Just the other day I heard someone say how much they liked the lamps," piped up Ernie. Cho smiled warmly at him before turning back to Ron and flashing him a triumphant grin.
"But still, all this money we spend on getting the restaurant to look 'classy' and we still don't have the business we need," said Ron. "It's not that I'm against your lamps, I'm just against not making money."
"I think we all do the best we can," Fred interrupted. "The under- the-table profits we get should get us through this month."
"Yeah, it's not our fault that we've been assaulted by Death Eater tax collectors who've swarmed on us in excess numbers every years," said Padma. She laughed. "And I though paying Hogwarts' tuition was bad. This is just ridiculous. The minute we make any money, along comes another stupid fee to pay."
"Remember when we thought the old Ministry was corrupt, Fred?" asked Ron. "And Cornelius Fudge was the worst thing since anti-cheating spells on O.W.L.s?"
"If only we had Fudge back instead of these greedy madmen in charge," Cho said. "I'm sure he'd love 'The Last Chance'!"
"For what? The food, the drinks, or the service?" teased Ginny.
"Definitely the service!" Cho and Ginny crowed, laughing together. Ron caught Neville's eye and they both grinned. It was not hard to imagine the dead Minister of Magic frequenting their restaurant at all.
It was past four in the morning when Fred said, "Ok, that's enough grumbling, let's all get some sleep." He left, quickly followed by everyone else. They trooped up together to the third floor and separated into their respective rooms. Ron ducked into his room, but saw Ginny continue down the hall.
"Where are you going?" he asked.
"Cho's room. I want to make sure she's ok," his sister said. Briefly Ron wondered where Padma was, but saw the bathroom light on and realized she must be in there. He shrugged and closed the door, pulling off his shirt before crawling up to his bed.

Knocking softly on Cho and Padma's door, Ginny said, "Cho? You ok? Can I come in?" After a muffled response that she took as a "yes," Ginny eased the door open and stepped inside, turning to make sure she closed the door behind her. When she turned around, she gasped.
Cho was sitting on her bed, with an ugly bruise across her jawbone. She'd been crying, for her eyes were puffy and her make-up smudged. Still in her waitress uniform, surrounded by crumpled tissues, Cho looked so miserable that Ginny's heart died a little. It hurt to see her friend so upset.
"Who did this?" she said, sitting beside Cho to touch her bruise.
The other girl winced, saying, "Just some asshole, thought he'd get smart with me. I blasted him, then wiped his memory, spilled some liquor and hopefully he'll just think he passed out."
"Let me fix it for you," said Ginny, reaching over to the dresser for Cho's wand. "Why didn't you get it yourself?"
"I didn't think of doing that. I was just so upset when I got here, couldn't stop crying." sniffled Cho.
Muttering a healing spell, Ginny watched as the bruise purpled and faded a bit. "Well, it's mostly ok, but you'll need to wear concealer tomorrow." Setting the wand down, she put a comforting arm around Cho's shoulders. "Now why don't you just tell why you're so upset?"
"You'll think I'm such a moron!" wailed Cho, burying her face in her hands. "I just stood there and let that guy hit me, thinking that I must deserve this somehow, that I must be defective, worthless, I must be, or why wouldn't George pay attention to me?" Gin sucked her breath in, knowing that Cho had been after her brother for awhile, but unsure of what had happened between them. "George just ignores me, like he ignores everyone. I can't take it! What's wrong with your brother, Ginny, what's wrong with him that he won't even look at me? I think I've fallen for him and he won't spare me a glance," she finished, sobbing. "I suppose it's because he thinks I'm a slut, which I am, and that I have no business falling in love," Cho cried bitterly.
Ginny handed her another tissue, then said, "George is an idiot. We all know this. He's just closed himself off from everyone, including his twin. It's just his way of protecting himself. I'm sure he doesn't think you're an unfeeling whore, Cho, anymore than he thinks that of me." Here she paused, thinking of how her once so mischievous and outgoing brother had retreated into himself since all this had happened. "Just.just give him time, ok? I'll talk to him, if you want?" she offered, but Cho waved her away.
"No, don't, please? That would just make him feel threatened. I'll- figure something out," said Cho. "Thanks."
"No problem, us whores got to stick together, right?" said Ginny, offering a wry smile with their running joke. They laughed weakly then Ginny got up, telling Cho to get some sleep. She left her room and retreated to the one she shared with Ron. It was more of a comfort thing, to share a room with her brother. They were both alone, didn't have anyone special to live with, so they had opted to room together. That way, when one of them was pissed off, the other didn't care. Likewise, when Ginny wanted to talk at night, Ron could join in or ignore her without offending her.
"What was wrong with Cho?" asked Ron as soon as she'd closed the door.
Blowing out her breath exasperatedly, Ginny said, "Some guy hit her and Cho thinks it's all because she's worthless and George doesn't love her because she's a slut." She stripped out of her skirt, shirt, and underwear in the darkness. Tonight she was going to sleep naked, because she wanted to. That always felt nice, especially when she locked the door, as she did now.
"Sleeping in the nude again, sister dear?" came Ron's amused voice. She smacked his arm, which hung down over the top bunk. "Ouch! So Cho's seriously after George? Really?"
"Apparently, seeing as she'd cried herself to pieces about the fact that George's social life is equivalent to a garden gnome and won't even look twice at her, despite the fact that he ignores all of us equally." Anger had seeped into her voice. Yeah, George had lost people he loved, but so did they all. At least he doesn't have to use his body every night to get to the secrets that had kept us all alive and safe from the Death Eaters. At least he isn't a slut, she thought, familiar anger and bitterness coursing through her. It wasn't fair, it wasn't right, she hated it, but this was just how her life had worked out. It's not my fault I can fake an orgasm and look decent in a garter belt, she thought with a touch of bitter humor, trying to relax and not dwell on the miserable life she'd been forced into.
Brother and sister lay in silence for a while, long enough that Ginny thought Ron had fallen asleep, until he whispered, "Do you still believe that we'll ever change this?"
She knew was he was talking about. Did she believe that the Resistance would ever topple Voldemort, that their pathetic group of spies would uncover something useful, that what she and they had given up was worth it? "No."
"Me too," said Ron. Those words lay in the darkness between them, growing bigger and bigger, until Ginny felt she was going to be suffocated by their admission that they'd both lost hope, until Ron continued, saying, "I think I lost it when Hermione died."
Ginny felt tears prick at her closed eyelids. She knew that Ron had loved Hermione in the days before Voldemort had conquered everything, but also that he'd never gotten a chance to do anything about it. And then they'd watched her getting dragged away by Death Eaters to an execution squad-no wonder Ron was so quiet now, silently cutting away at himself. "I'm so sorry that it had to be like this," she said, hoping to offer some comfort that she knew Ron would shove away.
"I am too, Gin." She heard Ron turning in his bed above her, preparing to go to sleep. "Night," he said, before the silence enveloped their room and Ginny lay naked in her bed, under her sheets, trying to calm her mind enough to sleep.

It was a little past sunrise. The building was quiet. Everyone was asleep, except for Ron. He stood at one end of the hallway, throwing his knife across to the door of the bathroom. He'd throw it, then walk down, seventeen precise steps, yank the blade out of the wooden door, then walk back seventeen steps to throw it again. The regularity of these motions soothed his mind, offered him a blanket of emptiness to relax his mind when he couldn't sleep. Lately, he'd been replaying the last day before he was sent to the prison camp, before everything changed. Inside the chambers of his mind, Ron heard Hermione screaming in horror as Dementors swarmed inside the Great Hall at Hogwarts, he saw Death Eaters laughing with comic delight as students ran shrieking from the various dark creatures Voldemort had brought with him as his army, banshees screaming, beautiful veelas transforming into viscous birds and attacking whoever was nearest, trolls smashing apart the tables and windows, the confusion becoming too much to process, shouts and curses filling the air, green light flashing, feeling panic flow through his blood, gripping his wand tight, knowing with certainty it was over before they'd had a chance.
Ron usually didn't bother to sleep through his memories, but got up quietly so Ginny could sleep and went into the hallway. At least there he could ignore the huge empty hole inside him, that used to be filled with his parents and Percy and Charlie and Bill and Hermione and Harry, that was now empty and gaping like a bleeding eye socket, ugly and unfixable.
He'd just turned around to face the bathroom door again when he heard the side door in the kitchen scrap open. Since he knew everyone who lived here was asleep, Ron assumed it was an uninvited guest. Gripping his knife in a more secure position, he moved silently down the stairs. He saw the outline of a figure standing in front of the fireplace. Creeping up behind it, he grabbed the person around the neck and flicked his blade to the delicate skin of her throat.
"Scream and you're dead," he hissed into her ear.
"Honestly, Ron, I'm surprised you haven't killed off anyone yet, with your jumpy nerves," said the figure. He blinked in surprise, but let go and backed off. Angelina Johnson spun around to glare at him. "You must have the reincarnated soul of Mad-Eye Moody-although that wouldn't make sense.he was still alive when you were born. You must be possessed by Mad- Eye then!" she said, triumphant in her use of illogic.
"I didn't know you'd be back," said Ron, running a hand through his short hair, spiking it up with his fingers. Obviously Angelina was done roaming the countryside for now. Ron wondered if she had anything important to share or if she just needed a bath and a few regular meals.
"Wondering if I'm here as a freeloader or if I'll pay my way this time?" said Angelina, correctly guessing his thoughts.
"I'm not that cynical," protested Ron, but Angelina laughed.
"You're too cute, Ron, really! I know you're just worried about everything, the Resistance, the restaurant, everything. And for your information," she said, leaning forward with a conspirator look in her eye, "I do have something extremely juicy to tell you guys."
"Really? Like what? You've bought some new exotic underwear to tease Fred with later? That's hardly news," scoffed Ron, enjoying how quickly Angelina turned red. It was useful knowing people's weaknesses, even though everyone knew that Fred and Angelina were madly in love. And lust, attested Neville and George, who shared the room next to Fred's room when Angelina stayed here.
"Shut up, you. You know, you'd be less grumpy if you'd get laid on a regular basis," said Angelina too casually. Ron scowled at her, knowing that she wanted him to find a girl and attempt to become normal. She was too much like an older sister figure sometimes. An older sister who slept with his brother. Urgh. Maybe like a sister-in-law who slept with his brother, yeah, that made more sense.
"You were saying?" said Ron, steering the conversation back to where he wanted it to go.
"Yeah. Have you guys heard about anything big coming up here?" Ron shook his head. "Didn't think so. I just found out a day ago, out by the Malfoy's private estate, in their cozy village. He's planning some huge shin-dig to take place at the castle," Angelina said, mentioning Voldemort's castle that served as headquarters for his evilness and for the entire Death Eater government. "A huge party. I'm talking, everyone evil, was ever evil, even in a past life, invited, gowns, liquor, cakes with dancing girls, the works."
Ron asked, "Cakes with dancing girls?"
"Yeah, you know, the kind that girl pops out of the top of the cake and she dances around in skimpy underwear?" At Ron's incredulous look, Angelina sighed and said, "Ok, maybe Death Eaters don't go for that sort of thing, but anyway, it's gonna be big, I'm telling you. Big enough to warrant them hiring lots of extra help. That extra help could be us."
"We could get inside?" asked Ron, ideas starting to spark in his head. "Us? The Resistance? Inside headquarters?"
"Yeah, and who knows what we could do once we're inside," Angelina joined in excitedly. "If we only had a plan."
"I could plan," said Ron.
"Thought so." They stared at each other, Ron's eyes becoming glazed over until Angelina thumped him on the back. "You think about it, I'm going to go get me my welcome from George. See you later."
"Uh-huh," Ron mumbled, sinking into a chair, knowing that Angelina would go upstairs, wake Fred up, probably get her enthusiastic welcome, then tell him what she had just told him. This fantastic piece of news. They could use this, turn it into an offensive strike against the Death Eaters, work it to hurt them. Ron pulled out his knife and carefully sliced the skin on his palm, vowing to see Death Eater blood flow soon.

"I wish you wouldn't do that," said Ginny as she sat beside Ron in the kitchen. They were gathering for their weekly Resistance meeting, probably to discuss how many drinks Ludo Bagman had and their tip earnings, although tonight he actually had something relatively important to tell everyone.
"I know," Ron answered, not moving his eyes from the thin red squiggle he'd made down the length of this forearm.
"It's not healthy," said Ginny half-heartedly, plucking at the worn edge of her jumper. It was actually his, Ron thought briefly, before he decided he didn't care whose jumper Ginny wore.
Resisting the urge to roll his eyes, Ron just said, "It doesn't get infected, doesn't even scar. I just use some murtlap essence and ploob-a- doof, healthy skin again." It was an old argument, one he'd had too many times with his sister to count, so they just recited their lines now without much feeling.
"Whatever," mutter Ginny, slouching in her chair. Ron looked up from his arm, putting aside his knife to look at his sister. She looked tired, but that was normal. Peering closer, he noticed a faint red mark on her temple. When she noticed his gaze, she flushed and whispered, "It's nothing. Be quiet, everyone's here."
Indeed everyone was there. The whole group, Ron thought wryly, managed to fit around the kitchen table. It didn't say much for their Resistance if the group consisted of around twenty people, give or take a few. But it was hard to keep a group when they didn't do much. Tonight that's going to change, he thought, watching Fred stand up.
"Contrary to our normal meetings, I have actual news for us all tonight," began Fred, waiting for people to shut up about their drinks and pay attention. "A chance for us to boost business for the restaurant as well as do some damage."
"Huh? You mean, like an actual mission? Is that what you're talking about?" said Cho, a doubting grin on her face.
"Yeah right," said Michael Coroner, "we haven't done anything remotely related to a mission since this group was put together."
"That's not fair," snapped Ginny. "We smuggled the Bones family out of England last year, and then earlier we harassed the Death Eater prison guards enough to set some prisoners free." But she trailed off. Two almost- successes didn't really count as evidence that their resistance group wasn't a failure. Ron thought, this is going to be different though, this time we can do it. All we've needed was the right time and opportunity.
"Patience and you will find out, Michael. We do mean a mission of deadly force, with the initial tip-off from the lovely Angelina and plans constructed by none other than Ron Weasley himself. But let me fill you in," said Fred, taking over the meeting with the grace and charm that made him most useful at their bartender. People would tell their bartender things that they wouldn't tell their spouses. Speaking quickly but eloquently, Fred filled everyone in on the grand party planned at Voldemort's castle and the need for caterers, bartenders, and serving help.

"This is our chance we've been waiting for. Once we get inside, we're in the perfect position to do something, sabotage that fucking castle, hurt the bastards!" finished Fred, shaking his fist in the air.
Neville raised his voice, asking, "What about wands? I'm sure the Death Eaters will take those away from us?"
"And what are we going to do anyhow? We don't have a floor plan of the castle, we don't know who's going to be there-just what are you planning here?" added Justin Fitch-Fletchley, looking more concerned than trying to be a deliberate ass.
Ron was impressed with the questions-it showed that these people weren't slowly rotting away into the mindless citizens Voldemort wanted. There still are freethinking witches and wizards left, Ron thought cheerfully as he carefully sliced a spiral into his skin. The red curves across his arm glowed in the candlelight. The pain he felt from cutting himself was a good kind of pain. It was what he needed to keep going every day, to remind him to live when it hurt to wake up and see Death Eaters flirting with his sister, putting their filthy hands on her legs, tucking money into her shirt.
He stopping thinking about that when Fred said, "That's where you all come in. Now we have something to search for, something to pay attention to. Everyone who works in the restaurant can keep their ears and eyes open for any news about the castle, the party, who's going, what shoes they're wearing, everything." Ginny sunk even lower into her chair. Ron noticed that Cho and Padma had also fallen suit. He knew why too. They weren't looking forward to searching out any information, but they'd do it, they'd put up with disgusting creeps to get any tidbit that would be useful for the Resistance.
"And once we get more information, Ron here will put his genius mind to work crafting us a plan," finished Fred. "We all know how Ron is at chess," he said with a small grin. Everyone knew that Ron, already good at chess while he was still at school, had mastered the game of strategy since then to become a ruthless adversary. Fred often bragged about Ron's ability and sometimes they'd won very large bets against foolish wizards, robbing them ruthlessly of their money, for who would believe that this tall, lanky wizard with short, spiked red hair in the combat boots, torn jeans, and black shirts he wore during his off hours was a chess genius?
While Ron continued to work at his arm creating a work of art done in skin and blood, everyone around the table slowly processed this incredible news. He heard the girls discussing it quietly, without eagerness but with a grimness that meant they were for the plan regardless of what it meant in their sacrifices. On the other side of him, Oliver and Alicia kept nodding their heads and getting worked up.
"I still don't know how we'd even be able to do this, if we can't get inside with wands," Oliver was saying, shaking his head dolefully.
"They'll beef up the security, probably run checks on all the extra help." said Alicia.
Michael cut her off, saying, "Who knows if we'll even be hired, why would they? We're just a small joint."
"But high class! Isn't that what the top brass like? Lots of money and luxury? Well, that's 'The Last Chance'!" exclaimed Neville, throwing his arms wide to indicate their dingy kitchen, causing some people within hearing distance to laugh.
"I don't know about this," mumbled George from his silent chair he'd been sitting in all evening, his low voice just barely able to be heard over everyone talking. "I just don't think it's worth the risk."
Everyone sat in stunned silence. It was the first time George had ever spoken during a Resistance meeting, as far as Ron could remember, and it was also words that were most un-Weasley-like. Ron wasn't sure he'd heard his once-fearless brother right. After looking at the others' faces, he knew he had. He sat back in his chair, thinking This should be interesting, after seeing the look on Ginny's face.
Starting to shake with rage, Ginny got up, pushed her chair back with one hand, planting the other hand firmly on the tabletop. "Did I hear you right, George? Did you just say to us that you don't think this is a good idea? That you don't think we should take this risk?"
Without looking at her, George said, "That's right, I don't. Why work this hard for years only to waste it all getting killed in a suicide mission that won't work?"
"Where do you get off spouting this kind of crap?" yelled Ginny, slamming her palms flat on the table, not noticing how everyone jumped. "Jesus, George, you don't think it's worth the risk of dying to get a shot at seriously hurting Voldemort? You don't think that we should take this chance, the only serious chance we've ever had, to do some damage? You don't think we should do something to break up the horrible monotony of our lives, to try to regain some of the Old World back?"
"What's wrong, Georgie boy? Chicken? Scared? Of getting hurt? Dying?" Each word was clipped short and burned with mocking rage. Ginny glared at her brother. Ron realized that she was going to get everything out, was going to say all the things that had been hurting her.
George tried to defend himself, saying, "Yeah, I'm scared, Gin, you'd be a fool if you weren't, but that's not what-"
"I know what you mean," interrupted Ginny. "You're just afraid of living. You're scared to try to do something different," she accused, then said, "You don't think I'm scared? Don't you know that I realize what could happen if we muck this up? Let me tell you something, George. While you sit here all day, polishing your glasses and mixing up drinks for these lovely patrons of ours, I sell my body every night so that we can maybe learn something that will help us keep our skins alive and to keep this restaurant open. Do you have any idea how much that hurts?" she asked, her voice cracking. George could only stare at her wordlessly as the blood drained from his face. Ron looked away from his sister. He knew what she did and why she did it, but it shamed him to think how desperate they'd become since the world changed. It was only one more thing for Voldemort to pay for, in a long list that the Dark Lord would never get to see because it was always locked up in secret rooms like this one.
"I'll never have that special first with someone, because I lost it all on this," she said, motioning around to them. "To us. The Resistance. Ron's grand idea. Not because I love Ron, but because I try to believe that we might one day have a chance to do something great. I still believe that good will triumph over evil, I just don't know when." Ginny pulled her arms close around her body and stood still, visibly struggling with her self-control. "I know what you want, George, I understand. You see, I want it too. I want to die with Mom and Dad and Percy and Charlie and Bill. I want to die with them so I wouldn't have to be here right now, making these choices. Every day when I get up and every night when I go to bed I wish to all the stars in the sky that I had died four years ago instead of living, because living's too hard."
Reaching an impatient hand up to swipe away her tears, she talked through the salty shower, "It's hard for all of us, but you need to start living again. You hide yourself every day in that bar, although you never touch a drop. You've just lost yourself inside your head, instead of reaching out and becoming stronger with us. Well, you want to die so much," Ginny said, her voice changing and becoming angry again, "why don't you just do it?"
She pulled out her dagger from her waist and flipped it over handle- first to George. "Either take this dagger, right now, and shove it into your heart and end your misery, or tell me that you were mistaken, that you'll shut your mouth and go along with our plan." Ginny's angry brown eyes stared into George's eyes, large and white with fear. He blinked, looking from the dagger to his sister's face. "Come on, George, make a decision," she mocked, wiggling the silver blade between them.
Ron glanced quickly around the room to catch everyone else's' reaction. They were all intensely watching the scene unfold before them, as if they all sensed something important was happening. Fred's upper lip curled into what Ron thought was a lopsided smile. He knows what's going to happen, thought Ron.
George gulped and said shakily, "I was wrong, you-you're right, we should take this chance."
Ginny pulled the dagger back and put it away, looking relieved. Then she just looked lost, now that she had won her fight. Ron gave George a look, then turned his eyes back to the table as George hugged Ginny close, ignored the sobbing noises she made, and tried to think of another genius plan.

It was a slow day at the bar. Ron had been polishing the black tabletops for an hour, watching the rag move lazily across the gleaming surfaces in hypnotic circles. He didn't have anything else to do, so he cleaned the tables and the bar counter. The girls sat at one of the tables playing exploding snap, careful to keep their shouts of excitement low. Their only customers, two old ladies, were holed up in one of the private booths with a bottle of vodka with strict orders not to be disturbed. Yes, it was a very slow day indeed.
He had just put away the cleaning rag and grabbed a broom when he heard the sound of the door opening and someone entering. "I'd like to speak with the manager," said a cold, cultured voice that Ron couldn't place.
While he turned around, he said, "I'll be right back, s-" The "sir" Ron was about to say got stuck in his throat when he saw that the person speaking was Draco Malfoy, standing in his restaurant, looking every inch the Death Eater that he was. Swallowing back any rash words Ron might have said, he repeated, "I'll go get Fred Weasley for you. If you'll wait inside the bar?"
"What, don't have anything nice to say to your old school nemesis, Weasley, or did someone cut out your tongue?" sneered Malfoy, almost half- heartedly, shrugging out of his cloak and hanging it up on the rack beside the door. Ron held Malfoy's gaze for a few seconds, the turned to find Fred.
Once he was out of the bar and out of sight from Malfoy, Ron sagged against the wall, taking several deep breaths. I haven't seen Malfoy in years, he thought, but I still want to see him dead.
Running a hand through his hair, Ron pushed off the wall and walked to the door of Fred's office. He knocked, then opened the door, saying, "Fred," and paused. He'd walked in on his brother and Angelina snogging on his desk. Apparently they'd been going at it for some time now, judging from how many things had gotten knocked onto the floor. "Draco Malfoy wants to see-uh, he wants to see you, now, ok?" he finished, watching Fred and Angelina look at him, then disentangle themselves.
"Malfoy? Really?" repeated Fred, straightening his clothes and walking out the door before he poked his head back inside the office to say to Angelina, "Sorry, I'll, er, see you later," before scurrying off to play manager.
Ron looked at Angelina, who had gotten off the desk and was attempting to fix her hair. "Glad to be back?" he asked lightly.
"Always," she answered with a wink before leaving for the kitchen.
Deciding it wasn't a good idea to hang out in Fred's office in case Malfoy had business to discuss, Ron walked back into the bar in time to hear Fred say, "If you'll follow me, sir, we can go into my office and discuss this in private?"
"Of course," muttered Malfoy, following Fred to the back.
Ron watched them go, mentally trying to relax his fingers from the broom handle. It wasn't working, but at least he hadn't made a fool of himself. The last time Ron had been stupid enough to open his mouth and suggest some foul things for a Death Eater to do instead of be a grown-up bully, he'd found himself in an alley, covered in blood. After limping home and bearing the full brunt of Ginny's wrath while she'd fixed him up, Ron had made a decision to keep his mouth shut from now on. He didn't even want to see Ginny that mad at him again-nor did he want to give a Death Eater an excuse to kill him and make the Weasley family short one more son.

The girls had stopped playing Exploding Snap and were listening to the silence, hoping to grasp a snatch of conversation between Malfoy and George, even though they couldn't possibly hear anything from here. Ron didn't like them in here, so he told them to go get something to eat from the kitchen while there weren't any customers to take care of. He just didn't want them so close to Malfoy, didn't want to give that cold-hearted bastard a chance to leer at his sister, or Cho and Padma, whom he viewed as adopted sisters.
But Ron stayed in the bar, sweeping the floor, straightening chairs, and moving behind the counter to clean up non-existent messes. He wanted to be out here when Malfoy left so he could talk to Fred. After half-an- hour, Ron heard two sets of footsteps coming toward the bar.
"I'm very pleased you have considered us, Mr. Malfoy," Ron heard Fred saying.
As they came into view, Malfoy sneered, "I'm sure you're quite grateful for the business this will provide your fine establishment."
"Yes, that too," chuckled Fred. Ron could see him acting casual and friendly. "Would you like a drink before you leave? On the house?"
"No. I have other matters to attend to. An owl will arrive later with more details." Malfoy pulled on his cloak and opened the door. "Good day."
"And good day to you!" said George cheerfully as Malfoy left. Once he was gone, Fred's smile stayed. Ron was confused now, and it must have showed on his face for Fred patted him on the back, saying, "Everything's perfect now!"
"How do you mean?" said Ron slowly, wondering if his brother was all right.
"Apparently there is a huge party going on at the castle. Lucius Malfoy or someone or other is planning to celebrate their four-year anniversary of their defeat of Dumbledore and Harry Potter, so they're hiring extra help. And we're just been hired to help with catering and serving! Isn't this great!" said Fred, clearly struggling to keep his voice down.
Ron smiled too. "Yeah, it is. Now we have our chance."
"Shhh.don't say anything now, but yes, now we do." Fred smiled smugly at Ron, then said, "And you'd better get busy planning, oh genius brother of mine," before running to the kitchen to tell everyone else.

Ginny opened her eyes wearily. It was the third time this week that she'd woken up early, for no reason. She was starting to begrudge her lack of sleep, yet at the same time relished the empty kitchen. Soothing herself with a promise of a luxurious breakfast, Ginny slipped on fuzzy slippers and crept out of her room. She hummed to herself while she walked down the hallway and the stairs, not hearing the voices in the kitchen until she was almost at the door. Puzzled, wondering who was awake at this early hour of noon, Ginny held her ear to the door, then pulled back in surprise as she registered Cho's and George's voices. I should respect their privacy, she thought, but I'm just too curious to be good like that, she smiled mischievously as she put her ear to the door once again.
"Why can't you open up to me?" She heard Cho's anguished voice coming through the door clearly. "You can't even contemplate this, can you?"
"I can, but I never thought-" George began, but Ginny heard Cho cut him off.
"You never thought that a slut like me could have real feelings, right?"
"No! That's not it, you've got the wrong idea, listen to me!"
Silence with muffled sounds of weeping. Ginny held her breath, willing Cho to swallow her pride and hoping George knew what he was doing.

"I'm listening, all right!"
"Cho, I knew that-well, that you liked me." said George awkwardly. "But I never thought you'd want me, because well, you know, everything you do, why would you want plain old me?"
"Don't you get it, Fred? Jesus, you're so blind sometimes!"
"What do you mean?"
"You think that just because I happen to have sex with a few guys every night in order to drug and interrogate them later I can't fall in love with someone?"
Ginny heard George squawk, "Love?" in a strangled voice before Cho continued.
"Yeah, love, you stupid jerk! I love you, I've fallen for you. What I do in the second floor is just sex, not love, just something that I have to do, like, like brushing my teeth or putting on clothes. It's-oh fuck, you know how Fred is, how he can charm a whole room full of Death Eaters. Do you think he enjoys doing that? Inside, he's aching to kill the whole lot of them. But he pretends like he cares and they believe him. I do the same thing, George, I pretend, I act, I fake every move I make."
"You do?"
"Yeah. It hurts, to shut off like that," laughed Cho. "It hurts so much, so do something so intimate without opening up."
George said in a strained voice, "I can imagine."
"That's what I want to tell you. I want you, George, I need you. I need someone to love me, to make me feel special, to make me feel like a person again. I want to love someone who can make me happy. I want more than mindless sex. I want to make love to you. I want you, but not just your body, your whole self, soul, person, because I love you. And I guess I thought that I could get through the walls you've put up and hope that you could love me too, but if I'm wrong, please," and Ginny heard Cho's voice crack, "please just don't say anything and leave me alone."
A huge silence followed. Ginny could only imagine what was happening in the kitchen. She thought about opening the door a crack, but thought that they would see her and then this moment would be ruined forever by her, and I just can't live with that. Then she heard definite sounds of desperate kissing followed by soft moans. Then conversation interspersed with the sounds of them snogging.
"Cho-I'm so sorry.I never-"
"Shh, it's ok now."
"Do you want."
"Yes, oh yes, but not-"
"Upstairs?"
"My room, Padma's visiting her mother."
With a start, Ginny realized that Cho and George were going to open this door and find her seated on the floor, listening to them. She got up too quickly, put her hand out to steady her spinning head, and took the stairs two at time. I'll hide in the bathroom, no one will be in there now, she thought, managing to get the door mostly closed before she heard George and Cho scramble up the stairs and into Cho's room.
Ginny sat down on the tile floor, wrapping her arms around her knees, filled with a desolate sadness, feeling incredibly envious of George and Cho right now.
She didn't move until one of the cats that hung out in the building rubbed against her legs, begging to be fed. "Hey, baby, hungry? Me too." She pulled open the bathroom door cautiously, then crept down the hall, noticing that Cho's door was still closed and George's shirt lay on the floor. Picking up the damning evidence to tease them later, she pulled it over her head and hurried into the kitchen.
"Omelet?" she asked the cat, who meowed. Ginny summoned eggs, a bowl, mixing spoon, and inside ingredients, then began to make herself a scrumptious omelet she didn't plan on sharing with anyone except the cat.
Twenty minutes later, finished eating the omelet and nursing a cup of tea, Ginny glanced up to see Padma coming in through the side door. "Good morning. How's your mother?"
"Oh, she's ok, got a bit of a cold, but I made her take some Pepperup potion before I left. Anyone else up?" Padma asked, unwrapping herself from the overlarge cloak she had on. It looked like one of the guys', maybe Fred's.
"Uh, not any more," replied Ginny, smiling into her tea.
"Ok, well, I'm going to take a power nap before work," said Padma, crossing the kitchen.
"I think," said Ginny carefully, "that you might want to use my room instead, seeing as Cho and George are in your room at the moment."
"Cho and-and George?" repeated Padma, her mouth making an O in astonishment. "Really?" Ginny nodded. "They finally-?"
"Yup."
"They did it?"
"Uh-huh."
"In my room?"
"Be glad you weren't there."
"This morning? Oh, that's so great!" said Padma, sitting down at the table with Ginny. "You have no idea how much I've had to put up with, Cho's only been moping over George for at least six months. Maybe I can switch rooms with someone now."
"Well, you can keep planning your room switch, but I can't help. I've got to go shopping for us," said Ginny, getting up to put her dished in the sink for someone else to wash.
"Huh? I thought Fred did that?"
"Uh-uh, he's been so busy with planning and working with Malfoy about the extra work that he hasn't had time to go, so I thought I'd do it since I got up early."
"I'll see you later, then."
"Yup, bye," waved Ginny as she pulled on Padma's borrowed cloak and walked out the door. It was cold and rainy outside, so she wrapped herself tighter inside the fuzzy cloth as protection from the outside surroundings.
All of the once cheerful shops that had created Diagon Alley were gone. Ginny had passed this way so often that she barely felt the painful tugs of memory pulling at her heart strings for the shops of old, when people gathered outside just to talk and happy talk could be heard everywhere. Now, as everyone had to support the Death Eaters, they all catered to their dark tastes in magic, books, jewelry, and even ice cream. "Sparkling Stars 'n' Strawberries" no longer existed as an ice cream flavor, as it had been deemed "too indulgent in the foolish fancies of the misguided populace." The ice cream flavor most often eaten by young, evil Death Eater children was "Troll Turds" now. Even the Quidditch shop made Firebolts in black color schemes.
So instead of walking slowly and window shopping, Ginny hurried quickly down the streets that once held so much joyful fascination for much of her youth and now only depressed her. She managed to avoid a trio of Death Eaters on a corner, afraid they might recognize her from the restaurant and offer their rude company on her, and quietly entered the apothecary. Inside she found rows and rows of potions supplies, with the more exotic varieties up front to entice shoppers and the mundane in the back. Grabbing a basket, Ginny worked her way through the store, pausing every now and again to consult the list Fred had conveniently left inside the pocket of the cloak.
The only thing left is beetle eyes, she thought after crossing off feverfew. And that was actually near the counter, she knew, because it was a bargain item. She reached the huge barrel of wings and began scooping them into one of the bags provided. And she couldn't help but overhear a women talking to the man behind the counter, two Death Eaters she noticed with a start, That's Mrs. Lestrange, the evil bitch!
"And I was telling my husband that of course I'm right, I'm always right, right?" The man behind the counter laughed with Mrs. Lestrange. "Of course I am. And I tell you, it's really just a huge joke, don't you think? That we've got some silly fools running around our noses, working their asses off for their pathetic resistance that they think is some huge secret!" They both cawed with laughter, but Ginny didn't hear them. She stopped listening when she heard the word "resistance." Do the Death Eaters know about us? She couldn't tell from the little she'd heard. Thinking quickly, Ginny spilled a scoop of beetle eyes on the floor, then knelt to pick them up. Working very slowly and clumsily, she could hear Mrs. Lestrange talking.
"Yes, of course it is! And do we laugh about it at my parties!" she was telling the other man.
"Have you caught any of them yet?" he asked her.
"No, there's no need to. They're like an infestation of chizpurtles, just let them go about their silly antics and it's much less trouble than if you actually went about destroying them. Right now, seeing as they've proved incompetent enough to cause problems, there's so need to bother." Mrs. Lestrange leaned over the counter to whisper into the man's ear; Ginny had to scoot closer across the floor to hear her. "And if I can tell you something in confidentially, we haven't even bother to figure out who's all in this rebel group, that's how sorry it is!" They both laughed, finding that extremely useful piece of information very funny.
Ginny, on the other hand, felt faint, but stood up and projected calm she didn't feel. She waited in line behind Mrs. Lestrange, who stopped gossiping with that man and left, paid for her purchases, then fled from the store and down the street toward the restaurant, cursing their naïve stupidity the entire way home.

Ron was standing over the sink, sipping at George's coffee while looking over some plans he'd started making for their mission. He winced; the coffee wasn't that good this morning. George must've been distracted, he thought. The parchment he held in his largish hand was covered in sketches and measurements, dates and times, names and places. Not able to read what he'd scribbled in the corner, Ron turned the parchment this way and that, trying to make sense of it.
"I give up!" he sighed, slurping the rest of his coffee and turning to put the empty mug in the sink when the side door burst open. His sister flew into the kitchen, her face and hair dripping wet from the rain. "Hey, Gin, you're soaked, let me-"
"Ron," she gasped, "Ron, I just-found out-something horrible."
He moved over to his sister and helped her into a seat. She was trembling something fierce and now that he was close to her, he could see that her face was flushed as if she'd been running and her breath came in shaky gasps. "Calm down, what's wrong?"
"It's horrible-they're all laughing at us-big joke," she said brokenly, trying to take deep breaths but her chest kept hitching up in dry sobs.
"Gin, wait here, let me go get Fred," said Ron, already rushing out to find his brother. Ginny obviously had heard something to upset her, but she couldn't tell anyone until she calmed down. This way, he could get someone besides just him to listen and give her time to stop freaking out.

"Fred? Hey, Fred, where are you?" he called up the stairs, listening for an answer.
"Mmpffh, not here," came from his room. Ron shook his head while running over and pulled the door open.
"Ginny's just got back from shopping, she's pretty freaked out, I think you need to talk to her," said Ron, shooting his brother an irritated look as Fred pushed a sleepy Angelina off his chest. As he followed Fred and Angelina out into the kitchen, he muttered, "And I thought teenagers were bad-you two are without shame."
"I heard that, boy," said Angelina, poking him in the stomach. "I'm gonna get you-"
"Later," said Fred over his shoulder. He asked, "Ginny, what's wrong?" as soon as he got into the kitchen.
She raised her still-flushed face to them. "I just heard-"
Fred raised his hand. "Where were you?"
"At the apothecary," she said, "and Mrs.-"
"When? Just now?" interrupted Fred again.
"Yes!" snapped Ginny. "If you'll shut up, I can tell you!" Fred merely motioned that she go on. Ginny continued, saying "At the apothecary, just before I got home, on this rainy today-" glaring at Fred, "-I overheard Mrs. Lestrange and that creep behind the counter talking."
"So? I'm sure they were just discussing what type of garlic to torture their resident vampires with," said Angelina, now sitting on the kitchen table.
"No, they weren't!" protested Ginny. "They were talking about us!"
"Surely," began Fred carefully, "surely you mean the restaurant, right?"
"No, I don't," said Ginny, shaking her head wildly. "I mean, they were talking about the resistance!" she finished in a fierce whisper.
"What!" squawked Ron and Fred together. Ron moved in front of his sister and grabbed her arms, trying to remember not to shake her to get answers out of her faster. "They were talking about us? Like, they know about the resistance?"
"Yes," cried Ginny bitterly. "They know all about the resistance, that we're based here, right under the Death Eaters' headquarters, and the fact we don't actually do anything! They think we're a huge joke, something to laugh about at their fancy parties!"
"A joke," repeated Fred in a dazed voice.
"All that we've sacrificed," said Angelina, "just a joke for these rich, fat asses to laugh at."
Ginny just nodded her head sadly. Ron couldn't believe it. The Death Eaters knew about their Resistance? Did they even care? "Gin-do they know who's in it? Do they have our names? Are we in danger right now?"
"No, they don't even know who we are," she answered, "but it's not because they can't find out, it's just too much work to bother, seeing as we're such a threat and all."
"They have almost caught me a few times," said Angelina slowly, "if not for some tip-offs you've provided me."
"Thanks for being nice, but that's not a threat big enough to get us out of joke status," said Ginny, glowering at the floor.
"True," said Ron, thinking about the parchment covered with ink he'd left beside the sink, feeling his brain detach itself from his rage-filled body and enter a cool, logical place filled with imagination and magic. "That's true, but not for long. We've got the advantage-the Death Eaters don't bother to take us seriously, so they won't be looking for us very hard. Not now, and not before the party. So if we play it safe, like we've been doing," he said with a wry smile, "if I come up with a badass plan, we could hurt them like they've never been hurt because they won't be expecting it."
"The element of surprise," added Angelina, her initial look of shock fading to be replaced by something stubborn. "You're right, if we play our cards right, we could walk away with the house."
"I can be right sometimes," said Ron in a pretend-hurt voice, already tuning the conversation out. He wanted to get away from everyone now, hole himself up in his room, and let ideas come to him, dancing amid memories of dead friends, wearing their beloved faces on white skeletons, enticing him with their promise of success, seducing him with assurances of glory and honor. He wanted to sit alone in the darkness and watch his fingers sketch out plans without knowing where his ideas came from, but not caring because of the immense value of them, knowing how daring they were. Ron walked out of the kitchen, not listening to Fred and Angelina making Ginny go over the conversation again, this time verbatim so they could be sure the resistance was still safe. He made it up the stairs and into his room, stumbling over a pile of laundry on the floor.
"Accio quill! Accio parchment! Accio ink!" he cried, grabbing both out of the air before sitting down on the floor. He needed space to work and pushed everything else out of his arms' reach. Then he pulled a piece of parchment before him and let go, forgetting how alone he felt every night, dismissing the hurts he'd accumulated over the years, washing away broken dreams by chasing after the one chance he might have to change it all.