by She's a Star
Chapter Twelve: Of Bewitchments and Breakups
Author's Note: I'm sooooooooooooorrrrrrryyyyyyyyyyy! Please, please have mercy! I know I neglect this story horribly, but I just get the worst writers block on it all the time and . . . and . . . I'm still very, very sorry.
Siriusly.
Thank you so much to everyone who's reviewed - I'm so sorry that it took a thousand years or so to get this up. I have a bit of a problem with this fic: my mind always goes blank on it, and then when I do write, it's always completely weird 'cause the fic likes to spiral out of my control.
Oh well.
...Enjoy?
*
She screamed.
He had disappeared, he had gone, any slightest trace that he had ever been there no longer remained.
And still she screamed.
She felt cold, eternally cold, as though warmth would never fill her soul again. Shivers shook her, relentless, and she knew somehow that this was the kind of chill that a cup of hot cocoa or a seat in front of a roaring fire couldn't cure.
It scared her.
And still a high, shrill scream poured from her lips.
She could hear voices, faintly, a voice that reassured her, a voice that was so wonderfully familiar; if only she could stop, listen to it, and yet she couldn't stop, she couldn't control herself, couldn't control anything-
"Ginny!"
His voice was sharp, frightened, and everything seemed frighteningly crystalline for a moment before she grew more calm.
"Harry," she said, faintly, blinking a few times. The worried faces of Harry, Ron, and Hermione slowly grew more clear.
"Ginny, what's wrong?" Ron asked, concern written all over his countenance.
"Tom," she whispered, though she knew she shouldn't tell them this, shouldn't worry them.
"Tom?" Harry repeated urgently. "Tom Riddle?"
She nodded, weakly. "He was here."
"How could he be here?" Hermione asked, tone pensive - she was thinking out loud, Ginny could tell. "He disappeared, he died when Harry defeated him."
"First...." Ginny said shakily, "First he was Harry."
"What?" Harry and Ron looked utterly bewildered.
Hermione, on the other hand, had apparently realized something, due to the gasp that she let out. She then began to mumble to herself, very distractedly.
"Yes...yes, it could be....but surely it's not...it's not supposed to...It's a legend, it isn't even real, for certain....it requires incredibly dark magic...but I can't think of anything else that it would-"
"Hermione!" Ron barked. "Out with it, already!"
"All right!" she snapped, narrowing her eyes at him. "This sounds like...oh, but I can't believe that it would actually-"
"Hermione!" Ron and Harry cried in unison.
"Fine," she said, looking a bit indignant. "I think - and I'm not sure, but I can't think of anything else it could be - this is Acerbus Opacum."
Harry still looked rather blank, but some sort of recognition seemed to stir in Ron's mind at this.
"You mean that spell?" he asked.
Hermione looked rather annoyed. "Oh, yes, Ron, very specific."
"The one that's powered by unintentional magic-"
"I know what the spell does, Ron! If you hadn't interrupted me-"
"Well, excuse me, Miss Know-It-All. I'll never attempt to explain something again-"
While the argument raged on, Harry sunk down onto the bed next to Ginny and bit his lip nervously.
"You okay?" he asked. His shoulder brushed against hers; it was unsettling. She expected him to feel so cold, so like Tom, and he didn't, and she knew he wasn't, and yet...
"Fine," she whispered back. She tried to be logical, to remind herself that he was Harry, the Harry she'd been smitten with for the past decade, the Harry who always had messy hair and said 'er' every other word when he was nervous.
Not Tom.
Not Tom.
"You are so unbearable sometimes!" Hermione shrieked shrilly - Ginny felt oddly grateful for the distraction. She didn't want to dwell on Tom. She didn't want to think about him. She didn't want him to ruin Harry.
Seeming to sense her discomfort, Harry snapped, "Okay, you two, stop it! Just tell us what the damned spell is already!"
Ron and Hermione both looked quite affronted for a moment before turning equally lethal glares on one another. Harry sighed in exasperation.
"You guys," he said pointedly.
"Oh, fine!" Hermione said, cross. "Acerbus Opacum-" she shot a Look at Ron, "-is a spell composed of uncontrolled magic-"
"Like that time you blew up your aunt, Harry," Ron cut in helpfully.
"Yes," Hermione said, most impatiently, "Like the time you blew up your aunt." She sent him a rather disapproving look. (Apparently, she felt that she had yet to have scolded him properly about that.) "It deals with the sole person that you yearn for, the person whose presence you desire the most in your life-"
"Kind of like the Mirror of Erised," Ron threw in.
"Yes, Ron," Hermione said through clenched teeth. (Ginny thought perhaps her brother should stop his attempts at helping.) "But in most normal circumstances, the desire is sprung from lack of attainability. You miss a certain person so much that someone else whose attention you can obtain serves as them at first before they show in their true form."
"It's..." Ginny was shivering, involuntarily - she hated that her voice sounded so weak and small. "...It's not really them, is it?"
"No," Hermione said, sympathy apparent in her sharp brown eyes. "No. It's just a shadow."
"Oh," Ginny said weakly.
She didn't know what else to say.
"But I don't get it," Harry said. Worry was still apparent in his voice. "Why does this require such dark magic? It doesn't sound that sinister to me."
"Because," Hermione said, rather uneasily, "It deals with exploring. . . breaking into, almost . . . someone's soul. There are spells that can affect your body, like the Cruciatus Curse, and your mind, like the Imperius . . . but this is the only known spell to . . . oh, infiltrate, practically . . . your soul."
Ginny shivered. Harry placed his arm around her shoulders, a bit awkwardly, and she found herself wishing that he would remove it. She just didn't want to be near him, not right now. Not after what had just happened. But in a little while.
In a little while.
"How is the spell cast?" Ginny asked weakly.
"Well," Hermione said, looking rather timid, "It. . . sometimes, very rarely, it's said to be cast by a witch or wizard on the surroundings, but . . . oh, it's incredibly rare, and someone would have to be extraordinarily powerful . . ."
She was hiding something. Ginny could tell.
"What else?" she asked, her voice trembling a little.
"Well," Hermione bit her lip. "Usually. . . it's self-cast. Subconsciously."
Ginny looked down, but she could feel everyone's eyes on her.
"That's impossible!" Ron said loudly. "Ginny wouldn't want him back! He practically destroyed her! She hates him!"
"Ron!" Hermione reprimanded sharply.
Harry took his arm away.
Ginny was glad.
*
She had fancied him, a little, at the beginning of her first year.
How could she not? He was so sweet, and so charming; he always said the right thing at the right time, and he seemed to understand her in a way no one else ever had.
But she knew she was being stupid, knew that she couldn't like him like that. He was just a voice in a diary, for goodness' sake! She couldn't very well live happily ever after with a little black book!
And Harry was a bit like him, really. Only there were some things she liked better about Harry. Like how his hair was always messy, and how his eyes were so green, where she could just drown in them, and how he always looked slightly bewildered when her mother buttered his toast or fussed over the state of his socks.
It was like he'd never truly been cared for before, and she wanted, somehow, to show him that she cared for him.
With Tom, it hadn't been like that. She hadn't felt like she had anything to prove to him. He understood her, and he would listen to her, and he cared about her. He'd told her that he'd cared about her.
Ginny had never had many friends: not true friends. Best friends.
Tom had been her best friend.
And even after everything had happened, even after he'd nearly killed her, she'd still found herself missing him, a little bit. She missed having someone to talk to, someone who loved her simply because she was Ginny, someone who would listen to her dreams and desires.
She had never found another friend quite like Tom.
She missed him.
She knew she wasn't supposed to: she always felt guilty when she did.
But she couldn't help it, not really.
And now everyone knew. She had pretended for the past ten years that she didn't miss him, that she hated him, that she despised what he'd done to her.
She'd kept up the facade so immaculately that she'd even begun to fool herself.
But it wasn't hidden.
Not anymore.
And it scared her.
*
"I look awful in white!"
Hermione was losing it. No. Not just losing it. Hermione Ophelia Granger was, in fact, LOSING IT.
That, Ginny supposed, was what happened when one postponed wedding dress shopping 'till five days before they got married.
Note to self: never do that.
...Or at least, don't bring someone along to witness it.
(She decided that she would never forgive Hadia for bailing on them at the last second. Ever.)
"Don't be ridiculous!" Ginny ordered, hastily putting back the last dress her distressed friend had tried on (and hated). "You look beautiful in white."
Hermione was, apparently, not listening.
"What will Ron say?" she asked, eyes wide in dazed horror. "He's not going to want to marry me! I'll look terrible! He'll take one look at me and run off in the other direction! He-"
"He will not!" Ginny cut in, flipping through the racks of dresses in search of The Perfect One. (She had started mentally referring to it as being capitalized over the past hour or so, when finding it had become her sole desire in life.) "My brother loves you, Hermione. He'll think you're gorgeous no matter what you're wearing." Hermione sniffled audibly, and Ginny quickly threw in, "Because you will look gorgeous. Obviously."
This clearly wasn't enough for her future sister-in-law.
"I just cannot take the pressure!" Hermione wailed. "I've been worrying myself sick over this! I felt so nauseous this morning that I could barely get out of bed!"
"Maybe you're pregnant," Ginny teased.
Hermione gasped indignantly. "No!"
. . . Er . . .
"I was just joking," Ginny said weakly.
"Good," Hermione said with a stern (not to mention extremely Professor McGonagall-esque) Look. "Because we haven't exactly. . . well . . . you know . . ." She blushed.
"I know," Ginny replied at once, then added after a moment's thought, "You haven't?!"
"No!" Hermione said, looking scandalized. "We wanted to be married first!"
Ginny raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"All right," Hermione sighed. "I wanted to be married first."
"That's Ron for you," Ginny smirked.
"But he's been a real gentleman about it!" Hermione protested. Her cheeks went red. "Well, except for that one time when-"
"Oookay," Ginny cut in quickly. "Too much information."
"Yes," Hermione agreed, looking rather embarrassed. "Right. Dress."
"Dress," Ginny repeated firmly.
They began to search once more, and Ginny held back a tired sigh. They'd been at Beatricia's Bridal Shoppe ('Where the magically customized gowns outlast the marriages - guaranteed!') for the past three hours, and she wanted nothing more than to find a damned dress already so they could move onto Florean Fortescue's Ice Cream Parlor for a sundae.
She tried very, very hard not to think about the sundae.
Or Acerbus Opacum.
Or Tom.
Or . . . much of anything, for that matter.
Dress. Dress, dress, dress...
And then, lo and behold, there it was.
The Dress.
"Hermione," she said faintly.
"What?" the bride-to-be leaned over curiously to investigate. As soon as her gaze fell upon Ginny's discovery, a soft gasp escaped her lips.
It was white, as was to be expected of wedding gowns, but Hermione didn't seem at all put off by that fact. The fitted bodice was intricately embroidered with tiny pearls, and from the waistline flowed what seemed endless glistening satin. A filmy gossamer scarf that seemed alight with traces of stars accompanied the dream dress.
"Well, that's it, isn't it?" Hermione said, sounding a bit dazed.
Ginny nodded. "I think so."
"And how are things going with you ladies?"
They looked up to see Beatricia, the shop owner, making her way over to them with a smile on her near-frighteningly pretty face.
"I think I'd like this one," Hermione said, still sounding slightly awed.
"Oh, yes, dear, that would look positively lovely on you!" Beatricia said, beaming. "Now, have your measurements been taken already?"
Hermione nodded. "Your assistant has them."
"Splendid!" Beatricia exclaimed, clapping her hands. "Really, darling, this is a wonderful dress. It's quite an old design - I came up with it while I was married to my sixth husband."
"What happened to him?" Ginny asked without thinking.
Beatricia didn't seem at all put off by the question. "Oh, he passed away. May he rest in peace," she added casually. "We weren't really suited for one another, anyhow."
Hermione and Ginny exchanged bewildered glances.
"I'm sure I'll have much better luck with my up-and-coming marriage," Beatricia continued, shoving out her hand to display a disgustingly gaudy diamond ring. "He's a wonderful man. Maybe fourteen will prove to be my lucky number - thirteen sure wasn't." She scoffed, and Ginny could see that Hermione looked about as alarmed as she felt.
"Now, dear," Beatricia continued, still grinning widely, "I'll adjust the dress so it will fit wonderfully, and then I'll have it owled to you. What's your address?"
"I'm staying at 1414 Morgana Way," Hermione said, a bit unsurely.
"It will be there by tomorrow," Beatricia promised her. "Now, would you like to try it on?"
Hermione blushed a bit. "I suppose so."
"Go on," Ginny said, elbowing her friend lightly. "You have to. You know what Ron's going to say when he sees you in that."
*
"Dammit, Harry! I can't go through with this!"
A very pale Ron took a morose swig of butterbeer and looked morosely at his best friend.
"Sure you can," Harry argued, scrubbing at a rather adamant spill covering nearly half of one of the tables. Being a bartender, he decided, was disgustingly overrated, especially since Rosmerta seemed to derive no greater joy from anything than forcing him to scrub tables.
Blech.
"But I can't!" Ron continued, alarmed. "Hermione is so smart! She's going to get sick of me soon and want someone like . . . God, I don't know. . . someone who's not me!"
Harry raised an eyebrow at him. "Ron, she's pretty much tolerated you for the past eleven years. What makes you think that she's suddenly going to be tired of you?"
"I'm an unbearable prat, that's why!" Ron yelped.
"She's told you that at least a thousand times," Harry said, snickering. "And you're just realizing it now?"
"You're not helping," Ron scowled, sipping his butterbeer again. "Don't you have anything stronger? I'm not a bloody house elf!"
Harry raised a skeptical eyebrow at his best friend. "Right. Like I'm giving you anything. You're already scary enough as it is."
"Hey!" Ron cried, affronted. "What's that s'posed to mean?"
"You're losing it," Harry replied easily.
"I am not!"
"Right," Harry agreed. "You're Losing It."
"I am not!" Ron protested, slamming down his mug and soaking the front of his shirt with butterbeer. "I'm perfectly calm!"
Harry snorted. "Oh, right. Perfectly calm. That's why you're attempting to drown yourself in butterbeer."
"Harry, come ooon!" Ron wailed. "Just give me something, anything alcoholic." He pouted. "Hermione hates alcohol. Hates it. Oh, God! I'll never get properly drunk again for the rest of my life!"
"Calm down," Harry instructed. "There's got to be champagne at the wedding. It's tradition. Just drink as much as you possibly can."
"Right," Ron snorted. "And be completely pissed on our wedding night. I don't even want to think about what could happen then."
Harry considered this. "True. Well, looks like you're out of luck, mate."
Ron groaned dramatically and collapsed, rather awkwardly, onto the table, just as the door swung open with a rather startling BANG!
Harry jumped.
"Goddammit, you are the most unbearable bastard in the entire world! Ever!" a female voice shrieked furiously.
"Thank you for clearing that up, Auriga," an all-too-familiar sinister tone replied coldly. "And I must say, I feel compelled to tell you what a wonderful idea it was to get the night off and spend a bit of quality time together. This is romantic beyond all human comprehension."
"Fuck off," ordered a rather disgruntled-looking Professor Sinistra before turning to face the thoroughly shocked faces of Ron and Harry. "Oh, hello, boys!" she said brightly, straightening her glasses. "How are you?"
". . . Fine?" Harry volunteered weakly.
"Peachy," Ron threw in, looking as though he was trying very hard not to burst into laughter.
Snape simply glared at them.
"So, Ron, are you nervous?" Sinistra continued, sinking down onto a bar stool. "You're getting married quite soon."
"A little," Ron replied rather thickly, still apparently holding back hysterics.
"Word of advice, Weasley," Snape spat. "Save yourself the agony. Shrieking she-bats, the whole damned lot of them."
"Don't!" Sinistra snapped at once, her amber eyes immediately narrowing into angry slits. "Don't you dare throw the word bat around, Severus Snape. D'you really want to talk about bats, because you-"
"Er," Harry cut in nervously, "Does anyone want anything?"
"Give me the strongest thing you have," Snape instructed, sneaking a glare at Sinistra.
Well, this was a bit awkward.
. . . To say the least.
The very, very, very least.
Sinistra raised an eyebrow at Snape, then turned and asked Harry, with a saccharine smile, "Say, do you have any coffee?"
Snape's left eye twitched.
"Yeah," Harry replied uneasily. "Yeah, I think so."
"Potter," Snape barked, "Give me some Ogden's Old Firewhisky."
"Yes sir," Harry responded immediately before realizing how ridiculous it sounded. Really. He was twenty-two years old and still terrified of Snape.
Then again, he reflected as he glanced uneasily at the scowling Potions master, Could anyone really blame him?
With shaking hands, he poured both drinks and handed them to the respective professors. He wasn't sure if he had just imagined it, but it looked as though Snape flinched when Harry set down the mug of coffee in front of Sinistra.
The two drank in silence, sneaking very violent glares at one another as they sipped their beverages. Harry and Ron exchanged rather frightened glances throughout this, both clearly wondering when it would end. From behind where Harry stood at the counter, he could hear the audible 'tick-tock' of the old-fashioned clock hanging from the wall.
Tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . . tick . . . tock . . .
All right, this was just bloody ridiculous. Judging by how time was passing now, this awkward little scenario wouldn't end for another year or so.
And call him crazy, but Harry didn't want to witness one of Snape and Sinistra's little lovers' quarrels for an entire twelve-month period of his life.
Crazy indeed.
"Hi, Harry! Ron! We got the most beautiful dress-"
Ginny's voice filled the air as the door swung open, and she and Hermione came into the pub, both smiling broadly. Their grins faltered, however, at the sight of a certain Severus Snape.
"Er . . . hello, Auriga," Hermione said awkwardly. "Professor Snape."
"Hello, Hermione," Sinistra said with a warm smile. The two seemed to get on very well, and Harry could see why: they were quite similar in appearance, both with the same wildly bushy hair, though Sinistra's was more auburn than brown. Not to mention that both could be rather vicious to their significant others.
Snape slammed his glass down onto the counter rather viciously. "Auriga. We're leaving."
"Well, that's gallant," the Astronomy professor deadpanned, standing up and pushing her coffee mug a bit toward Snape as she moved it across the counter. Snape flinched involuntarily.
. . . All right, then.
The two professors rose, Snape looking even more malevolent than usual as they swept toward the door. Sinistra flashed an apologetic smile over her shoulder.
"A word of advice, Weasley," Snape snapped, a sneer on his face as he turned one last time. "Save yourself before it's too late."
And with that, the door swung shut behind them, allowing the rather frightened-looking inhabitants of The Three Broomsticks to see Sinistra swatting Snape rather violently on the arm before it closed completely.
"What was that all about?" Hermione asked, a bit weakly.
"Er . . . wedding advice?" Ron volunteered.
"Don't take it," Hermione ordered, frowning.
"Don't worry," Ron said, hastily pushing aside his mug of butterbeer to peck his fiancée on the cheek.
Harry grinned a bit awkwardly at Ginny, feeling his cheeks light up involuntarily, and she smiled back. It was scary, really, the way she could turn him into a stammering idiot while in her presence for approximately a third of a second. Then again, he thought as her smile widened and she approached him, it wasn't an entirely bad thing.
"So, how'd it go?" he asked.
"It was tedious," Ginny replied in mock gravity. "There was a half hour or so where I was convinced I wouldn't make it out of there alive. But then we found . . . The Dress."
"I take it that's a good thing," Harry said, laughing.
"Oh, yes," Ginny agreed, nodding. "She's going to look gorgeous."
"You look gorgeous," he said, then abruptly cringed. He had to admit, the whole mouth-rebelling-against-the-brain was a bit of a negative aspect of this whole crush thing.
Her cheeks went red, and she giggled a bit. "Well, aren't you a smooth talker?"
"Er, sorry," he replied, mentally kicking himself. "I didn't mean to say that."
"I think I'll get over it," she replied teasingly, flashing him a quick wink.
He wondered dimly if he could just quit his job, forget about absolutely everything else in his life, and marry her right away so they could be together forever and ever and he'd be able to look at her for the rest of his life.
. . . Not that he was rushing into the relationship, or anything like that.
Nope.
'Course not.
"You want something to drink?" he asked, running a hand through his hair. Ginny giggled, and he groaned inwardly.
"I've just messed it up worse, haven't I?"
"Just a little," she replied, smiling. "Come here."
He stepped forward obediently, and Ginny immediately began fussing over his hair in a way that was incredibly reminiscent of her mother.
"Ugh, Ginny, stop it," Ron groaned. "You're turning into Mum."
"I don't mind," Harry said quickly.
"Oh, right," Ron scowled. "You're being disgustingly mushy. I forgot."
"Ron!" Hermione admonished sharply.
"Oh, shove off, Ron," Ginny said, rolling her eyes. "If you think this is disgustingly mushy, then you're even more pathetically ignorant than I always gave you credit for."
"Really?" Ron asked, raising an eyebrow. "What is disgustingly mushy, then? I don't suppose you'd care to demonstrate?"
Ginny exchanged a glance with Harry, one that clearly instructed 'go along with what I say'. He nodded shortly, a bit afraid of what she was going to do. Yes, Ginny came off as being a sweet girl (albeit a bit snarky and on rare occasions verbally abusive), but one had to keep in mind that she was related to Fred and George.
"Oh, Harry," she breathed. "I love you! I've always loved you! Your eyes are as green as--"
"A fresh pickled toad?" Ron cut in, snickering.
Ginny paused for a moment, and Harry awaited some sort of snappish remark, but to his surprise, she simply shrugged and said, "Yeah, that works."
"Well, jeez, Gin," Harry replied jokingly, "I'm not sure how to reply to that. I mean, it really can't be topped."
"Then you could always go traditional on me," Ginny suggested, a bit coyly.
"And that would be how?" Harry asked.
"Easy," she said, grinning for a moment before she struck an overly dramatic pose and breathed, "Just kiss me, you fool!"
Well, he couldn't very well turn down an eloquently phrased order like that.
And if he was going to do it, he might as well do it properly.
Glancing quickly at Ron, who was scowling and rolling his eyes rather violently, he made his decision. He threw a quick wink at Hermione before promptly wriggling his eyebrows mischievously, setting the damnable dishrag aside, and climbing onto the counter. Ginny's eyes widened a little, but she recovered quickly and faked a rather melodramatic swoon.
"Oh, Harry!"
"Oh, Ginny!"
"Oh, gag me," Ron deadpanned. Hermione, who was watching the whole scene with a sort of disapproving amusement, nudged him lightly.
Rather shocked at his own foolish daring (it helped that the pub was completely empty apart from them), Harry encircled Ginny's wrist with his fingers and pulled her up onto the counter next to him. She giggled a little, but fixed her expression into one of near-ridiculous ardor.
"Your wish is my command," he said in a ridiculously deep voice, leaning forward, lips centimeters from her own when--
"Harry! Oh my God!"
Whoops.
"Please tell me I'm seeing things!" a very distraught looking Susan begged as she burst into the pub, her blue, heavily lined eyes wide with horror.
"You're seeing things?" Ron offered.
"No I'm not!" Susan screeched, affronted. "How dare you imply such a thing? I suppose you think I'm insane now, don't you? You think I'm too stupid to figure out what's going on here!"
Harry, currently straddled rather awkwardly over Ginny, who was lying very dramatically across the counter, couldn't help but think that it didn't exactly take a genius to figure out what was going on.
"Er, Susan," he said weakly, getting away from Ginny at once, "I don't think things are exactly . . . working between us."
"How could you, Harry?" Susan shrieked, her voice rather reminiscent of a banshee's. "After all we've been through together!"
Like cookbooks. And breakups. And . . . more cookbooks.
"After all I've done for you!"
Like informing me rather blatantly that my parents are dead and insulting my friends repeatedly.
"I GOT MY NAILS DONE RED FOR YOU!" Susan screamed, holding out one perfectly manicured hand as evidence. "BECAUSE YOU SAID THAT PINK WASN'T WORKING FOR ME, AND I LOVED YOU AND TRUSTED YOUR JUDGMENT ENOUGH TO CHANGE MY ENTIRE MANICURE FOR YOU!" She paused to take a breath, then continued. "And this is how you repay me?"
"Sorry?" Harry volunteered timidly.
She fixed him with a frighteningly lethal death glare for approximately a fifth of a second before bursting into sobs.
"Sorry!" he repeated, a bit more fervently.
Of course she had to cry. And while he knew she was completely insincere, it still irked upon his conscience.
Blasted women and their manipulative ways.
"We're through, Harry!" Susan wailed. "Done! Finished!"
He assumed that simply replying with 'okay' or 'that's fine by me' wasn't quite appropriate in this situation.
Instead, he replied with an ever-coherent "Er . . ."
"Don't try to sweet-talk me, Harry James Potter!" Susan shrieked. "I'm leaving! Goodbye! Forever!"
And with that, she spun on her heel and marched out of The Three Broomsticks.
The four of them exchanged rather bewildered glances.
"Well, that wasn't at all dramatic," Ron finally said.
"Oh, no," Hermione agreed, a bit shaken.
"Well," said Harry.
"Well," agreed Ginny.
He looked at her to find that she was sporting an expression of light concern. For a millisecond, he wondered what that could possibly be about before realizing that he had, in fact, just broken up with his girlfriend. It hadn't come as much of a shock to him, most likely because he had pretty much forgotten she existed ever since Ginny had come to live with him.
"It's all right," Harry assured her. "Really."
"You mean you're not heartbroken?" Ginny asked, her warm eyes sparkling a bit.
"Not exactly," Harry grinned. "So . . . where were we?"
(Ron groaned.)
*
Draco had no idea what he was doing.
Well, all right, he did have an idea what he was doing. He wasn't completely daft, after all; not like some people. (Including Potter and every Weasley to have ever walked the planet.)
Yes, he observed as he stepped into the shop and immediately scowled, he knew what he was doing.
He was buying flowers.
Buying. Flowers.
For Cryssa, no less.
He didn't know why the hell he was in here, surrounded by the sickly, overpowering scents of hundreds of different flowers, all lingering together in a way that made him feel a bit lightheaded.
How quaint, he thought, lip twisting into a sneer, Tripping on gardenias.
But as to why he was doing this, he was completely bewildered. He had never bought anything for Cryssa before, not even when they were engaged: after all, he hadn't been about to waste his money on some woman who he was already going to marry for certain, anyway.
Most likely, (he sneered again), it all came back to Ginny.
Perfect, sweet Virginia Weasley.
Before he'd dated her, buying flowers had been a completely foreign concept, right up there with Muggle sports and being nice to people.
Why should he be buying Cryssa flowers, anyway? Just because they'd slept together didn't mean that they were immediately soulmates. Far from it. He was Draco Malfoy: he'd be damned if he started calling her 'sweetie' and spouting ridiculous love poetry.
And yet here he was, buying flowers.
He shook his head a few times in a desperate attempt to focus, and immediately headed toward the chillingly elegant display of black roses. Whenever his father had gotten his mother flowers, he had always gotten black roses, and Draco didn't see why he shouldn't allow the custom to live on.
But as he made his way toward them, something he spotted out of the corner of his eye stopped him. Charmingly modest, a small display of vibrant yellow and orange roses seemed to beckon him.
Buy me . . . buy me . . .
No. No way. Cryssa would mock him to next Tuesday and back. It would be awful. Humiliating. Black roses were one thing -something that basically said 'thanks, the sex was great, you're really hot, but I wouldn't care if you died tomorrow'. But these roses; they were completely different. 'I like you,' they seemed to proclaim. 'I really like you. You mean something to me.'
. . . Holy shit. Now he was imagining what flowers would say.
All based on colors, no less.
It was completely ridiculous.
Scowling, he snatched up a bouquet of a dozen yellow and orange roses and made his way over to pay. The elderly witch at the cash register smiled at him and said warmly, "These are lovely. Are they for your girlfriend?"
Oh, God.
"No, actually," he replied smoothly, "They're for this girl that I slept with last night, but don't really care about: I only did it because I was angry due to the fact that my girlfriend broke up with me to go out with the Boy Who fucking Lived."
The woman's jaw dropped.
With a charming smile, Draco handed over two galleons and said, very politely, "Have a nice day!" before exiting the shop.
Feeling a bit better, he stepped out into the semi-busy Hogsmeade streets and prepared to Apparate back to the manor. However, before realizing it, he found himself staring down at the flowers. 'I like you! I like you!' they sang.
Glaring, he snarled, "Oh, shut up."