BECAUSE OF YOU
CHAPTER THREE: OF REMEMBRANCE
The water danced in a playful massage over her tanned and sweat-stained skin, as she stepped from bathroom floor to shower stall.
As she poured shampoo from the bottle into her hand, the light filtering through the frosted glass door of the shower stall illuminated a patchwork of abstract art on her wrists. Thin lines, the exact width of a razor, played a delicate game of escapist suffering over her skin, though the smaller scars were overlaid by two large crosses, one on each wrist.
She remembered, although faintly, the blood coursing from her veins on that night, three years ago, remembered the pain that was dulled to a throbbing ache by the pills she had taken beforehand, remembered the rain, the wind, the lightning, the thunder, remembered the water, greedily taking her life's blood for its own. She remembered strong arms pulling her from her self wrought tortured euphoria, remembered blurred colors and murmured words of comfort. She remembered a scream, remembered flashes of light, remembered choking hot liquid burning in her gut, and remembered faces, oh so many faces. All were crying, all were frightened, but none were sorry.
Pushing the memories angrily from her mind, she washed her hair, closing her eyes and letting the soapy water flow over her upturned face. Her thoughts led her on a merry dance, from when next she would see her parents, to the wedding that had occurred but two nights ago, and to the surprise her lover, beloved, and husband no doubt had in store for her that evening.
Grinning at the thought, she rinsed the soap from her eyes, and let her memories lead her back to the first date that had led to this life of perfection she had entered two nights ago.
Flashback
It had been six months since her attempt at killing herself, six months since she had stood in the wind and the rain and let her life pour from her wrists. But the hands of death had been swatted away by a knight wreathed in cold glory, a knight she couldn't shake from her mind.
Not that she was trying particularly hard.
She thought about him with every waking moment, wondered constantly what he was doing, whether he was thinking of her, and if so, was he smiling as she was? She had no classes with him, for he was a year her senior, but had had the chance to play him at Quidditch once since her Incident, as it had been dubbed by her family.
A sour expression crossed her face at the recollection of her last meeting with her mother, and the redhead blinked back angry tears that had so quickly risen to the call of strong emotion. The frown on her face, the scowl furrowing her brows, were soon replaced by a glowing smile as she remembered snatching the Snitch from beneath her Knight's aristocratic nose.
Indeed, it was true; the small golden ball had been hovering right in front of his face, and he hadn't seen it. The look on his face when she grabbed the bird-like magical thing had been priceless, and she giggled at the memory.
Odd looks flew her way, from various parts of the corridor, for there was absolutely nothing amusing that they could see about the cold gray day that had greeted them with the dawn, and the fact that the weather would go about lessening the joy of a much anticipated Hogsmeade weekend.
Smiling blissfully, completely oblivious to the constant chatter around her, Ginny Weasley padded down the stone corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, quite excited about the day to come. It would be the first time she was allowed out of the school without teacher supervision since her Incident. Not that she was ever alone anyway; her brother and his friends, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, found excuses to accompany her everywhere, when they themselves had nowhere to go, and she always seemed to be surrounded by people. So many people.
Upon reaching the buzzing Great Hall, she seated herself at the Gryffindor table, perching on the bench in a practiced movement that would allow for easy escape should the need arise. The table soon filled around her, and she was careful to ignore the fact that, as with every other morning since her return to the normal school routine three and a half months ago, her elder brother and his cronies seated themselves beside and across from her. She was lucky, however, as they didn't attempt to engage her in conversation; rather, they talked around her, their words flowing over like unnoticed ripples in the air.
She had just begun eating the steaming porridge and brown sugar, so thoughtfully provided by the house elves, when the mail arrived. Unlike the first years, who never ceased to be amazed by the mass of owls that circled the Hall every morning in deliverance of the post, Ginny hardly blinked, and continued with her breakfast.
But when a lovely eagle owl landed gracefully on the table in front of her, carefully avoiding a large platter of eggs, she had no choice but to look up. The owl, a truly beautiful creature of tawny coloring, held out its leg to her, and it was only as she curiously took the small package from around its leg that she recognized the bird.
Excitement and anxiety clouding her gaze, she looked towards the Slytherin table and wasn't surprised to see Draco Malfoy shoot her a pointed look as the bird left her table in a flutter of feathers. The blonde boy across the room left his table as well, though he walked rather than flew, and exited through the twin doors of oak that served as a gateway to and from the Hall.
Understanding his meaning, though she was rather surprised and not a little bit giddy, Ginny followed suit, careful not to look too obvious. She was amazed, as she crossed the massive stone chamber, with its enchanted stone gray sky, that the Golden Trio didn't follow her, but wasn't disappointed that they hadn't.
I suppose, she mused as she slipped unobtrusively out of the Great Hall, that they're too busy discussing how they're going to keep track of me in Hogsmeade. Shrugging mentally, she looked around the deserted Entrance Hall, wondering curiously where her White Knight had slipped off to.
Not spying anyone hiding in the shadows, she crossed the Hall to the stone stairwell that led to the dungeons, and from there down to the Slytherin common room. Her gaze fell apprehensively on the elongated shadows that played tag through the darkness of the descending corridor, and she shivered at the cold that seemed to seep from behind an unseen barrier at the beginning of the staircase.
A tentative step downwards took her through that barrier of invisible ice, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She had always hated the dungeons of the school, had always felt the presence of death and pain weighing heavily on the underground chambers in which she had her Potions classes. Shivering slightly at the cold and the tingle of oh-so-familiar death on her skin, raising goose-bumps over her porcelain flesh, she took another step downwards, followed by another and another.
All thoughts of her White Knight had fled her mind, her hands gone numb and clasped around the small package in her left palm in a defensive manner. Her gaze penetrated the thick and swirling mass of shadow that was the corridor with difficulty, and her footsteps rang with deceitful confidence through the silence of the corridor.
So intent was she on surviving the cold that she didn't notice a pair of arms slip from behind a tapestry, felt only through a haze of suffering yearning those same arms pull her sideways, behind a hanging of heavy weave. It was warmth that brought her from the chill of survival that had settled on her mind, and unwittingly she pulled closer to the heat that spilled through a pair of soft black robes.
A hand stroked her hair, the calming motion only slightly roughened by hands calloused from years of Quidditch practice. She sniffled into his chest, tears running unchecked and unnoticed by both down her ashen cheeks.
"Ssh, pet, you're all right. It's okay. Ssh," An oh-so-familiar voice purred in her ear, the tone soft and reassuring, and one she so needed to hear.
She raised her head at the sound, and wasn't surprised to see a look of concern on his face. She moved back a little, the better to look at him, and he wiped her tears away with his thumbs, cupping her face in his hands.
A faint smile curled her blue-tinged lips, as the heat of his presence banished the chill fingers of shadow that plucked at her skin.
"It's not usually this bad," she explained, though unable to explain what 'this' was.
"'Sokay," he replied, knowing what she was talking about; he had seen her in the dungeons before.
She sniffled again, and shrugged slightly. Her gaze fell to the small, silver-wrapped package clutched in her hand, and his followed.
"Open it," he said, brushing a stray tear from her cheek.
Nodding, she forced her fingers to rip back the delicate paper, and from there to open the small green envelope that had been concealed along with another package in the wrappings.
The missive was simple, a mere request that, should she receive the package before speaking to him, she wait to open the actual gift until she was with him, and away from prying eyes.
With another prompt from the blond still rubbing slow, comforting circles on the small of her back, she pulled the wrapping from the small package that weighed down the palm of her hand only slightly.
Beneath the second layer of silver wrapping was a small box of black velvet, which he took gently from her warming fingers before she could open it.
She knew that box. It was the same as one she had received from her grandfather on her seventh birthday. The same as one she had received from Tom, when she had gone to the Chamber of Secrets to await her death and the rise of a Dark Lord infused with her soul.
Her hand went to her neck, around which two gold chains hung in cold bonds of different meaning; one love, one death. From each slim tracing of metallic sunlight hung the smallest of pendants; a heart encrusted in diamonds, and a dagger rimmed with rubies.
She knew the process, as he slowly opened the ebon covered box, revealing a loop of gold, the pendant that was attached hidden beneath a shroud of silver cloth. Breath baited both by creeping shadows of apprehension and wonder, as with both times before, she looked from the contents of the box to his solemn face.
Odd it was to see the face of Draco Malfoy in a mask of solemnity, of concentrated purpose, and she bit back the smile that threatened to ruin the game.
For a game is what the process was, to Virginia Weasley, as she watched the lithe hands of her White Knight slowly uncover the charm attached to the sliver of gold. She knew that he was aware of what giving her this necklace would mean, could see it in the glint of his mercury gaze.
The warm brandy of her eyes lit in delight as she saw the delicate symbol lying shrouded in soft silk inside the box. Her hand went from her neck to the tiny golden item, her fingers tracing over the cold metal in warming strokes.
"It's beautiful," she breathed, looking up from the gift to its giver.
"You're beautiful," he replied just as softly, pulling the chain from its small package, and clasping it around her neck.
She felt the familiar tug at her heart, the same as she had felt on two previous occasions, as the chain settled around her pale throat. It was a form of binding, this gift, and she wondered what the charm, both physical and magical, meant.
The light chains hanging from her neck were bittersweet devices; their good properties mixed with their bad, and the effects not always desirable. The gift from her grandfather had been a gift of love, had let her feel so much more than what she needed. The gift from Tom had been death, and since her reception of the bleeding dagger, she had felt the touch of both death and life tingling against her skin in a constant massage.
But this... She didn't understand this one. Her porcelain toned hand lifted the item from where it hung just beneath the neckline of her school shirt, and she examined the small gem-lined symbol. It was the sign for infinity, the edges of the horizontal figure-eight covered in sparkling green emeralds.
"I don't understand..." She murmured, letting go the nearly weightless chain and charm and looking back up at the one who gave it to her.
"Infinity, dearest Virginia, means perpetuity, time unending. I trust you know how these charms work, as I have seen the other two." His voice, as he uttered the last words, held a nearly imperceptible chill that she caught only by hearing tuned to his moods and their facades.
"I know how they work, I just don't understand this one. The one from my grandfather was clear, he explained it to me; the one from Tom was even clearer, though he didn't tell me the meaning of the dagger. But infinity?" Her tone, in contrast to his, was bitter and sharp, reminding him of one of the causes of their unlikely affection for one another.
"You will feel time, darling. You told me, once, that you often wonder whether or not time is actually passing, or if we are simply repeating things that have been played out before, like a play being stopped and replayed. You will feel both hope and fear that, with the passing of time, things do change, get better, and get worse."
She smiled.
"I didn't think you would remember that conversation..."
"I remember every one, love."
"Everyone else just passes all that sort of stuff off as temporary insanity; they don't like the fact that I feel things."
He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist, his hands overlapping on the small of her back. She was taken by surprise, unused to seeing or experiencing anything of this sort from the usually emotionless Draco.
I could get used to this, she mused, before lacing her arms over his shoulders, and resting her head on his chest. He was quite comfortable to lean on, she had noticed over the past few months, and had always relished the fact that she was the only one who had ever experienced this sensation with the man in front of her.
When they pulled away from each other, some minutes later, she grinned cheekily up at him, her usual high-spirits returned.
"We'd better go, eh? If we don't, people'll start to think things..." Her voice had lost its previous scared child quality, and was once again the spunky, fiery tone of a wonderful actress.
He could see from the shadows in her eyes, cast by the rekindled flame of her personality, that she was still scared, still confused. But, like her, he was able to put on a mask that covered even the strongest of emotions, and he let the concern fade from his face.
"Shall we?" He asked, holding out his arm to her. "I imagine we can still make it to Hogsmeade, if you'd like to go."
She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, and a smirk reminiscent of his own curled her lips.
"Have you any idea how much the two of us being seen together, without bloodshed and wands, will frighten the people of Hogsmeade? They're bound to think the Apocalypse is coming, or some such thing..." Her voice held barely veiled laughter, as the two made the short journey up the stairs from the dungeons and into the Entrance Hall, which was now swarming with students preparing to make the trek to Hogsmeade.
End Flashback
The jolt of cold water on her warm skin brought Ginny back to reality and the present, and she turned off the water, stepping from shower to steaming bathroom proper. Wrapping a towel of plain white terry cloth 'round her small form, she grabbed her hairbrush and began the long and arduous process of making herself look presentable via muggle ways.
A/N: There you go. Boring chapter, I think, but whatever. It'll have to do, I'm afraid, until I have more time to write. As it is, I've written this one in a bunch of five and ten minute spurts, so I apologize if it seems a little choppy and odd.
I figure that, once finals are over, I'll go back and edit everything, and resubmit it all. Just to tell you...
But... Ta ta for now!
Oh, and by the way, I have received information that Ginny's real name isn't, in fact, Virginia, but Ginevre. I ask you now if you would like me to go through and change all the "Virginia"s to "Ginevre"s. If you want me to change it, tell me so in a review. If not, then, well, just tell me not to change it. Meh.
CHAPTER THREE: OF REMEMBRANCE
The water danced in a playful massage over her tanned and sweat-stained skin, as she stepped from bathroom floor to shower stall.
As she poured shampoo from the bottle into her hand, the light filtering through the frosted glass door of the shower stall illuminated a patchwork of abstract art on her wrists. Thin lines, the exact width of a razor, played a delicate game of escapist suffering over her skin, though the smaller scars were overlaid by two large crosses, one on each wrist.
She remembered, although faintly, the blood coursing from her veins on that night, three years ago, remembered the pain that was dulled to a throbbing ache by the pills she had taken beforehand, remembered the rain, the wind, the lightning, the thunder, remembered the water, greedily taking her life's blood for its own. She remembered strong arms pulling her from her self wrought tortured euphoria, remembered blurred colors and murmured words of comfort. She remembered a scream, remembered flashes of light, remembered choking hot liquid burning in her gut, and remembered faces, oh so many faces. All were crying, all were frightened, but none were sorry.
Pushing the memories angrily from her mind, she washed her hair, closing her eyes and letting the soapy water flow over her upturned face. Her thoughts led her on a merry dance, from when next she would see her parents, to the wedding that had occurred but two nights ago, and to the surprise her lover, beloved, and husband no doubt had in store for her that evening.
Grinning at the thought, she rinsed the soap from her eyes, and let her memories lead her back to the first date that had led to this life of perfection she had entered two nights ago.
Flashback
It had been six months since her attempt at killing herself, six months since she had stood in the wind and the rain and let her life pour from her wrists. But the hands of death had been swatted away by a knight wreathed in cold glory, a knight she couldn't shake from her mind.
Not that she was trying particularly hard.
She thought about him with every waking moment, wondered constantly what he was doing, whether he was thinking of her, and if so, was he smiling as she was? She had no classes with him, for he was a year her senior, but had had the chance to play him at Quidditch once since her Incident, as it had been dubbed by her family.
A sour expression crossed her face at the recollection of her last meeting with her mother, and the redhead blinked back angry tears that had so quickly risen to the call of strong emotion. The frown on her face, the scowl furrowing her brows, were soon replaced by a glowing smile as she remembered snatching the Snitch from beneath her Knight's aristocratic nose.
Indeed, it was true; the small golden ball had been hovering right in front of his face, and he hadn't seen it. The look on his face when she grabbed the bird-like magical thing had been priceless, and she giggled at the memory.
Odd looks flew her way, from various parts of the corridor, for there was absolutely nothing amusing that they could see about the cold gray day that had greeted them with the dawn, and the fact that the weather would go about lessening the joy of a much anticipated Hogsmeade weekend.
Smiling blissfully, completely oblivious to the constant chatter around her, Ginny Weasley padded down the stone corridors of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry, quite excited about the day to come. It would be the first time she was allowed out of the school without teacher supervision since her Incident. Not that she was ever alone anyway; her brother and his friends, Harry Potter and Hermione Granger, found excuses to accompany her everywhere, when they themselves had nowhere to go, and she always seemed to be surrounded by people. So many people.
Upon reaching the buzzing Great Hall, she seated herself at the Gryffindor table, perching on the bench in a practiced movement that would allow for easy escape should the need arise. The table soon filled around her, and she was careful to ignore the fact that, as with every other morning since her return to the normal school routine three and a half months ago, her elder brother and his cronies seated themselves beside and across from her. She was lucky, however, as they didn't attempt to engage her in conversation; rather, they talked around her, their words flowing over like unnoticed ripples in the air.
She had just begun eating the steaming porridge and brown sugar, so thoughtfully provided by the house elves, when the mail arrived. Unlike the first years, who never ceased to be amazed by the mass of owls that circled the Hall every morning in deliverance of the post, Ginny hardly blinked, and continued with her breakfast.
But when a lovely eagle owl landed gracefully on the table in front of her, carefully avoiding a large platter of eggs, she had no choice but to look up. The owl, a truly beautiful creature of tawny coloring, held out its leg to her, and it was only as she curiously took the small package from around its leg that she recognized the bird.
Excitement and anxiety clouding her gaze, she looked towards the Slytherin table and wasn't surprised to see Draco Malfoy shoot her a pointed look as the bird left her table in a flutter of feathers. The blonde boy across the room left his table as well, though he walked rather than flew, and exited through the twin doors of oak that served as a gateway to and from the Hall.
Understanding his meaning, though she was rather surprised and not a little bit giddy, Ginny followed suit, careful not to look too obvious. She was amazed, as she crossed the massive stone chamber, with its enchanted stone gray sky, that the Golden Trio didn't follow her, but wasn't disappointed that they hadn't.
I suppose, she mused as she slipped unobtrusively out of the Great Hall, that they're too busy discussing how they're going to keep track of me in Hogsmeade. Shrugging mentally, she looked around the deserted Entrance Hall, wondering curiously where her White Knight had slipped off to.
Not spying anyone hiding in the shadows, she crossed the Hall to the stone stairwell that led to the dungeons, and from there down to the Slytherin common room. Her gaze fell apprehensively on the elongated shadows that played tag through the darkness of the descending corridor, and she shivered at the cold that seemed to seep from behind an unseen barrier at the beginning of the staircase.
A tentative step downwards took her through that barrier of invisible ice, and she breathed a sigh of relief. She had always hated the dungeons of the school, had always felt the presence of death and pain weighing heavily on the underground chambers in which she had her Potions classes. Shivering slightly at the cold and the tingle of oh-so-familiar death on her skin, raising goose-bumps over her porcelain flesh, she took another step downwards, followed by another and another.
All thoughts of her White Knight had fled her mind, her hands gone numb and clasped around the small package in her left palm in a defensive manner. Her gaze penetrated the thick and swirling mass of shadow that was the corridor with difficulty, and her footsteps rang with deceitful confidence through the silence of the corridor.
So intent was she on surviving the cold that she didn't notice a pair of arms slip from behind a tapestry, felt only through a haze of suffering yearning those same arms pull her sideways, behind a hanging of heavy weave. It was warmth that brought her from the chill of survival that had settled on her mind, and unwittingly she pulled closer to the heat that spilled through a pair of soft black robes.
A hand stroked her hair, the calming motion only slightly roughened by hands calloused from years of Quidditch practice. She sniffled into his chest, tears running unchecked and unnoticed by both down her ashen cheeks.
"Ssh, pet, you're all right. It's okay. Ssh," An oh-so-familiar voice purred in her ear, the tone soft and reassuring, and one she so needed to hear.
She raised her head at the sound, and wasn't surprised to see a look of concern on his face. She moved back a little, the better to look at him, and he wiped her tears away with his thumbs, cupping her face in his hands.
A faint smile curled her blue-tinged lips, as the heat of his presence banished the chill fingers of shadow that plucked at her skin.
"It's not usually this bad," she explained, though unable to explain what 'this' was.
"'Sokay," he replied, knowing what she was talking about; he had seen her in the dungeons before.
She sniffled again, and shrugged slightly. Her gaze fell to the small, silver-wrapped package clutched in her hand, and his followed.
"Open it," he said, brushing a stray tear from her cheek.
Nodding, she forced her fingers to rip back the delicate paper, and from there to open the small green envelope that had been concealed along with another package in the wrappings.
The missive was simple, a mere request that, should she receive the package before speaking to him, she wait to open the actual gift until she was with him, and away from prying eyes.
With another prompt from the blond still rubbing slow, comforting circles on the small of her back, she pulled the wrapping from the small package that weighed down the palm of her hand only slightly.
Beneath the second layer of silver wrapping was a small box of black velvet, which he took gently from her warming fingers before she could open it.
She knew that box. It was the same as one she had received from her grandfather on her seventh birthday. The same as one she had received from Tom, when she had gone to the Chamber of Secrets to await her death and the rise of a Dark Lord infused with her soul.
Her hand went to her neck, around which two gold chains hung in cold bonds of different meaning; one love, one death. From each slim tracing of metallic sunlight hung the smallest of pendants; a heart encrusted in diamonds, and a dagger rimmed with rubies.
She knew the process, as he slowly opened the ebon covered box, revealing a loop of gold, the pendant that was attached hidden beneath a shroud of silver cloth. Breath baited both by creeping shadows of apprehension and wonder, as with both times before, she looked from the contents of the box to his solemn face.
Odd it was to see the face of Draco Malfoy in a mask of solemnity, of concentrated purpose, and she bit back the smile that threatened to ruin the game.
For a game is what the process was, to Virginia Weasley, as she watched the lithe hands of her White Knight slowly uncover the charm attached to the sliver of gold. She knew that he was aware of what giving her this necklace would mean, could see it in the glint of his mercury gaze.
The warm brandy of her eyes lit in delight as she saw the delicate symbol lying shrouded in soft silk inside the box. Her hand went from her neck to the tiny golden item, her fingers tracing over the cold metal in warming strokes.
"It's beautiful," she breathed, looking up from the gift to its giver.
"You're beautiful," he replied just as softly, pulling the chain from its small package, and clasping it around her neck.
She felt the familiar tug at her heart, the same as she had felt on two previous occasions, as the chain settled around her pale throat. It was a form of binding, this gift, and she wondered what the charm, both physical and magical, meant.
The light chains hanging from her neck were bittersweet devices; their good properties mixed with their bad, and the effects not always desirable. The gift from her grandfather had been a gift of love, had let her feel so much more than what she needed. The gift from Tom had been death, and since her reception of the bleeding dagger, she had felt the touch of both death and life tingling against her skin in a constant massage.
But this... She didn't understand this one. Her porcelain toned hand lifted the item from where it hung just beneath the neckline of her school shirt, and she examined the small gem-lined symbol. It was the sign for infinity, the edges of the horizontal figure-eight covered in sparkling green emeralds.
"I don't understand..." She murmured, letting go the nearly weightless chain and charm and looking back up at the one who gave it to her.
"Infinity, dearest Virginia, means perpetuity, time unending. I trust you know how these charms work, as I have seen the other two." His voice, as he uttered the last words, held a nearly imperceptible chill that she caught only by hearing tuned to his moods and their facades.
"I know how they work, I just don't understand this one. The one from my grandfather was clear, he explained it to me; the one from Tom was even clearer, though he didn't tell me the meaning of the dagger. But infinity?" Her tone, in contrast to his, was bitter and sharp, reminding him of one of the causes of their unlikely affection for one another.
"You will feel time, darling. You told me, once, that you often wonder whether or not time is actually passing, or if we are simply repeating things that have been played out before, like a play being stopped and replayed. You will feel both hope and fear that, with the passing of time, things do change, get better, and get worse."
She smiled.
"I didn't think you would remember that conversation..."
"I remember every one, love."
"Everyone else just passes all that sort of stuff off as temporary insanity; they don't like the fact that I feel things."
He pulled her close, wrapping his arms around her waist, his hands overlapping on the small of her back. She was taken by surprise, unused to seeing or experiencing anything of this sort from the usually emotionless Draco.
I could get used to this, she mused, before lacing her arms over his shoulders, and resting her head on his chest. He was quite comfortable to lean on, she had noticed over the past few months, and had always relished the fact that she was the only one who had ever experienced this sensation with the man in front of her.
When they pulled away from each other, some minutes later, she grinned cheekily up at him, her usual high-spirits returned.
"We'd better go, eh? If we don't, people'll start to think things..." Her voice had lost its previous scared child quality, and was once again the spunky, fiery tone of a wonderful actress.
He could see from the shadows in her eyes, cast by the rekindled flame of her personality, that she was still scared, still confused. But, like her, he was able to put on a mask that covered even the strongest of emotions, and he let the concern fade from his face.
"Shall we?" He asked, holding out his arm to her. "I imagine we can still make it to Hogsmeade, if you'd like to go."
She slid her hand into the crook of his elbow, and a smirk reminiscent of his own curled her lips.
"Have you any idea how much the two of us being seen together, without bloodshed and wands, will frighten the people of Hogsmeade? They're bound to think the Apocalypse is coming, or some such thing..." Her voice held barely veiled laughter, as the two made the short journey up the stairs from the dungeons and into the Entrance Hall, which was now swarming with students preparing to make the trek to Hogsmeade.
End Flashback
The jolt of cold water on her warm skin brought Ginny back to reality and the present, and she turned off the water, stepping from shower to steaming bathroom proper. Wrapping a towel of plain white terry cloth 'round her small form, she grabbed her hairbrush and began the long and arduous process of making herself look presentable via muggle ways.
A/N: There you go. Boring chapter, I think, but whatever. It'll have to do, I'm afraid, until I have more time to write. As it is, I've written this one in a bunch of five and ten minute spurts, so I apologize if it seems a little choppy and odd.
I figure that, once finals are over, I'll go back and edit everything, and resubmit it all. Just to tell you...
But... Ta ta for now!
Oh, and by the way, I have received information that Ginny's real name isn't, in fact, Virginia, but Ginevre. I ask you now if you would like me to go through and change all the "Virginia"s to "Ginevre"s. If you want me to change it, tell me so in a review. If not, then, well, just tell me not to change it. Meh.