Disclaimer: I own nothing, so don't sue me. You wouldn't get anything
anyway. I'm broke.
Bloody. Fucking. Sunlight.
So. Bright.
Painful.
Burning. Retinas.
Must. Close. Blinds.
BEEP!
Stupid. Alarm.
Uh-oh.
These thoughts made their way at an amazing speed through my mind, before I was forced to leave the relative comfort of my bed and get to the bathroom as fast as was humanly possible.
Ah, sweet porcelain shrine. How I loved thee last night.
Before my drunken musings could go any further, what little was left in my stomach made an encore appearance. I noted vaguely that it all splashed quite musically into the toilet bowl, with lovely little splashes.
When my nausea was finally assuaged, I flushed the toilet and leant back against the cold bathroom wall. Gingerly, I stood and brushed my teeth before peering at myself in the mirror.
My eyes were bloodshot, and rather squinty, my pupils were contracted so much so that they had nearly disappeared in the warm caramel brown of my irises. The makeup that had taken me so long to fix last night was now smeared artfully around my eyes; black mascara, kohl eyeliner, and cream eyeshadow in a lovely shade of black. My hair hung in loose tangles down to my shoulder blades, and when I tried to smooth it out, I was rewarded with a hand covered in sticky styling products.
Gaze drifting down to my pajamas, I wasn't all that surprised to see that I wasn't in pajamas at all, but a lacy, scarlet push-up bra, and matching boy- short knickers. Vaguely, I noticed a small bruise on the crest of my left breast, and wondered who had given me a hickey. Last night was pretty much a blur.
Okay, Ginny. Enough standing in the bathroom, and enough thinking. Fluorescent lights aren't good for killer headaches, and thinking makes your head spin. Leave the bathroom now.
Deciding this was probably an intelligent thing to do, for my head was starting to feel as though it were being split in two and driven full of nails, I stumbled out of the bathroom towards my bedroom.
I didn't quite make it. Instead of weaving down the hall to my bedroom, I bumped into something incredibly solid and rather squishy, causing me to fall on my rear in the middle of the corridor.
Ooh, that hurts. Mental note: look where you're going, so as to prevent further falling on rear. It's not fun.
"Ouch," was about the only word my brain could process, and I glared up at my older brother. To my surprise, he was glaring down at me, from his height of six feet.
He reached a hand down, to help me up, and I accepted his aid, figuring that I would probably have to crawl back to my room if he didn't help me up.
"Have a nice time last night, Ginny?" Fred asked in a voice that was unnecessarily loud – I was standing right in front of him, after all. What little part of my brain was functioning properly noticed that he sounded sort of upset, as though I had done something wrong.
"I think so," I mumbled, painfully straining my mind to recall any detail of the previous evening.
"You think so?" Came another voice, not belonging to Fred.
Ah, George. I could make out his form coming closer to where Fred and I stood in the hall.
"Yes, I think so. But I can't recall a whole lot."
Ooh. Bad move, Ginny! That's precisely why they're upset! You came home at five in the morning! In a drunken stupor! Someone had to carry you home! Came the little voice in my mind that had a shred of intelligence at the moment.
Both boys glowered at me, and I was really quite frightened – they were both a lot bigger than me, not to mention the fact that there were two of them and only one of me.
I tried to move towards my room, being as how I was feeling quite unsteady on my feet, but neither Fred nor George would move aside.
"Can one of you p-p-please m-move?" I yawned, looking at both of them as innocently as my bloodshot eyes could manage.
Again, they glowered at me, before Fred brushed past me towards the stairs, followed closely by George.
Huh. Well. They didn't have to be so rude.
I padded down the hall to my room, and closed the door behind me once I was inside. Hobbling over to the window, I closed the curtains to block out the infernal sunlight before dropping gently onto my bed and returning to my drunken slumber.
I had just fallen into blissful oblivion when a pounding started on my bedroom door, and I distinctly heard a voice shouting on the other side of the portal.
"VIRGINIA WEASLEY YOU GET OUT HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!"
Better go, Gin-gin. Mum sounds pretty mad. And what was with Fred and George? Maybe mum'll explain it.
I rolled out of bed and landed quite unceremoniously on the floor of my bedroom.
Ooh. Gin, don't do that again. That hurts.
Managing to get to my feet, I stumbled to the closed door of my room, and pulled it open just as my mum was about to start pounding on the wooden panel again. I was greeted with a furious glare from the redheaded woman standing in front of me, and I rubbed my eyes sleepily, wanting nothing more than peace and quiet and sleep.
"VIRGINIA WEASLEY! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF ARRIVING HOME AT FIVE IN THE MORNING IN A DRUNKEN STUPOR AND REEKING OF SPIRITS?" She shrieked, and I winced.
"Mum. Headache. No shouting. Please. Hurts." I mumbled, rubbing my eyes again.
"Well it serves you right to be in pain, Virginia! Showing up at home in HIS arms at the crack of dawn!" Mum exclaimed, though she was kind enough to lower her voice a decibel level or two.
"Whose arms?"
GINNY! You idiot! She's going to be even more furious now! Just shut up! Let her do the talking!
"YOU DON'T KNOW WHO YOU WERE WITH LAST NIGHT WHEN YOU CAME HOME?" She was back to shrieking.
Wisely following the intelligent part of my brain, I made a non-committal noise in response.
She shot me another glare, before leaving my room and stomping downstairs. Vaguely, I heard her voice downstairs, sounding slightly hysterical as she spoke to my father and brothers.
Well, Gin-gin. You certainly messed up this time. But I didn't DO anything! Didn't DO anything? What do you mean? You showed up at home at five in the morning, in a drunken stupor, apparently in someone's arms. You messed up. But if I don't remember it, I can't be blamed for anything. You'll be in more trouble if you give them that line. Now you'd better get back to sleep if you want any chance of sleeping this off.
I listened once again to the intelligent part of my brain, and crawled back into my bed, happy to go to sleep and deal with my mother when my head wasn't pounding quite as much. Unfortunately, my happiness was cut short by more pounding on my door.
"Head hurts. Sleepy. Go 'way." I mumbled, just loud enough to be heard on the other side of the door. Apparently, my family isn't very kind when it comes to requests from the youngest, because the pounding continued.
I rolled out of bed again, forgetting my previous advice to myself, and wobbled to the door. I pulled it open again, this time to see Fred and George glaring at me again.
"Wha'd'you want?" I mumbled, scratching my head.
"Mum wants to talk to you," Fred said.
"Don't wanna talk. Tired. Head hurts."
"Too bad. Now put some clothes on, and get your butt downstairs." George retorted.
"No. Gonna sleep." I started to close the door, but Fred held it open.
"Get downstairs. Now." George repeated.
"Fine." I turned away, figuring that I'd say I'd go downstairs and when they left I'd just crawl back into bed, and no one would be the wiser.
Apparently they were wise to my plot, seeing as how they both stood in front of my door and waited until I had wrapped myself in a bathrobe and stumbled back towards the door.
I followed them down the hall, and down the stairs.
"Ooh. Bright sunlight. Hurts." I mumbled, squinting my eyes against the sun beating through the kitchen window.
"Sit." My mother said tersely, pointing to a seat at the kitchen table and ignoring my complaint about the sunlight.
I figured it would be better to be obedient, since that would probably get it all over with faster, so I lowered myself gingerly into the wooden chair.
"Do you remember anything from last night?" She asked, her tone business like and icy.
I followed my earlier advice and made a non-committal noise.
"Answer the question, Virginia," came my father's voice. I looked up to see that he, to, was glaring at me.
What is this, Glare At Ginny Day, or something?
I shrugged.
"Virginia," ooh. How I hated it when mum's voice got like that!
"Not really." I figured that's a pretty neutral answer, so pretty safe.
"What do you mean, not really?"
"Not really."
"Elaborate, Ginny."
"I don't wanna."
"Ginny."
"Not a lot."
"Elaborate."
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
She seemed quite disturbed by answer, and looked at my father with a worried expression.
"So you don't remember anything about last night?" This was dad, asking.
"No. Can I go?"
"No, you may not."
I sighed. I knew what was coming.
"Do you remember who you were with?"
"No."
"Where you were?"
"No."
Typical interrogation. I'd noticed before, though, that it was only ever me who got interrogated – Fred and George and Ron and Bill and Percy and Charlie could all go out whenever, and wouldn't be put through this afterwards.
"What you did?"
"No."
Dad sighed.
"Ginny, you've got to stop all this."
"Wha'd'you mean?"
"You've been out nearly every weekend this summer. Half the time you miss your curfew. We don't know who you're with, or where you're going, and you're dressing like a prostitute three quarters of the time. You've got to stop."
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"I said no. George and Fred and Ron and Bill and Charlie and Percy can all do whatever they want, so I'm going to do whatever I want."
"Ginny, do you want to know who brought you home last night?"
"I don't really care."
"You would if you knew who it was."
"I said I don't care."
"You should."
"Why?"
"Because you're going to see him on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow."
"So?"
"He's probably going to say something about it, and you're going to feel like a fool if you don't have a clue what he's talking about."
"So?"
"I don't think you're going to want to feel like a fool in front of him."
"And you know this why?"
"Trust me."
I was feeling slightly more sober, and my father's voice had an ominous ring to it. I wracked my brain for any recollection of who I was with last night – more to prove to my parents that I was capable of remembering than curiosity as to who had brought me home.
Bloody. Fucking. Sunlight.
So. Bright.
Painful.
Burning. Retinas.
Must. Close. Blinds.
BEEP!
Stupid. Alarm.
Uh-oh.
These thoughts made their way at an amazing speed through my mind, before I was forced to leave the relative comfort of my bed and get to the bathroom as fast as was humanly possible.
Ah, sweet porcelain shrine. How I loved thee last night.
Before my drunken musings could go any further, what little was left in my stomach made an encore appearance. I noted vaguely that it all splashed quite musically into the toilet bowl, with lovely little splashes.
When my nausea was finally assuaged, I flushed the toilet and leant back against the cold bathroom wall. Gingerly, I stood and brushed my teeth before peering at myself in the mirror.
My eyes were bloodshot, and rather squinty, my pupils were contracted so much so that they had nearly disappeared in the warm caramel brown of my irises. The makeup that had taken me so long to fix last night was now smeared artfully around my eyes; black mascara, kohl eyeliner, and cream eyeshadow in a lovely shade of black. My hair hung in loose tangles down to my shoulder blades, and when I tried to smooth it out, I was rewarded with a hand covered in sticky styling products.
Gaze drifting down to my pajamas, I wasn't all that surprised to see that I wasn't in pajamas at all, but a lacy, scarlet push-up bra, and matching boy- short knickers. Vaguely, I noticed a small bruise on the crest of my left breast, and wondered who had given me a hickey. Last night was pretty much a blur.
Okay, Ginny. Enough standing in the bathroom, and enough thinking. Fluorescent lights aren't good for killer headaches, and thinking makes your head spin. Leave the bathroom now.
Deciding this was probably an intelligent thing to do, for my head was starting to feel as though it were being split in two and driven full of nails, I stumbled out of the bathroom towards my bedroom.
I didn't quite make it. Instead of weaving down the hall to my bedroom, I bumped into something incredibly solid and rather squishy, causing me to fall on my rear in the middle of the corridor.
Ooh, that hurts. Mental note: look where you're going, so as to prevent further falling on rear. It's not fun.
"Ouch," was about the only word my brain could process, and I glared up at my older brother. To my surprise, he was glaring down at me, from his height of six feet.
He reached a hand down, to help me up, and I accepted his aid, figuring that I would probably have to crawl back to my room if he didn't help me up.
"Have a nice time last night, Ginny?" Fred asked in a voice that was unnecessarily loud – I was standing right in front of him, after all. What little part of my brain was functioning properly noticed that he sounded sort of upset, as though I had done something wrong.
"I think so," I mumbled, painfully straining my mind to recall any detail of the previous evening.
"You think so?" Came another voice, not belonging to Fred.
Ah, George. I could make out his form coming closer to where Fred and I stood in the hall.
"Yes, I think so. But I can't recall a whole lot."
Ooh. Bad move, Ginny! That's precisely why they're upset! You came home at five in the morning! In a drunken stupor! Someone had to carry you home! Came the little voice in my mind that had a shred of intelligence at the moment.
Both boys glowered at me, and I was really quite frightened – they were both a lot bigger than me, not to mention the fact that there were two of them and only one of me.
I tried to move towards my room, being as how I was feeling quite unsteady on my feet, but neither Fred nor George would move aside.
"Can one of you p-p-please m-move?" I yawned, looking at both of them as innocently as my bloodshot eyes could manage.
Again, they glowered at me, before Fred brushed past me towards the stairs, followed closely by George.
Huh. Well. They didn't have to be so rude.
I padded down the hall to my room, and closed the door behind me once I was inside. Hobbling over to the window, I closed the curtains to block out the infernal sunlight before dropping gently onto my bed and returning to my drunken slumber.
I had just fallen into blissful oblivion when a pounding started on my bedroom door, and I distinctly heard a voice shouting on the other side of the portal.
"VIRGINIA WEASLEY YOU GET OUT HERE RIGHT THIS INSTANT AND EXPLAIN YOURSELF!!"
Better go, Gin-gin. Mum sounds pretty mad. And what was with Fred and George? Maybe mum'll explain it.
I rolled out of bed and landed quite unceremoniously on the floor of my bedroom.
Ooh. Gin, don't do that again. That hurts.
Managing to get to my feet, I stumbled to the closed door of my room, and pulled it open just as my mum was about to start pounding on the wooden panel again. I was greeted with a furious glare from the redheaded woman standing in front of me, and I rubbed my eyes sleepily, wanting nothing more than peace and quiet and sleep.
"VIRGINIA WEASLEY! WHAT IS THE MEANING OF ARRIVING HOME AT FIVE IN THE MORNING IN A DRUNKEN STUPOR AND REEKING OF SPIRITS?" She shrieked, and I winced.
"Mum. Headache. No shouting. Please. Hurts." I mumbled, rubbing my eyes again.
"Well it serves you right to be in pain, Virginia! Showing up at home in HIS arms at the crack of dawn!" Mum exclaimed, though she was kind enough to lower her voice a decibel level or two.
"Whose arms?"
GINNY! You idiot! She's going to be even more furious now! Just shut up! Let her do the talking!
"YOU DON'T KNOW WHO YOU WERE WITH LAST NIGHT WHEN YOU CAME HOME?" She was back to shrieking.
Wisely following the intelligent part of my brain, I made a non-committal noise in response.
She shot me another glare, before leaving my room and stomping downstairs. Vaguely, I heard her voice downstairs, sounding slightly hysterical as she spoke to my father and brothers.
Well, Gin-gin. You certainly messed up this time. But I didn't DO anything! Didn't DO anything? What do you mean? You showed up at home at five in the morning, in a drunken stupor, apparently in someone's arms. You messed up. But if I don't remember it, I can't be blamed for anything. You'll be in more trouble if you give them that line. Now you'd better get back to sleep if you want any chance of sleeping this off.
I listened once again to the intelligent part of my brain, and crawled back into my bed, happy to go to sleep and deal with my mother when my head wasn't pounding quite as much. Unfortunately, my happiness was cut short by more pounding on my door.
"Head hurts. Sleepy. Go 'way." I mumbled, just loud enough to be heard on the other side of the door. Apparently, my family isn't very kind when it comes to requests from the youngest, because the pounding continued.
I rolled out of bed again, forgetting my previous advice to myself, and wobbled to the door. I pulled it open again, this time to see Fred and George glaring at me again.
"Wha'd'you want?" I mumbled, scratching my head.
"Mum wants to talk to you," Fred said.
"Don't wanna talk. Tired. Head hurts."
"Too bad. Now put some clothes on, and get your butt downstairs." George retorted.
"No. Gonna sleep." I started to close the door, but Fred held it open.
"Get downstairs. Now." George repeated.
"Fine." I turned away, figuring that I'd say I'd go downstairs and when they left I'd just crawl back into bed, and no one would be the wiser.
Apparently they were wise to my plot, seeing as how they both stood in front of my door and waited until I had wrapped myself in a bathrobe and stumbled back towards the door.
I followed them down the hall, and down the stairs.
"Ooh. Bright sunlight. Hurts." I mumbled, squinting my eyes against the sun beating through the kitchen window.
"Sit." My mother said tersely, pointing to a seat at the kitchen table and ignoring my complaint about the sunlight.
I figured it would be better to be obedient, since that would probably get it all over with faster, so I lowered myself gingerly into the wooden chair.
"Do you remember anything from last night?" She asked, her tone business like and icy.
I followed my earlier advice and made a non-committal noise.
"Answer the question, Virginia," came my father's voice. I looked up to see that he, to, was glaring at me.
What is this, Glare At Ginny Day, or something?
I shrugged.
"Virginia," ooh. How I hated it when mum's voice got like that!
"Not really." I figured that's a pretty neutral answer, so pretty safe.
"What do you mean, not really?"
"Not really."
"Elaborate, Ginny."
"I don't wanna."
"Ginny."
"Not a lot."
"Elaborate."
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Nothing."
She seemed quite disturbed by answer, and looked at my father with a worried expression.
"So you don't remember anything about last night?" This was dad, asking.
"No. Can I go?"
"No, you may not."
I sighed. I knew what was coming.
"Do you remember who you were with?"
"No."
"Where you were?"
"No."
Typical interrogation. I'd noticed before, though, that it was only ever me who got interrogated – Fred and George and Ron and Bill and Percy and Charlie could all go out whenever, and wouldn't be put through this afterwards.
"What you did?"
"No."
Dad sighed.
"Ginny, you've got to stop all this."
"Wha'd'you mean?"
"You've been out nearly every weekend this summer. Half the time you miss your curfew. We don't know who you're with, or where you're going, and you're dressing like a prostitute three quarters of the time. You've got to stop."
"No."
"Excuse me?"
"I said no. George and Fred and Ron and Bill and Charlie and Percy can all do whatever they want, so I'm going to do whatever I want."
"Ginny, do you want to know who brought you home last night?"
"I don't really care."
"You would if you knew who it was."
"I said I don't care."
"You should."
"Why?"
"Because you're going to see him on the Hogwarts Express tomorrow."
"So?"
"He's probably going to say something about it, and you're going to feel like a fool if you don't have a clue what he's talking about."
"So?"
"I don't think you're going to want to feel like a fool in front of him."
"And you know this why?"
"Trust me."
I was feeling slightly more sober, and my father's voice had an ominous ring to it. I wracked my brain for any recollection of who I was with last night – more to prove to my parents that I was capable of remembering than curiosity as to who had brought me home.