Unconventional Commitments

Chapter Three

There's No Village Idiot Here, We All Take Turns

I have to admit that as I walk back to my apartment after my extremely awkward parting from Harry I feel horrible. I have that "night after" whorish feeling as I trudge up the stairs of my building and find my keys. I hate that I am still wearing the same dress from the night before…anytime that you see a young girl out in the early hours of the morning dressed in obvious night clothes you know exactly where she has been, and exactly what she has been doing. It's the walk of shame.

Even though I don't think anyone is out to see me, I have the curse of an overactive imagination. I keep picturing perverted people lurking in the shadows, watching me and getting mental pictures about what had been going on. Just because I can't see them doesn't mean they can't see me…

Moreover, I still don't know if I have the right to feel like I've shamed my mother or not! I cringe as my mother pops into my mind. I have to go home the tomorrow—or maybe tonight, I don't remember—it is a random family get together day. Yeah, we have a lot of those. Basically, it's my father getting bored and deciding to force his entire family home out of guilt. You know the "well, you don't have to come…it'd just be nice to have the family together. But if you're busy, I understand. I suppose you'll all be able to see each other at my funeral." That one's easy to decline.

Finally making it to my apartment door, I take out my keys. Hermione insisted that we live in a muggle apartment…she said she was more comfortable there. As I was desperate to get away from home, I didn't particularly care where I lived so long as it was away from my mother. This turned out to be a mistake on my part though as I know about zip about muggle living. I am learning though…learning to never, under any circumstances, to live anywhere other than the wizarding world.

Proud of myself that it only took me a few minutes to get the key to work I don't notice Hermione sitting on the couch waiting for me. Therefore, I am more than slightly surprised when I hear a snappish voice out of nowhere say "Just where have you been?"

I jump and place a hand over my fast beating heart. "Hermione! Were you intentionally trying to kill me or is that just a perk of sitting in the dark like a stalker?"

She stands up and I see her appearance for the first time. She looks absolutely dreadful. She has bags under her eyes and her hair is the definition of frazzled disarray. It is obvious that she has had little to no sleep. "I was worried sick about you," she says as she walks toward me, "if you were going to stay with Colin you could have very well told me. I thought that you had been murdered, kidnapped, raped—"

"Do you have any clue how much you sound like my mother right now? It's uncanny really. I think you've been spending too much time at the Burrow."

"Well that's probably because I've been talking to her off and on for the past five hours."

My mouth drops open; surely, I hadn't heard her right. Hermione, the girl whom had become my best friend, would not have turned me into my own mother. "You didn't floo my mother, did you?" She nods in confirmation. "Why! Why would you call her…Oh, if I'm going down I'm taking you and Ron with me. This time tomorrow Mum will know all about Ron's, ahem, late night stays here."

She attempts rub her eyes aimlessly and she ends up hitting herself in the nose. As I bite back a laugh, Hermione sighs in exasperation. "I thought you were lying in a ditch somewhere dying. I tried to floo Colin, you know, but no one answered. So then, I thought that you were both lying in a ditch dying. You are an adult, Ginny, and if you and Colin want to have…relations, well that is no business of mine. All I ask is that you let me know when you are not coming home, or at least answer when someone is screaming your name from Colin's fireplace."

Seriously, she and my mother…I cannot even tell them apart anymore. However, to my horror, I felt a blush nevertheless creeps up my face. "I, uh, I wasn't exactly at Colin's," I mumble with my eyes glowed on the ground, "which is why I didn't answer you."

"Where were you then?"

"Oh, you know…around."

She narrows her eyes and crosses her thin arms over her chest. My gaze goes every possible place in the room to avoid meeting hers. People may talk about the Weasley women having somewhat of a "death glare," but we all have absolutely nothing on Hermione when she is mad. And, lucky for me, at the moment, Hermione finally forces me to match her stare—I feel an overwhelming amount of pity for Ron.

"Ginny," she says very slowly, "were did you go?"

I mumble an answer very quickly under my breath.

"What did you say?" she snaps, "I didn't quite catch that."

"I said I was at Harry's."

She gasps and takes an unconscious step back. "What were you doing there?"

I put a glare on myself that I hope can give Hermione's a run for its money. "What do you think?"

She sits down as though in shock and then mumbles, "I think I need to sit down."

"You kind of already are."

She looks up at me and seems to be almost hurt. "Ginny, how could you sleep with Harry?"

"What do you mean 'how could I'? It wasn't exactly a sober decision if you know what I mean. Why does this even concern you, Hermione, why do you care?"

"Because," she says slowly, "I know you. I love you, and I love Harry…but Harry feels emotional obligations that you, well, don't."

I rub an exasperated hand over my eyes; I really haven't had enough sleep to deal with this. "Would you like to make that a little clearer, Hermione? I'm not exactly in the mood to read between the lines."

She sighs and leans back on the sofa. "What it means is that you have a habit of running out on relationships without so much as looking over your shoulder. Harry has been through a lot and he doesn't need you to complicate his life more."

My mouth literally hangs open. Me complicate things? Like sleeping with Harry is just simplifying my life? "I don't think Harry is as emotionally unstable as you are making him out to be. It's not like he is in love with me or even wants to pursue a relationship at all—"

"Even if he doesn't want to, he will. Harry is not the one night stand type; he'll feel like he used you…"

The only thing I really get out of that was that she was insulting me on some level. "So Harry's not the one night stand type, but I am?"

She bites her lip, "I didn't say that."

"No, but you insinuated it. I'm not going to break Harry's heart, Hermione, don't worry about it. If he really feels some sort of 'emotional obligation' to me then we'll do one date, he can feel gallant, and then we will all just go on our merry ways."

"But don't you see how awkward things will be for everyone if you and Harry date?"

"Well that's not a particular concern of mine. If you'll excuse me, I'm going to bed." I stalk out of the room and into my own.

My bed is calling to me and I long to answer it except…I have this weird issue—a separate issue from the commitment thing, because it's completely normal to have more than one…I hope—anyway, I am somewhat of a slob. I personally don't feel that I'm too bad, but I've been told otherwise—namely by Hermione and my mother. I find it to be perfectly acceptable that when you get home from a long day of work to want to get out of your work clothes and into something that is actually comfortable. Well, who actually takes off an article of clothing, puts it away, and then takes out something new and neatly puts it on? You throw off your work clothes and grab the nearest pair of pajamas.

So after a few days my clothes pile sort of…well, piles up, for lack of a better expression. And while I'm not a neat freak by nature at random times it will just annoy the hell out me to be in my room and see just stuff cluttered everywhere. I like to think this is because I am a rather free individual and need space to express my creativity. But it's probably more like the mess gets to the point where even I can't take it…either way, this was one of my times where I could not stand to even be in my room. The mess just nauseated me and I knew that if I did by chance get to sleep I would have one of those weird freaky nightmares where I'm drowning in a sea of clothes and suffocate.

I take a deep breath and bravely walk towards my clothes. I am tired and agitated, but I am cleaning up my mess, my mother would be proud. Smiling and mentally patting myself on the back I heave up my pile of clothes, carry them into my closet, and promptly throw them in, shutting the door behind me on my way out. I brush off my hands and crawl into my bed. Job well done.

Something is jabbing me in the shoulder. This is my first thought as I gain consciousness, my shoulder is currently being violated.

"Wake up, Ginny."

I absolutely hate being woken up by anything other than my own will. Someone poking at me and ordering me to get up is not exactly my idea of a good way to start the day. Granted, it is now almost night again, but same concept…

With a defeated sigh, I open my eyes and wait for my vision to clear. Red floods my sight. "What do you want, Ron?" I mutter into my pillow.

"Hussy," he says indignantly, "my little sister is a hussy!"

At his unprovoked insult, I sit up in the bed, now fully awake. "What did you just call me?"

"How could you have…s-e-x with Harry! My best friend, Ginevra!"

"S-e-x," I muse. This is an insert eye roll here sort of moment, "What are you, Ron, ten? I feel sorry for Hermione, I really do. I mean how do you do foreplay? Is your idea of getting her in the mood to spell out everything? Of course, with Hermione being, well, Hermione…that might get her in the mood."

"Ginny!" He shouts, his face turning beet red, "This is not the sort of conversation that family members have. Come to think of it this is not the sort of conversation that anyone should have…you're avoiding the subject here!"

I look carelessly down at my nails, "And what would that be, spelling?"

"Sexual intercourse with Harry!"

At this point, I look up with extreme interest, "Really? I thought that you didn't swing that way…"

"Ginny!"

"Ron," I mock, "this is none of your business. I am an adult; Harry is an adult, butt out."

"Butt out," he repeats, "butt out she says—"

"She is sitting right here halfwit," I mutter.

He doesn't seem to hear me though, "Well someone has to do something about this." He suddenly looks as though he has a brilliant idea, "I'm telling Mum!"

"You're what!"

"She'll set you straight." He looks as if he is genuinely pleased with himself! As I am making my way out of the bed to set him straight he takes out his bloody wand and apparates.

"Ron," I threaten to the air where he once stood, "I am so not buying you a Christmas present this year!"