Disclaimer: I don't own it. Any of it.

Summary: Ginny Weasley is sick of dating. Totally over it. From now on, casual trysts should do her just fine. That is, until it turns into something more. Throw in an old flame and things will really start to heat up. G/H, G/D

Tears of the Flame

1

Ginny Weasley scanned her front garden nervously as she peered out from behind her heavy curtains. 'Bloody reporters.' she thought with annoyance, trying to determine if the small cat roaming innocently on her fence really was an innocent animal, and not another sneaky photographer trying to get a picture of her tear-streaked face. After finally determining that she was safe, for the time being at least, she let out a small sigh and let herself drop onto the overstuffed couch in the middle of the room.

'Success really does have its shortcomings,' she thought bitterly, massaging her temples in a desperate bid to stop the steady pounding of the headache that was beginning to form, and slowly reliving the steps which had taken her to this point.

Having graduated from Hogwarts the year after the war's end and with a seemingly endless number of prospects available to her, yet very little direction, she had elected to take the year off, much to the disappointment of her mother. 'You could do anything!' she had pleaded desperately. 'We are at peace again, and the opportunities we once thought to be frivolous desires are available to you once more!'

Indeed, her mother had a point. Having finally been relieved of his burden the year before, Harry Potter found he no longer had the same desire to chase the bad guys as had once been expected of him. He chose instead to enter the field of professional quidditch, boosting the success of the ailing Chudley Cannons team immensely, much to Ron's pleasure.

Not so much hers, of course.

Seeing that he was in absolutely no fit state to engage in a relationship following the tireless battles that had occurred, Ginny had accepted Harry's pleas to let him just clear his head for a while and had watched with a broken heart as he had left for three months on tour during her seventh year.

Three months, which gradually melted into six, seven, eight; and when he hadn't returned by the end of the year, despite repeated promises, Ginny knew that he wasn't coming back to her.

Accepting this with a heavy heart, she had fled to France only two weeks into the summer to stay with Bill and Fleur who had just bought a tiny little house nestled deep in the French countryside, about half an hour out of Paris.

Having gotten over her initial dislike of the French girl who had been the first in a long line to join the Weasley clan officially, Ginny had found that, once back in her own country and not having to adapt to different circumstances, Fleur was actually quite pleasant to be around. Bill was away often; having to commute between the French division of Gringotts, which he had transferred to, and the Egyptian division, which still required his talents and expertise. As such, Fleur was often left on her own, and appreciated the entertaining company of her fiery sister-in-law. Having quickly established upon Ginny's arrival that the younger girl was suffering from severe heartbreak, she had taken it upon herself to lift her spirits, and the two had formed a very close bond.

It was during one of their frequent shopping trips in Paris that Ginny had been presented with a rare opportunity that had brought her to where she was today.

Though the Weasleys had received much in compensation from the ministry at the war's end, the family was very aware of the twenty odd years of scrimping and saving that had come before, and were reluctant to indulge themselves too often. Fleur however, had come from a very prominent and rich French family, and as such, was a regular in some of the more luxury brands of the French capital. Out of respect for her husband, she had attempted to curb her extravagant purchases, but every so often, she simply couldn't help herself. Men were awestruck by her, and she was awestruck by a beautiful gown.

On this particular day, Ginny and Fleur had been strolling casually down the street, occasionally pausing to peer into the glass fronted shops that lined the road. All of a sudden, Fleur had stopped so suddenly that Ginny, whose arm had been linked with hers, was pulled back violently.

"Fleur! What–" Ginny had begun, but paused when Fleur simply silenced her with a wave of her hand.

"Is zat not ze most beautiful gown you 'ave ever seen?" she asked, and Ginny followed her gaze to a tiny boutique tucked into a small side street, its window barely visible from where they stood. In front of the glass display stood a mannequin wearing an elegant evening gown. Made of an emerald green silk, and delicately embroidered with what looked to be tiny crystals, Ginny had never seen anything so amazing in her life.

"You must try it on," Fleur commanded, dragging Ginny into the shop. When Ginny had emerged from the change-room, she had felt like a princess; beautiful, elegant and graceful.

"Ginny…" Fleur began, but faltered. "You – you look –"

"Absolutely stunning," a new voice chimed in, causing both Ginny and Fleur to turn to face the new arrival. Dressed in a sharp black suit, and with heels at least five inches high, the strange figure smiled and extended her hand, a small business card between two of her perfectly manicured fingers.

"Amber Jones, of Jones Modeling Agency. Call me."

Having never considered herself to be particularly beautiful, Ginny had been surprised to say the least. 'But,' she had thought, 'here I am in Paris for a year with nothing better to do. Why not?

Fleur had encouraged her whole-heartedly, though Mrs. Weasley had been shocked at first. Wizarding robes were not particularly distinguishable from each other and as such there was little reason to be parading them in front of potential buyers. The concept of modeling was practically foreign to the whole Weasley clan and, as Ron put it, "Why would we want out little sister acting like a mobile coat-hanger?"

When they had seen her for the first time, however, gliding down the catwalk in an elegant, yet starkly plain black dress, they were speechless. It clung to her upper half then flowed gently down to her ankles with a slit up her thigh. Her red hair had been swept up and pinned back with an antique gold clip. She trailed a beautiful gold scarf behind her and the total effect, combined with her creamy, pale skin and long, limber legs, had left the audience absolutely stunned.

She had been in hot demand from then on, and spent the next few years traveling around the globe. Despite the muggle nature of her occupation, the wizarding world had somehow become equally entranced by her and as such, she was often featured in the Daily Prophet, sashaying down the red-carpet in London or Milan.

It was during one of her interviews with Witch Weekly, as they eagerly probed her for details about the muggle fashions that Ginny realized the gaping hole in the wizarding world. Fashion, as such, had largely been reduced to robes. Work robes, dress robes, cloaks. It was nothing like the muggle world where a dress could take many shapes and forms, you could wear shorts, pants, three-quarters, mini-skirts, long skirts – the possibilities were endless.

What if someone had decided to take muggle clothing and apply wizarding characteristics?

Four years after she started, Ginny Weasley announced to the world (well, the wizarding world at least) that she was retiring from modeling to start her own fashion label. Based in London so she could be closer to her family and called 'Princess', the label had been a huge success from the word go. Everything from dresses with unslippable straps and pants which altered themselves every time the wearer put them on to skyscraper heels which felt like flats and barely-there dresses which kept the wearer warm in all conditions were snapped up eagerly by female wizards of all ages, desperate to be a part of this new, muggle craze.

Four years on from then and Ginny had become one of the most successful women in London. At 24, her life seemed perfect, she had a loving, supportive family behind her, and she was in control of her own business, which looked like it would soon turn into a whole empire, with the possibilities of perfumes, accessories and even a book deal in the works. Getting older had only matured her looks and made her seem even more beautiful and she was constantly fawned upon by men everywhere.

However, with fame comes the media, and, since the defeat of Voldemort, Ginny was the new tabloid fodder. Every break-up, make-up and date was carefully noted and scrutinized. Every male found to be within a one hundred metre radius of her was seen as a potential love interest, every female was a possible cat fight. It was as if her private life had ceased to exist and she had become public property. Mrs. Bentley from three houses down knew about her every move from Witch Weekly; Mr. Peakes across the road perused the happenings of her life from the graffitied walls at the apparition centre and reporters following her had simply become a part of her life.

Which is what brought her to be here, lying on her couch, massaging her temples and trying to register the fact that, once again, the media had something new to report about her life. She had broken up with Ben Gleeson, an up-and-coming young official at the Ministry and her boyfriend of five months – her third break up in the past year.

Slowly closing her eyes as the constant massaging caused the heavy thumping to gradually cease, Ginny began to consider heading over to Ron and Hermione's house for some old-fashioned girly chat.

Just as this thought entered her mind, however, she saw a figure pop up in the crack between her curtains and a myriad of flashes came her way. Groaning, Ginny threw the cushion she had been leaning on against the window and flopped back down to lie flat on the couch, burying her face with her hands.

God fame sucked.

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