Look! I've updated! Aren't you all proud of me? Anyway, for those of you who won't go back and re-read chapter 1, I did tweak it just a bit, nothing drastic. It's now all in italics. That means nothing to you now, but it will later. And if you don't read these little notes, well, you're up a creek without a paddle. Enjoy!
Chapter 2: Paperwork and Dinner Parties
Monday morning came—unfortunately. It dawned without thought or mercy towards my poor soul. Life would have been much better if time had just stopped during my sleep. An eternity in last night's dream wouldn't make for a bad eternity after all.
I sighed and slumped against the desk. Too bad dreams never last. Even now, the dream slipped slowly, fluidly, too easily from my memory. The only part the remained with me, a mere three hours after waking, was that lingering wisp of—of contentment.
But even as I remembered, that feeling too flowed away.
"Hey Gin!" Mary Ellen stuck her head in my office. "You've got some more paper work—wow, you didn't even touch that pile from Friday!"
I glanced at the very large heap of papers that covered the middle portion of my desk. "Oh. I guess I didn't get very much work done. I'll, umm, I'll get right on it." It did look like a very comfortable pillow, and if I laid on it long enough it would get smaller.
Mary Ellen smiled sadly, a look of pity caught in her eyes. "Don't you worry about it; I'll help you."
A flash of angry heat sizzled across my skin. She thought I was a total wreck, so broken others shouldn't even try to fix me. But it really didn't matter; everyone saw me as the ultimate hopeless case. "No, don't bother; you have more important things to worry about. I can handle a little paper work." I smiled so hard my face hurt.
"Alright then, but if you need anything, anything at all, don't hesitate to ask." She sashayed her way back to the front office, and I glared at that pert rump she wiggled so obsessively.
It was familiar, as if someone I knew used to do the same thing.
"Damn it all." I mumbled and grabbed some blue ink. "This is getting just plain stupid."
The hours blurred together as I went over form after form, report after report all on miscellaneous and less then demanding tasks such as cauldron bottom thickness and broom handle widths. With the monotony, boredom set in quickly. There isn't much entertainment when the job description is one word: filing. At least the job didn't require much along the lines of brain power.
At the bottom of the pile and as the clock approached five o'clock, I found a curious piece of paper.
To the highly esteemed Minister of Magic,
Although my devotion to this new Ministry has never been outright questioned, many of the gossips still hold to the rumor that I was a Deatheater. These rumors are, of course, beyond your control as I well know, but in order to still at least a few of the wagging tongues, I wish to bestow a series of gifts upon the Ministry. Due to my father's less then admirable character, many dubious items can be found in our Manor. On the following page is a list of names and descriptions of all of these vile items. Perhaps your officials might like to take a look at all of these objects? Also, I would like to make a substantial and anonymous donation towards the rebuilding of Diagon Alley. After all, everyone deserves a beautiful and safe place to do their shopping or pass an afternoon. It is imperative that this donation remain anonymous as the aforementioned tongues might take the donation to be a bribe rather than a gift. And lastly, in regard to the Weasley family, I would like to host a Gala in honor of Ronald and Hermione's wedding anniversary. It is a direct result of the actions of my father and many of his friends that they have suffered so, and as the sins of the father are passed down onto the son, I feel an obligation to give them more reasons to celebrate then to mourn. I hope that this weekly report does not cause any discord and meets with your approval.
Sincerely,
Draco L. Malfoy
Draco L. Malfoy
The attached paper read:
All of the materials listed were indeed found, examined, and confiscated for the safety of the public. Mr. Malfoy was duly fined. File as required.
More pointless paper work, oh goody.
"Hey, honey," Dad stepped into my office looking cheerful as ever. "Ready to go home?"
I'd barely registered that he's entered.
"Honey? Are you all right, sweetie?" He came farther into the room.
Quickly I shoved the letter under the three or four papers left. Mary Ellen probably would have just slowed me down with all her unwanted help. "Huh? Oh, I'm fine, Dad, just a long day is all." But then again, weren't they all?
"Well then, let's head on home. Your mother is making a roast with green beans, potatoes, and fresh rolls. Oh! And she's baking peach cobbler for desert too! Wish she'd cook like that every night, but since the Minister is coming for your birthday tonight we can't serve him normal food. Sorry dear, I know you didn't want us to do anything special, but your Mum just couldn't help herself. I don't think she bought any presents, though."
I stopped listening about halfway through his speech. For some reason Dad always talked down to me as if I simply couldn't handle anything more complicated then the weather or tonight's dinner, as if I just wouldn't understand. But then, everyone treated me that way. Ron often patted my head as if I were a dog. Hermione spoke of purely academic subjects: the newest charm for making beds, a new side effect of sleeping potions, the date Rome was conquered, etc. Only He actually treated me like a person…not really a comforting thought.
"Hello darlings!" Mum called cheerfully. "There's just enough time for both of you to shower and change before the Minister arrives. Hop to it!"
Dad leaned over and gave her a light peck on the cheek, but still managed to get flour on his clothes. After that he jumped up the stairs as if leaping hurdles. I, on the other hand, was in no hurry. No one expected me to be on time anyway.
As the shower was occupied, I opted for a nice long, steamy bath and maybe a nap. Mum had a big, claw foot tub installed for her last birthday, but I used it the most. After gathering some lavender bath bubbles and shampoo, I removed my shirt and bra and shimmed out of my skirt and underwear.
The water gushed out, filling the room with instant steam and the scent of lavender. Unfortunately Mum put a no-fog charm on the mirror, and I had nothing to do while the bath filled. With dirty reddish-blond hair, dopey brown eyes, a bump for a nose, and a mouth that wouldn't smile it was hard to imagine anyone would call me breathtaking. They had, of course, when I was younger. Had, as in past tense.
Not malformed or grotesque, many had called me beautiful. After all, most girls and women envied my thin arms, tiny waist, and slim thighs. Fashion dictated that a "beautiful" woman have trim ankles, microscopic feet, small everything, except breasts. However, my skin practically glowed in the dark, and bags hung from my eyes. Everything about me screamed unhealthy and broken.
At long last I lowered my much abused body into the hot, soothing water. And as hoped for, I promptly fell asleep.
The sun called us all out of the house, and who was I to deny the call. With a smile and a quick look for Mum in the kitchen, I dashed out to our spot. The grass wasn't too dry and bent softly under my feet as I ran across it. He beat me there and had already fallen prey to the sun's comforting warmth. He looked so cute, the wind pushing his hair over his eyes and a book open on his chest. If I'd been some one else, or maybe him, I might have kissed him or something. But I wasn't, and he wasn't so instead I lay down next to him and proceed to bask in the sunlight. The simplicity of the place was nice.
Mum pounded on the door. "I know you're in there Gin! I can smell the lavender in the kitchen! Come out right now! The Minister's going to be here any minute!"
I opened my eyes and sighed. "Yes, Mum." The water was getting cold anyway.
Big, fat drops splashed on the floor as I contemplated skipping the drying spell and tracking water all over the house. But then Mum would be so mad, and I didn't want to hear her little tirade about how "the water will just ruin her dinner" and that "it's all my fault the Minister won't have a good time" and blah blah blah. All of that was just not worth the pleasure of drying off in my own room. Oh well.
"Great," I muttered. Mum had pulled out a light pink top and blue jean skirt. The skirt was fine, all stiff and long, but the shirt—UGH! It clung to ever hollow, curve, any flap of skin, and it wrinkled alluringly in the front! Why would Mum pick out such an outfit? Did she want me to be miserable…on my birthday?
I briefly considered getting another shirt, but then Mum would go on another rampage, telling me I was being "difficult" and "ornery" and that "it would be nice if I would just do as she asked for once". Not my idea of fun.
Then again, this whole dinner thing didn't sound pleasant either. Perhaps I could have pleaded sick—but no, then Mum would have coddled me all evening which would defeat the purpose. Damn, I had to attend.
"Ginny dear, the Minister has arrived, and he brought Harry with him!" Mum shouted through my door.
Was that supposed to encourage me to move faster? Deciding it was, I shoved my arms and legs into the clothes forcefully and threw my hair in a messy bun. I looked pretty sloppy. Why did it matter how I looked? Harry and Spencer were family.
The table was sure fancy. Mum used the good china and her expensive tablecloth (they'd been in the family since her wedding), so it didn't look like a simple dinner with friends. Dad had on one of his smart robes, and Mum looked great in her best floral print sundress. Flowers decorating the living room gave off a light scent and made everything pretty.
I blinked, suddenly seeing a large garden in the midst of a fierce thunderstorm and a warm hand on my back.
"Hello Ginny," Harry said very quietly and very close to my ear which might account for the hand on my back. "You're looking wonderful tonight."
'I hope not,' I wanted to say back but instead smiled and said, "Thank you. Mum certainly did a wonderful job with the flowers. They're amazing.
"I'm glad you like them." He smiled brightly. "She wanted to do something special for your birthday, especially after what happened last year."
"Oh, right." I nodded and thought back to last year, such a long time ago. It had been a huge party. Dad had invited boat loads of people from work, and Mum made enough food to feed a small country for a few months. Harry had even managed to get the Weird Sisters to sing. It was any girl's dream party. But then Dad got called away—something about exploding doorknobs or was it biting toilets?
Anyway, he left, and then Ron started karaoke with Hermione. Those two should never sing again, not even lullabies to their children. The birthday cake exploded covering everyone in red icing. Fred and George were seen lurking nearby at the time. And he was there, watching the whole time. Not that I ever saw him, but he was the only person who could fix such an intense stare on me that I could feel it. And at one point he snuck up behind me and said "Happy birthday" in that low husky tone only he possessed.
"Last year was an utter disaster," I said to Harry.
Mum bustled into the room looking a bit like a peacock ready to show off its feathers. "Dinner is ready everyone," she announced. "Let's take our seats. Yes Arthur, you're sitting at the head. Ginny dear, why don't you sit next to the Minister?"
"Please Molly, call me Spencer." He grinned sincerely at Mum, who blushed. "We are friends."
Spencer wasn't the drop dead gorgeous type; in fact no one called him cute, handsome, or any other word suggesting beauty. Homely is how everyone described him, after, of course, he called himself homely. Most people now just referred to him as friendly. He had this knowing twinkle in his left eye that everyone trusted and a wide smile that everyone loved. It also helped that Spencer united both sides after the war; he was the only Dumbledore to ever be sorted into Slytherin.
We all quickly took our seats and began passing the food around. "So, my angel named Ginny, what have you gotten yourself into lately?" Spencer asked, happily digging into the food.
"Not much," I said sounding pleasant. "Just busy with work and a few other things." Like hiding from everyone and perfecting my ability to be invisible.
Spencer jumped up, knocking his chair over, and clasped his hands over his heart. "You shouldn't be all work and no play, that doesn't let your muse dive into the world of creativity and passion! It is the bane of this country that young people do not express themselves in all that they see, say, and do!"
That was the other thing about Spencer, if someone ever saw him doing what he called non-minister-leave-me-the-fuck-alone-duties, he acted like a child. The prophet used to run articles about his eccentric behaviors. But during an interview he told everyone that the Minister of Magic held a lot of responsibilities, and fooling around helped him deal with the stress. Then Spencer said that if anyone had a problem with that they could be minister for a day to see what it was like. After the first person spent a day traveling around chasing mysterious Voldemort sighting, no one really remarked on his off-duty activities.
"Alright!" I cried. "I'll do something fun this weekend." Perhaps in the Antarctic.
"I've been meaning to take some time for myself too, Ginny. So why don't you and I go to the theater this weekend?" Harry suggested casually.
That wouldn't be anywhere close to Antarctica.
The table was oddly silent as everyone waited for my answer, and I suspected his tone wasn't casual at all. They planned this! Suddenly I felt very angry, but I pushed it back inside. "That sounds like a good idea, Harry. Will you all excuse me for a moment?"
I headed straight for the upstairs bathroom in order to gain control over myself. Anger flushed my face—why should I go out? Nothing ever filled the emptiness, not dating, not trips to the muggle world, not an afternoon with Harry, nothing. Something always felt wrong.
Only my memories would ever fill that gap, but there was a reason I lost them in the first place. I may not remember anything else from that year, but I remember not wanting those memories. Did I really want to go against my younger self's judgment?
The girl in the mirror had no answers, only more questions, and instead of going down that line of thinking I turned the faucet on to wash my hands of it. The cool water rushed over my skin and beaded up when I removed my hands. If only my questions were as easy to wash away as dirt.
By the time I returned to the table, talk had turned to memories of past birthday dinners. Harry was snorting into the last of his potatoes as Mum regaled everyone with the time Fred cursed his own birthday cake. I gladly ignored the happy chatter.
Whereas everyone had practically emptied their plates, I'd only taken two bites. The food on my plate didn't look terribly appealing anymore, and the things in my stomach did not settle well. Besides, I had a bad feeling about this evening.
"Since we've all finished with dinner, why don't we move into the living room for coffee and cake?" Mum suggested amiably.
Everyone rose quickly and hurried to get their cake while I lingered at the table, picking absently at my food. The quiet, alone time was nice, and the chatter from the next room didn't bother me for once. Hermione called it centering my chi, but I called it breathing. It was hard to "breath" around so many people.
After a few moments, I rose to join them in the living room. Mum wouldn't let me abandon company for long, even if I need the time to collect myself. Their chatter stopped as I approached the door, and a new voice echoed through the room, Draco Malfoy's voice.
"I do hope I haven't interrupted anything." That annoyingly calm, controlled voice of his sliced through the air neatly. "I was hoping to discuss a few things with you, particularly about the—"
"Don't finish that!" Harry snarled in a soft voice. "We don't need your charity or your pity."
"I would not offer you charity, Potter, and my pity is reserved for those who deserve." Malfoy said.
They were talking about the ball, and I knew it. But why did they want to hide it from me? It's not like I wanted to go in the first place.
"You didn't tell her?" Malfoy asked losing that superior tone I hated. "Why? It's for her, too! Don't tell me you lot are afraid!"
No one said anything, and I could hear the dirty glares in the silence.
"It's been three years since the war ended. You are still afraid that it will get out?" He paused. "Don't tell me you're trying to shield her from everyone. She doesn't need your smothering protection! She needs to go out!" He shouted getting angrier and louder with each word. "It's time for Ginny to rejoin the world."
"We're trying!" Harry barked back. "But it's not easy you know! She fights every new thing and practically goes mental whenever someone suggests she go out for the evening. It was like pulling teeth to get her to take that job at the ministry! Like you could do any better!"
If their voices got any louder, neighbors in London would hear. My own ears hurt from the noise. Mum must have been simply dying in the room with them.
Malfoy lowered his voice, but it sounded sharper, more dangerous at that decibel. "Do better? She could do better living with a homeless bum! You've coddled her!"
"Yeah, well, if it weren't for you she'd be happy right now!"
What did Harry mean by that? I burst in the room looking for an answer. Spencer stared down at his lap, Mum cried so hard the chair shook enough to fall apart, and Dad had his hands clasped together so hard his fingers had gone pale. Harry had his fist clenched in Malfoy's shirt while Malfoy stood with his foot reared back to kick.
"Stop it both of you!" I yelled feeling angry. How dare they discuss me while I could still hear? "What are you talking about? This wouldn't have anything to do with the war, would it?"
Harry dropped Malfoy and ran to my side looking desperate. "No Ginny, we weren't." This of course meant they were. He put his hand on my arm and tugged gently. "You don't need to worry about this, just go upstairs and rest. Let me take care of everything."
Could he really do that? Harry, defeater of Voldemort, social recluse, a man who cared only for his family and his job, could he really fix this? Probably. Did I want him to?
Without a word I left the room, pretended to tramp up the stairs, but then tiptoed through the kitchen to listen at the other door. By the time I got there, everyone was participating in the conversation.
"I just don't understand. Dumbledore said that when Voldemort died, the curse would be broken, and she would be able to remember again. So why doesn't she?" Mum's voice trembled, and I could just imagine Dad taking her hand in his.
"It's not that simple, Molly," Spencer said in his minister voice. "Ginny has to want to remember, and that's the problem. Sometimes she wants to know what everyone whispers about, why they give her odd looks, but mostly our little Ginny just wants to be left alone."
"She needs to remember," Malfoy said authoritatively. "The time has come for her to accept what happened and move on. This pity party has got to stop, for her sake."
Harry's was the first voice to get loud. "No! She needs more time; she's not ready for what you want. And you'd know that Malfoy if you came around more often."
A fist pounded on a table. "Don't you dare go there, Potter, don't you dare! I stayed away because you said it would be best for her, because you said it might make her remember, not because I didn't want to see her! So don't you dare insinuate that!" The cultured tones Malfoy normally used disappeared in the harshness of his anger for a second time.
"Calm down boys. We don't need a fight right now. What we need is to remember this is about Ginny and what's best for her, not what we want. So let's settle down and discuss this like civilized people." Dad would've made a good negotiator if he'd wanted. All that sibling rivalry helped to hone his ability to diffuse arguments.
"Forgive me, Mr. Weasley; I let my anger control my tongue." Through a crack in the door I could see Malfoy bow respectfully before moving to sit in one of the empty seats.
"Sorry," Harry mumbled, still sulking by the dining room door.
"Now, since it is Ginny's happiness, her well being, shouldn't we ask her what she wants?" Spencer asked, putting more of his minister skills to work. "And if I know her at all, she's standing behind the kitchen door listening to every word we've said."
Busted. Spencer was smart, real smart, and I blushed at being caught. But when I opened the door to walk in no one looked angry or annoyed, just tired. They all looked so completely exhausted that a twinge of guilt rushed through me for causing their pain.
"Ginny, darling, Spencer's right. You may either continue to live with your mother and me or, if you like, go to Malfoy Manor for a little bit," Dad said quietly.
I looked at each face, carefully gauging their thoughts while trying to sort through my own, not necessarily the best method. Mum had her eyes closed, shielding me from her thoughts, but Dad obviously trusted I would make the right choice in the end. Harry glared at Malfoy. Clearly he thought I should stay at the burrow; the exact opposite of what Malfoy wanted. And Spencer just looked resigned, but then he never showed his thoughts to anyone.
But what did I want? Quiet: peace and quiet. Malfoy Manor would be secluded, but Malfoy wanted me out of my protective bubble. At the Borrow people would come and go all the time, but I would not be forced to speak with them if I so chose. "Here, I want to stay here." I told them.
"If that's what you really want, sweetie." Dad smiled, secretly pleased I'd chosen home.
"It's the right choice, Gin-Gin." Harry let out a sigh of relief and pulled me into a big hug.
Spencer blinked slowly, releasing the tension. He could face down a threat of annihilation without breaking a sweat, but if someone started the smallest of arguments in his family, Spencer would melt down. Malfoy gritted his teeth and ground his foot in the floor in an attempt to control his anger.
"No," Mum said softly. "I'm sorry, Ginny, but you can't stay here anymore."
See! I did get a chapter done, and don't worry, you won't have to wait like two months for the next one either. I have the whole story written out now. It just needs to be edited, typed, and beta'd by my friend, which will take about two weeks I think. But don't hold me to that, I am starting College on the 19th! Yea! Go me!