Author's Note: As I began to write this story, and the scenes in the chapter to come came into existence, I knew it would probably be controversial. I didn't set out to write something so controversial, did everything to avoid telling this story. I tried to write it as an original work first, and realized that this was definitely Ginny and Harry, in one of their many incarnations. I know what's coming is different than what is usually found in fanfiction, but this is where the story was meant to go-no matter how much I tried to get out of it, this story haunted me. I also did want to warn you that there are depictions of illicit drug/potions use, and addiction in this story.
CHAPTER TWO
Ginny was exhausted after her shift. She had pulled a double, as the witch who had been scheduled for the evening had taken a day of sick leave, her owl only arriving two minutes before she'd been set to relieve Ginny. Oh well, money was due for rent soon, anyway. She dragged her feet as she exited to floo into her flat.
She pulled the hair-tie from her plait, allowing her hair to come loose and cascade over her shoulders. Running her fingers over her aching scalp, she immediately discarded her work robes and pulled on an old, ratty Gryffindor t-shirt she'd had since her fifth year at school.
She collapsed onto her little twin bed, laying there like she was boneless.
Merlin, it had been a long week. And it was only Monday. Bloody hell, she thought. She wanted to sleep for ten years. Or maybe twenty. But she still had a lot to do before she could sleep.
Glancing at the clock beside her bed reading 11:21, she knew she couldn't veg much longer. She had places she was expected to be within the hour. Why had she even bothered changing into her pajamas? Wishful thinking, she supposed.
Ginny heaved herself up again, digging through her trunk of clothes that she had taken from the Burrow when she'd moved out. She found a pair of tight, black trousers and a dark tee-shirt she could wear underneath her jacket. She pulled it all on quickly before running a brush through her tangled hair. She went to the loo and surveyed herself. She looked bone-weary. She pulled her hair into a ponytail and magicked it into a different colour.
It wasn't a surefire disguise, but it did keep her from being immediately recognized.
She was glad the mirror couldn't talk to her like it did at home. She pulled on her black boots, tucking her trousers into them.
Ginny exited the flat as quickly as she'd arrived, heading towards the nearest Apparition point.
She reappeared seconds later in a resplendent garden. Her breath was taken away momentarily, as always, by its natural beauty. She made a face, though, when she passed a statue of a snake. She had never warmed to the creatures, even with the talent that blasted diary had left behind in her.
The garden was dark, filling her with a sense of foreboding. It was overgrown in a deliberate-seeming way, statues half-hidden in overgrowths. Ginny walked quickly towards the large, ornate stone door, where she knocked three times exactly and waited.
She was let in promptly by Morana, a witch with long, raven hair that hung flat around her tanned face. They grasped each other's forearms, more out of habit than any camaraderie. Ginny wasn't sure if she could trust the witch, but still had a small amount of fondness for her.
"Long time, no see, cousin," Morana said. Ginny held back a grimace.
"It hasn't been so long," Ginny told her, raising an eyebrow. "Maybe since last full moon?"
Morana gazed out the large window and glanced at the large, bright moon in the night sky. "I suppose you're right. Can I get you anything to eat or drink?"
"Some tea would be fine," Ginny smiled. "I'm knackered after the weekend I had."
"Take a seat in the drawing room, and I'll be right there with the tea. Your favourite is Lady Grey?"
"You've got it."
Ginny meandered towards the drawing room, taking in her surroundings, wondering how she ended up here.
The manor dripped old money. She imagined that it must be how the Malfoys had lived before the second fall of the Dark Lord. This manor, she imagined, was even more draconic than the Malfoy's. She stopped to stare at a painting next to another large window. It was a historical, magical painting, depicting a young girl in Victorian dress as a shadow crept closer to her in the moonlight.
She shuddered and walked quicker until she reached the drawing room. She placed herself on the edge of the sofa, listening for Morana's footsteps. There was a draft in the room, even though it was warm outside. A fire blazed in the hearth but seemed to provide no warmth. The figures in the paintings surrounding her seemed to move like shadows, this way and that. Somehow it all reminded her of the great serpent from her past, of the time she had lain dying in the vast, cold, cavern beneath Hogwarts.
Morana appeared out of nowhere and Ginny stopped herself from jumping. She didn't usually feel so nervous here, but something was different this time.
"Here's your tea, Ginevra," Morana said. "The master should be with you shortly."
"Thank you, Morana," Ginny said seriously, drawing more courage into her lungs as she took a centering breath. She took a sip of the tea, noting that Morana had added a hint of honey with the cream. That was kind of her.
Ginny waited for a few moments before she heard the door open and turned to look. It was the master. She stood up immediately, placing the tea and its saucer on the table to her side.
His pale skin and dark, empty eyes had always unnerved her. "Good evening, Miss Weasley," he intoned.
"Master Doru, it's a pleasure as always," she smiled at him mildly. "I have brought what you requested of me."
"Good, good. Let us have a seat."
Ginny took her seat again and waited for Master Doru to request the parcel.
"Now let's see this treasure," he held his pale, thin hand out to her. She pulled it out of her jacket pocket and placed it in his hand as she stared away from his eyes and at the skin stretched tight over each knuckle. He must be incredibly old, Ginny thought, not for the first time.
Master Doru unrolled the parcel, examining it carefully.
"Good work, Miss Weasley," he proclaimed after several quiet minutes. "Excellent work. I hope after this trip, you can find it in yourself to do me another favour?"
Ginny's stomach roiled, but she nodded. "I would like for you to recreate this with that talent of yours and return the recreation from where you took the original."
Ginny tried to hide her shock. "Of course, Master Doru. When must this be done?"
"I'll give you two full moons for this endeavor. In the meantime, come back as much as you need."
She nodded silently.
"We have an agreement, then?" he asked, holding out his hand to her.
"Yes, we do, Master Doru," she said, hating herself. She felt as if she were signing her life away with the words.
"Good, Miss Weasley. I had best be off, but Morana will show you to the door."
"Thank you, Master Doru," Ginny felt compelled to say.
"You're very welcome, Ginevra. We will see you again soon."
He exited the room and Morana appeared in his wake. "This way, Ginevra," she said. "I have your payment in the foyer."
Anticipation was growing within her, and she followed Morana as composedly as she could. The potions were set on the table by the door. Five vials, all for her. She impatiently waited for Morana to place them in the box that only she would be able to open once her flesh bonded to the lock.
"Thank you," she told the witch as she felt her skin warm against the lock.
"Of course," Morana said. "I'm sure I will see you again, soon."
Ginny didn't want to admit it aloud, but she was sure, too.
"Have a good night, Morana," she told the other witch. They grasped forearms again before Morana opened the door for her.
Ginny whisked out into the cool night. She stopped herself from running to the Apparition point, barely able to even focus on her destination near her flat.
Once she was home, she placed her thumb to the lock and took out a vial. "Slow," Ginny warned herself. She undid the stopper and took a single sip. That should hold her until morning, she decided.
The pain eased within a minute or so, and she breathed a sigh of relief. The tension within her eased moment by moment, until all she felt was calm. And then shame.
"Fuck," she whispered. She undid the glamour on her hair, returning it back to its natural colour.
She felt a strange pressure in her hand and looked down to find her palm bleeding. Unknowingly, she had crushed the vial between her fingers. She went to the waste bin and dropped the shards of glass into the depths. She examined her skin as carefully as she could, realizing there was a piece of glass stuck right where her fate line and her sun line met. She knew it would scar. She pulled out the glass roughly, deciding that she wouldn't magic it better. What would be the point? She couldn't feel the pain anyway.
She pulled off all her clothes and crawled into her bed. She would sleep well tonight for the first time in a week.
And sleep she did, until a searing pain in her hand woke her in the early morning hours.
Ginny opened the case of potions again and stared at the vials before closing it again.
She made her bed, finding dried blood on her sheets from the night before. Stupid, she thought. She grabbed her wand and scoured the blood stain out before turning her wand towards her hand. She decided not to heal her hand, once again, after a moment of staring at it. Maybe it needed to be a reminder of what her life had become. Her mum would be so ashamed of her. She was ashamed of herself.
Ginny looked at the clock. Shite, she had to get to work!
She got ready quickly and dashed out the door.
When she got to her first table, she found Harry Potter sitting alone.
"Hello again," she smiled at him, pushing all her worries behind her public mask.
"Good morning," he replied.
"I didn't think our full English was good enough for a back-to-back performance," Ginny quipped.
"Er," Harry stuttered for a moment. "I guess you could say I had a craving."
Ginny shrugged. "I'm not here to judge. You do actually want the full English, right?"
"Yeah," he nodded.
"Coming right up. Coffee again, today?"
"Please," he groaned.
She grinned a little before walking towards the coffee pot. It was finishing brewing, so while she waited, she grabbed the sugar and cream caddy (the cream was charmed to stay cool) and watched Harry Potter from behind the counter.
He was handsome, more handsome than she remembered from the last time she'd seen him at sixteen. She'd seen his picture in the paper here and there, of course, telling tales of heroic deeds and dates that never seemed to go anywhere. His dark hair was unkempt, and his green eyes shone out from beneath long, dark lashes. His skin was almond coloured and smooth. The papers had tried to make him seem like a witches' man before giving up on his love life altogether. She couldn't remember the last article she'd seen about his sex life.
She bit her lip, wondering…
… A tingly feeling that she hadn't experienced in so long. Not since before…
"Weasley!" She jumped and looked to the source of the voice. She was torn out of her daydream to find the assistant manager, Pat (short for Patroclus), glaring at her.
"Weasley, are we paying you to check out customers?" He asked.
"Well, you are if I'm pouring coffee while doing it," she replied, wiping her hands on her apron nonchalantly.
He smirked the smallest amount. "Yes, but you aren't pouring coffee right now, are you?"
"Right on it, boss," she said.
She grabbed the coffee pot—now full—and carried it to Harry Potter's table.
"Fresh off the press," Ginny told him.
He grinned. "Thanks so much. This stuff is giving me life."
"That is high praise for such swill," she smirked.
"Anything served by you is not swill," he replied.
That was smooth, Ginny thought. She almost couldn't help blushing, but she narrowly avoided it.
"Your full English should be coming right up. Let me know if you need anything!" She grinned, turning to greet her newest table.
Ginny Weasley wasn't stupid. She knew that the Leaky Cauldron's full English breakfast wasn't the best in London. Nevertheless, Harry returned to her section again on Wednesday morning, ordering the same exact thing for the third day in a row.
His eyes followed her around the pub, building a fire within Ginny that no thoughts could quench. Her hand shook as she poured his coffee, as she could feel the weight of his gaze on her body. Get it together, Gin, she told herself. No wizard had ever had this effect on her, and it wouldn't be professional of her to let it get the best of her at work.
Finally, Harry left for his own work and Ginny felt her heartbeat return to normal.
At the end of her shift, Ginny popped by her flat to clean up. She stretched against the wall, needing to get the tension out of her back, any way she could. Merlin, it was worse than usual today.
She looked at the box that Morana had given her the night before. One small sip would bring relief, and peace. Could she do it? Could she take a little bit of potion and go to the Burrow? Would her parents notice? Not if she was careful, she decided. They hadn't in the past. If she only took a small sip, it would be fine, she reasoned.
Finally, finally, she made her way to the box sitting beneath her bed and pulled it out. Underneath her fingertips, it unlocked and popped open.
She took the second vial and uncorked it. So close.
She took a small sip, wondering nervously if it would be enough.
Afraid it wouldn't be enough, Ginny knocked back another gulp, praying to Merlin she hadn't overdone it. Slowly, painfully slowly, she felt its effects trickle through her, limb by limb, surrounding her in cool relief, and then warm comfort.
Ginny sighed in relief. She lowered herself down to the floor, which she noticed for the first time in a while, was dirty. She should clean it, she decided. She got up, a little wobbly, and looked around for the cleaning broom. She found it in a dusty corner beside the icebox.
With a quick wave of her wand, the broom was dusted off and dancing merrily about her flat, creating neat dust piles.
Ginny looked at the time and gasped. She needed to be at the Burrow. She rushed to the loo, looking in the mirror at her reflection. She looked like a mess. Her hair looked like she'd been sleeping on it and there were dark circles under her eyes that would tell everyone around her that she hadn't been sleeping as much as she should have been.
She pulled out a WonderWitch product from Weasleys' Wizard Wheezes that helped disguise dark circles and spread the cream underneath her eyes. The circles were gone within seconds, so she grabbed her hairbrush and ran the brush through it quickly before applying a glossing charm to her hair. Much healthier looking.
She raced out of her flat and towards the Apparition point, casting a furtive glance around for Muggles before disappearing with a small pop.
At the Burrow, Ginny found her mum in the kitchen, preparing supper, and her dad in his shed. It was eerily quiet, only the sounds of her mum in the kitchen making any noise.
"Ginny!" her mum shouted. Molly Weasley put down the spoon she'd been holding and rushed to Ginny, enveloping her in a large hug.
Ginny relaxed into her mother's hug, as it always reminded her that everything would be alright.
"Hi Mum," Ginny greeted against her mum's shoulder. "Good to see you."
"You need to come around more often, dear," her mum chastised. "You need some fattening up!"
Ginny blushed. She was a little thinner than she'd like, but food hadn't really been her priority in a while. There were more important worries in her life—like Doru's hold on her, and her growing concern about her dependency on those pain potions. "That's why I come over once a week, Mum," Ginny grinned.
Her mum tsked and said, "Help me finish up this stew. I've got to butter the bread."
Ginny acquiesced and took the spoon, stirring the stew in the large pot. The amount of stew her mum had made would be more than enough for the three of them. Coming home for dinner on Wednesdays often reminded Ginny that her mum didn't know how to cook for a small amount of people—only a large crowd. It made Ginny wonder how often her mum and dad dined on leftovers.
The stew was one of Ginny's childhood favourites: lamb stew with leeks and other vegetables. It had always been something they could only afford on incredibly special occasions—more special than even birthdays—and this stew always reminded Ginny of happy times.
As she stirred again, she saw her dad emerge from his shed, as if he knew that supper was nearly ready. Ginny wondered if he had a sixth sense of it after all the years he and her mum had spent together. She watched as he walked steadily towards the house, whistling some tune she couldn't hear. She thought that he would probably retire soon from the Ministry with a hefty pension that was gifted to war veterans retiring. It had been something Hermione had secured the year before for anyone who had fought with the Order of the Phoenix or Dumbledore's Army.
Ginny knocked on the glass and waved when her dad looked up. His smile was bright, and she noted how much more relaxed he was now. Ginny wasn't sure if it was because all of his troublemakers were out of the nest, or because he didn't fear for his family's lives anymore.
She tried to act normal as he came in—her dad had always seemed to know her better, and he had taken it even harder than her mum had after the chamber.
"Hi Dad," she greeted him when he walked in, the back door squeaking in that familiar way as he opened the door.
"Ginny-girl," he walked over and ruffled her hair before bending down and kissing her cheek.
"Alright?" she asked.
"I am!" her dad said cheerily. "How has my favourite daughter been?"
"I'm your only daughter, dad," she replied, acting exasperated like she had been when she'd been little and answered the same question.
"Not anymore," he reminded her.
"Well, I won't tell Fleur I'm your favourite," she chided. "I've been doing alright. Mostly, I've been working and doing some art." It wasn't a lie, per se.
"I'd love to see your art sometime."
"I'll bring some over next week," Ginny promised.
"Good," he smiled gently.
Her mum bustled over. "Arthur, dear, would you set the table?"
"Of course, Molly-wobbles."
Ginny mimed gagging at the two of them, but her mum just giggled and blushed lightly. Ginny pretended to gag again, trying not to think of her parents' sex life.
"You two are so disgustingly sweet," she complained out loud.
"Someday you'll find somebody who makes you feel the way your father has made me feel for nearly forty years, dear," her mother said.
Ginny wasn't sure if that was true, thinking of how she hadn't had any successful relationships. She didn't know who could love her with how she'd been carrying on. On the other hand, she thought it might be nice to attempt something with Harry Potter—even if it was just a one-time deal to get it out of her system. She hadn't had a decent shag since before her injury. She imagined what it would feel like to have him inside of her, on top of her, his hands in her hair.
Ginny bit her lip, feeling a flush build its way up on her face and then down her body.
Now, she tried to think about something that would cool her down and told her mum, "If you say so."
Her mum chuckled and Ginny asked, "Do you need any more help?"
"If you want to help me put the stew in the serving dish, I would appreciate it, dear."
Ginny moved from where she'd been standing at the counter and found the giant bowl her mum had always served soups and stews out of—it was a purple, wonky-looking thing that Bill had made as a child, but her mum had charmed it to activate an ever-warming charm whenever something was placed inside.
She carefully poured the stew in and brought it to their wooden table with all its nicks and scratches. How many meals had she enjoyed with her family at this table? Ginny wondered.
She set the bowl on the trivet her mother had set out and turned to grab a pitcher of pumpkin juice from the fridge.
CLUNK!
In the matter of a second, Ginny had lost her footing. This is the end, she thought as she tumbled down, putting her hands in front of her to break her fall. Her back wrenched as she fell. Her face nearly met the old, wooden floor and she flashed back to all the times Ron had scraped his nose on the floor falling in this kitchen.
Luckily for Ginny, she still had some athletic reflexes that stopped her from scraping anything up. Unluckily for Ginny, she had also bumped the wall on the way down and her mum's clock came crashing down to the ground. She attempted to catch it, hands fumbling, fingers not quite grasping onto it. It slipped through her fingers and onto the floor next to her knees, face down, the sound of glass shattering echoing in the kitchen.
"Fuck," Ginny cursed aloud.
Her mum didn't berate her for her language—she was too busy staring at the clock on the floor. Ginny worried she may be in shock. Her dad was already on the move, racing to the clock with his wand.
"Raparo," he said urgently, wand pointed at the clockface.
Ginny watched as all the broken pieces of glass, and a few of her siblings' faces, floated back into place, and she finally breathed a sigh of relief. "Oh, thank Merlin," she said. "I'm so sorry, Mum!"
"It's fixed now, so it's alright," Dad told her.
Her mum was still standing, face frozen. Ginny bit her lip, wondering if any of it would have happened if she hadn't taken that potion before she had arrived. She knew how her mum treasured the damn clock, even now, when all her children were grown up.
Her dad went to her mum and helped her sit at the table. Ginny took it upon herself to grab the rest of their supper from the kitchen and place it on the table. When she realized she'd forgotten the pumpkin juice, she charmed the fridge open and summoned it, not wanting to risk another incident.
The three Weasleys ate in silence for the rest of the meal, and somehow Ginny's stew didn't taste as good as it usually did.
