Saturday was a nightmare. Her mind was so distracted, she almost missed her bus stop, rushed in to the café to meet with Hermione, only to realise that she was an hour early. Sitting in their window seat at the very back of the café, Ginny tried to calm her jittering nerves.
The guy behind the counter – what was his name again? – came over and put a coffee on the table. "It's on the house," he said with a smile, which Ginny returned. "You're looking a bit flustered, so drink that and relax." He winked, then went back to what he had been doing.
Had he just flirted with her? Or was he just being nice? Ginny frowned at the coffee, but picked it up and took a sip. It was good, as the coffee here always was.
Looking out the window, Ginny wondered what it would be like to live as a muggle. If Ron could do it, surely she could? But after a few minutes of trying to imagine what it would be like, she gave up. She was incapable of imagining what it would be like; she had no idea how muggles lived.
With a sigh, she pulled out her notebook, went over her plans to get into the Malfoy estate tonight. She'd given her apologies to her parents so that she could meditate before she left – stretch out her muscles and prepare the charms she cast around herself. She looked intently at her sketched map of the estate, nodding at her notes about the guard charms. Her memory was accurate. She turned the page over quickly, muttering her action plan – written on the page in dot points. Stretch. Cast the untraceable charms. Stretch again. Put on the (terribly expensive) leggings, shoes, gloves and jumper. Stretch once more. Ward herself. Apparate. Sprint the five hundred metres, find the window – third storey – and begin to climb. Get the necklace and get out. Carefully. Sighing, Ginny closed the book and her eyes, visualising the process.
Half an hour passed without Ginny's knowledge, and when she opened her eyes again her coffee was cold. She drank it anyway, looked out the window again. There were only a few muggles in the courtyard, sitting on the grass reading textbooks or standing around chatting. What do muggles talk about? Ginny mused. Do they talk about men? Do they talk about their jobs and their friends? Do they complain about their families and politics?
She wished life could be so simple again. She wished she didn't have to worry about where her next meal was coming from, didn't have to flirt with danger to supplement her income. Looking down at her hand – and the brassy-looking ring that adorned it – she wished she had just left the wizarding world – or just Britain – like her brothers had done.
A hand on her shoulder made Ginny jump.
"Oh, goodness Ginny, you're jumpy today!" Hermione exclaimed, brushing past Ginny's chair to take a seat opposite her. Ginny fought to return her breathing to normal.
"Yes, I am. I think that the waiter was flirting with me before," she added.
Hermione glanced over her shoulder. "Really? I always thought he was gay. I ordered for us already.
"Oh, by the way? That symbol I asked you to help me with? It was from the Pacific; but it really didn't have anything to do with blessing or luck. It had more to do with a political system, actually," Hermione went on, not noticing the way that Ginny's gaze had sharpened on her. "Maybe a better translation would be 'utopia' – at least in the mind of the writer." Hermione looked up, and Ginny softened her face quickly.
"That's interesting," she said mildly. Hermione seemed flustered, for she hardly even noticed Ginny's strange behaviour. "What's wrong Hermione?" Ginny asked, surprised when Hermione started.
"Oh…" Hermione couldn't look Ginny in the face, and the redhead was surprised to see a couple of tears falling down the brunette's face. "Ginny, I just…" She was silent for a long time. Ginny fought the urge to growl at the girl to just hurry up already, instead waiting in silence.
"I left Ron," she blurted out, then burst into tears. Ginny stared at the woman as though she had gone mad. Sighing – she wasn't really very good at this sort of thing – she put a hand on Hermione's shoulder across the table.
"What happened?" Ginny asked quietly, almost dreading the answer.
"He…" Hermione hiccupped. "He came home drunk last night. More drunk than usual, that is." Ginny's eyes widened. Hermione had never told her that before. "And he… Oh, god, he wanted to have sex. And I couldn't… just couldn't stand to be in the same room as him. I ran into the bathroom and locked the door. Thankfully he was too drunk to use his wand and I had mine with me. I apparated to mum and dad's. I can't go back," Hermione looked up, her brown eyes narrowed in desperate determination.
"Why didn't you tell anyone before now?" Ginny asked, trying to keep any accusation out of her voice.
Hermione hiccupped a sob again. "How do you tell your husband's family that… that he can't handle living in a world he's never known? That he turns to alcohol for comfort rather than his wife? We never talked except when we were arguing – and we only ever argued when he was drunk. I… Oh, Ginny, I don't know what to do!"
Ginny desperately wanted to wrench her hand back and run away. This was the last thing she needed to deal with in the hours before the hardest theft of her career. But her mother had been very good at teaching her what was appropriate, and it would not be appropriate to leave right now. "Hermione…"
"It was my fault!" Hermione cut in. Ginny glanced around and noticed that the other people in the café were studiously not looking in their direction. Praise English stoicism, Ginny thought. "I… I forced him to leave everything he'd known. I assumed he'd be ok… I should have known when he wouldn't talk to me… I should have taken him to a psychologist…"
"I think you need to see a psychologist," Ginny interrupted. "It's not your fault, Hermione. You weren't completely blameless, that's true; but it's hardly your fault that my brother is an incompetent twit."
Lunch arrived as Hermione stared at Ginny. "Calm down, Hermione," Ginny added. "Everything will work out. Getting yourself all worked up like this won't help you any." Hermione was quiet, looking at her salad for a moment.
"You're right, Ginny. I'm sorry I got so hysterical. I just…" She trailed off.
"You just don't want me to reject you and take my brother's side. I know." Ginny was a little short, and for the first time Hermione noticed.
"Are you ok?" The brunette asked, peering at the other woman's dark under-eye circles and weary expression. Ginny waved off her question, began to eat the steak sandwich that Hermione had ordered for her with great relish.
"I can't remember the last time I ate steak," Ginny murmured around her mouthful.
"I don't think that a lack of steak makes you lose sleep," Hermione pursued. Ginny narrowed her eyes at her friend.
"You don't want to know, Hermione."
But Hermione was rarely halted by being told to back off. "I do want to know," the brunette replied.
"Can you deal with the consequences of knowing?" Ginny asked.
"Consequences of knowing?" Hermione asked, looking a little bewildered.
"Yes," Ginny replied shortly. "Not all knowledge is amoral, Hermione. There are consequences for knowing some things. There is some information that forces you to act, or take sides. If I tell you, you'll never be able to forget, and you'll be forced to take action."
Hermione looked at her friend for a few moments, indecision playing on her face. Then her face resolved into determination. "I want to know what's going on. Even if I have to face the consequences."
Ginny sighed. "I'm going to steal the paradise pearls."
"You're WHAT?" Hermione gasped. "You can't do that!"
Ginny raised an eyebrow, and Hermione struggled to close her mouth.
"Ok. What do you mean, you're going to steal the paradise pearls? Why would you even want to?"
Ginny stared at the woman. "Do you want to know what I eat most days, Hermione? The house stew. Which is mostly water, with a few vegetables. Some bread if the cook's going to throw it out. I don't think you understand just how much the wizarding world is struggling right now. Dad's been trying to sort out some form of ministry to govern, but nobody wants to trust a government. The rich rule our world, Hermione. The rich like Malfoy," Ginny spat. "He prances around, eating steak at lunch and dressing in different robes every day. I want to be able to live. I want to help my family out – Mum's living off her garden, did you know? So, I'm going to take something that belongs to him, so that I can live. Are you going to judge me now, Hermione? Are you going to tell me that I 'shouldn't' because it's 'wrong'? There are no right and wrong in our world. Just the rich and the powerful."
Hermione looked stricken. "I didn't even realise… I'm so sorry Ginny. Is there anything I can do?"
"You can not tell anyone what I'm going to do," Ginny replied. "And you can tell me what you meant about that symbol."
Hermione nodded, then her watch beeped. "Oh, Lord, is that the time? I have to go back to work! I'll… Can I come and see you on Tuesday?"
"I work until ten. Come and see me after that. Tell your parents I said hi," Ginny added, kissing the brunette on the cheek in parting. Hermione rushed off, paid the bill and hurried out of view. Ginny frowned. One more person who knew her secret.