Was going to give up on this because life got in the way, but after watching the Cursed Child I got re-inspired. So without further adieu.
Six bedrooms, four bathrooms, and a library.
The entire house was surrounded by white walls and dark hardwood floors that were covered by navy carpets and curtains with gold trims. Marble head busts stood on odd corners of the house as if they were supervising the blue and brown furniture that were elegantly placed around the grand townhouse in central London.
It was a home more than comfortable for a family with children and decorated with all the luxuries and privacy which Ginny Weasley had always yearned for in a house.
But to Ginevra Crouch?
The empty rooms and pristine white walls were a cruel reminder of how barren her life was now.
The Burrow, Ginny's childhood home, had lacked space and growing up she felt as though she could never get a moment to herself. Shower times were always rushed and more often than not she would be rudely awakened at the early hours of dawn either by her father and older brothers rushing off to work or an unplanned explosion by the twins' experiments.
Her mother's attention was always pulled in all directions and whenever Molly Weasley did have a time to focus on Ginny it always felt like a criticism or to give her another chore to complete.
Charlie's heavy metal music would ricochet through the house and her father's strange babbles about Muggle contraptions would always be amplified when he was in the kitchen, even if Ginny's door was closed.
Then there was that dreaded ghoul in the attic that kept howling and banging against the walls that heeded well into the night that Ginny could rarely get a good nights sleep.
Yes, life at the Burrow was chaotic.
But at least she was never alone.
Drawing her knees to her chest, the redhead rested her chin and stared outside the window of her new home.
Darkholme was its name and it was the home of the Crouch family for many generations. The white town house stood grandly amongst its clones in a magical district in Mordred Square, London, where it was as if time had stood still since the Regency.
Outside her window she could see the polished cobblestone streets be occupied by couples going on strolls, arms linked, and giving the customary tip of the head to passerbys. Mothers travelled with their children in open carriages drawn by Threstals, whose trots against the stone paths were welcome to Ginny's ears.
And for many evenings, Ginny would watch the old lamplighter take his time in illuminating the dark iron street lamps as dusk settled over the conservative neighbourhood.
It was unlike any experience she had ever had at the Burrow or during her time at Hogwarts. To be frank, she didn't even know such practices still existed nor the existence of Mordred Square, the only magical district in Central London.
So secluded from muggles yet at the epicentre of magical Britain and all its hobnobs, there was no need for explaining how exclusive and desired a property in Mordred Square was. And quite strict it was on its exclusivity.
Up until the reign of the Dark Lord, blood statuses never infringed on one's chance to live in the most sought after location in Britain; if not the world.
Not even names such as the Blacks or Malfoys, no matter how wealthy they were, could afford such grandeur and her Aunt Gwendolyn made sure that she remembered that.
What mattered was succession and prominence
Ginny supposed the Crouch family, prominent for their generations of engagement in politics, fell under both categories. But over her days reading through old archival newspaper clippings and photographs in the family hall, Ginny made the not-so surprising but yet interesting discovery of just who the other tenants of Mordred Square were
Members of royal families from other countries, descendants of those who changed history with magnificent feats in action and academics, and prominent politicians like Fudge were just some of the few groups Ginny had been able to categorise as the ones who were qualified to live in the prestigious suburb.
Even Kingsley Shacklebolt, who she only recognised after reading the inscription below a photograph, had grown up on the white steps of Mordred Square.
It wasn't a prison, as her aunt Gwendolyn quoted with that pouting frown of disappointment when she first came to visit.
"To be a pureblooded maiden is an honour, Ginevra," she had lectured during one of their many tedious tea times. "But being a member of the Sacred 28? Now that's a privelige."
And to that, Ginny could begrudgingly agree because it was the truth.
Being a pureblood was the only thing that kept her from being in Azkaban. Or worse, at the docks.
Even if she was chained and trapped she was still alive, breathing, and wasn't mutilated in any way, shape, or form.
A soft babble startled the former Gryffindor from her daydreams and she quickly got up from her window seat, abandoning her half drunken cold tea and untouched scone.
Peering down the white bassinet that lay across the nursery, Ginny couldn't help but smile down at the baby that lay below wide brown eyes blinking curiously up at her.
Whilst she had always planned to have children sometime in the distant future, Ginny had never been the maternal type. She didn't daydream and giggle with her girlfriends about future husbands, babies, and homemaking dreams as most girls at Hogwarts did when she had attended.
No, she had plans and dreams even bigger than Charlie's and more daring than Percy's.
It was a future filled with Quidditch, hardcore international parties, and endless travel expeditions across Asia and Central America. Molly Weasley's dreams of Potter-Weasley grandchildren were going to be on the back burner for as long as possible until Ginny was ready to retire as an internationally renowned Chaser or an Auror or even an authentic Gilderoy Lockhart.
Maybe even all three.
I guess that's what happens when a motherless baby's you're only company, she thought to herself bitterly.
"And did you enjoy your nap, you pampered prince?"
The brown eyed baby responded by kicking his excited limbs as she picked her up before snuggling against her bosom, warming her heart until it made her smile.
Squeezing him close to her chest, she enjoyed the smell of his soft hair and kissed it gently, savouring the small but dearly comforting moment between them.
Barnabas Crouch was not Ginny's own offspring, but he needed a mother just as much as she needed company in this gilded prison of hers.
Being a mother was the last thing Ginny desired to be at the age of twenty, but being a mother to Barnabas came to her naturally as mounting a broom. He was a curious baby, always crawling about to get his hands on anything to stuff into his mouth and loved to peer outside the windows with Ginny.
He loved tugging on her red hair and would always burst into peals of gleeful laughter at the silliest antics Ginny would display. He was so easy to please and with his chubby cheeks and shock of spiky brown hair, how could she not fall in love with the Crouch heir?
Their tender moment was broken up by the sound of a cough by the doorway.
"Are you nearly done?"
Standing at the doorway was Barty Crouch Jr. with an irritated scowl, as if she was inconveniencing him terribly.
Dressed in expensive robes with a scotch in his hand, the older wizard would have been dashing had he not looked so raggedly tired.
Dark circles caused by sleepless nights marred his pale sickly skin, and his lack of success in tracking down the Golden Trio only deepened his scowl and frown lines.
He was only supposed to be a handful of years older than Ginny. Young enough not to be her father but old enough for their age gap to be questionable. But his sour worn down countenance and years in Azkaban aged him beyond his years.
Ginny gave him a tight smile.
"Just about. Would you mind holding him?"
Without a fight or fuss, Ginny handed the lively baby into the arms of his father as she headed back to her room.
For a callous death eater as Crouch, it endlessly surprised Ginny to see him treat the chubby child with such doting affection.
Contrary to popular belief, Barty was actually a very devoted father to his only son. He kissed his son's cheeks and shifted him so Barny was placed on his hip as he talked nonsensically to the youngest Crouch.
The giggles and delighted claps made Ginny pause and wonder just how such a cruel man could be so affectionate with the flip of a coin.
It was obvious that Barty loved his son, but to what extent did that love extend?
Shaking her thoughts away, she slipped on her shoes and applied some finishing touches of makeup. Spraying herself with her favourite floral perfume, she examined herself in the mirror.
"Breathtaking, my dear," her mirror sighed in whispy awe.
"I should hope so," Ginny replied back to no one in particular.
Without a wand it took more time and effort to have her red locks shiny and sleek, and her makeup gorgeous. Winky, the Crouch elf, though useful and unnervingly loyal, was helpless at beauty charms.
Smoothing down the expensive emerald green robes she had meticulously hunted down for, Ginny steeled her nerves. She was gorgeous. That was undeniable. But she knew no amount of glamming up would save her from the critical eyes of the magical elite that would be attending her aunt's Christmas party.
Taking one final breath, Ginny nodded at her reflection.
She would be fine.
She had survived other events. How much would this one be different?
She made her way back to the nursery, knocking at the door to interrupt the tender interaction between father and son.
Barty looked up from his son.
Ginny bated her breath, anticipating for a comment or any acknowledgment that she had dressed to his standards.
Instead the dark haired man cordially responded, "Meet us at the foyer. I have a port key arranged for us."
Any shred of confidence she had built up just then in front of her magic mirror was crushed and pulverised as her supposed husband strode out with his son as if she were another wall.
Though she would never ever admit it to anyone, dead or alive, she had actually tried hard this time to look exceptionally beautiful for the Burke's Christmas Party.
Ginny Weasley had never cared for the validation of anyone, much less male attention. Sure, she had bouts of insecurities as any teenager would. But growing up with six older brothers gave her a tough skin, and she wasn't blind to the fact that she always attracted male attention whether it was wanted or not.
Beauty was becoming a commodity within the magical elite; particularly within the Sacred 28.
And as it became more scarce, stronger did the eyes and hands that latched onto Ginevra Crouch become.
"Forget spells and potions," her aunt had scoffed, while brushing Ginny's hair before her nuptials. "Beauty and wit is what gets us through. And for us Prewett witches, that is our greatest asset. Our strongest protection."
Ginny had mentally snorted at her aunt's bold and narcissistic statement.
She highly doubted that her mother and aunt were offered to be on the front covers of Witch Weekly back in their youth. Merlin, she had the hardest time wrapping her head around the idea that her great aunt Muriel, haggard and crotchety without any teeth, was fabled to be a beautiful maiden back in her prime days as a pureblooded debutante.
Ginny was well aware she wasn't built to be on the same level of slender gracefulness as Cho Chang or her Veela-blooded sisters-in-law.
But as she spent hours and days staring at her reflection out of boredom and the sourness in her life crept deeper into her heart, the more eager she was to seek out the faults instead of hers.
So she accepted that she was beautiful. Moreso than her pathetic, boring, and chubby cousin Elaine. Moreso than pug-nosed Parkinson, who still hadn't gotten a nose-fixing charm after all these years and opportunities. Moreso than the she-ogre Millicent Bulstrode who was as garish as her surname.
But no amount of comparing herself to others lifted Ginny's moods. Instead, she was bitterly reminded that even if she was better than the supposed standard, she wasn't treated with the level of respect and acceptance as the aforementioned girls were.
Swallowing down her ire and bitter frown, she did what was expected of her.
She obeyed and followed after the Crouch's.
Much like its owners, the estate of Gwendolyn and Thracius Burke was grand and flaunting but lacked subtlety and taste. It was of odd form, with its contrasting styles and patterns. Every design choice, however, screamed money. From the grand Roman style columns to the heavy mahogany chaises with dragon hide, and the hideous stained glass window with the Burke family crest.
It was as if the owners had found a catalogue, picked the most expensive items and bought them all just to spite everyone with their wealth.
At the top of the marble staircase that spiralled the circular foyer, stood the mistress of the house, poised to greet Ginny.
"The Crouchs are finally here," Gwendolyn cried out joyfully, looking every bit of a high society host.
She wore a shimmering gold dress with draping sleeves, her red hair pulled up into a confusing, towering hairstyle and her face was glammed up with a bold red lip. She glided down the stairs to meet her guests, arms spread out to show off her sleeves.
"Mrs Burke," her husband said, kissing her Aunt's hand charmingly though his voice betrayed his boredom. "Thank you for your lovely invitation."
"Oh Bartemius, you do make me laugh," her aunt laughed in a falsetto. "Such formalities are such nonsense! Afterall, we are family."
To that, Barty gave her a grimace.
After a lapse of silence, her aunt diverted her attention to her.
"Oh Ginevra," her aunt simpered with a poisonous smile. "You look absolutely radiant tonight."
"Thank you Auntie," Ginny said politely.
"And little Barnabas is looking so handsome!"
Ginny tried not to flinch as Gwendolyn brought up a hand to pinch Barny's cheek. Much to Ginny's amusement the little boy turned his head away from the older witch and buried his face into Ginny's neck, avoiding the witch's talons.
"He's still a shy young boy, Auntie," Ginny says politely with a small apologetic smile. "He'll grow out of it."
"I should hope so," her aunt Gwendolyn responded with a peculiar frown. "It would be a shame if we had to beat him into shape. Can't have him all spineless and retarded like your father now can we."
At the mention of her father, Ginny inadvertently flinched and her heart thudded heavily. The old Ginny would have hexed the witch in an instant for insulting Arthur Weasley. But hasty actions have dear consequences.
"Come now. Everyone is already in the piano room."
Barty put his hand on the small of her back as they followed her aunt. The voices of the guests grew louder as they approached the double doors that led to the sitting room before her aunt suddenly stopped remembering it was a strictly child free event.
With a deafening shriek of an order from the older redhead, a young woman dressed in red, not much older than Ginny, came into their attendance.
Ancillas.
Another outdated wizarding practice that resurfaced under the new regime.
Taking Barnabas out of Ginny's arms, the Ancilla retreated a few steps back, head subdued whilst Barnabas fussed in her arms, unfamiliar and uncomfortable in a stranger's grasp.
Under even more stupid wizarding house rules, Ancillas were forbidden to leave a room until the masters departed.
As the three of them commenced towards the piano room, Ginny glanced back to Barnabas' cries.
But it wasn't the baby who was bothering her the most.
There was something peculiar about the girl that Ginny just couldn't place her finger on.
Something about the girl's green eyes.
She tried to scrouge the girl's face, hoping to see the eyes that were obediently glued to the floor as they were stepped further away.
"So sorry for that," her aunt sighed long sufferingly. "These Mudbloods are entirely useless. You can't trust them to do anything right!"
"So why not just use House Elves?" Crouch commented dryly.
Ginny bit down her smile of amusement and stared at her shoes as her aunt lost her composure for a moment.
Crouch was more than aware that the Burke's had run out of their share of house elves and getting a new one was more trouble than it was worth.
Gwendolyn and Thracius Burke may be in the ranks of the pureblooded elites of magical England. But their blood purity and influence were their only respected traits by the inner circle.
If not for their status as the descendants of the Sacred 28, the magical elite wouldn't waste a glance at them due to their inability to manage their finances and the various business scandals associated with the Burke name.
It was something that was unspoken of in social settings, but Crouch seemed to relish in reminding Ginny's aunt and uncle about their lesser standing. Especially, how if it had not been for his obligation to Ginny, the Burke's would still be drowning in debt and hounded by Gringotts about late payments and liquidations.
She wouldn't dare to admit it but she actually enjoyed her husband's sarcastic sense of humour when he chose to show it.
Gwendolyn regained her composure with a sweet smile, which was so eerily similar to Ginny's mother in shape, but poisonous in nature.
"Useful those creatures may be, I find more delight in reminding squibs and mudbloods of their rightful place. Don't you agree, Ginevra?"
Ginny just nodded in agreement.
Her aunt didn't give a dragon's dung about her opinion. Her aunt could care less about what she thought or of her existence to be honest. Ginny was well accustomed and well aware that her aunt only included her in conversations when she needed her point to be validated.
Whatever Gwendolyn said, Ginny was bound to agree.
It was the easy way out. To blend in and be forgotten again until the next time Gwendolyn had to have her point backed up.
Or at least that was what Ginny told herself.
The truth was far more complex and maddening. And it was a truth that Ginny didn't want to examine. For if she did she would discover more about herself that she wished to keep buried and forgotten about.
The gaudy French doors magically opened to the piano room as light, chatter, and soft piano spilled over Ginny and she was reluctantly ushered into the snake pit.
Cinnamon and sweet fragrances of ginger enveloped the bright room in a hearty spirit as witches and wizards of all ages mulled about in joyous Yule celebration. Ginny had to begrudgingly admit that her aunt had done a fantastic job as she did every year in transforming the gaudy Burke piano room, into a festive yet comforting party space for the magical elite.
Reminiscent of the Gryffindor common room, as her aunt had been one, the room was covered in red and gold broken up by a massive Christmas tree which gleamed expensively. Hors d'oeuvres floated around on enchanted golden plates, and silly couples kissed under mistletoe as tradition dictated.
Lavish and exuberant, Ginny wondered just how much more gold Crouch had to haul out for Gwendolyn to continue her lifestyle.
The question was at the tip of her tongue, but her aunt and husband had long departed. Her aunt had gone back to greet some more guests while she spotted her husband heading straight to the bar. Feeling like an outsider, Ginny stepped away from the doorway and settled into her favourite habit of observing.
Unfortunately for her, she couldn't see any other Wives that she was familiar with. She received scathing glances from the likes of Pansy Parkinson and Gemma Farley, but no familiar meek gazes of the likes of Hannah or Astoria.
Instead, her eyes settled on a wizard who was at the centre of the room and her stomach churned violently with anger and resentment.
Percival Weasley, the Ministry's prodigal son and current Minister of Transport, stood pompously and proudly with his wife, Anastasia Weasley née Greengrass latched to his arm.
She was undeniably sexy with her blonde hair piled up and maroon robes that bordered on impropriety, but no one would dare to cross her. Not only was she a high ranking Ministry official's wife, but she was also on the board of the Garden Party; an exclusive clique reserved for pureblooded witches. Not every Wife was guaranteed a position and if you weren't in it, you weren't protected.
On surface they were an odd couple, one wiry and bespectacled with red hair that had been muted, and the other oozing sex and charisma.
But they were the biggest snakes Ginny had ever met in life, so to her they complimented each other so wonderfully it was sickening.
Her brother, the one who renounced her and her family, the one who never visited her during her time at Selwyn, and the one who pretended like he did nothing wrong. She hated him more than her aunt Gwendolyn, and the fact that she still couldn't converse with him didn't seem to bother him at all.
And then there was Anastasia, who protested and gave her shit for being so complacent during their time at Selwyn's. Now she was the very definition of the perfect Ministry wife, decked out in flashy clothes, attending parties and galas without a care, and torturing Muggleborns for the fun of it. She was the antithesis of the girl that was brought back against her will from the US. She thrived off the misery and subjugation of the muggleborns, and on multiple occasions humiliated Ginny for her own amusement.
Watching the blonde girl bat her lashes and seductively kiss her brother infront of so many, Ginny asked herself the same old question. How could somebody's character change so quickly? Or was Anastasia just a snake who had shed her skin, and this, the Pureblood Wife, was who she was all along?
Too lost in her thoughts, she never noticed the eyes that had been trained on her since she entered the piano room.
Slippery as the snake he was, she didn't hear or see him creep up beside her until she shrieked in surprise at the fingers that dug in her waist.
"Easy there scarlet," the man chortled as he gripped her waist to steady her. "I didn't mean to frighten you so."
His breath wreaked of tobacco and scotch.
Ginny squirmed out of the older man's grip which he effortlessly made out into a pirouette, as if she were showing off her dress for him.
"Now my dear scarlet child," her uncle Thracius Burke said appreciatively. "Don't you just look ravishing!"
She could feel his eyes devouring her form, lingering her bust.
"Come now. Why so shy? Aren't you going to wish me a Happy Christmas? I was so looking forward to celebrating another year with you."
"Happy Christmas," Ginny said quickly and quietly, her heart at her throat. Her breath was shallow, and her dress was suddenly too tight. Maybe if she could excuse herself now-
"Come now, scarlet," he chided patronisingly, bringing her in for an embrace. "Why so formal? We know each other so well, hmm?"
Saved by the announcement of the dinner bell. In her haste to get away as far as she could, she darted straight for the dining room caring little for decorum until she ran straight into another figure.
"Oh my Merlin! I'm so-"
The profuse string of apologies died on her lips as a pair of grey eyes, widened with surprise, looked back at her.
"Weaslette."
Before she could respond, she felt a presence appear next to her and a familiar hand found itself on her lower back.
Barty glowered at the younger Slytherin. "That's Mrs Crouch to you."
There was no physical reaction off of Malfoy's face save for a pale raised eyebrow of incredulity.
"My apologies," the blonde responded coolly.
As the pressure on her lower back strengthened, she was guided by her husband to the dining hall, where place cards hovered eagerly for their arrival.
"I noticed he doesn't have a ring," Ginny said to Barty in a quiet voice.
"He'll be rewarded when he is deemed worthy enough by the Dark Lord."
The dinner was long, uncomfortable and nearly unbearable for Ginny, as the men chattered about murdering muggleborns and whatnot. Instead, she pushed the food around on her plate and sipped on her water.
The dinner was ridiculously lavish, and Ginny couldn't help but wonder how many more were starving while on the run. The dinner was nothing like the warm, cozy Christmas dinners she'd always had at the Burrow and at Hogwarts. Everything she saw was beautiful, certainly, but terribly lonely. The table itself seemed to stretch for miles, and Ginny lost count of how many chairs it had before a new voice cut through the polite chatter.
"So, Mrs. Crouch," Anastasia said, stressing the Crouch part with a menacing smirk. "How are you doing this evening? You haven't spoken one word."
Other ears pricked up on this. Though they feigned engagement in their respective conversations Ginny knows far too well that that was far from the case.
"I'm fine, thank you," Ginny answered curtly.
"That is relieving to hear," Anastasia said with a fake smile. "You know I ran into an acquaintance of yours yesterday at the Ministry. It was quite… peculiar."
"Is that so?"
"Yes, a little owl told me you were quite familiar with a Demelza Robins?"
Ginny's throat tightened drily and the rest of the table fell silent to listen in to the two ladies.
"Of course, she wasn't much use at conversing," she said with a soft sigh, pausing for effect before continuing slowly, "especially not when she's displayed so vulgarly on the Scaffold."
The Scaffold.
Where they hung the worst of the criminals for
Steeling her nerves, she looked at Anastasia and smiled that damn fucking stupid perfected polite smile she was always expected to have as a Lady.
"Oh?" Ginny forced herself to say with interested curiosity, as if Anastasia had just told her a juicy piece of gossip. "Whatever for?"
"Possession of Muggle forms of contraception," Claudina Brooks piped in, sipping her wine.
"Quite silly if you ask me," Ginny said in a matter of fact tone. She felt Barty tense next to her, ears trained as the rest of the table. Anastasia raised her eyebrows in incredulity and Claudina smirked in delight. But Ginny knew the card she was dealt with and played the game though it fostered her self hatred.
Crushing her face into disapproving frown, Ginny tried to be casual as she dealt the blow. "She was only a quarter breed so I'd say she was doing us all a favour. We don't need any more unsullied spawns now do we? The orphan crisis is as bad as it is."
Anastasia blinked in surprise before a small smile crept on her face. "Quite right you are, my dear. Quite right you are."
"Besides," Ginny added, dismissively as she could, begging her hands not to tremble as she cut deeper into her turkey. "Isn't she your relation, Claudina?"
Claudina, who had obviously anticipated Ginny to espouse some blood traitor sentiments, looked stupefied momentarily. She had clearly not expected Ginny to respond in such a manner and with the table flipped on her, fury rushed to her cheeks.
"Distantly," the older girl admitted begrudgingly. "But that part of the family and its history are burnt off the tapestry. She is not my family."
"But the Travers blood still runs in her veins," Ginny quipped back. She gave the older witch a sweet smile.
Before Claudina could snipe back, Anastasia broke in with a condescending tut.
"We can't change our family's past or choose who our ancestors copulate with. But I'm just so relieved my children's blood will be clean. Not a speck of mud in their blood."
"I'd say it's still tainted," Claudina responded shrewdly, obviously still sour at Ginny. "Pureblood your husband may be, he's still from a pack of blood traitors. They may as well have mud in their blood for they roll about in it-"
"You can wash mud off the pureblood, but you can't wash the mud out of a mudblood," Anastasia interrupted crisply, with an aristocratic glare. "Isn't that how the old saying goes?"
There was a dangerous tone to her voice which dared Claudina to challenge her.
Only a fool would've dared to have challenged Anastasia, for Anastasia was one of the first fews wives to receive her wand back.
Under the new regime, pureblooded witches and wizards were prohibited from duelling one another in fear of spilling unnecessary blood.
But there weren't any decrees prohibiting pureblood witches and wizards from casting spells upon any creature without a wand. Wandless witches and Wizards included.
With a venomous look towards Ginny, Claudina affirmed Anastasia's statement with as much enthusiasm as a Carrow reciting their do-re-mi's.
"And thats why we must always trust the true words of our ancestors," Anastasia said with a radiant smile. She reached across the table, her icy grip finding Ginny's hand with what she supposed was meant to be a reassuring squeeze. "And I'm so glad to help correct the Weasley bloodline to what it rightfully was. No more mudblood dalliances, no more blood traitor allegations."
You can shove your gladness up your hole Greengrass.
Ginny's gaze flickered to her brother's, who instead was focused on his wife, who stared back at Ginny with a smile dripping with poison.
As much as she wanted to squeeze Anastasia's long pale neck until her eyes burst out, Ginny settled on a hand squeeze back. But not strong enough for the poor Slytherin Princess to cause a fuss and put her in an unwanted predicament.
"For Voldemort and Valour," Ginny simply replied.
The table echoed her sentiment, all dropping their cutlery, and joining simultaneous hand movements that was embedded in the regime.
After the meal was finished, the guests all moved back to the piano room. The wizards smoked cigars and drank the finest liquor while the witches stood in a circle by the fire talking and giggling like they were still in school.
As usual, Ginny kept her distance. Even if she was one of the wives of the most powerful men in magical Britain, she would never be one of them; the magical elite.
Unsullied her blood may be, but she was born a Weasley and she was treated as one and they made sure to remind her of it; whether it be a passing of condescending side eyes, sly remarks about her upbringing, or outward scowls and sneers of disdain.
As a little girl, she always secretly dreamt about fine silk gowns, decadent tea parties and fabulous seasonal balls she would read about in her tattered books or snippets from her father's copy of the Prophet. The Yule Ball in her third year gave her a taste of that life and after being naively swept off her feet by that dolt Michael Corner, she only harvested that desire further.
It was cruelly ironic at how your wildest dreams could also become the worst of living days.
Refraining from sighing for the sixth time in that hour, Ginny noticed from the corner of her eye that the double French doors leading to the balcony were wide open. The warm cosy piano room was charmed to insulate itself from the dark snowfall outside, but the curtains fluttered to the rhythm of the frosty breeze.
She had to admit, she was never the type of girl to think about the consequences of her actions. And though she tried to be careful in heathen times such as this, she couldn't help but let that Gryffindor precociousness (or stupidity) overtake her senses.
Making sure the Yule Tide occupants were far too preoccupied for her, she slipped through the doors and ventured into the frosty Christmas night.
There was something oddly refreshing about the crisp winter air, particularly during snowfall, though it had no particular scent.
Her lungs seemed to have revitalised with the cold air and for a moment she was able to clear her head.
Just her and silence.
And it was peaceful.
The balcony was another hosting space, big enough to hold at least sixty people during summer but occupied by none during the winter as it lay laded with uninterrupted snow.
Trudging forward, Ginny moved towards the steps that led to the Burke's gardens, further away from the light of the piano hall and into the winter darkness.
For here she could truly feel alone and at peace. Cold, yes. But alone and with her own thoughts.
Besides, it wasn't as if any of the other wives wanted her to join their conversations, and she didn't have the energy to endure their cruel remarks and belittling gazes.
She settled on leaning against the railing, fearing of staining her dress from the icy steps, and was about to relax until she felt a presence behind her.
She turned to find a very curious looking Draco Malfoy standing behind her.
What a fucking creep, she thought while clenching her jaw.
In her shock of running into him like a bumbling fool, she didn't fully register how the boy she once knew had also become a man.
His hair was longer, though not as long as his lunatic of a father, and he had lost some of his awkward teenage gangliness though he still maintained a tall slender frame. He looked at her warily, as if she were the dangerous one with power in this unbalanced world. The longer those grey eyes stared at her, the more she noticed how tired he looked.
Good, she thought too herself. He deserves no rest.
So many words fuelled with years of raw emotion ran through her head but at the same time she didn't know how to proceed. She didn't know him. Countless wasted hours in her room had her daydream various scenarios of running into figures of her past. She mentally rehearsed lines on what to say, how to act, if on any occasion she would ever run into anyone from her past again; whether that be Harry or her mum. And though she had also mentally rehearsed on seeing the much hated ferret many times, none of the sassy lines that would sting him came to her mind.
So she settled on being blunt. "You look like shit."
If he was surprised by her choice of words, he didn't show it.
She rolled her eyes at his impassiveness. How predictable.
Despite the years that had gone by since they last saw each other, his emotional intelligence pitifully demonstrated that it hadn't matured, as he saw it as an invitation to move forward to stand next to her.
Ginny pursed her lips in annoyance as the blond wanker stood next to her in silence.
The old Malfoy she knew would have sneered back, poke at her own appearance or poverty.
This pathetic display of humble despair and silent sombreness, only stirred the bitter emotions within Ginny that she had thought she left behind at the piano room.
"Does he… does he hurt you?"
"My husband does not treat me unkindly."
Which wasn't exactly a lie from Ginny's perspective. It wasn't as if Barty was hitting or raping her whenever he pleased and Ginny very much preferred keeping it that way.
Noticing the ferret was still staring at her, Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. "Why do you care?"
Now it was his turn to look away from her.
How pathetic, Ginny thought to herself sourly. He had the nerve to look ashamed as if he wasn't the reason for all of this.
Although it must've been mere seconds, to Ginny it felt like minutes, as they stood in silence. The snow slowly starting to pierce into her skin and the tips of her fingers starting to numb in the December night freeze. Having enough of this; him, wasting her time again, she turned to go back to the piano room.
"I think about you, you know."
A grand confession. How cliché, Ginny thought sourly.
"And I think you're pathetic," Ginny told him coldly. "A selfish, insecure, cowardly, sellout-"
"I swear to you-"
"Don't!" She hissed as at his sudden grasp of her wrist. "Don't you dare-"
Noticing his gaze, somewhat alarmed, over her shoulder, she glanced to see what had made him stoic in his movements.
Burke looked at their hands, face souring into a dark expression of distaste before his green eyes flicked back onto the young couple.
Fear sped icily down her veins, and she quickly yanked her hands back behind her and stepped away.
Head bowed to the ground, Ginny concentrated on her shoes and anxiety battled against her stomach.
"I think you ought to head back inside, Malfoy," she heard the older wizard say curtly. "Your father is asking for you."
Burke was fooling no one with his lie.
She dared not to look up as she felt Malfoy's hesitancy in leaving her with her uncle. Maybe he knew, or maybe he could sense that Thracius Burke wasn't to be left alone in the dark with girls.
Please don't go, please don't go, please don't go.
She took back all the contempt she held for him, and held her breath, heart pounding to her ears as panic sped through her veins. She promised to herself or whatever higher power was above, that she would relinquish all that hate she held for him if he didn't leave her alone with him. Her uncle.
But fate had long departed Ginny's side since she was sixteen years old.
Fear screamed through her head as the boy she had previously cursed to the pits of hell made his departure, though she dared not to look up as he bid her farewell.
The silence she had just cherished only minutes ago, now constricted her like Devil's Snare, as she was reminded just how many more worse men were out there than the coward Malfoy. She couldn't feel her hands, and she knew it wasn't the fault of the winter.
"Outside and unchaperoned? Thought you were smarter than that scarlet."
Ginny tried to swallow, get an answer out.
"And with the Malfoy brat no less. Thought your aunt would have taught you well not to cavort with the Dark Lord's unfavorable ones."
"I was under the impression they were back in the Dark Lord's graces."
"Lucius, perhaps," Thracius conceded dismissively with a shrug. "His spawn? Not so much. But what can you do? Nepotism breeds and runs this society now don't you think?"
To that Ginny did not answer.
"But outside and alone with another wizard," Thracius mused suggestively. "An unmarried one at that…"
"It wasn't like that," she said weakly.
"Mmm," he said, tracing the tip of his wand against her waistline. "I do believe you, scarlet. But I'm afraid if the wrong people get wind of this the consequences would be very dire. Would hate for your husband to catch the wrong impression. You know how… unstable he can get."
Yes she did. But nothing frightened her more than what she knew the sickening bastard before her was going to ask her to do. Her eyes burned with tears and she felt his fingers grip onto her chin, forcing her to look at him.
Noticing the tears that spilled down her cheek, Thracius smiled sadly. But those green eyes that were nothing like Harry's gleamed with sadistic joy at the power he held before her and just what was about to come.
"Oh come now, my rose," Thracius said softly. So softly one could be fooled into thinking he cared about her. "You know I would never put you in harm's way."
A sob wracked through Ginny's body and escaped as an ugly stifled gasp past her closed lips.
His large hand on her waist, trailing upwards, rose the bile that she so desperately wanted to expunge.
She steeled herself to feel his hands where not even her husband had bothered to lay; although it wasn't of new terrain for Burke.
She tried to disconnect herself, try not to feel the unwanted filthliness that clung onto her wherever Burke's hands wandered.
But as she waited for his hands, she strangely felt them slide down. Then away.
Ginny trailed his line of vision up to the second story and saw a figure stare down at them, her disgust penetrating through the glass and down at them.
The regal figure who seemed to be her odd form of a guardian angel these days raised her eyebrows coolly, never taking her eyes off Thracius.
What effect Narcissa Malfoy had on the Burke wizard, Ginny had no clue. But she slowly exhaled the breath she had held, as her uncle stepped away begrudgingly with an ugly scowl of annoyance that marred his once debonair face.
"Seems like I'm needed elsewhere dear scarlet," he told her softly. He pressed a kiss onto her cheek, but kept her close as his tobacco breath whispered in her ear.
"But if the Malfoy brat ever bothers you. Let me know."
A mutual understanding passing between them. It wasn't a kind thoughtful service of protection he was offering, but a demand.
And if another kiss to the cheek, with all the pretences of a doting uncle, he walked off, whistling a tune so casually as if this were just a regular Sunday stroll for him.
Once Ginny couldn't hear his footsteps or whistle anymore, she finally allowed herself to breathe.
She released the breath she never realised she had been holding and collapsed onto knees with it. The sobs came out unwilling, her body heaving with each cry and she tried to regain her breath and composure.
But it was hard.
It was so damn fucking hard.
Drowning in all sorts of emotions in a vast range of intensity every fucking day of her life. She tried so hard everyday to keep her head afloat every minute of the day to keep from submerging into the sorrows and anguish of her life but everyday she was getting tired and just wanted to drown.
Where was Ron?
Where was he when she needed him now more than ever. She needed him to save her from this madness before it consumed her and why wasn't he even trying to find her?
Where were Harry and Hermione?
It had been four years since they disappeared off their quest and Ginny knows that they're out there. She knows because her husband a fucking death eater and spends his days tirading in his office about his lack of leads. Four years they've been off gallivanting on their quest while she withers away here damaged and caged at their expense. She wanted to scream out in frustration but held her breath down in order to avoid attention.
She just wanted to be alone. She just wanted to apparate far far away and never come back. Turn her back on the Wizarding World, all it's tragedies, and forget about being Ginevra fucking Crouch.
"Ginny."
"Don't touch me!" She spat at the person, flailing her arms at them and smacking their hands away from her. "Don't you dare fucking touch me!"
It was all too much for her. She couldn't take anyone's hands on her, especially not of Burke's. Anyone's.
She just needed to be alone. She needed to breath before she could live another second in the hell she was left behind in.
She felt the person who had tried to touch her retreat slowly back from the balcony steps they had came from.
Friend or foe, she couldn't give a fuck to care who they were.
She just needed to be alone.
"I'm sorry."
The voice was soft. Feminine. Genuine. Remorseful.
But it wasn't good enough.
Because no amount of apologies in the world could fix Ginny Weasley, in a world where she was a Crouch.