A/N: Okay, I'm gonna get all the formalities out of the way first. This is going a stong D/G fic, but that does not mean, beyond any shadow of a doubt, that they will be together at the end. That's what I like to call 'creative license' and I like to use mine right up the the very boundaries of sanity, thanks, so you've been warned. ^_^

Also, I'm highly irregular with updating so... uhm, there's nothing I can really do about that (save locking myself up in a straight jacket, and then I couldn't update at all), so you'll have to grin and bear it. Or review and bear it. Or just review. I'm really not partial. ;)

I tend to use flashbacks a lot, and sometimes the nature of them can be quite confusing. If you don't understand how the different perspectives work (ie First, second, third, double-narrative etc. etc.) then I'd suggest a quick and meaningful roundevouz with Dictionary.com before reading. I like to play with my perspectives, it's what gets me through the day.

This fic's rated Mildly Naughty, because that's (roughly) how bad I estimate it will get, but that's not a guarantee. I'm only human :P Anyway, I'll inform you of any Rating changes, so you don't need to worry about stumbling in on some lovely G/D smut entirely unprepared. ;)

Finally, I'm a huge D/G fanatic, and I do (sometimes) come up with some canon stuff in the fic, so if you haven't read HBP and you don't want to spoil it, you should probably leave now. Also, that doesn't mean to say that I'm completely without fault - I do harbour mistakes (sometimes big ones), so if you find anything truly heinous, email me or review and I'll assess whether or not I need to change it or not. ^_^ Because, after all, it is up to me. :P

Oh yea, and enjoy!

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Prologue
Almost Broken Promises



Broken promises. Empty threats. Vacant expressions.

The wind whipped volcanic red hair about mercilessly, slashing it into her face and tangling it around her throat as if in an attempt to choke the life from her. Not that it would have mattered. Nothing mattered anymore.

Small dried orange and red leaves tumbled past her feet, dancing a dance of death as they made their last stand, swirling and pivoting in protest. She looked over the barren world before her, debris and people everywhere. Survivors of The Last Battle. And none of them she recognized. Not one of them she knew.

She looked over the vast expanse of land that used to be Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. There was no evidence of a magical institute here except a large pile of smoking rubble. More than large; enormous. Empty of feeling, Ginny made her way towards it.

Stumbling blindly over blank faces and unmoving limbs, she tried not to let her tears fall. These people didn’t want her pity, they didn’t want her pain. They had their own troubles to deal with, in their own way she supposed. She snuffled self-deprecatingly, hating that she could walk through a field of people who had given their lives for others and not give them a second glance. Then she tripped.

Sprawled across the trampled grass, Ginny lay still. She dared not move for the fear of being spotted by lifeless eyes.

How was it that Dean had been so alive only hours ago and now everything had been stolen away in less than a breath? The wind taken from his sails as if by a vacuum as it sucked up dust. And yet, in all that destruction, life continued. Emily, Dean’s younger sister, being comforted in the arms of a stranger as she was pulled out from beneath his saddening weight. Ginny’s eyes dried up, almost as if in protest at what she was seeing. Everything Dean Thomas had been, could have been and was still yet to be was gone.

Even from where she lay, Ginny could see Emily’s eyes dancing in the light, the pale yellow sky casting a soft glow over her bloodstained face, tear tracks clear amongst the dirt and grime. Invisible to her, Ginny struggled to her feet and crept on. She wasn’t here to cry over people she had lost. She was here to look for those she could yet lose.

Suddenly, Ginny dropped to her knees as she saw a shock of brilliant red hair pinned beneath another unknown being. Another person lost in transit. She knew that hair. She saw that hair all the time. It was there when she looked in the mirror.

Choking on her own terror, she scrambled forward, brutally shoving the man in a Death Eater’s costume away. She wanted to scream, she wanted to howl. She wanted to make some noise that might release what that stark, lifeless, humorless face brought to existence in her. Feelings of anguish and utter despair as she remembered all the times that face had smiled down upon her with worldly love expressed in those pale brown eyes. That was no more. The pale brown eyes were blank and dull, the absent twinkle causing bile to rise in her throat.

‘What have they done to you?’ she asked, horrified. ‘Why? What good did this do?’ She glanced around at her brother’s surroundings, seeing what it was that he saw as his life came to an end. The unfair abrupt halt that stopped her life as much as his own.

The crackle of a dead leaf being stood on alerted Ginny to another presence. Another person was standing directly behind her. She closed her eyes tightly… waiting.

‘It never does any good, Ginevra.’

She didn’t need to look up. She knew who it was, and she still didn’t want to look up. She wished he would just go away, leave her to her task and pretend he’d never even seen her.

‘What would you know about it?’ she asked, suddenly enraged by the aloof pretense alive in his voice. He was immune to the world, but she certainly wasn’t. ‘You don’t care enough about anyone to even comprehend what might be going on in this place other than killing and dying! You pretend, and you do a bloody shoddy job of it!’

Draco knelt down beside her, grasping her chin lightly and turning it up to look into his silver gaze. ‘I see what goes on behind turbulent eyes, Ginevra. I don’t need to pretend; I know.’

Ginny pushed his hand away angrily, trying to stem the tears that built up in her eyes. She didn’t want to cry… not in front of Malfoy! ‘What are you doing here?’ she demanded, her voice full of unshed tears. ‘If you’ve come to look for your Father, he’s not dead.’ Ginny stood up and glared down at him, her eyes suddenly clear of moisture and lined with something that didn’t often grace a Weasley’s eye; hatred. ‘Yet.’

He almost smirked. ‘What is it that you think you could do to him?’ he sneered. ‘He’s twice your size, three times your age and he’s extremely adept at Dark Magic.’ Draco pulled himself up to his full height, reversing their roles as he now glared down upon her. ‘Going up to him and attempting to pull his hair won’t do a thing, Weasley. More likely than not, he’ll just get annoyed.’

‘You underestimate me.’ Ginny turned and kept on walking towards the large pile of smoking rubble, suppressing the disgust in herself as she left her brother, her own flesh and blood, lying alone and silent.

‘Where do you think you’re going?’ Draco demanded, catching up and pulling her round to face him.

‘That,’ Ginny answered as she tried to pry his steel fingers from around her arm, “is none of your business.’

‘Of course it’s my business!’ he growled angrily, his grip tightening painfully. ‘I’m making it my business. It’s suicide, you silly girl!’

Ginny whirled around to face him, stumbling slightly as she bumped into him. ‘Since when have you ever cared what I did, Malfoy? Never! This is exactly the same.’ She wrenched her arm from his grip and waved her small hands at him before shoving him back in the direction they had come. ‘Bugger off!’

He didn’t move. Instead, he shifted his intense glare towards the rubble, taking in the irregular flames of light that erupted from the other side, illuminating the sky for an instant and then fading. ‘I won’t let you go.’

Ginny frowned, confused by him. ‘Why on earth not? You’ve forgotten your place, Malfoy. I’m only a Weasley to you. I would have thought you’d be glad to let me go over there and get myself killed. One less Weasel to dirty your empire with, right?’

‘No.’ Draco ran his hands through his hair and watched Ginny with a calculating look that made her feel uncomfortable. She didn’t know how he did it. He always made her uncomfortable underneath his gaze. Something she’d been trying to repress for years. ‘You’re wrong,’ he continued, after a long pause. ‘You’re so incredibly wro--’

‘Why am I wrong, Malfoy? What in Merlin’s name would make me wrong about this?’ Ginny glanced desperately over her shoulder at the flashes of light. ‘You’re wasting my time! I need to go!’

Draco grabbed Ginny’s arm and pulled her away from the ruins of what used to be Hogwarts, dragging her into a small grove of scorched and smoldering trees beside the lake.

‘I refuse to let you go and kill yourself, Ginny. I can’t let you.’

Ginny looked incredulous. ‘You can’t let me? You can’t let me?’ She stepped back from him, looking livid. ‘I'm going to give you something to bloody let in a minute, Malfoy!’ With that, Ginny launched herself at him, scrabbling to throw a punch or aim a kick that might hit its target.

‘Ginev--’ Draco grunted as a well aimed kick to his shin almost caused him to buckle. ‘Don’t be stupid!’

‘I’m – not – being – stupid!’ she shouted as she took multiple shots for his face, missing each time. ‘If you don’t let me go,’ she growled, connecting with one of Draco’s arms, ‘then I can’t be held accountable for any damage done to you!’

Not more than a moment later, Ginny found herself sprawled, once again, on the grass. This time, however, she had Draco Malfoy’s knee driving painfully into her lower back and her left arm pulled around in a death grip.

‘Get off me,’ she wailed, close to tears. Even her Gryffindor courage had its limits, and in the face of Malfoy’s onslaught her steel-lined resolve was beginning to melt.

‘It’s for your own good.’

‘For my own good?’ she cried incredulously. ‘You call making me eat grass ‘for my own good’? I’m going to be pulling it out of my teeth for weeks!’

‘At least you’ll live that long,’ Draco replied dryly, loosening his hold upon her arm. ‘I’ll get off you as long as you promise not to have any more little episodes.’

‘Episodes!’ Ginny hissed dirtily to the ground. ‘Episodes!’ Ginny thought she was behaving particularly restrained for someone who had lost three brothers, her mother, her father, multiple friends and still stood to lose a few more because she had a great lump of righteous aristocratic pillock sitting on her back. ‘Would you like me to show you what one of my episodes really looks like, Malfoy?’ she screamed at him, wriggling and struggling as he tried to control her. ‘It won’t be pretty!’

Draco’s face darkened considerably, not that Ginny could see, and it was even less likely that she would have cared overmuch anyway.

‘I’ll not let you go and willingly kill yourself, Weasley.’ Draco tightened his grip on Ginny’s arm, but didn’t pull it back any further. ‘Merlin knows that Gryffindors are forever plagued in the idea that ‘act first, think later’ actually works, but as a Slytherin I am obliged to inform you that it doesn’t.’ He paused, probably for a dramatic effect Ginny thought. ‘All it does is get more people killed by idiotic means.’

Ginny hissed, livid, ‘Are you trying to imply that, as a Gryffindor, what I intend to do is for a stupid cause?’

‘No,’ Draco snapped quickly, ‘Even I have to admit that your reasons are admirable. Your method, however, is completely shot. I’m not letting you go.’

‘I hate you!’ Ginny screamed, tears flowing freely down her cheeks as she struggled. ‘I hate you so much! Harry is going to die, and it will be your fault I was not there to help him!’

Draco hissed as if he’d been burned, letting go of the writhing girl and jumping back. His eyes were darted with slivers of pain as he watched her scramble to her feet, her face red and tear stained from exhaustion and pain.

Ginny withdrew her wand shakily from her pocket, wiping the tears from her face and standing taller in the face of the man who bore so much resemblance to her own version of the devil. ‘I hope, for your own sake, that I’m not already too late.’

Draco watched as the red-headed girl, barely on the brink of womanhood, picked her way across a field of bodies and debris. Making a path to her own grave, as he stood powerless.

‘Unfortunately, so do I,’ he said, so that only the restless spirits, invisible and hidden to him as they also stood and watched her go, could hear him. And silently, they wished it too.

Chapter One
Dancing with Demons



“Mmm.” Harry breathed in the scent of her hair, the scent that was so purely Ginny Weasley. “Ginny?”

“Hm?” She stirred against him, questioning.

“I love you. I… I just wanted you to know.”

Ginny sat up, her face red and flushed from sleep. “What?”

“I said I love you.”

“No, I heard that, you silly prat. It’s just that, I do know. I know more than you could possibly imagine.”

Harry’s face flushed red with pleasure. “Yea?”

“Yes, you oaf.” She pinched his arm affectionately. “And you. I love you too. You should know that.”

“I do,” Harry replied, his hand moving to her head and stroking his fingers through her hair. “I do.”

“Good.”

A companiable silence settled over the couple as they rested comfortably on the settee in the Gryffindor common room, watching the fire on the other side, licking the grate of the mantle. Ginny’s hair was teeming with life as only the light from the fire bounced off it this late at night.

It was the times like these that Harry treasured most. The times like these with Ginny Weasley, when he forgot everything but her, everything but them. There was no world, there was no horror, there was no pain. There was only Ginny and her crimson halo of light.

“Ginny, can I ask you something?”

“‘Course, Harry,” she mumbled against his thigh where her head rested peacefully. “What is it?”

“I just… well, I wanted to ask you a favour.”

Ginny sat up at his nervous tone and turned to face him.

“Tell me. You know I’d do anything for you Harry.”

“I just… will you be there for me?” he asked.

“Harry?” She didn’t understand at all.

“Will you… will you be there for me? If it looks like I might lose, or die, could you be there? You wouldn’t need to help, but just be there?” The silence was deafening as Harry waited, his face and neck flushed.

The air hissed out of his lungs and he turned to stare at the fire. “Oh god, I’m so sorry, Ginny!” he cried, hitting his head with his palm. “How could I be so horrible? This is my curse, not yours! You could die. I’m sorry, forget I said anything, please, I’m an idiot! I’m so sor--”

Ginny silenced him the only way she knew how, and it worked much better than either of them could have anticipated.

“What are you sorry for, you fool?” she whispered, her forehead pressed hard against his. “Of course I’ll be there. I would never leave you do it alone, Harry, never! You never even had to ask. I didn’t understand what you meant before… Oh god, Harry how could you ever think--”

“Ginny, shut up,” Harry said, smiling. And then he took her lips prisoner.

---

Ginny jerked upright in her bed, sweat pouring down her temples as her breathing became less labored. The silencing dark all around her made her shudder despite the hot July air, and she scrambled to find the lamp switch that would grant her respite from its cold embrace.

With her breathing controlled and the light to keep out her nightly demons, Ginny had a chance to calm down. Closing her eyes, she exhaled loudly, telling herself it was only a dream, it had been a figment of her memory, faded and worthless.

Not worthless, she corrected herself, and it felt as if someone were stabbing her. No, nothing was ever worthless, it could always serve some purpose.

However, telling herself that it had only been a dream was becoming harder and harder to believe. Every time she said it, it seemed to lose a little bit of its meaning, a little bit of its reassuring quality. Bit by bit, her sanity was slipping off into the night to play with the demons she tried so hard to avoid.

The whisper of his breath against her neck was enough to drive anyone up the wall, but it never seemed to cease. She could almost feel his fingers run through her hair, or hear his uncertain chuckle in the swish of her curtains. Every sound that made her home come alive to her sounded exactly like the ghost of him, and she was damned if he wasn’t haunting her unrelentingly.

Realizing that it was unlikely she was going to get any more sleep that night, Ginny slipped out of her bed and, winding her bathrobe tightly around herself, she made her way to the kitchen in order to make herself some coffee.

Contemplating all meanings of the term ‘best substance ever made’, Ginny poured over her latest report on the Druid population of Africa and vaguely considered pulling the hard liquor out of the hidden cupboard under her sink.

Deciding against it seeing as she had work in only a few hours, Ginny pulled together what little concentration she had left, added the finishing touches to the most wholly mundane and highly inappropriate report she’d ever had to write before trudging off to the shower and hoping, in some vague receptacle of her mind, that she might drown in the doing.

Some hours later, much to Ginny’s consternation, she was very much alive. Picking herself up off the floor of the Ministry of Magic with as much elegance as she could possibly muster, she brushed the soot from her already disgraceful robes and nodded apologetically at the poor woman on the floor beside her, who had been subject to an abrupt appearance of one red-haired witch at the wrong Floo terminal, on top of her no less.

“So sorry,” she apologized, nodding as she walked away. “My mistake.” She had disappeared around the corner before the woman could utter anything more than an owl-like hoot. That, Ginny thought sourly to herself, would probably be the first and last person to truly notice her today, and that’s only because she was sat on!

“Ah, Weasley, there you are!”

Ginny plastered a fake grin on her face as she was ushered into Mr. Rowdry’s office, trying not to grimace at his choice of décor. A chubby bald-headed man grinned back with heinously yellow teeth as he moved to sit in his faux leather chair and gestured her into a modern-styled black thing that might have resembled a deranged heffamalump if it wasn’t for the leopard fur plastered all over it. Over the years, Ginny had come to notice that the increasingly decaying smell led to the conclusion that it might just be real. She had yet to test out this theory properly, however. “Please, sit.”

Ginny obligingly perched upon the suspicious piece of furniture so as not to offend the man, managing to control both her facial features and her gag reflexes. “What can I do for you, Mr. Rowdry?”

“Well, it appears I’m going to be leaving the Ministry,” he told her, nodding sagely as if it were the worst possible thing. “Indefinitely, I’m afraid. I’ve been offered a position as the Head of Magical Cauldron Distribution and Management in New York, an opportunity I simply couldn’t turn down.”

“Of course,” Ginny answered, wondering how anybody could be both so pompous and so stupid at the same time as she absent-mindedly picked lint off the suit robes against her thigh.

“Ah good, so you understand, then?”

Ginny looked up sharply, eyes trained on the uneasy pudgy face of one of the silliest men she’d ever met. How he had come to be the Head of Interracial Relations, she could never know or even guess at. “Understand what exactly, Mr. Rowdry?”

“Well,” he said, shifting slightly as he jerked at the tie around his neck as if it had suddenly become too tight. “That, uhm, promotion that was promised at the uh… culmination of those reports I gave you…”

“What about it?” Ginny snapped, knowing exactly what was coming next and wondering if she was going to make this month’s rent.

“Well… it’s now out of my, uh, jurisdiction, after handing in my resignation and all, to, well, give it to you.”

Ginny swallowed loudly. “And the replacement? Couldn’t you just inform them of my impending promotion?”

“Well, it’s not really my place to tell someone how to run their department now, is it?” he told her, his confidence coming back in waves now that she seemed to be taking the news with some modicum of acceptance.

“No, of course not, you’re right,” she told him, You sodding bastard! “I suppose I’ll… get back to work then.”

“Good lass,” he said, grinning as if he’d been truly sporting and had done her a favour. “The replacement comes in this afternoon, I’m sure you’ll find her a right hoot!”

Ginny took deep breaths and she walked to her cubicle, third row from the left and fourth row up. She dumped her bag onto the desk and buried her face in her arms, trying oh-so-hard not to rush back in there and throttle that man with every fibre of strength she had.

“So,” chirped a voice over the top of her cubicle, “heard who the new boss is yet?”

“No,” Ginny groaned through a mass of hair and arms. “But I’ll bet you have, Luna. Who is it?”

“Elaine Parkinson,” she said, that ever constant element of dazedness sharp in her voice. “Pugface’s mother, no less.”

Ginny laughed. She couldn’t stop herself. She laughed terribly loud, and a few heads poked out over the tops of their cubicles and looked at Luna enquiringly. Ginny wasn’t sure if she was laughing because of the extreme irony of it all, or just because she was becoming hysterical. Quite frankly, she didn’t care.

“You’re kidding!” she said between snorts, and Luna only smiled.

“I wish.”

“Better stop calling Pansy ‘Pugface’ then, unless you want to pick up with your father and the Quibbler again.”

Luna paused as she was about to turn back to her own cubicle and looked as if she was considering it. “You know…” she began, cocking her head to the side. “That’s not such a b--”

“No!” Ginny snapped, making a startling slashing motion with her arm through the air. “No. No, no, no, no, no. Sit down. Forget I said anything. Just no, all right?”

Luna shrugged and disappeared behind her cubicle wall.

---

“Miss… Weasley, come to the Head Office at once.”

The elegant and clipped tones that could only belong to Elaine Parkinson were transmitted across the room, reverberating off everything as multiple employees turned to watch Ginny make her way to what used to be Mr. Rowdry’s office. She had the indescribable feeling of being a convict on her last walk as a free woman before she was to be thrown and locked up in Azkaban.

“You must be Weasley,” came the sharp tones before Ginny could even knock. All she could do was nod. “Of course, who could mistake you? Your hair is like a beacon, child. Sit down.”

Ginny obligingly did so for the second time that day. This time, however, was a mite less pleasant, elegant gilt-lined seating not withstanding. Ginny watched as Parkinson pulled a file from the bottom drawer of the desk, taking her chance to covertly examine the woman who was to be her new boss.

She was dressed in fine grey robes, obviously tailored for her as they seemed to flow naturally with the shape of her shoulders and the angles of her face. Her eyes were a murky blue, and her lips were large and pouty, as if she was constantly in want of something. The resemblance to Pansy was uncanny.

Her hair was ebony black and pulled into a tight French knot, done with the kind of expertise that screamed ‘old money’ and ‘overly expensive hairdresser’. At least, Ginny reasoned, Elaine Parkinson looked the part of the Head of Interracial Relations. Though, if her daughter was anything to go by, Elaine could hardly be the best candidate.

“It says here, in your file, that you are a dedicated and proficient reporter on the effects of interracial interaction and unification. Is this true?”

Ginny nodded. “Yes, M’am,” she answered, twisting her fingers together nervously.

The woman looked Ginny over with calculating eyes, and Ginny flushed red as she remembered not having any good robes to wear this morning, curse of not having any spare change for the washer lady the day before. It felt as if every stain and patch on these old robes were standing out to be made large red marks on her folder.

The woman tutted loudly and marked something down on a clipboard on the desk, glancing over to Ginny’s employment folder also.

“And Mr. Rowdry trusted you?”

“Yes, M’am,” Ginny agreed again. “He thought I had potential to move up in the Ministry.”

Parkinson looked up at Ginny sharply, disdain marring her features. “He also thought that orange snakeskin made a good rug. Forgive me if I’m not prepared to trust his judgement.”

“No, M’am.” Ginny was inwardly fuming, and flashbacks of Hogwarts years flew across her mind, taking her back to the days when she would sit at dinner and contemplate throwing a dinner fork directly at Pansy’s head, and watching as she spluttered and gasped, running from the hall in a panic. It almost made her laugh.

“Something amusing, Weasley?”

“No, M’am,” she answered, vaguely wondering if the rest of her career was going to be spent like this; a broken record player.

“Good, because you’re this far,” she snapped, holding up her thumb and forefinger excruciatingly close, “to being fired. Mr. Rowdry has proved himself to be an imploringly stupid man, and I believe his confidence in you to be more than misplaced.”

Ginny’s eyes flashed dangerously as she stood, fists curled inwards as she curbed her anger. She could hear the unsaid insult that Elaine Parkinson didn't dare to voice. Because you're a Weasley.

“I make no pretenses here, Weasley. You’re on probation. Any reason I can find to fire you, and you will be gone. Do I make myself clear?”

“Crystal,” Ginny snapped, turning and stalking from the room.

A/N: First, I’d like to point out that I have absolutely no knowledge of plumbing… so *cough* to all those plumbers out there who might be reading this, I’m sorry. Not only have I failed abysmally at representing your trade with any modicum of talent and/or respect, but I’ve also managed to go this whole chapter only using the term ‘valve’ in order to illustrate the use of plumbing at all. My knowledge of plumbing jargon is terrible. I’m sorry. My limited plumbing experience hindered me somewhat. LOL. Forgive me.

Uhm, also, this fic is wholly unbeta’d, so any mistakes or flow problems within are completely my fault, not anyone else’s. The blame is on my shoulders. I’d like to say that my reason behind not having a beta is because I’m so swelling with self-confidence that I don’t feel I need one – but that’s not the case. It’s because I’m lazy, quite frankly. If anyone actually wants to beta this, feel free to send me an email or say so in a review or something. I’m sure we can figure something out. If not, then I guess I’ll just go on without and try to make sure I have as few typos as possible. *teehee*.

And that was all… I think. Enjoy the chapter!

---

Chapter Two
The Plumbing of Life


Bloody Slytherins, Ginny mused. They’re all the same.

Wincing as she accidentally spilt boiling water onto the bench where her hand was resting, she rushed to the tap and ran her hand under the cool water. A few moments later, as the shrill of pain in her hand settled down to a slow yet powerful throb, the water stopped.

It took Ginny a few moments to collect her wits and realise that no, her entire block of apartments had not just lost their water. She could hear the screams as a small boy down on the road was being attacked by a hose of water, his giggles and cries of pleasure echoing throughout the neighbourhood. No, Ginny didn’t pay her water bill last week. It was amazing it had lasted even this long.

Ginny swore and stalked to the window, watching as a blue van drove away at breakneck speed, the image of a large black-lined water drop still quite visible on the back. She swung around and grabbed her coat, checking her wand was still in the pocket, before pulling it on and leaving the apartment, slamming the door behind her.

It only took a few minutes to find the water valve in the basement of the apartment complex, and after that she figured it had to be easy sailing, right? Turn a few knobs, find the water control for her apartment and things would be back to normal. Unfortunately, things had gotten a bit more complicated than that since she’d last played with her father’s collection of plumbing toys in their basement with Ron. She looked over the large collection of pipes and other paraphernalia that she had no idea about. No, things were definitely harder.

A wave of nostalgia hit her hard as she imagined her father standing beside her, whispering in her ear which valve to turn and how far. She shook her head and pushed the images away, focusing on the dank and musty basement before her, nothing like the basement of the Burrow where she had spent many a happy day helping Arthur Weasley.

Ginny spotted a large valve labeled ‘water mains’ and opted against turning that one; reasoning that it probably turned off the entire building. Instead, she looked for a smaller valve or pipe that might aid her plight better.

“Oh, sod it!” Ginny cried half an hour later, pulling out her wand and slashing it through the air viciously. She watched with satisfaction as every valve in the room burst and floods of water started pouring. Barely managing to escape minimally dry, Ginny squelched back up to her room and waited for the problem to be fixed, taking what her mother would consider to be far too much sadistical glee in the cries of frustration emanating from her neighbours rooms as she went.

Slumping down on her couch, Ginny gave a withering look around her living room. There were papers everywhere. The top of the coffee table was no longer visible, a cacophony of work papers and report research covering every inch of it. Newspaper articles on the latest protest and the newest proposal for the disposal of Dark Arts were skewed across the floor in almost every room. Library books that had been borrowed and never returned lay discarded all about the room, open at pages where some grotesque curse or other was being played out over and over again without end.

The shabby chair in the corner effectively served its purpose as a make-shift bookcase, a range of heavy looking tomes having been thrown haphazardly on the cushion. She should have bought shares in a paper company. The chair’s cousin, the settee, wasn’t looking much better.

More often than not, Ginny fell asleep on the sofa, aftermath of a late night spent writing reports for Rowdry, and it was definitely showing its age. The arms were bald and foam poked through in too many places to count.

There was only one section of the room that was truly clean, and that was the mantle piece above the hitherto unused fireplace.

The place needed a clean, she reasoned, avoiding looking at the mantelpiece for fear of invoking her mother’s scorn, or to be frowned at by the picture of Percy displayed in all its shabby glory.

Realising that the only way the place was going to get clean was if she did it herself sent Ginny into a kind of frenzy, though not the kind you might expect.

Finding her inspiration in the strangest of places, Ginny pulled her father’s old typewriter out from beneath the coffee table. She dug around until she found a reasonably empty sheath of paper and shoved it into the top. For the next several hours, the only sound that could comfort Ginny Weasley was that of her typewriter hard at work.

---

Ginny remembered fondly those days when life was good, work was fun and her boss wasn’t a tyrant. Times that had ended early last week, and would haunt her many times a day. Yeah right, Ginny said to herself wryly, grimacing as she directed yet another Ministry tour through the Interracial Relations Department.

If it wasn’t bad enough that she had to deal with nosy tourists and the occasional nosier reporter, Ginny had to stop in at Parkinson’s office several times a day, with it being the climax of the tour and all. She had never thought that her position in the Ministry could get any lower – apparently she’d been wrong.

“I want you where I can keep an eye on you, Weasley,” Parkinson snapped, nodding a solid-built woman in a matronly uniform over. “This is Griesline. She will teach you the ropes.”

“The ropes of what?” Ginny demanded, looking over at her cubicle and Luna longingly.

“You’ll be instructing the Ministry tour from now on. That way I know you can’t screw up, and you’re not slacking off.”

“The Ministry tour??” Ginny practically shrieked, attracting a bit of attention. “You’ve got to be joking!”

“I don’t joke, Weasley.”

And that she believed, beyond any shadow of a doubt.

And so she did what she had to. Every fake smile, every falsely sweet voice she had to make, was a silent but vehement curse sent in the direction of one Elaine Parkinson, bane of her existence. It was purely because of this absolute hate of the woman that she was able to build up enough courage to walk into her office that afternoon, freshly printed report in hand.

“M’am?” she enquired, and tried not to throw the bloody report at the woman’s head as Parkinson grimaced at the sight of her.

“What do you want, Weasley?”

She sat down on a chair uninvited, determined not to be intimidated.

“I thought you might be interested in a report I’ve written, M’am. About the liberation of the Dark Arts and its confinement in smaller wizarding communities.”

“And why, pray tell,” Parkinson snapped, her eyes blazing blue fire, “would you do that? You certainly had no authority from me.” She held out her hand, expecting to be given the report and not given an answer. Ginny handed it over.

Parkinson opened the report and began leafing through the pages, stopping occasionally to scribble out whole pages with her violent red quill or simply tut her disgust, making grotesque wrinkles appear at the side of her mouth. She looked up at Ginny, her eyes full of contempt.

“This is utter rubbish, girl!” she seethed, throwing the report out the door. The echo of it landing on the blue linoleum floor outside carried throughout the entire department, a strange hush passing over everyone. “Next time you get the inane notion that anybody wants to hear what you have to say, do everyone a favour and shut up!! Do you hear me? You’re a nobody, Weasley. A nobody! Now get back to work, there are people waiting to be shown around.”

Ginny was shaking when she left Parkinson’s office. She was barely able to control her tears of anger, and every muscle in her body was clenched tight. Wound like a spring as she bent to pick up her discarded report, she was about ready to snap. One more thing to go wrong, just one more thing.

A hand reached out to clutch hers, and she grabbed onto it like a life raft.

“Forget her. She’s a stupid bint and wouldn’t know a good idea if it kicked her up the arse.” Luna smiled and smoothed Ginny’s hair down. “I’m sure whatever’s in there is so good that she wishes she’d thought of it herself. She’s scared of you, use that to keep you sane, hmm?”

Ginny smiled weakly back and swallowed loudly. “I think I might… well, I might just quit.”

“No!” Luna admonished, snatching the report from her hands. “That would be giving up. She’d have won then!” Luna straightened out the pages within the report, smoothed down the crumpled first page and handed it back to Ginny, nodding her approval. “This has been your goal since longer than I can remember, Ginny. How much would you regret it later if you let it go for someone as simple as her? Go home. Rest. Cry. Do whatever you need to do to make yourself stronger tomorrow. I’ll keep the fort for you here – just go.”

Ginny smiled and she felt as if she might cry again. “You’re the best friend anyone could have. Ever.”

Luna giggled. “You wouldn’t say that if you knew about the Geofox incident last year,” she said, her eyes wide with sincerity. “That was very near fatal, I think.”

Ginny nodded, not wanting to ask. “Uhm, well, I’ll see you tomorrow?”

“Of course.”

And so she left.

---

Outside, Ginny felt wretched. She knew that she shouldn’t let women like Elaine Parkinson affect her, especially after every thing that she had gone through and somehow survived, but she couldn’t help it.

Old wounds were ripped open by the incestuous words that shot from that vile woman’s mouth, and there was little anyone, even Ginny, could do to stop aged doubts from resurfacing and teeming like moths to the light. Angrily, she launched her report proposal into the bin, not sparing another glance at it as she marched back to her apartment, prepared to quench her sudden thirst for some Ogden’s Firewhiskey in the hidden cupboard beneath the kitchen sink.

What she didn’t see, in her haste, were the hooded hazel eyes watching her from the shadows, examining her, calculating at a speed far beyond what they seemed. A black gloved hand reached into the bin, pulling out her discarded ideas, his discarded effort, and tucked it easily into a billowing black robe before silently disappearing.

Not an hour later, Ginevra Weasley was incapacitated on the couch in her apartment living room, her family portraits looking down despairingly from the dusty mantelpiece at the empty bottle of Firewhiskey on the floor.

A/N: So, first of all, declarations of love go to my beta, Funnykido! Much thanks and cookies being sent your way ^_^

Second, all plotlines that aren't yet revealed (ie. the upcoming Ron/Ginny/Percy/Harry one) will be revealed eventually. It's just, I love to create tension and suspense, and keeping you all on the edge of your seats makes me deleriously happy ^_^ *laughs with sadistical glee*

---

Chapter Three
An Unanticipated Invitation


“Morning Luna,” Ginny muttered over the top of the cubicle wall, and Luna jumped up, a large smile across her face.

“Guess who’s been the topic of all conversation since you left yesterday…”

Ginny groaned. She smiled wanly and vaguely suggested, “Stephanie Turdpike, because she broke her ankle attempting to do that Muggle dance… the Trotfox or something?”

“No such luck.” Luna smirked. “And she didn’t break it, it was only a hairline fracture. Stupid slag.”

Ginny snorted and spilt her coffee. “Luna!”

“All right, all right! But it was. Who fractures their hairline anyway?” She poked her tongue out at Ginny. “That’s not the point though. Everyone thinks you’re going to get fired.”

Ginny grimaced as she attempted to wipe the coffee from her robes. “It’s highly likely.”

“Don’t be stupid,” Luna scolded. “Everyone saw what happened. If she fired you for doing extra work, she’d have an enquiry on her hands!” Ginny nodded, supposing Luna was right. “And the only thing that’s going to get that stain out is Bubotuber Pus.”

“Ick, that won’t work! Don’t be daft.”

“I’m not. It’s either that or take it somewhere to get it out, and that costs something terrible. I suggest the Bubotubers.”

Ginny rolled her eyes and muttered, “Why does that not surprise me?” the minute Luna disappeared.

“Oh!” Luna said suddenly, reappearing over the wall and startling Ginny. “This came for you this morning, special delivery. The boy wouldn’t say who it was from.” She handed over a thin white envelope, unstamped and unsigned, with only the words “Ginevra Weasley,” written in an elegant cursive script.

“Thanks,” Ginny said as she took the envelope from Luna, and she disappeared again. Cautiously, Ginny took her letter opener from the pen jar and slid it beneath the unstamped wax seal, breaking it.

Inside was a clean, immaculately folded piece of parchment. It barely even looked as if it had been touched by human hands. Ginny unfolded the parchment and read what was on it, thoroughly confused by what it said, and yet at the same time, intrigued.

Miss Weasley,
I cordially invite you to attend a meeting at the Purple Dragon tonight at precisely 6.30pm. Please attend alone.
I must apologise for my forwardness, and I am disinclined to divulge my name, though I can give you my word that you are most assuredly safe in my company. What reassurance that may give you, if any, I do not know, but it is all I am capable of bestowing upon you.
I look forward to our meeting.
X

Ginny frowned and read the note over twice more before finally folding it up and putting it back into the envelope. As soon as the flap was closed, it suddenly disintegrated into a pile of ashes on the carpet of her cubicle, and she watched with wide eyes as even that disappeared into nothing.

“Luna!” Ginny called over the wall, and she appeared instantly.

“Hmm?”

“Where is the Purple Dragon?”

Luna’s eyes widened. “Why do you want to know?”

“Uh.,. because I might be going out to dinner. Tonight.”

“Alone?” Luna squeaked, her eyes almost the size of saucers now.

“Yes, alone. What’s wrong? Is it a bad place?”

Luna relaxed instantly. “Oh no, I’ve been there with Father more times than I care to count. It’s a very high ranking restaurant off of Perpetue Alley. You must be very rich to dine there. How could you ever afford it?”

“Actually… I lied – I might be going with someone,” Ginny told her friend distractedly, her cheeks flushing.

“Oh yes? Who is the lucky fellow?”

Ginny smirked and tapped the side of her nose, enjoying the look of frustration on Luna’s face. “Why were you so shocked when I asked you about it?”

Luna’s face grew serious again, and she leaned in over the wall. “Well… Father told me once that, it, well…” Luna looked over her shoulder, glancing around to make sure no one was listening in. “He told me they do strange things there. Things that only their money and high status hides…” She nodded covertly. “You know the employees that they have there are all foreign? They are taught not to speak a word of English, other than the menus. Obviously they must pick stuff as they go along, and so they’re always firing employees when they learn too much.”

Ginny didn’t look entirely convinced as Luna continued. “Anyway, Father says that the regulars, high ranking Ministry Officials and whatnot (mind you, not Scrimgeour, old sourpuss), they get together on a regular basis and…”

“And what?”

“Well, no one knows, exactly. Which is what points to it being some shady business. And then there’s all the non-English speaking employees, of course. If you ask me, they’re smuggling Bolluters into the country, some highly secret plot to rid the world of commuters.”

Ginny snorted. “Commuters? You mean like people who catch the Knightbus to get to work?”

“What?” Luna asked dazedly. “That’s not what commuters are!”

“Uh, yes it is.”

“Oh, sod off! It is not.” Luna huffed and crossed her arms over, looking miffed. “Commuters are those funny box things that Muggles stare at all day! It’s only logical that anyone should get rid of them, Muggles are getting so lazy these days.”

Ginny blinked a few times, before shaking off Luna’s more than odd answer. “Uhm, right. Look, I’ve got to be off. The tours start in ten minutes.”

“Good luck, See you at lunch!”

---

The rest of the day passed excruciatingly slow, with Ginny conducting tours with only half the attention she had been giving for the past week. For the third time that day, Ginny bumped her thigh into the corner of the reception desk as she passed it on the way to Parkinson’s office, and for the third time that day Ginny let out a long line of profanity that, among other things, threatened disembowelment for all office appliances.

“You all right, Ginny?”

Ginny straightened up slowly, her eyes tight shut as she turned to face the man who had addressed her. Opening her eyes, all her fears were confirmed.

“Percy!” she exclaimed, plastering a smile on her face and attempting to see the good side in her eldest living brother being there. “How are you?”

He grimaced. “Look, you can stop pretending you’re happy to see me. I know you’re not. I need to ask a favour of you – I wouldn’t be here otherwise.”

Ginny’s shoulders slumped and the smile disappeared instantly. “Excellent tactics brother. Tell me you only came to see me for yourself, and then ask the favour. But then, tact never was your greatest asset.” She glowered at him, ushering the last of the tourists out the door before announcing to Nancy that it was her lunch break. Luna could wait. “What can I do for you, dear brother.”

He winced and took her by the elbow, leading her out into an empty hallway. “I need… well, I need you to go see Ron.”

“Bollocks!” she cried, wrenching her arm from his grip. “You go see Ron, because I’ll certainly not go near him!”

“Look Ginny,” Percy continued, trying to reason with her, “You know he wasn’t exactly… well, right, after the Final War. And then when Harry started that stuff about you he, well, Ron lost it. You know how he is. He’s had time to cool down and I’m sure he’ll let you in.”

“I don’t give a toss what he’s like or how long he’s had to cool down, I’m not going!”

“Ginevra!” Percy said sternly as she moved to walk away, and he sounded so much like her father that she could have turned around and throttled Percy, the good for nothing rat.

“Percival!” she hissed back as she left the corridor and ducked through a series of doorways to get away from him.

Waiting until she was sure Percy was gone, Ginny came out of the women’s toilets and went back to her cubicle.

“Your brother was looking for you,” came Luna’s distant voice through the wall. “I told him you were incapacitated. He nearly hit the roof.”

“Thanks Luna,” Ginny said, snickering to herself. Luna was the only person Ginny knew who could ever really get under any of her brother’s skin. Except, perhaps, for Hermione Granger.

Sudden images of Hermione flashed across her mind, frizzy brown hair lying against stone rubble, dried blood throughout the locks. Brown eyes that looked so sad, so scared, and blood-stained hands, torn and shredded, begging her not to let Harry and Ron die. Telling Ginny she’d done her best, she was spent, she wasn’t so afraid of death after all, though anybody could see that was a lie.

Ginny shook her head, sickened by the images she saw, sickened by the memories that she tried not to think about since that terrible night three years ago. She didn’t want those memories any more than she wanted Elaine Parkinson to be her surrogate mother.

“You all right?” Luna asked, watching Ginny with concern, noticing the abrupt change in Ginny. Her face had suddenly gone a sickeningly pale white and her eyes were wild with emotion.

Ginny snapped back into the present, and smiled sadly. “Fine. Sorry I missed lunch.”

“No problem. I Figured it was Percy getting in the way.”

“So intuitive,” Ginny said, snickering.

---

Hours later Ginny stood in her front room checking she hadn’t forgotten anything. Her wand was in one pocket and she had some trusty old pepper spray in the other pocket. Her Wizarding Network card (with only 23 galleons on it, unfortunately) was stashed safely in the back pocket of her nicest pair of jeans, beneath her robes, and she’d even thrown a few of George’s Exploding Dung Bombs (with real dung!) into the mix, should anything go wrong.

Both curious and cautious, Ginny closed the door to her apartment and locked it, making her way down the stairs and getting into the Knightbus, patiently waiting for her. After telling them her destination and clearing up any confusion that she, Ginny Weasley, was going to be dining at the Purple Dragon, she was on her way.

It only took a few minutes and they were there. The Knightbus was gone the second she dropped from its last step onto the freshly rain-covered side walk of an obviously very prosperous area of London. She didn’t know where she was, exactly, but her best guess would be somewhere near Kensington.

---

Despite the murderous looks she was given by the concierge, Ginny’s table was found and she was seated promptly, though her table was, much to her chagrin, empty. Moments later she was joined, however.

“Ginevra Weasley, no?”

Ginny looked up into chocolate brown eyes surrounded by the slightest of wrinkles and a clearly Hispanic face. He held out his hand to her. “My name is Dominic Bellagio, I invited you here this night.”

She smiled and took his hand, smiling warmly as she shook it. “I must admit, Sir--”

“Dominic,” he interrupted, pulling out his chair and sitting down as he placed his briefcase beside the chair. “Call me Dominic, if you please.”

Ginny nodded obligingly. “Apologies, Dominic. I must admit that I was more than a little surprised by your… invitation. Especially the nature of it.”

“That will all be explained in good time, dear, though I am deathly relieved that you decided to show up tonight.”

“What am I doing here, exactly?” Ginny asked, looking about with obvious discomfort at the portion of the restaurant she could see. “It’s plain that I don’t belong here.”

“Says who?” he asked.

“Well…” Ginny glanced around at the few people who noticed her less than satisfactory attire. “Everybody. This isn’t my world, Mr. Bellagio.”

His laugh was hearty and warming, it almost sounded like the throaty tinkling of glass. “That, my dear, is all in your head. You belong here as much as everybody else. You just need to think that you do, no?” His accented English was charming, and he took Ginny’s hand in his own large and finely cared for one. “It is you that dictates you should not be here. Learn to be a little more open to possibility, Ginevra.”

“It’s Ginny.”

“No, dear, it is Ginevra. Do not be ashamed of such a beautiful and wholly unique name.” Ginny couldn’t help but blush, because when he said it, it was a beautiful and wholly unique name, and for once she was not ashamed to have someone call her it.

“You underestimate yourself, my dear,” he said, letting go of her hand and reaching for the briefcase at his side. “I am going to help you change that.”

Ginny’s eyebrow arched, and she watched on as Dominic pulled a manila folder from the depths of his case and dropped it onto the table. He put his briefcase back on the floor and nodded at the folder. “Open it, it is yours.”

Silently Ginny did as she was told, and pulled out a large bundle of papers.

Report on the Liberation of the Dark Arts and its Confinement in Smaller Wizarding Communities
- Written by Ginny Weasley

“What is this?” Ginny asked Dominic, shocked. “I threw this away yesterday!”

“I know,” he told her, obviously highly amused.

“But… how… where did you get it?”

“The bin, of course.”

“Of course,” Ginny echoed, flipping through the pages and checking to see it was all there. “And why have you brought me here, simply to give this back?”

Dominic Bellagio leaned closer to Ginny, glancing side to side in order to check for eavesdroppers. “Because, Ginevra Weasley, I have a proposition for you.”

---