Chapter I – L’Opportunità
Dawn broke through the cracked window of Ginny Weasley’s bedroom. The small speck of light reached just the tip of her nose, illuminating the one freckle that dotted above her left nostril. She groaned lightly and opened her eyes, spotting the Chudley Cannons poster just above her bed. She smiled, remembering the day when Ron had insisted she place it on her ceiling. He had somehow persuaded her that waking up to that team would boost her mornings.
“Ginny, darling, wake up!” chirped a bright voice.
Sighing, Ginny sat up and threw back the covers. Today didn’t feel like a great day and she was sure it would get worse. Just a fortnight ago she and her family had received word from Healer Fall, her father’s personal consultant. She informed them that his condition was getting worse and without the surgery, his legs would lose all feeling and probably all ability to walk.
Her father had suffered a stroke a few weeks ago and subsequently experienced a nasty fall. The impact had damaged his legs more than any other part of his body, his knees having collapsed from underneath him. The fall had injured him severely than the stroke did.
Healer Fall referred them to a Muggle doctor, Doctor Timpson, but the expenses for the surgery she was supposed to perform were too much. They needed more time and both Healer Fall and Doctor Timpson understood. The surgery was to be completed in less than six months and Ginny thought it enough time to find a job, earn enough money, and pay off the bill.
She’d already quit her dancing lessons, held with her mother’s close friend, Miss Gioia, even though the price for each lesson had already been cut in half. Molly had refused to speak to Ginny for four hours when she discovered this. Dancing was one of the few of Ginny’s passions and she simply hated seeing her daughter give that up.
Pulling back her hair in a high bun, Ginny trudged out of her room and down the stairs. Ron was out with Hermione today and Ginny was sure he was trying to propose again. He wasn’t one for suave, so he decided that any quiet moment with her would be the moment to ask.
Molly looked up from the stove and smiled at her daughter. “What are up to today, Gin? You promised you’d see Miss Gioia about getting back your lessons.”
Ginny sat down and rolled her eyes. “Mum, I told you: I don’t want the lessons anymore. It’ll save us some money. Why are you stressing this? It’s just dancing!”
Molly scoffed. “It’s not just dancing when you’re amazing at it, Ginevra. You’ll go back to Miss Gioia today and then you’ll attend your classes. Will you need to floo or are you riding Charlie’s broom?”
Swallowing, Ginny folded her hands on her lap. She knew her mother would break down in tears after hearing what was coming. “I quit university.”
Molly stopped stirring and turned around slowly. “I’m sorry, darling, I think I started hallucinating. Did you just say that you quit university?”
“It’s not as bad as you think, Mum,” Ginny explained hurriedly. “The money we spend on my classes is too much and if I just take a break for a few months, then we can pay-”
“You’re nineteen years old, Ginny,” interrupted Molly, her voice dangerously low. “You’re the youngest of my children. You were the first to enter a university after Ron decided to become an Auror. How could you do this? How could you do this to yourself? Are you aware that this is your future – your life?”
“Mum, it’s not that serious-”
“It’s very serious!” roared Molly, hands on her hips. She pointed an accusing finger at her daughter. “You will go straight to the dean and demand to be taken back. I’m not taking this bollocks, Ginevra! I’m not!”
“I can’t go back,” she answered sadly, “The notice I handed in is permanent. I am allowed, however, to attend another university bordering this one. It’s not as big, but it’s private. They’re awaiting my application in a few months.”
Ginny watched as Molly shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She paced the floor, her apron untied. “What will you do, Ginny?” she asked, not looking at her.
“I’ll look for a job. If you think you’re going to face Dad’s surgery alone, then you’re mistaken. We’re all in this together, Mum, even if it does mean giving up things that we love. I’m not going to let you carry this burden on your own,” Ginny stated confidently.
Molly turned to her, tears in her eyes. “I’m such a lucky woman, aren’t I? To have such beautiful children that are humble and caring.” She sat down, covering her face with her hands. “Bring this up to your father,” she ordered hoarsely.
Quietly standing up, Ginny gripped the handles of the tray and carried the breakfast up the stairs. As she climbed each step, she admired all the baby pictures on the wall. She laughed when she spotted Fred, George, and Ron wrestling. It was taken just outside – right by the rose garden.
She entered her parents’ bedroom and laid the tray on the nightstand. Her father was sleeping peacefully, his nightcap tipped over to the side of his head. Ginny giggled softly. “Dad,” she whispered, “Dad, it’s time to wake up!”
He turned to the side, struggling to move his legs the same way. Ginny felt her heart crumble at the sight of his crippled state. She instantly moved to help him, supporting his immobile legs to shift over. He mumbled, “Dear, its okay”, and Ginny fixed the blankets around him. She figured he needed more time to slumber, so she cast a quick heating charm on his food and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you in the afternoon, Dad. Happy sleeping,” she said softly.
Ginny squared her shoulders and left the room, determined and resolute.
She would help her father – one way or another.
.x.
Fatigued, Ginny spotted a small café just off the side of the street. She sped up and collapsed into the nearest seat, her neck glistening with sweat. Muggle London had to be the most crowded place she’d ever been to. Miss Gioia had brought her here for the first time during her first lesson, when she was only four years old. They were out to buy her a jazz leotard, and since Ginny was so thin for her age, they had to get it customized.
“You plannin’ on gettin’ anything?” asked the waiter to her left.
Ginny shook her head. “I’m only sitting for a bit,” she replied.
“Sorry, but you can’t sit here without orderin’ anything. You’ve gotta leave,” he said airily, throwing her a dismissive hand and walking away.
Ginny huffed and glared at his back. “Bloody bastard,” she hissed, standing up and stalking her way towards her next destination. There was an opening as a receptionist at a dance store just around the corner. This was where she had first bought her leotard and jazz shoes. Being around those things was better than not dancing at all.
Entering the store, Ginny glanced around, checking if anyone was watching. She grasped her wand in her pocket and muttered a freshening-up charm – cleaning her speedily and creating a glow on her skin.
She approached a saleswoman cheerily and asked, “Hi, I’m here to see Sandy Kissinger. I’m Ginevra Weasley.”
She smiled gaily. “Oh! Hello, there, Ginevra. I’m Colleen – we talked on the phone. Sandy will be out in a second. She’s just monitoring stock in the back. You can look about if you like. You told me you were once a dancer?”
Ginny nodded. “Yes, I had private lessons with my mother’s close friend. I first came here when I was four and I never went anywhere else for equipment.”
“I only started working here three years ago, but I’m sure Sandy will remember you. She was given this store after her grandmother died. She was also a dancer, you know,” Colleen clarified, very friendly.
“Was she?” Ginny inquired, curious. “What form?”
“Ballet,” she replied. “She was accepted into the American Ballet Association – well, that was until she sprained her ankle. She hasn’t danced since.”
“It’s sad when a gift of dancing is wasted away like that,” Ginny commented, looking down at her feet and wondering what she would do if something as horrible happened to her.
“Colleen!” yelled a voice. “We need a pair of Boque ballet shoes shipped to Madam Clairè as soon as possible. She’s having one of her asthma fits. I can’t stand hearing that woman breathe over the phone!”
A tall, slim woman stood before Ginny, her gray hair tied in a tight bun on her head. Small, baby hairs of gray curled out just above her forehead, and faint indication of wrinkles appeared on the sides of her eyes. She smiled and Ginny couldn’t help but gasp at how beautiful it made her look. Large, curvy creases emerged from her cheeks and her peach lips quirked at the edges. She was gorgeous for a woman over the age of fifty.
“Ginevra Weasley – jazz dancer extraordinaire,” she acknowledged.
Ginny shook the woman’s hand gently. “Sandy Kissinger – prima ballerina,” she complimented, smiling.
Sandy laughed. “Oh, dear, that was so long ago. I don’t believe in dwelling in the past. You are here for the receptionist position?”
“Yes, I am,” Ginny replied.
Sandy began walking away from her, gesturing for Ginny to follow. Speeding up, Ginny began her speech, “I’m a very fast learner and I can understand very quickly. I also know that part of the job is answering the phelly – I mean telephone and I can do that very well. I also have experience in filing and archiving, but I can do it manually and not on a computer.” She followed Sandy into a large office, taking a moment to revel in its beauty. The walls were pure oak and were bare – no pictures, no certificates, and no frames. It was simple, yet elegant. The rug was deep rouge, like the color of red wine.
Sandy ignored Ginny and picked up the telephone. She dialed a few numbers and Ginny recalled Hermione teaching her how to use the contraption. It took her almost two weeks just to get the hang of it.
“Prèyda, il suo studente è qui. Lei è sulla sua maniera?”
Ginny waited patiently.
“Giusto, l'invierò fuori.”
Hanging up the phone, Sandy looked at Ginny and smiled. “Unfortunately, Ginny, we have no openings. I’m sorry – we’ve already chosen someone.”
Sensing that this would happen, Ginny didn’t argue, but merely nodded. “I understand. Thank you. I can see myself out.” Turning around, Ginny inhaled deeply, and walked out of the lavish office. She peered down at the papers in her hand and groaned. She still had one more place to check out before heading home. So far, from all fifteen ads, she'd found nothing.
Waving goodbye to Colleen, Ginny swung open the store door and was hit by the sun full force. Making a right, she held her hand over her eyes and looked up at the street signs. “This building should be three streets from here,” she said to herself.
“Having trouble, caro?”
Ginny spun around and grinned. “Miss Gioia! You frightened me! What are you doing here in Muggle London?” she asked, happy to see her mentor of thirteen years.
“Your mother has called me, Ginny,” she said bluntly, removing her leather gloves. “Warm, isn’t it? I do not like the summer. This is why I do not choose to go back home. It is too warm in Sicily.”
“Mum? Mum called you?” Ginny panicked. “Miss Gioia – about my lessons -”
“That’s not I am here, Ginevra. I’m here to speak to you about a job proposition,” she interjected smoothly, her Italian accent flowing with each English word.
In a swift second, a large, black car stopped in front of them. A large man stepped out and opened the closest door.
“We’re riding in an automobile?” Ginny asked dumbly.
Miss Gioia laughed. “It’s a limousine,” she corrected, hustling Ginny to the door. “You witches and wizards should really catch up on your Muggle Studies class. You are all so oblivious to this world. It is pathetic.”
Ginny hit her face on the opposite door handle. “Bollocks!” she cursed, rubbing her chin.
Miss Gioia chuckled and got into the limousine, watching as her driver shut the door. She opened a small door in front of her and pulled out a brown stick.
“What’s that?” inquired Ginny, staring at the object with fascination. “Is that a gun?”
Miss Gioia openly laughed, making Ginny shrink back in embarrassment. “It’s a cigar, bella. How do you know about weapons such as guns?”
“Hermione showed me a picture once. Her father likes to gun for sport at a forest,” Ginny explained, not sure if she was explaining it right.
“That is called hunting. They shoot animals,” Miss Gioia explained, placing the cigar gracefully between her lips and inhaling.
Ginny looked confused. “Doesn’t smoking give you canned birds?”
Miss Gioia bit her lip to keep from laughing too boisterously. “Ginevra, darling, these matters are inconsequential. I brought you here to help you. Molly informed me about your father, bella. It is hurtful to me that you did not speak about this.”
“It’s not something I like to converse about,” Ginny replied, staring out the window. The smile on her face vanished at the mention of her father. “Ron told Harry about everything. He comes over almost every day out of obligation. I hate it. I don’t want that from anybody.”
“You need money for this operation, do you not, bella?”
“It’s costly, yes. It requires more money than I’ve ever had in my life.” Hugging herself, Ginny glanced at Miss Gioia, who stared at her intently. “But, I’m willing to do my best to earn most of it – for me, for my brothers, for Mum, and for Dad.”
“There is an opening. My cousin, a designer, is in desperate need for a personal assistant,” she stated, flicking the ashes off the end of her cigar. “It does not involve a lot of skill or past experience. It does, however, deal with children, going on errands, and shadowing Signora Insinuante’s every move. It does not sound like the most magnifico occupation in the world, but it is something. The pay is very well, and that is the main reason why I am telling you this. Will you accept?”
Ginny stared down at her lap and contemplated whether or not she should take the job. Miss Gioia had been a friend of the family, ever since Fred and George were born, so naturally, Ginny trusted her with all her heart. Any paying job is a good job, Ginny thought to herself. They only had five months to acquire all the money and an opportunity like this couldn’t possibly happen again. It was a once in a lifetime chance – and Ginny had to take it – but, she had to talk to her mother first.
“Will you give me time to think about it? I’ve got to speak to Mum about it. I don’t want her thinking I didn’t care to let her know or anything.”
“Of course, of course.” Miss Gioia turned to her driver. “Samson, take us into a deserted alley and fly us to Miss Weasley’s home, please,” she ordered.
“Miss Gioia?” asked Ginny quietly, still thinking about the job opening and her father.
“Yes, bambina.”
“Where does this Signora Insinuante live? Does she reside here in Muggle London?”
“You are pronouncing Signora wrong, bambina. Do it with an Italian accent – not your own,” snapped Miss Gioia.
Ginny sighed in impatience. Only a few days out of dance lessons, and Miss Gioia was still trying to be her teacher. “Signora,” Ginny repeated, this time with more verve.
“Perfecto. Do not let me hear you speak like an uneducated girl again, do you hear?”
“Where does she live, Miss Gioia?” Ginny urged.
“In Tuscany. You know of the place, yes?”
“Tuscany?” Ginny asked herself. She bit her lip in thought. She knew this place – Hermione told her stories about it. She remembered the name because it sounded so ridiculous. “Tuscany,” she whispered.
“In Tuscany, Ginny, people drink wine instead of pumpkin juice and live in cottages in the country. It’s gorgeous. They ride on vespas – that’s almost like a motorcycle but smaller. You remember what motorcycles look like, don’t you?”
“It can’t be in London,” Ginny told herself.
Miss Gioia chuckled at the sight of her student fumbling on her thoughts. “We are almost to your home, Ginevra. Would you like us to stop in back or in fron-”
“Bloody hell!” Ginny cursed. “It’s in Italy.”
.x.
“Italy?!”
Ginny refused to look into her family’s eyes. Her father was the only one who wasn’t present, but six older brothers and one mother was enough to scare the wits out of an entire army. Upon coming home, Ginny called an immediate family meeting. She explained to them her situation in a rush, not wanting to be interrupted. They stared at her for a good minute and out of this silence, chaos burst through.
“She’s not going,” Ron declared, getting up. “She’s not. I’m not letting my littler sister run off to another country. It’s ludicrous.”
George was a bit more forgiving. “Come on, mate. Ginny’s of age and we need that money for Dad. You can’t just say no without hearing her out first.”
Ginny put her hand over his. “Thank you,” she mouthed.
“I won’t allow it,” Percy stated, all authority. “Ron’s right. We don’t need Ginny gallivanting off to Italy for money. I can save enough from my job at the Ministry, George and Fred can put away some savings from the joke shop, and Charlie says he can get a loan from a Muggle bank somewhere in Hull.”
“It doesn’t matter what you all say,” Ginny said decisively. “I’m going. I’ve already made my decision. I just wanted to notify you all first before I leave.”
“Notify us?! Notify us?! What are we? Your colleagues?! We’re your family, Gin! We have a say in your life!” Percy bellowed, slamming a fist on the table.
“You’re one to talk,” muttered Ron, turning away.
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “Now, you wait a bloody minut-”
“There is no cussing in this house, Ginevra Weasley!” scolded her mother.
“What do you mean ‘before you leave’?” asked Fred, taking off his coat as he entered the house. “When are you leaving?”
“My airplane ticket says I have to leave tomorrow at seven o’clock in the evening,” Ginny replied, pulling the piece of paper out of her pocket. “Signora Insinuante sent this the second I told Miss Gioia that I would take the job.”
“Tomorrow? You’re joking,” breathed Ron.
Ginny shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not joking, Ron. I’m leaving tomorrow and there’s nothing you can do about it but support it.” She sighed. “You don’t understand do you? I’m doing this for Dad – or are you all unaware that if I don’t get this money he won’t be able to use his legs?”
They all flinched, including her mother.
“I have to do this. I know I’ll be far away, but there are many ways of communication. They’re all wizards there, so I’ll always be connected to the floo and I can Apparate anytime. I’ll call on the phelly – I mean telephone when I can. Hermione’s got a portable one in her purse, so you can ring me all the time,” she continued. “I need to do this. This isn’t just for me to travel, because if it was – I’d be gone by now. This is for Dad.”
Bill walked over to his sister and hugged her. “Will you promise to be safe? And let us know what happens when you get there?”
Ron looked outraged. “What?! She’s not going!”
“Should we tell Dad about this?” asked Charlie, signaling to the stairs.
“I was hoping to speak to him tonight,” Ginny answered, her face grave. “I just hope he doesn’t react the way you all did.”
“Dad would never approve of this,” Ron stated, arms crossed over his chest.
“You were always so stubborn,” Molly commented.
Ginny’s head snapped up. “What? Mum – you’re supporting this?”
Molly smiled softly. “You were always stubborn, too, dear. Whenever you decided something – there would be no going back. I trust you to be smart, Gin.”
“Oh, Mum!” Ginny stood up and dashed to her mother, enveloping her in a hug. “Thank you, thank you!” she whispered over and over.
“What’s all this racket?” teased a gruff voice. “Can’t a man get some decent sleep in his own house?”
Molly rushed to her husband’s side. “Arthur, what on earth are you doing up? Back to bed with you! Hurry along now!”
Everyone in the room froze and stared at their father, the mighty Weasley – head of the house. His red hair no longer shone brightly under the rays of the light, but held a weak glow of gray. He relied wholly on a cane that belonged to his Grandfather. His legs were wobbling back and forth and his knuckles were pure white at the solid grip he held on the walking stick. He may have seemed feeble and frail at first glance, but he was stronger now than he ever was – his still-boyish grin proved that.
He swatted Molly’s hand away. “I can make it to the table on my own, love! Don’t baby me!” he protested, sounding like a five-year-old boy. He smiled at his children. “Well, chaps, what’re we up to?”
“Ginny’s going to Italy and I’m forbidding it!” Ron explained in a rush, pointing a condemning finger at her.
Ginny snorted. “Dad, would you like me to make you some tea?” she asked kindly, pulling out a chair for him.
“That’d be just great, Gin,” he replied, limping to the table. He propped his left leg over the chair, followed by his right, and sat down. “Hold my cane for me, will you?” he barked at Ron.
Ron nodded stiffly and took it from him. “Dad – you’re not letting her go, are you? I mean, who’s going to be home with you? Who’ll take care of you? Mum can’t do everything on her own!”
“I resent that, Ronald,” Molly retorted, wounded that her son would ever say such a thing. She did plenty on her own – she took care of seven children, did she not?
Arthur held the cup of tea Ginny handed him and motioned for her to sit down. She obeyed, and as she did, he held her hand and said, “Is this what you want, Ginny? Are you sure you want to do this?”
Ginny took a glimpse at his withered hands and his loving face and whispered, “Yes, Dad, this is what I want to do.”
He smiled broadly. “Then, I suggest you pack.”
She sniffled, unable to control her emotions. “Thank you, Dad,” she sobbed, lunging forth and hugging him. “I’ll make you proud.”
.x.
Dawn broke through the cracked window of Ginny Weasley’s bedroom. The small speck of light reached just the tip of her nose, illuminating the one freckle that dotted above her left nostril. She groaned lightly and opened her eyes, spotting the Chudley Cannons poster just above her bed. She smiled, remembering the day when Ron had insisted she place it on her ceiling. He had somehow persuaded her that waking up to that team would boost her mornings.
“Ginny, darling, wake up!” chirped a bright voice.
Sighing, Ginny sat up and threw back the covers. Today didn’t feel like a great day and she was sure it would get worse. Just a fortnight ago she and her family had received word from Healer Fall, her father’s personal consultant. She informed them that his condition was getting worse and without the surgery, his legs would lose all feeling and probably all ability to walk.
Her father had suffered a stroke a few weeks ago and subsequently experienced a nasty fall. The impact had damaged his legs more than any other part of his body, his knees having collapsed from underneath him. The fall had injured him severely than the stroke did.
Healer Fall referred them to a Muggle doctor, Doctor Timpson, but the expenses for the surgery she was supposed to perform were too much. They needed more time and both Healer Fall and Doctor Timpson understood. The surgery was to be completed in less than six months and Ginny thought it enough time to find a job, earn enough money, and pay off the bill.
She’d already quit her dancing lessons, held with her mother’s close friend, Miss Gioia, even though the price for each lesson had already been cut in half. Molly had refused to speak to Ginny for four hours when she discovered this. Dancing was one of the few of Ginny’s passions and she simply hated seeing her daughter give that up.
Pulling back her hair in a high bun, Ginny trudged out of her room and down the stairs. Ron was out with Hermione today and Ginny was sure he was trying to propose again. He wasn’t one for suave, so he decided that any quiet moment with her would be the moment to ask.
Molly looked up from the stove and smiled at her daughter. “What are up to today, Gin? You promised you’d see Miss Gioia about getting back your lessons.”
Ginny sat down and rolled her eyes. “Mum, I told you: I don’t want the lessons anymore. It’ll save us some money. Why are you stressing this? It’s just dancing!”
Molly scoffed. “It’s not just dancing when you’re amazing at it, Ginevra. You’ll go back to Miss Gioia today and then you’ll attend your classes. Will you need to floo or are you riding Charlie’s broom?”
Swallowing, Ginny folded her hands on her lap. She knew her mother would break down in tears after hearing what was coming. “I quit university.”
Molly stopped stirring and turned around slowly. “I’m sorry, darling, I think I started hallucinating. Did you just say that you quit university?”
“It’s not as bad as you think, Mum,” Ginny explained hurriedly. “The money we spend on my classes is too much and if I just take a break for a few months, then we can pay-”
“You’re nineteen years old, Ginny,” interrupted Molly, her voice dangerously low. “You’re the youngest of my children. You were the first to enter a university after Ron decided to become an Auror. How could you do this? How could you do this to yourself? Are you aware that this is your future – your life?”
“Mum, it’s not that serious-”
“It’s very serious!” roared Molly, hands on her hips. She pointed an accusing finger at her daughter. “You will go straight to the dean and demand to be taken back. I’m not taking this bollocks, Ginevra! I’m not!”
“I can’t go back,” she answered sadly, “The notice I handed in is permanent. I am allowed, however, to attend another university bordering this one. It’s not as big, but it’s private. They’re awaiting my application in a few months.”
Ginny watched as Molly shut her eyes and took a deep breath. She paced the floor, her apron untied. “What will you do, Ginny?” she asked, not looking at her.
“I’ll look for a job. If you think you’re going to face Dad’s surgery alone, then you’re mistaken. We’re all in this together, Mum, even if it does mean giving up things that we love. I’m not going to let you carry this burden on your own,” Ginny stated confidently.
Molly turned to her, tears in her eyes. “I’m such a lucky woman, aren’t I? To have such beautiful children that are humble and caring.” She sat down, covering her face with her hands. “Bring this up to your father,” she ordered hoarsely.
Quietly standing up, Ginny gripped the handles of the tray and carried the breakfast up the stairs. As she climbed each step, she admired all the baby pictures on the wall. She laughed when she spotted Fred, George, and Ron wrestling. It was taken just outside – right by the rose garden.
She entered her parents’ bedroom and laid the tray on the nightstand. Her father was sleeping peacefully, his nightcap tipped over to the side of his head. Ginny giggled softly. “Dad,” she whispered, “Dad, it’s time to wake up!”
He turned to the side, struggling to move his legs the same way. Ginny felt her heart crumble at the sight of his crippled state. She instantly moved to help him, supporting his immobile legs to shift over. He mumbled, “Dear, its okay”, and Ginny fixed the blankets around him. She figured he needed more time to slumber, so she cast a quick heating charm on his food and gave him a kiss on the forehead. “I’ll see you in the afternoon, Dad. Happy sleeping,” she said softly.
Ginny squared her shoulders and left the room, determined and resolute.
She would help her father – one way or another.
Fatigued, Ginny spotted a small café just off the side of the street. She sped up and collapsed into the nearest seat, her neck glistening with sweat. Muggle London had to be the most crowded place she’d ever been to. Miss Gioia had brought her here for the first time during her first lesson, when she was only four years old. They were out to buy her a jazz leotard, and since Ginny was so thin for her age, they had to get it customized.
“You plannin’ on gettin’ anything?” asked the waiter to her left.
Ginny shook her head. “I’m only sitting for a bit,” she replied.
“Sorry, but you can’t sit here without orderin’ anything. You’ve gotta leave,” he said airily, throwing her a dismissive hand and walking away.
Ginny huffed and glared at his back. “Bloody bastard,” she hissed, standing up and stalking her way towards her next destination. There was an opening as a receptionist at a dance store just around the corner. This was where she had first bought her leotard and jazz shoes. Being around those things was better than not dancing at all.
Entering the store, Ginny glanced around, checking if anyone was watching. She grasped her wand in her pocket and muttered a freshening-up charm – cleaning her speedily and creating a glow on her skin.
She approached a saleswoman cheerily and asked, “Hi, I’m here to see Sandy Kissinger. I’m Ginevra Weasley.”
She smiled gaily. “Oh! Hello, there, Ginevra. I’m Colleen – we talked on the phone. Sandy will be out in a second. She’s just monitoring stock in the back. You can look about if you like. You told me you were once a dancer?”
Ginny nodded. “Yes, I had private lessons with my mother’s close friend. I first came here when I was four and I never went anywhere else for equipment.”
“I only started working here three years ago, but I’m sure Sandy will remember you. She was given this store after her grandmother died. She was also a dancer, you know,” Colleen clarified, very friendly.
“Was she?” Ginny inquired, curious. “What form?”
“Ballet,” she replied. “She was accepted into the American Ballet Association – well, that was until she sprained her ankle. She hasn’t danced since.”
“It’s sad when a gift of dancing is wasted away like that,” Ginny commented, looking down at her feet and wondering what she would do if something as horrible happened to her.
“Colleen!” yelled a voice. “We need a pair of Boque ballet shoes shipped to Madam Clairè as soon as possible. She’s having one of her asthma fits. I can’t stand hearing that woman breathe over the phone!”
A tall, slim woman stood before Ginny, her gray hair tied in a tight bun on her head. Small, baby hairs of gray curled out just above her forehead, and faint indication of wrinkles appeared on the sides of her eyes. She smiled and Ginny couldn’t help but gasp at how beautiful it made her look. Large, curvy creases emerged from her cheeks and her peach lips quirked at the edges. She was gorgeous for a woman over the age of fifty.
“Ginevra Weasley – jazz dancer extraordinaire,” she acknowledged.
Ginny shook the woman’s hand gently. “Sandy Kissinger – prima ballerina,” she complimented, smiling.
Sandy laughed. “Oh, dear, that was so long ago. I don’t believe in dwelling in the past. You are here for the receptionist position?”
“Yes, I am,” Ginny replied.
Sandy began walking away from her, gesturing for Ginny to follow. Speeding up, Ginny began her speech, “I’m a very fast learner and I can understand very quickly. I also know that part of the job is answering the phelly – I mean telephone and I can do that very well. I also have experience in filing and archiving, but I can do it manually and not on a computer.” She followed Sandy into a large office, taking a moment to revel in its beauty. The walls were pure oak and were bare – no pictures, no certificates, and no frames. It was simple, yet elegant. The rug was deep rouge, like the color of red wine.
Sandy ignored Ginny and picked up the telephone. She dialed a few numbers and Ginny recalled Hermione teaching her how to use the contraption. It took her almost two weeks just to get the hang of it.
“Prèyda, il suo studente è qui. Lei è sulla sua maniera?”
Ginny waited patiently.
“Giusto, l'invierò fuori.”
Hanging up the phone, Sandy looked at Ginny and smiled. “Unfortunately, Ginny, we have no openings. I’m sorry – we’ve already chosen someone.”
Sensing that this would happen, Ginny didn’t argue, but merely nodded. “I understand. Thank you. I can see myself out.” Turning around, Ginny inhaled deeply, and walked out of the lavish office. She peered down at the papers in her hand and groaned. She still had one more place to check out before heading home. So far, from all fifteen ads, she'd found nothing.
Waving goodbye to Colleen, Ginny swung open the store door and was hit by the sun full force. Making a right, she held her hand over her eyes and looked up at the street signs. “This building should be three streets from here,” she said to herself.
“Having trouble, caro?”
Ginny spun around and grinned. “Miss Gioia! You frightened me! What are you doing here in Muggle London?” she asked, happy to see her mentor of thirteen years.
“Your mother has called me, Ginny,” she said bluntly, removing her leather gloves. “Warm, isn’t it? I do not like the summer. This is why I do not choose to go back home. It is too warm in Sicily.”
“Mum? Mum called you?” Ginny panicked. “Miss Gioia – about my lessons -”
“That’s not I am here, Ginevra. I’m here to speak to you about a job proposition,” she interjected smoothly, her Italian accent flowing with each English word.
In a swift second, a large, black car stopped in front of them. A large man stepped out and opened the closest door.
“We’re riding in an automobile?” Ginny asked dumbly.
Miss Gioia laughed. “It’s a limousine,” she corrected, hustling Ginny to the door. “You witches and wizards should really catch up on your Muggle Studies class. You are all so oblivious to this world. It is pathetic.”
Ginny hit her face on the opposite door handle. “Bollocks!” she cursed, rubbing her chin.
Miss Gioia chuckled and got into the limousine, watching as her driver shut the door. She opened a small door in front of her and pulled out a brown stick.
“What’s that?” inquired Ginny, staring at the object with fascination. “Is that a gun?”
Miss Gioia openly laughed, making Ginny shrink back in embarrassment. “It’s a cigar, bella. How do you know about weapons such as guns?”
“Hermione showed me a picture once. Her father likes to gun for sport at a forest,” Ginny explained, not sure if she was explaining it right.
“That is called hunting. They shoot animals,” Miss Gioia explained, placing the cigar gracefully between her lips and inhaling.
Ginny looked confused. “Doesn’t smoking give you canned birds?”
Miss Gioia bit her lip to keep from laughing too boisterously. “Ginevra, darling, these matters are inconsequential. I brought you here to help you. Molly informed me about your father, bella. It is hurtful to me that you did not speak about this.”
“It’s not something I like to converse about,” Ginny replied, staring out the window. The smile on her face vanished at the mention of her father. “Ron told Harry about everything. He comes over almost every day out of obligation. I hate it. I don’t want that from anybody.”
“You need money for this operation, do you not, bella?”
“It’s costly, yes. It requires more money than I’ve ever had in my life.” Hugging herself, Ginny glanced at Miss Gioia, who stared at her intently. “But, I’m willing to do my best to earn most of it – for me, for my brothers, for Mum, and for Dad.”
“There is an opening. My cousin, a designer, is in desperate need for a personal assistant,” she stated, flicking the ashes off the end of her cigar. “It does not involve a lot of skill or past experience. It does, however, deal with children, going on errands, and shadowing Signora Insinuante’s every move. It does not sound like the most magnifico occupation in the world, but it is something. The pay is very well, and that is the main reason why I am telling you this. Will you accept?”
Ginny stared down at her lap and contemplated whether or not she should take the job. Miss Gioia had been a friend of the family, ever since Fred and George were born, so naturally, Ginny trusted her with all her heart. Any paying job is a good job, Ginny thought to herself. They only had five months to acquire all the money and an opportunity like this couldn’t possibly happen again. It was a once in a lifetime chance – and Ginny had to take it – but, she had to talk to her mother first.
“Will you give me time to think about it? I’ve got to speak to Mum about it. I don’t want her thinking I didn’t care to let her know or anything.”
“Of course, of course.” Miss Gioia turned to her driver. “Samson, take us into a deserted alley and fly us to Miss Weasley’s home, please,” she ordered.
“Miss Gioia?” asked Ginny quietly, still thinking about the job opening and her father.
“Yes, bambina.”
“Where does this Signora Insinuante live? Does she reside here in Muggle London?”
“You are pronouncing Signora wrong, bambina. Do it with an Italian accent – not your own,” snapped Miss Gioia.
Ginny sighed in impatience. Only a few days out of dance lessons, and Miss Gioia was still trying to be her teacher. “Signora,” Ginny repeated, this time with more verve.
“Perfecto. Do not let me hear you speak like an uneducated girl again, do you hear?”
“Where does she live, Miss Gioia?” Ginny urged.
“In Tuscany. You know of the place, yes?”
“Tuscany?” Ginny asked herself. She bit her lip in thought. She knew this place – Hermione told her stories about it. She remembered the name because it sounded so ridiculous. “Tuscany,” she whispered.
“In Tuscany, Ginny, people drink wine instead of pumpkin juice and live in cottages in the country. It’s gorgeous. They ride on vespas – that’s almost like a motorcycle but smaller. You remember what motorcycles look like, don’t you?”
“It can’t be in London,” Ginny told herself.
Miss Gioia chuckled at the sight of her student fumbling on her thoughts. “We are almost to your home, Ginevra. Would you like us to stop in back or in fron-”
“Bloody hell!” Ginny cursed. “It’s in Italy.”
“Italy?!”
Ginny refused to look into her family’s eyes. Her father was the only one who wasn’t present, but six older brothers and one mother was enough to scare the wits out of an entire army. Upon coming home, Ginny called an immediate family meeting. She explained to them her situation in a rush, not wanting to be interrupted. They stared at her for a good minute and out of this silence, chaos burst through.
“She’s not going,” Ron declared, getting up. “She’s not. I’m not letting my littler sister run off to another country. It’s ludicrous.”
George was a bit more forgiving. “Come on, mate. Ginny’s of age and we need that money for Dad. You can’t just say no without hearing her out first.”
Ginny put her hand over his. “Thank you,” she mouthed.
“I won’t allow it,” Percy stated, all authority. “Ron’s right. We don’t need Ginny gallivanting off to Italy for money. I can save enough from my job at the Ministry, George and Fred can put away some savings from the joke shop, and Charlie says he can get a loan from a Muggle bank somewhere in Hull.”
“It doesn’t matter what you all say,” Ginny said decisively. “I’m going. I’ve already made my decision. I just wanted to notify you all first before I leave.”
“Notify us?! Notify us?! What are we? Your colleagues?! We’re your family, Gin! We have a say in your life!” Percy bellowed, slamming a fist on the table.
“You’re one to talk,” muttered Ron, turning away.
Ginny’s eyes narrowed. “Now, you wait a bloody minut-”
“There is no cussing in this house, Ginevra Weasley!” scolded her mother.
“What do you mean ‘before you leave’?” asked Fred, taking off his coat as he entered the house. “When are you leaving?”
“My airplane ticket says I have to leave tomorrow at seven o’clock in the evening,” Ginny replied, pulling the piece of paper out of her pocket. “Signora Insinuante sent this the second I told Miss Gioia that I would take the job.”
“Tomorrow? You’re joking,” breathed Ron.
Ginny shook her head. “I’m afraid I’m not joking, Ron. I’m leaving tomorrow and there’s nothing you can do about it but support it.” She sighed. “You don’t understand do you? I’m doing this for Dad – or are you all unaware that if I don’t get this money he won’t be able to use his legs?”
They all flinched, including her mother.
“I have to do this. I know I’ll be far away, but there are many ways of communication. They’re all wizards there, so I’ll always be connected to the floo and I can Apparate anytime. I’ll call on the phelly – I mean telephone when I can. Hermione’s got a portable one in her purse, so you can ring me all the time,” she continued. “I need to do this. This isn’t just for me to travel, because if it was – I’d be gone by now. This is for Dad.”
Bill walked over to his sister and hugged her. “Will you promise to be safe? And let us know what happens when you get there?”
Ron looked outraged. “What?! She’s not going!”
“Should we tell Dad about this?” asked Charlie, signaling to the stairs.
“I was hoping to speak to him tonight,” Ginny answered, her face grave. “I just hope he doesn’t react the way you all did.”
“Dad would never approve of this,” Ron stated, arms crossed over his chest.
“You were always so stubborn,” Molly commented.
Ginny’s head snapped up. “What? Mum – you’re supporting this?”
Molly smiled softly. “You were always stubborn, too, dear. Whenever you decided something – there would be no going back. I trust you to be smart, Gin.”
“Oh, Mum!” Ginny stood up and dashed to her mother, enveloping her in a hug. “Thank you, thank you!” she whispered over and over.
“What’s all this racket?” teased a gruff voice. “Can’t a man get some decent sleep in his own house?”
Molly rushed to her husband’s side. “Arthur, what on earth are you doing up? Back to bed with you! Hurry along now!”
Everyone in the room froze and stared at their father, the mighty Weasley – head of the house. His red hair no longer shone brightly under the rays of the light, but held a weak glow of gray. He relied wholly on a cane that belonged to his Grandfather. His legs were wobbling back and forth and his knuckles were pure white at the solid grip he held on the walking stick. He may have seemed feeble and frail at first glance, but he was stronger now than he ever was – his still-boyish grin proved that.
He swatted Molly’s hand away. “I can make it to the table on my own, love! Don’t baby me!” he protested, sounding like a five-year-old boy. He smiled at his children. “Well, chaps, what’re we up to?”
“Ginny’s going to Italy and I’m forbidding it!” Ron explained in a rush, pointing a condemning finger at her.
Ginny snorted. “Dad, would you like me to make you some tea?” she asked kindly, pulling out a chair for him.
“That’d be just great, Gin,” he replied, limping to the table. He propped his left leg over the chair, followed by his right, and sat down. “Hold my cane for me, will you?” he barked at Ron.
Ron nodded stiffly and took it from him. “Dad – you’re not letting her go, are you? I mean, who’s going to be home with you? Who’ll take care of you? Mum can’t do everything on her own!”
“I resent that, Ronald,” Molly retorted, wounded that her son would ever say such a thing. She did plenty on her own – she took care of seven children, did she not?
Arthur held the cup of tea Ginny handed him and motioned for her to sit down. She obeyed, and as she did, he held her hand and said, “Is this what you want, Ginny? Are you sure you want to do this?”
Ginny took a glimpse at his withered hands and his loving face and whispered, “Yes, Dad, this is what I want to do.”
He smiled broadly. “Then, I suggest you pack.”
She sniffled, unable to control her emotions. “Thank you, Dad,” she sobbed, lunging forth and hugging him. “I’ll make you proud.”
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