Promise Us Everything, 7/10. D/G. NC-17
Title: Promise Us Everything
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17 eventually. Parts are appropriately marked.
Disclaimer: They're Jo's, and I'm borrowing without permission. I'll return her toys when I'm done playing with them.
Spoilers: I incorporate DH except for the epilogue. A list of begats and shoddy writing is not a good way to end a series.
Summary: The fallout of a magical clandestine war is difficult to wade through, and reconstructing society takes work to be done right. Unfortunately, too many old prejudices remain. Ginny sees the world for what it is and is determined to fix it properly. This leads to all sorts of unlikely allies.
Author's Note: This was inspired by nokomis305's drabble that she had written for me. The opening was actually written as a short drabble for mynuet. I had actually lost the original five chapters that were written and had to recreate them from memory. :(
Promise Us Everything
"I haven't seen you in ages, Hermione," Ginny began over lunch, "and you don't live that far away. If not for holidays, I don't think I'd ever see you."
"Well, I'm working for the Ministry," Hermione began, her voice crisp as if about to launch into a lecture. She did sigh at Ginny's earnest look. "Sometimes I don't even see Ron for days on end, and he's in the same building as I am."
Ginny clucked her tongue. "Well, this is going to be a good, sisterly lunch, yeah? So go on, feed me all the gossip in the Ministry."
Hermione laughed and shook her head. She sipped at her water, waiting for her lunch order to arrive. She was five months pregnant with her first child and practically beamed at Ginny every time her hand fell to the rise of her belly. "I don't know... You wouldn't know half of the people that I would be talking about."
"So? You get to vent. I'll talk about my Quidditch team if it'll make you feel better."
Hermione wound up talking about Minister Albert Fragglethorpe. Ginny perked up at the mention of the name, as he was hopelessly discriminatory and refused to bend in the face of change. Apparently the rumors around the Ministry held that he was having an affair with his assistant, a young man of Asian descent and questionable filing skills. His wife was a few years older than he was, and they had remained childless for years. The rumors were that he was more attached to his young assistants than he had ever been to his wife, and they had never shared a marital bed.
"That's so scandalous," Ginny laughed. "However do people look him in the eye?"
"I think it's because he spends time with Michael Howe. That man is much more pleasant to speak to, but has no spine whatsoever. It's terrible, he lets himself get swayed so much by old Fragglethorpe's rhetoric. Which is patently wrong half the time, but no one has the heart to protest it."
"Sounds like stones, not heart," Ginny snarked. That got her a laugh from Hermione, who agreed with the off color comment. Ginny launched into a retelling of one of her teammate's recent dating debacles. Heather Goodwright was the other Chaser on the team, and was constantly being set up with someone's brother or cousin or some such, and they all had something horribly wrong with them. Each blind date had been a disaster of increasingly devastating proportions. Hermione also knew Viola Pickering, one of the Beaters on the team, and Horace Tender, the other beater. The two were dating, and had been at Ginny's most recent birthday party. Ginny launched into stories of their rows while at practice and infamous snogging in the locker room that led to everyone else leaving so they could shag themselves silly in the showers.
Hermione had to brush tears of laughter away. "Oh, I did miss spending time with you. Work can be so awfully dreadful sometimes."
"I should have a little party, then. Maybe I can invite some friends over for dinner."
"Would you invite your new friends?" Hermione asked curiously.
Ginny bit her lip almost nervously. "I haven't really mixed crowds yet."
"I've noticed that."
"I suppose I wouldn't want it to be awkward. You having fought in the war and all..."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry's the one to worry about that, not me. Even Ron's all right with the idea of it most of the time. The truly dangerous ones served their time. Are serving their time. Mostly." She shrugged. "Those ones you spend time with now are in a charity and don't seem to have any dark purpose otherwise."
Ginny grinned in relief. "Thanks so much. I thought Mum was going to have a conniption when I first mentioned the charity. I'd hate to think of you or Ron acting that way."
"Harry probably hasn't forgiven a single one of them. But it's just as well that he's always in the field hunting someone. I don't think he has any other purpose." Hermione frowned and rubbed her belly almost unconsciously. "He wants to, I know, but I don't think he would know what to do with himself if there wasn't any danger about."
"It's supposed to be peaceful now. It's supposed to be better than it was."
"Crime is crime," Hermione replied simply. "It gives him something to do. I don't think he could be happy any other way. He's been fighting for so long, I truly believe he'd be lost if he wasn't fighting for something."
Ginny sighed. "I suppose you're right. Poor Harry."
Hermione laughed. "I've never heard anyone say that other than your Mum, you know."
"There's more to life than fighting," Ginny murmured. "There's a better way."
Hermione nodded. "Well, now, let's move off such a depressing topic, shall we? Ron and I have been discussing names. We're trying to keep from finding out the sex of the child, just to keep it a surprise. I think your Mum is going to drive us mad, though."
Ginny accepted the topic change with gratitude and began suggesting baby names, each more outrageous than the last. She felt almost guilty for pimping Hermione for Ministry gossip when she barely saw her sister-in-law, but knew that it would come in handy. She had a feeling that someone was about to blackmail Fragglethorpe into compliance.
***
While Millicent found an old Ravenclaw friend to direct at Fragglethorpe, Pansy wanted to cut straight to the heart of the dilemma. "Amelia Howe has the same hairdresser I do, and she goes in every week for a styling."
"That's awfully... wasteful," Ginny remarked, unable to wrap her mind around the concept of someone else managing hairstyle spells for her.
Pansy laughed. "It's not for the styling spells, Ginny. It's the company. It's talking to someone. It's being seen out in public and putting a good face on, pretending it's still safe to go out and about in the fashionable places like this is still a good place to live. It's political, even if it doesn't really look like it on the surface."
Ginny suddenly realized that if she was sober, Pansy's observation skills were as sharp as a tack. She had once been socially conscious, once been focused and nearly ruthless.
She let Pansy draw her into the ridiculously expensive shop. Pansy didn't need her recently bobbed hair cut any shorter, but she allowed the possibility that her own hair had grown a bit too long. She hadn't cut it in over a year, too preoccupied with practice. Hair bands had been enough to keep it out of her face during practice and games, and she was still untutored in ways to manage her hair other than the simplest of styles. It had simply never mattered before.
They came in as Amelia Howe was settling her bill. Pansy settled into her intoxicated routine. She smiled at the receptionist, pushing Ginny ahead of her and nearly into Amelia. "Lovey, my friend absolutely needs a new cut and style. Athletic, would you think?"
Amelia looked over and blinked at the sight of an embarrassed Ginny. "Oh, Miss Weasley."
Ginny looked at her and gave her a sheepish smile. "So sorry about this..."
"I'm Minister Howe's wife," she supplied helpfully. They shook, officially meeting for the first time. "You probably didn't notice us at the ball last month."
"You do look familiar," Ginny replied honestly, smiling at her. "I'm afraid I was so nervous that day that any introductions flew right out of my head. How are you?"
Amelia gave a laugh that was as hollow as her politician husband's. Ginny remembered it now, remembered thinking it was odd at the ball. "Still visiting all my favorite shops. It's fairly quiet about during the summer, you know."
"A good show about it being safe," Pansy said, head tilted to the side. Amelia looked startled at the comment, but Pansy didn't clarify it.
"How do you do it? I've been meaning to ask," Ginny murmured, leaning forward slightly. "I meant to ask you at the ball, since you always seem so confident. And Minister Howe is the very picture of moderation and progress in the Prophet. I'm so new at this, I feel about ready to trip over the charity work. How do you do it all?"
Her lips compressed somewhat. "Your charity seems to be doing well, Miss Weasley. You seem confident enough for anyone."
"At Quidditch, of course. But you seem to make politics look so easy, and I feel all muddled up if I try to think about it."
"The Prophet will do that," Amelia replied, not unkindly. Her voice dropped somewhat. "It's hardly a good source of information about the Ministry these days."
Ginny blinked, the picture of pure innocence. "Oh, dear. So what should I read? Everyone seems to expect me to know something, because my family is so involved." She felt like such a liar, but couldn't help herself. She could practically feel Pansy bouncing with approval behind her, only just keeping herself from giggling outright. Amelia obviously had her own opinion of things and was simply itching to tell someone what she thought. Getting her on their side would be easier than she thought.
"Well, you should probably talk with them," Amelia hedged, stepping slightly away from Ginny as someone else entered the shop.
Ginny ignored the new woman, who went straight to her hairdresser. "They're always so awfully busy, though. And I'd hate to feel like a bother."
"I'm sure you don't come across that way," Amelia assured her. "Perhaps we could meet up for lunch at some point?"
"Oh, that would be lovely," Ginny said. "Or would you be interested in joining Helping Hands? At our last meeting, we were looking into what it would cost to actually run an orphanage for the war children. We could use all the help we can get."
Amelia blinked in surprise. "You're honestly contemplating that?"
"It's a worthy cause," Ginny replied earnestly.
"To be sure, but an expensive one. Even the Ministry hasn't pushed for that yet."
"I thought that Minister Howe was interested in caring for the war orphans," Ginny replied, brows crinkling in thought. "I know you just said it isn't helpful, but that was in the Prophet not too long ago."
"Ah... Well, others in the Ministry don't agree that it's a priority."
"Then what is? I would think that the future generations are the priority. Otherwise, what's the point in making changes for the better?"
Amelia blinked in surprise at Ginny's fervent comment. "You have a point." Her lips pressed together in a parody of a smile. "It would seem that many of the older Ministers seem to have lost that vision."
"They seem awfully punitive in the Prophet," Ginny agreed. "The war's been over for years, but they seem to be more intent on punishing whoever's left than in fixing our world." She shrugged artlessly. "But then, I wouldn't know where to begin on that point anyway."
"It seems that you're doing your fair share," Amelia replied, shaking her head. "It's not every day a famous Quidditch player decides to do more with her fame than parlay it into advertising contracts. Social consciousness is sorely lacking in some younger people."
"It was Teddy Lupin that did it for me," Ginny confessed. "I knew his parents, and they never made me feel like the little I was doing wasn't worth something. It occurred to me that I wasn't really doing enough with the legacy that the Lupins had left behind. I want Teddy to grow up in a place where he could be proud of what they did."
Amelia's mouth parted slightly as she pondered how to respond to that. "I don't remember reading that the Lupins had a child."
"Orphaned in the war," Ginny clarified.
"The name seems somewhat familiar," Amelia hedged.
"You've probably seen it once or twice in the Prophet," Ginny told her helpfully. "Harry Potter is his godfather."
"Poor child," Amelia murmured.
Ginny nodded and leaned in conspiratorially. "I haven't the heart to explain why his parents died and why he lives with his grandmother." Ginny felt like a heel for what she was about to say, but pressed on further. "And with the way the current curfew restrictions are, whatever family he does have can't even visit him."
"Whatever do you mean?" Amelia asked, startled.
"Andromeda Tonks is caring for Teddy almost by herself. Narcissa's visited a few times, or took him on a few times. I saw Draco Malfoy playing with him during our Helping Hands meetings, too, but Teddy always has to go back home early. Because of the curfews, the Malfoys couldn't watch over Teddy after dark."
"Why would they be affected by curfews? Those were lifted a long time ago."
Pansy shook her head at the same time as Ginny. "Oh, no. All former Slytherins are kept under curfew," Pansy told Amelia. "I wasn't even in the war and I don't do anything constructive now, but I can't leave home after dark."
Amelia's eyes surreptitiously flicked to Pansy's exposed arms and took in the bare flesh. "You were never a Death Eater."
"Of course not," Pansy scoffed, rolling her eyes. "They were bullies at school and didn't make any kind of sense." She shrugged. "But being Slytherin is bad enough, you know. Suddenly we're all evil and nasty and out to harm everyone. When I was a first year student, they told us that Slytherins were clever but not bookish, and that was the difference between us and Ravenclaw House. And then came the Death Eater talk, but that never made sense to me."
Ginny could see the wheels turning in Amelia's head. "It's why we can't have Quidditch practice late or why games never last for days like they used to. A lot of teams have Slytherin players. In fact, our Seeker is Slytherin."
"Really?" Pansy asked, curious. "I didn't know that."
Ginny nodded at Pansy's and Amelia's surprise. "Two years above you in school, I think. She's a brilliant Seeker, and we'd never win half the games we play without her."
"It's been lovely to meet you," Amelia murmured, glancing at her watch. "I'm late for lunch with my husband, though. Perhaps you can owl me when the next meeting for Helping Hands is? I would love to attend."
Ginny beamed at her. "That would be wonderful, Mrs. Howe."
"Amelia," she corrected gently, smiling at her.
Ginny shook her hand again. "You must call me Ginny, then. Or Ginevra."
"That's a lovely name," Amelia told her. "I'll see you at the next meeting, then."
Pansy waited until Ginny was in a stylist's chair before she chortled with glee. "Hook, line and sinker," she laughed, sitting beside Ginny.
"You are a wicked, wicked influence on me."
Pansy snorted. "You don't trust yourself enough. As for me, I'm starting to think you can really pivot the world on its axis."
Ginny only laughed in response. She was too afraid to hope it was true.
***
Ginny had agreed to visit Pansy later that week so that they could go on yet another shopping trip. Pansy seemed to think that shopping was the perfect kind of pastime, though Ginny often got bored to tears with rows upon rows of clothing in Muggle stores or all of the obsequious clerks in the Wizarding shops. She wouldn't have minded staying home with a book before her afternoon Quidditch practice, but Pansy had whined that Millicent was busy and she really had no other friends to spend time with. Guilty, Ginny had Floo'ed over to the Chesterfield mansion just after lunch.
Pansy was sobbing in the drawing room, the sleeve of her shirt ripped and the neckline stretched out and nearly torn. She looked as though she had been throttled not that long before, as bruises hadn't yet started to form on her pale skin. Her hair was mussed and she appeared to be trying to hide behind it. The bottles of liquor were all smashed against the wall, and the table they had been placed on was overturned.
Ginny gingerly stepped into the room. "Are you all right, Pansy?"
She shook her head but didn't stop crying just yet. "You should go," she sobbed. "He'll be back, he'll just come back..."
"Who? Who did this to you, Pansy?" Ginny sat down next to Pansy and tried to pry her hands from her face. Pansy had been making all kinds of effort to be sober for most of the day, and this was definitely something that would have driven her to consume the entire bar if it hadn't already been smashed against the wall.
"I said awful things, of course," Pansy continued as if Ginny hadn't spoken. "Of course I did, I always do." Her sniffles sounded pitiful, the kinds of sounds a small child would make. "I hate it, Ginny, I hate it. He says I provoke him on purpose. He says I'm awful, all kinds of awful things that I know are a little bit true. I'm not doing right, I know that. I didn't want to... He made me... I know it's supposed to be my duty, but I didn't want to and he had the house elves come to hold me down..."
Ginny didn't want to be hearing this. She wanted to stick her fingers in her ears and shout to the rooftops to block the syllables tumbling down from Pansy's lips. Chesterfield was old and almost decrepit looking, a hundred years old if he was a day, and she simply didn't want to know what he was capable of.
"He'll be back. He said he would give me an hour to change my ways. I don't know what time it is. I have to go, I don't know where, I don't know..."
Ginny could hear footsteps down the hall, heavy, angry, thudding sounds. Chesterfield.
"Let me talk to him," Ginny said with more confidence than she felt. "Okay? You let me handle this, and I will try to get this to stop."
"I have to do my duty, but it hurts and I don't want to do this anymore." Her sobs were painful to listen to. "I know I had to agree to everything, but I can't do this anymore, Ginny. I can't, I know I have to, but I can't..." Pansy threw her arms around Ginny's shoulders and sobbed against the crook of her neck. "It hurts, Ginny, I didn't think it was going to when I agreed, but it hurts to do this all the time..."
Ginny looked up with a stony expression as Chesterfield walked into the room. His white hair was combed back, his jowly features pulled into an expression of scorn. He wore formal robes, but Wizarding robes didn't always require underthings. "Sir," she said stiffly, catching sight of him. Pansy stiffened in her arms.
Chesterfield's gaze narrowed at her. "What are you doing here?"
"We had plans to go out this afternoon, and I've just arrived." Ginny indicated Pansy's sobbing with a vague motion. "I was hardly expecting this."
"This is none of your concern," Chesterfield said, voice like chilled poison. "This is between myself and my wife."
Pansy shivered in Ginny's arms, her tears hot against the skin of Ginny's neck.
"This is true," Ginny began, ignoring Pansy's wail at her words. "But there are better ways than this, I'm sure."
If anything, Chesterfield's gaze grew even more frosty. "You dare-"
"There are other ways of siring an heir," Ginny interrupted blithely. "I'm not sure about your feelings of Muggle technology, but it does exist."
Chesterfield's face took on an ugly puce color, and he was too enraged to speak.
"I wouldn't have thought much on it myself," Ginny continued, gently pushing Pansy off of her shoulder. She patted Pansy's shoulder gently, but her eyes were locked on Chesterfield's puce face. "But there are many Muggle fertility clinics in the districts where we've gone shopping in London. It's something that they've looked into, and I don't think there's any harm done in seeing what they would have to say. The Wizarding world seems to think it's all right if there aren't any children in families, but the Muggles seem to go to great lengths to have them."
"Muggles would never understand this," Chesterfield replied, voice chilly with disapproval.
"Oh, I daresay they would," Ginny countered. She shrugged. "There are ads in many places for clinics and such, and it seems as though couples who've tried for years suddenly find themselves ready for children."
Pansy's sniffles were loud in the silence that followed.
Ginny didn't move, didn't reach out for Pansy. She held Chesterfield's assessing gaze, refusing to back down. Somehow she knew that if she dropped her gaze, if she seemed even a little bit unsure in what she was saying, Pansy would suffer for it. Chesterfield would take her words as deception and she would never be allowed to see Pansy again. While Ginny wasn't necessarily as confident as she felt - what did she know about Muggle fertility clinics? - she certainly knew that the Muggles had to have the same kind of problems and some kind of treatment for it. Hell, she was sure that St. Mungo's would be able to have some kind of treatment for it if Wizarding families were confident enough to discuss the issue.
After what felt like eternity, Chesterfield nodded. "I am unfamiliar with Muggle ways," he began stiffly. "You're Pansy's friend, and you visit Muggle places, don't you?"
"On a fairly regular basis," Ginny agreed with a slight nod.
"Perhaps you could look into these things. Discreetly, of course."
Ginny nodded and tried not to show her relief. "Of course."
Pansy rubbed at her face like a child and couldn't meet anyone's eyes. She flinched terribly when a house elf Apparated into the room. Ginny's gut clenched, and she tried very, very hard not to loathe Chesterfield where he stood.
"An owl arrived for Miss Weasley," the elf squeaked. He wrung his hands and looked about the room as if expecting to be struck at any moment. "There must be a response."
"Do you have the message?" Ginny asked, holding back a sigh. While she certainly wouldn't mind getting away from this tense household, she also didn't want to leave Pansy alone with Chesterfield in the mood he was in.
The trembling house elf handed over the slip of parchment. He continued to wring his hands as Ginny scanned the message.
Ginny sighed and scrubbed at her face with her hands. "I got the week wrong, Pans. This was the week we were going to have the early practice." She looked closely at Pansy. "They want to know if I'm going to be there today. Do you need me to stay with you? We can start looking into this thing if you want me to stay."
Pansy meekly peered through her hair and then shook her head. "T-tomorrow? Are you free tomorrow? I feel ill today."
"Are you sure?"
Her voice was a mere shadow of its usual playfulness. "I feel ill. Maybe tomorrow would be best for going about Muggle London."
"All right. If you're sure. I'll check back on you later today, all right? After practice."
"She'll be fine, Miss Weasley," Chesterfield interjected smoothly. "I appreciate your concern in this. As well as your discretion," he added, voice brooking no argument.
Ginny bristled at the implication. "Of course. Pansy is my friend, and I would help her with whatever she needs done."
As Ginny left the mansion, she suddenly hated her easy life. Quidditch, loving family, shagging Draco rotten in her flat. She had it easy in comparison to some of her former schoolmates, and she had never even realized it. She had to do something to help Pansy, and this had to be done quickly. The poor girl had looked ready to break in her parlor, and Ginny didn't like seeing her that way.
She threw her frustration into her game, but she knew that she wasn't completely focused. Still, no one seemed to notice the difference but Viola Pickering. Of all the other teammates, Ginny counted her as a close friend. With all of her recent efforts with Helping Hands, she had been ignoring Viola. The thought made her stomach turn with regret.
"You're not looking good, Gin," Viola said without preamble once they were the only ones in the locker room.
Ginny smiled at her wanly. "I got caught up at Pansy's." She shook her head. "I can't talk about it, but it was awful."
Viola bit her lip. "You think you can't mix and match friends, eh?"
Ginny looked at her, startled. "What?"
"You know, you've never asked any of us on the team to join your charity work?"
"I haven't?" she asked, dimly aware that she sounded like an imbecile.
Viola shook her head and pulled her dark hair into a ponytail behind her head. She was fairly muscular but striking, and few people seemed to be aware that her mind was sharp behind her clear blue eyes. "I know some people are still skittish about Slyths, but if you're such good chums with some, they can't be all bad."
"I'm so sorry, Vi, I didn't mean to seem like a bad friend." She looked up and bit her lip. "I don't know what to think about what I found out today. It's a secret, it can't go anywhere."
Viola nodded and looked around the locker room. "All right. I know a place. We can get some takeaway curry and talk it out, yeah? And then we'll talk about this charity business. You know Horace and I are interested in such things. Believe it or not, Heather could whip up a bunch of good ideas to drum up donations. She'd certainly dated or snogged half of Wizarding England by now, you know."
Ginny gave a bout of startled laughter. "You know, I hadn't thought of that."
"You're so busy taking on the worries of the world, you know," Viola continued. She deftly braided her thick ponytail and tied off the end. "S'okay if you get a little help along the way. And what's the name of that charity of yours again anyway?" she added pointedly.
Ginny burst out into genuine laugher now. "Helping Hands, and you know it."
"So there you go," Viola told her cheekily. "No plans tonight, have ya?"
Shaking her head, Ginny grinned. "Sounds like now I do."
"Darn right you do. So we'll talk about this thing that's got your game off, and don't think I haven't noticed, Gin. And then we'll talk about what us Quidditch folk can contribute to high society charity work. And it'll be okay, yeah?"
Ginny gave Viola a swift hug. "You always make so much sense."
Viola's grin was cocky and playful at the same time. "Of course I do. It's why Horace will never, ever leave, don'tcha know."
Arm in arm, they left the locker room.
***
***
Author: Eustacia Vye
Author's e-mail: eustacia_vye28@hotmail.com
Rating: NC-17 eventually. Parts are appropriately marked.
Disclaimer: They're Jo's, and I'm borrowing without permission. I'll return her toys when I'm done playing with them.
Spoilers: I incorporate DH except for the epilogue. A list of begats and shoddy writing is not a good way to end a series.
Summary: The fallout of a magical clandestine war is difficult to wade through, and reconstructing society takes work to be done right. Unfortunately, too many old prejudices remain. Ginny sees the world for what it is and is determined to fix it properly. This leads to all sorts of unlikely allies.
Author's Note: This was inspired by nokomis305's drabble that she had written for me. The opening was actually written as a short drabble for mynuet. I had actually lost the original five chapters that were written and had to recreate them from memory. :(
Promise Us Everything
"I haven't seen you in ages, Hermione," Ginny began over lunch, "and you don't live that far away. If not for holidays, I don't think I'd ever see you."
"Well, I'm working for the Ministry," Hermione began, her voice crisp as if about to launch into a lecture. She did sigh at Ginny's earnest look. "Sometimes I don't even see Ron for days on end, and he's in the same building as I am."
Ginny clucked her tongue. "Well, this is going to be a good, sisterly lunch, yeah? So go on, feed me all the gossip in the Ministry."
Hermione laughed and shook her head. She sipped at her water, waiting for her lunch order to arrive. She was five months pregnant with her first child and practically beamed at Ginny every time her hand fell to the rise of her belly. "I don't know... You wouldn't know half of the people that I would be talking about."
"So? You get to vent. I'll talk about my Quidditch team if it'll make you feel better."
Hermione wound up talking about Minister Albert Fragglethorpe. Ginny perked up at the mention of the name, as he was hopelessly discriminatory and refused to bend in the face of change. Apparently the rumors around the Ministry held that he was having an affair with his assistant, a young man of Asian descent and questionable filing skills. His wife was a few years older than he was, and they had remained childless for years. The rumors were that he was more attached to his young assistants than he had ever been to his wife, and they had never shared a marital bed.
"That's so scandalous," Ginny laughed. "However do people look him in the eye?"
"I think it's because he spends time with Michael Howe. That man is much more pleasant to speak to, but has no spine whatsoever. It's terrible, he lets himself get swayed so much by old Fragglethorpe's rhetoric. Which is patently wrong half the time, but no one has the heart to protest it."
"Sounds like stones, not heart," Ginny snarked. That got her a laugh from Hermione, who agreed with the off color comment. Ginny launched into a retelling of one of her teammate's recent dating debacles. Heather Goodwright was the other Chaser on the team, and was constantly being set up with someone's brother or cousin or some such, and they all had something horribly wrong with them. Each blind date had been a disaster of increasingly devastating proportions. Hermione also knew Viola Pickering, one of the Beaters on the team, and Horace Tender, the other beater. The two were dating, and had been at Ginny's most recent birthday party. Ginny launched into stories of their rows while at practice and infamous snogging in the locker room that led to everyone else leaving so they could shag themselves silly in the showers.
Hermione had to brush tears of laughter away. "Oh, I did miss spending time with you. Work can be so awfully dreadful sometimes."
"I should have a little party, then. Maybe I can invite some friends over for dinner."
"Would you invite your new friends?" Hermione asked curiously.
Ginny bit her lip almost nervously. "I haven't really mixed crowds yet."
"I've noticed that."
"I suppose I wouldn't want it to be awkward. You having fought in the war and all..."
Hermione rolled her eyes. "Harry's the one to worry about that, not me. Even Ron's all right with the idea of it most of the time. The truly dangerous ones served their time. Are serving their time. Mostly." She shrugged. "Those ones you spend time with now are in a charity and don't seem to have any dark purpose otherwise."
Ginny grinned in relief. "Thanks so much. I thought Mum was going to have a conniption when I first mentioned the charity. I'd hate to think of you or Ron acting that way."
"Harry probably hasn't forgiven a single one of them. But it's just as well that he's always in the field hunting someone. I don't think he has any other purpose." Hermione frowned and rubbed her belly almost unconsciously. "He wants to, I know, but I don't think he would know what to do with himself if there wasn't any danger about."
"It's supposed to be peaceful now. It's supposed to be better than it was."
"Crime is crime," Hermione replied simply. "It gives him something to do. I don't think he could be happy any other way. He's been fighting for so long, I truly believe he'd be lost if he wasn't fighting for something."
Ginny sighed. "I suppose you're right. Poor Harry."
Hermione laughed. "I've never heard anyone say that other than your Mum, you know."
"There's more to life than fighting," Ginny murmured. "There's a better way."
Hermione nodded. "Well, now, let's move off such a depressing topic, shall we? Ron and I have been discussing names. We're trying to keep from finding out the sex of the child, just to keep it a surprise. I think your Mum is going to drive us mad, though."
Ginny accepted the topic change with gratitude and began suggesting baby names, each more outrageous than the last. She felt almost guilty for pimping Hermione for Ministry gossip when she barely saw her sister-in-law, but knew that it would come in handy. She had a feeling that someone was about to blackmail Fragglethorpe into compliance.
***
While Millicent found an old Ravenclaw friend to direct at Fragglethorpe, Pansy wanted to cut straight to the heart of the dilemma. "Amelia Howe has the same hairdresser I do, and she goes in every week for a styling."
"That's awfully... wasteful," Ginny remarked, unable to wrap her mind around the concept of someone else managing hairstyle spells for her.
Pansy laughed. "It's not for the styling spells, Ginny. It's the company. It's talking to someone. It's being seen out in public and putting a good face on, pretending it's still safe to go out and about in the fashionable places like this is still a good place to live. It's political, even if it doesn't really look like it on the surface."
Ginny suddenly realized that if she was sober, Pansy's observation skills were as sharp as a tack. She had once been socially conscious, once been focused and nearly ruthless.
She let Pansy draw her into the ridiculously expensive shop. Pansy didn't need her recently bobbed hair cut any shorter, but she allowed the possibility that her own hair had grown a bit too long. She hadn't cut it in over a year, too preoccupied with practice. Hair bands had been enough to keep it out of her face during practice and games, and she was still untutored in ways to manage her hair other than the simplest of styles. It had simply never mattered before.
They came in as Amelia Howe was settling her bill. Pansy settled into her intoxicated routine. She smiled at the receptionist, pushing Ginny ahead of her and nearly into Amelia. "Lovey, my friend absolutely needs a new cut and style. Athletic, would you think?"
Amelia looked over and blinked at the sight of an embarrassed Ginny. "Oh, Miss Weasley."
Ginny looked at her and gave her a sheepish smile. "So sorry about this..."
"I'm Minister Howe's wife," she supplied helpfully. They shook, officially meeting for the first time. "You probably didn't notice us at the ball last month."
"You do look familiar," Ginny replied honestly, smiling at her. "I'm afraid I was so nervous that day that any introductions flew right out of my head. How are you?"
Amelia gave a laugh that was as hollow as her politician husband's. Ginny remembered it now, remembered thinking it was odd at the ball. "Still visiting all my favorite shops. It's fairly quiet about during the summer, you know."
"A good show about it being safe," Pansy said, head tilted to the side. Amelia looked startled at the comment, but Pansy didn't clarify it.
"How do you do it? I've been meaning to ask," Ginny murmured, leaning forward slightly. "I meant to ask you at the ball, since you always seem so confident. And Minister Howe is the very picture of moderation and progress in the Prophet. I'm so new at this, I feel about ready to trip over the charity work. How do you do it all?"
Her lips compressed somewhat. "Your charity seems to be doing well, Miss Weasley. You seem confident enough for anyone."
"At Quidditch, of course. But you seem to make politics look so easy, and I feel all muddled up if I try to think about it."
"The Prophet will do that," Amelia replied, not unkindly. Her voice dropped somewhat. "It's hardly a good source of information about the Ministry these days."
Ginny blinked, the picture of pure innocence. "Oh, dear. So what should I read? Everyone seems to expect me to know something, because my family is so involved." She felt like such a liar, but couldn't help herself. She could practically feel Pansy bouncing with approval behind her, only just keeping herself from giggling outright. Amelia obviously had her own opinion of things and was simply itching to tell someone what she thought. Getting her on their side would be easier than she thought.
"Well, you should probably talk with them," Amelia hedged, stepping slightly away from Ginny as someone else entered the shop.
Ginny ignored the new woman, who went straight to her hairdresser. "They're always so awfully busy, though. And I'd hate to feel like a bother."
"I'm sure you don't come across that way," Amelia assured her. "Perhaps we could meet up for lunch at some point?"
"Oh, that would be lovely," Ginny said. "Or would you be interested in joining Helping Hands? At our last meeting, we were looking into what it would cost to actually run an orphanage for the war children. We could use all the help we can get."
Amelia blinked in surprise. "You're honestly contemplating that?"
"It's a worthy cause," Ginny replied earnestly.
"To be sure, but an expensive one. Even the Ministry hasn't pushed for that yet."
"I thought that Minister Howe was interested in caring for the war orphans," Ginny replied, brows crinkling in thought. "I know you just said it isn't helpful, but that was in the Prophet not too long ago."
"Ah... Well, others in the Ministry don't agree that it's a priority."
"Then what is? I would think that the future generations are the priority. Otherwise, what's the point in making changes for the better?"
Amelia blinked in surprise at Ginny's fervent comment. "You have a point." Her lips pressed together in a parody of a smile. "It would seem that many of the older Ministers seem to have lost that vision."
"They seem awfully punitive in the Prophet," Ginny agreed. "The war's been over for years, but they seem to be more intent on punishing whoever's left than in fixing our world." She shrugged artlessly. "But then, I wouldn't know where to begin on that point anyway."
"It seems that you're doing your fair share," Amelia replied, shaking her head. "It's not every day a famous Quidditch player decides to do more with her fame than parlay it into advertising contracts. Social consciousness is sorely lacking in some younger people."
"It was Teddy Lupin that did it for me," Ginny confessed. "I knew his parents, and they never made me feel like the little I was doing wasn't worth something. It occurred to me that I wasn't really doing enough with the legacy that the Lupins had left behind. I want Teddy to grow up in a place where he could be proud of what they did."
Amelia's mouth parted slightly as she pondered how to respond to that. "I don't remember reading that the Lupins had a child."
"Orphaned in the war," Ginny clarified.
"The name seems somewhat familiar," Amelia hedged.
"You've probably seen it once or twice in the Prophet," Ginny told her helpfully. "Harry Potter is his godfather."
"Poor child," Amelia murmured.
Ginny nodded and leaned in conspiratorially. "I haven't the heart to explain why his parents died and why he lives with his grandmother." Ginny felt like a heel for what she was about to say, but pressed on further. "And with the way the current curfew restrictions are, whatever family he does have can't even visit him."
"Whatever do you mean?" Amelia asked, startled.
"Andromeda Tonks is caring for Teddy almost by herself. Narcissa's visited a few times, or took him on a few times. I saw Draco Malfoy playing with him during our Helping Hands meetings, too, but Teddy always has to go back home early. Because of the curfews, the Malfoys couldn't watch over Teddy after dark."
"Why would they be affected by curfews? Those were lifted a long time ago."
Pansy shook her head at the same time as Ginny. "Oh, no. All former Slytherins are kept under curfew," Pansy told Amelia. "I wasn't even in the war and I don't do anything constructive now, but I can't leave home after dark."
Amelia's eyes surreptitiously flicked to Pansy's exposed arms and took in the bare flesh. "You were never a Death Eater."
"Of course not," Pansy scoffed, rolling her eyes. "They were bullies at school and didn't make any kind of sense." She shrugged. "But being Slytherin is bad enough, you know. Suddenly we're all evil and nasty and out to harm everyone. When I was a first year student, they told us that Slytherins were clever but not bookish, and that was the difference between us and Ravenclaw House. And then came the Death Eater talk, but that never made sense to me."
Ginny could see the wheels turning in Amelia's head. "It's why we can't have Quidditch practice late or why games never last for days like they used to. A lot of teams have Slytherin players. In fact, our Seeker is Slytherin."
"Really?" Pansy asked, curious. "I didn't know that."
Ginny nodded at Pansy's and Amelia's surprise. "Two years above you in school, I think. She's a brilliant Seeker, and we'd never win half the games we play without her."
"It's been lovely to meet you," Amelia murmured, glancing at her watch. "I'm late for lunch with my husband, though. Perhaps you can owl me when the next meeting for Helping Hands is? I would love to attend."
Ginny beamed at her. "That would be wonderful, Mrs. Howe."
"Amelia," she corrected gently, smiling at her.
Ginny shook her hand again. "You must call me Ginny, then. Or Ginevra."
"That's a lovely name," Amelia told her. "I'll see you at the next meeting, then."
Pansy waited until Ginny was in a stylist's chair before she chortled with glee. "Hook, line and sinker," she laughed, sitting beside Ginny.
"You are a wicked, wicked influence on me."
Pansy snorted. "You don't trust yourself enough. As for me, I'm starting to think you can really pivot the world on its axis."
Ginny only laughed in response. She was too afraid to hope it was true.
***
Ginny had agreed to visit Pansy later that week so that they could go on yet another shopping trip. Pansy seemed to think that shopping was the perfect kind of pastime, though Ginny often got bored to tears with rows upon rows of clothing in Muggle stores or all of the obsequious clerks in the Wizarding shops. She wouldn't have minded staying home with a book before her afternoon Quidditch practice, but Pansy had whined that Millicent was busy and she really had no other friends to spend time with. Guilty, Ginny had Floo'ed over to the Chesterfield mansion just after lunch.
Pansy was sobbing in the drawing room, the sleeve of her shirt ripped and the neckline stretched out and nearly torn. She looked as though she had been throttled not that long before, as bruises hadn't yet started to form on her pale skin. Her hair was mussed and she appeared to be trying to hide behind it. The bottles of liquor were all smashed against the wall, and the table they had been placed on was overturned.
Ginny gingerly stepped into the room. "Are you all right, Pansy?"
She shook her head but didn't stop crying just yet. "You should go," she sobbed. "He'll be back, he'll just come back..."
"Who? Who did this to you, Pansy?" Ginny sat down next to Pansy and tried to pry her hands from her face. Pansy had been making all kinds of effort to be sober for most of the day, and this was definitely something that would have driven her to consume the entire bar if it hadn't already been smashed against the wall.
"I said awful things, of course," Pansy continued as if Ginny hadn't spoken. "Of course I did, I always do." Her sniffles sounded pitiful, the kinds of sounds a small child would make. "I hate it, Ginny, I hate it. He says I provoke him on purpose. He says I'm awful, all kinds of awful things that I know are a little bit true. I'm not doing right, I know that. I didn't want to... He made me... I know it's supposed to be my duty, but I didn't want to and he had the house elves come to hold me down..."
Ginny didn't want to be hearing this. She wanted to stick her fingers in her ears and shout to the rooftops to block the syllables tumbling down from Pansy's lips. Chesterfield was old and almost decrepit looking, a hundred years old if he was a day, and she simply didn't want to know what he was capable of.
"He'll be back. He said he would give me an hour to change my ways. I don't know what time it is. I have to go, I don't know where, I don't know..."
Ginny could hear footsteps down the hall, heavy, angry, thudding sounds. Chesterfield.
"Let me talk to him," Ginny said with more confidence than she felt. "Okay? You let me handle this, and I will try to get this to stop."
"I have to do my duty, but it hurts and I don't want to do this anymore." Her sobs were painful to listen to. "I know I had to agree to everything, but I can't do this anymore, Ginny. I can't, I know I have to, but I can't..." Pansy threw her arms around Ginny's shoulders and sobbed against the crook of her neck. "It hurts, Ginny, I didn't think it was going to when I agreed, but it hurts to do this all the time..."
Ginny looked up with a stony expression as Chesterfield walked into the room. His white hair was combed back, his jowly features pulled into an expression of scorn. He wore formal robes, but Wizarding robes didn't always require underthings. "Sir," she said stiffly, catching sight of him. Pansy stiffened in her arms.
Chesterfield's gaze narrowed at her. "What are you doing here?"
"We had plans to go out this afternoon, and I've just arrived." Ginny indicated Pansy's sobbing with a vague motion. "I was hardly expecting this."
"This is none of your concern," Chesterfield said, voice like chilled poison. "This is between myself and my wife."
Pansy shivered in Ginny's arms, her tears hot against the skin of Ginny's neck.
"This is true," Ginny began, ignoring Pansy's wail at her words. "But there are better ways than this, I'm sure."
If anything, Chesterfield's gaze grew even more frosty. "You dare-"
"There are other ways of siring an heir," Ginny interrupted blithely. "I'm not sure about your feelings of Muggle technology, but it does exist."
Chesterfield's face took on an ugly puce color, and he was too enraged to speak.
"I wouldn't have thought much on it myself," Ginny continued, gently pushing Pansy off of her shoulder. She patted Pansy's shoulder gently, but her eyes were locked on Chesterfield's puce face. "But there are many Muggle fertility clinics in the districts where we've gone shopping in London. It's something that they've looked into, and I don't think there's any harm done in seeing what they would have to say. The Wizarding world seems to think it's all right if there aren't any children in families, but the Muggles seem to go to great lengths to have them."
"Muggles would never understand this," Chesterfield replied, voice chilly with disapproval.
"Oh, I daresay they would," Ginny countered. She shrugged. "There are ads in many places for clinics and such, and it seems as though couples who've tried for years suddenly find themselves ready for children."
Pansy's sniffles were loud in the silence that followed.
Ginny didn't move, didn't reach out for Pansy. She held Chesterfield's assessing gaze, refusing to back down. Somehow she knew that if she dropped her gaze, if she seemed even a little bit unsure in what she was saying, Pansy would suffer for it. Chesterfield would take her words as deception and she would never be allowed to see Pansy again. While Ginny wasn't necessarily as confident as she felt - what did she know about Muggle fertility clinics? - she certainly knew that the Muggles had to have the same kind of problems and some kind of treatment for it. Hell, she was sure that St. Mungo's would be able to have some kind of treatment for it if Wizarding families were confident enough to discuss the issue.
After what felt like eternity, Chesterfield nodded. "I am unfamiliar with Muggle ways," he began stiffly. "You're Pansy's friend, and you visit Muggle places, don't you?"
"On a fairly regular basis," Ginny agreed with a slight nod.
"Perhaps you could look into these things. Discreetly, of course."
Ginny nodded and tried not to show her relief. "Of course."
Pansy rubbed at her face like a child and couldn't meet anyone's eyes. She flinched terribly when a house elf Apparated into the room. Ginny's gut clenched, and she tried very, very hard not to loathe Chesterfield where he stood.
"An owl arrived for Miss Weasley," the elf squeaked. He wrung his hands and looked about the room as if expecting to be struck at any moment. "There must be a response."
"Do you have the message?" Ginny asked, holding back a sigh. While she certainly wouldn't mind getting away from this tense household, she also didn't want to leave Pansy alone with Chesterfield in the mood he was in.
The trembling house elf handed over the slip of parchment. He continued to wring his hands as Ginny scanned the message.
Ginny sighed and scrubbed at her face with her hands. "I got the week wrong, Pans. This was the week we were going to have the early practice." She looked closely at Pansy. "They want to know if I'm going to be there today. Do you need me to stay with you? We can start looking into this thing if you want me to stay."
Pansy meekly peered through her hair and then shook her head. "T-tomorrow? Are you free tomorrow? I feel ill today."
"Are you sure?"
Her voice was a mere shadow of its usual playfulness. "I feel ill. Maybe tomorrow would be best for going about Muggle London."
"All right. If you're sure. I'll check back on you later today, all right? After practice."
"She'll be fine, Miss Weasley," Chesterfield interjected smoothly. "I appreciate your concern in this. As well as your discretion," he added, voice brooking no argument.
Ginny bristled at the implication. "Of course. Pansy is my friend, and I would help her with whatever she needs done."
As Ginny left the mansion, she suddenly hated her easy life. Quidditch, loving family, shagging Draco rotten in her flat. She had it easy in comparison to some of her former schoolmates, and she had never even realized it. She had to do something to help Pansy, and this had to be done quickly. The poor girl had looked ready to break in her parlor, and Ginny didn't like seeing her that way.
She threw her frustration into her game, but she knew that she wasn't completely focused. Still, no one seemed to notice the difference but Viola Pickering. Of all the other teammates, Ginny counted her as a close friend. With all of her recent efforts with Helping Hands, she had been ignoring Viola. The thought made her stomach turn with regret.
"You're not looking good, Gin," Viola said without preamble once they were the only ones in the locker room.
Ginny smiled at her wanly. "I got caught up at Pansy's." She shook her head. "I can't talk about it, but it was awful."
Viola bit her lip. "You think you can't mix and match friends, eh?"
Ginny looked at her, startled. "What?"
"You know, you've never asked any of us on the team to join your charity work?"
"I haven't?" she asked, dimly aware that she sounded like an imbecile.
Viola shook her head and pulled her dark hair into a ponytail behind her head. She was fairly muscular but striking, and few people seemed to be aware that her mind was sharp behind her clear blue eyes. "I know some people are still skittish about Slyths, but if you're such good chums with some, they can't be all bad."
"I'm so sorry, Vi, I didn't mean to seem like a bad friend." She looked up and bit her lip. "I don't know what to think about what I found out today. It's a secret, it can't go anywhere."
Viola nodded and looked around the locker room. "All right. I know a place. We can get some takeaway curry and talk it out, yeah? And then we'll talk about this charity business. You know Horace and I are interested in such things. Believe it or not, Heather could whip up a bunch of good ideas to drum up donations. She'd certainly dated or snogged half of Wizarding England by now, you know."
Ginny gave a bout of startled laughter. "You know, I hadn't thought of that."
"You're so busy taking on the worries of the world, you know," Viola continued. She deftly braided her thick ponytail and tied off the end. "S'okay if you get a little help along the way. And what's the name of that charity of yours again anyway?" she added pointedly.
Ginny burst out into genuine laugher now. "Helping Hands, and you know it."
"So there you go," Viola told her cheekily. "No plans tonight, have ya?"
Shaking her head, Ginny grinned. "Sounds like now I do."
"Darn right you do. So we'll talk about this thing that's got your game off, and don't think I haven't noticed, Gin. And then we'll talk about what us Quidditch folk can contribute to high society charity work. And it'll be okay, yeah?"
Ginny gave Viola a swift hug. "You always make so much sense."
Viola's grin was cocky and playful at the same time. "Of course I do. It's why Horace will never, ever leave, don'tcha know."
Arm in arm, they left the locker room.
***
***