♥ incipient_love wrote "Notes on Falling Out of Love" for embe11ished 1/3 ♥
Title: Notes on Falling Out of Love 1/3
Rating: Not Naughty
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Warnings for language, but nothing else. Spoilers galore for Deathly Hallows and stuff about the characters that J.K. Rowling discusses in press conferences, etc. (that isn’t mentioned in the books).
Summary (if fic): It's hard to learn how to live without that one person you thought would be in your life forever. But Ginny Weasley had always been a quick study, and there are always certain grey-eyed boys to help speed up the learning process...
Author's Notes: Thank you to my absolutely fabulous beta, eternalhope08 (http://www.fanfiction.net/u/785870), who somehow managed to edit more than half of this fic in one night. I know, isn’t she awesome? Also, all of my information on Beedle the Bard and his amazing tales came from here: http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html?docId=1000179911. I tried to include at least a subtle reference to one of his tales in each section of the story- see if you can spot them!- as well as incorporate an overall allegorical theme to the fic. I was told the allegory was kind of a blunt-axe-over-the-head kind of obvious, but its essential to the plot so hopefully you’ll forgive me. Enjoy!
Notes on Falling Out of Love
There wasn’t much that Ginny remembered about the day that Harry broke up with her. The memories swirled in her mind like a kaleidoscope of colors- all blurred shapes and jagged fragments, only a chaotic patchwork of what really happened.
She remembered that the sky had been a clear hard cerulean, stretching endlessly overhead in a smooth, unbroken expanse. She remembered that she had stumbled as she stepped off the curb, and that a puddle of icy slush had spilled inside her shoe and seeped into her sock, cold, uncomfortable. She remembered that a tiny dog had barked at her as she climbed the stairs to her flat, a puffy white ball of fluff emitting high pitched squeaks, its mismatched ears sticking out at odd angles.
She also remembered that the weather had been flawless on that day. In the books that Ginny read late at night, curled up under the covers with the dim light flickering overhead, the weather was always dreary, wet, miserable on the day something that monumentally horrible happened. The skies were meant to open up and pour sadness upon the broken earth; the wind was meant to rattle the glass windows, bitterly piercing fragile skin and soul; the lightning was meant to scream and illuminate the utter hopelessness of the world. So of course on the day that Harry broke up with her, the sunlight glinted off of the pure white snow in crystalline winks, the bright sky was vibrant and unmarred and infinity, and the air smelled of the sweet promise of spring.
He had done it gently, regretfully, softly. Nicely. There was no other way to describe it. Or him. Harry Potter was a Nice Boy. It was the one thing he entirely, wholeheartedly. Take away the hero, take away the fame and the loyalty and the courage- strip everything one possibly could from his character- and underneath it all he would still be a Nice Boy.
Ginny remembered this. She remembered how his eyes had earnestly pleaded without words, how his shoulders had slumped with apology, how one strand of jet black hair- the exact same shade as an overturned bottle of spilled ink- had lay across his forehead, reluctant and relived at the same time.
What she didn’t remember was what he said. Or why he was breaking up with her. Every word that came out of his mouth was silent, incomprehensible, falling upon deaf ears- unable to be heard over the final, empty thud of grief inside her and the tiny crash as Ginny’s heart shattered into a thousand miniscule pieces of heartbreak. The shards rained down inside her, cutting against the pain and resentment, showering upon her organs. One of them landed on her liver.
She didn’t remember what she said back, or how she had even left him. For all she knew, she had shook his hand, tipped him two sickles for the favor and then her hat in farewell. The next thing she knew she was standing in the hallway outside her flat, fumbling in her pockets for the key and unlocking the drab, gray door with trembling fingers.
Her expression was blank and her eyes were dry as she stalked into the kitchen, sinking gracefully into a chair. She stared at the far wall, immobile, keys still clutched tightly in her palm. Over her shoulder, a sparrow chirruped cheerfully as it hopped across the windowsill, reveling in the break from the cold winter weather. Sunlight streamed through the window, mockingly beautiful.
She remained at the kitchen table for the rest of the day, never once shedding a tear or even moving a muscle. Her fingers were curled around the metal keys, gripping onto them tightly until her hand grew numb, losing all feeling. Ginny didn’t notice.
She didn’t move until Hermione came home from work, bursting into kitchen and calling for her flat mate. Ginny turned her head to look at her, strained neck protesting from being held in one position for so long, and then at a single “Oh Ginny” from Hermione, she burst into tears, crying huge gut-wrenching sobs into her arms as the sunlight faded from the kitchen window and the sky melted to a brilliant red-gold.
________________________________________
Ginny ducked her head down, silently contemplating the chipped scarlet nail polish on her pinky toe. Beside her, Hermione was leafing through one of her unbearably large and ancient textbooks that took up half the loft, knowing that Ginny needed the quiet but keeping close by, should she require a shoulder to cry on. Ginny tugged at a loose thread from the quilt on Hermione’s bed, winding it tighter and tighter around her finger until it finally pulled free from the fabric in a satisfying snap.
“Is there such a thing as too much perfection?”
At first, Ginny wasn’t sure that Hermione had heard her, but the sound of shifting pages ceased and she knew the other girl was listening.
“It worked out so well between us, didn’t it? I mean, I was his best friend’s little sister, he was the boy I had loved since forever. Seriously, I pined after him for so long, ignored and invisible, and then finally he saw me and… It was like a fairytale.”
Hermione nodded solemnly, her soft gaze trained on Ginny’s face. Outside, wisps of cotton clouds drifted across a dark velvet sky, obscuring the silver moon.
“But the thing is,” Ginny went on, slowly, “fairytales aren’t real. Life isn’t meant to be that easy, that perfect- put on a cloak to evade Death, help your neighbor to lift a curse, cut out your heart-” she took a deep, shuddering breath- “to fall out of love. Fairytales always skip over the hard parts. But if we made it through unbroken and flawless, then we wouldn’t have lived, not really.” Her voice broke. “But I suppose none of that matters anymore. We were too perfect, and now we’re nothing.”
“Oh Ginny,” Hermione leaned over and wrapped a welcoming arm around Ginny’s thin shoulders, enfolding her into an embrace, “it’ll be okay, really. You’ll get over him. You just need time.”
Ginny thought of the aching feeling inside her chest, like someone was reaching up and tugging the scattered shards of glass-heart down into her gut. She thought of the pointy one sticking out of her liver. “How the hell does one get over a guy like that?”
The other witch was silent for a moment, contemplating. “Cry,” she started simply, “read a book that you love. Make mud pies. Stick pins in voodoo dolls.”
Ginny looked at Hermione, at her friend who somehow always knew the answers. “Uncover a deep, dark secret,” Hermione went on, “Eat ice cream. Take a long walk on a cold winter night. Stay up all night gossiping with your friends.”
There was a pause. Ginny closed her eyes, tilting her head back against the wall. “Dance,” she whispered, barely audible as she tucked a strand of vibrant hair behind her ear.
Hermione sighed, and leaned into Ginny. “Jump in puddles. Count the stars.”
“Bake cookies. Catch snowflakes on your tongue. Lie in the grass.”
“Catch up with an old friend. Paint with your fingers.”
Ginny could feel the edges of her mouth turning up. “Fly for so long you can no longer feel your arse.”
“Go skinny-dipping. Soak up the sun.”
The two girls smiled, falling into an easy silence. “We should write a book,” said Ginny, shifting slightly on the mattress, “A step by step plan to falling out of love. We’d make millions.” She laughed quietly, just a little.
Hermione wrinkled her brow, thinking. “Actually,” she said slowly, “I think we’re forgetting a step.”
Ginny looked up, surprised at the other girl’s serious tone. “Um, we are?” she asked, not aware that there was actually meant to be a best-selling book on the way.
“Yes,” said Hermione, almost sternly. She pulled back a little, looking Ginny in the eye. “I think that after that, after all of it and after the scars have faded a little and it doesn’t hurt so much to think of him anymore, you need to do one more thing.”
“And that would be…?”
“You need to fall in love again.”
Ginny didn’t say anything, instead pulling her hair out of its messy bun and feeling the long red locks tumble down her shoulders. She glanced up at the window, where small colorless flakes had began to drift past the glass panes, spiralling from the heavens down, down, down onto the cold, hard ground.
________________________________________
Cry.
Later that night, Ginny lay awake in her bed, feeling that ache in her chest. She had felt this cutting feeling inside years ago, when Sirius died, and then again when others had followed- Dumbledore and Colin and Lupin and Tonks and Fred. Fred. She wondered what he would do to Harry if he were here and found out that he had broken his little sister’s heart. Shove him down a toilet perhaps. Well, no, that was really more George’s style. Fred had always been more temperate, subtle. Or at least as subtle as you could be when you were a Fred and George.
Well, whatever Fred would’ve done, she would never know. He was gone, lost, never coming back, just like how Harry was now never coming back. She tried not to think about it, tried not to think about the way it felt to tuck her hand within Harry’s larger one, the way his chest would rise and fall against her when she leaned in for an embrace, the steady thud of his heart next to her own, the feeling of content and safety she felt simply by being near him.
And that was all it took. Before she knew it, Ginny had big fat tears rolling down her cheeks, and her body was shaking as she tried to suppress the heaving sobs that were rising inside her throat. She hated herself for it, hated to be the kind of girl who would cry over a boy. But try as she might, she couldn’t hold back the barrage of sobs that were breaking against her chest, and before long her pillow was sopping wet from salty tears.
Ginny buried her head beneath the covers, attempting to quiet her crying, knowing that Hermione could hear from her room next door. Trying to control her breathing, she turned over, squeezed her eyes shut and began to recite potions ingredients to herself. Shrinking Potion: chopped daisy roots, skinned shrivelfig, sliced caterpillar, one rat spleen, a dash of leech juice. Draught of Living Death: asphodel in an infusion of wormwood, valerian roots, sopophorous bean… She did not want to think about Harry. It didn’t stop the tears completely, but at least it kept her sobbing from resurfacing.
With thoughts of Draughts and Potions and Solutions, her mind slowly calmed and faded to a blank nothingness. Her cheeks were still wet from the heavy flood of tears- the proof of her pain- but she squeezed her eyes shut tight, concentrating hard on the mantras of fluxweed shavings and powdered bicorn horns.
And so, for one of the few times in her short life, Ginny Weasley cried herself to sleep.
________________________________________
Read a book that you love.
As Ginny wandered around the bookstore that day, the late afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass-ceiling overhead, cheery sunbeams catching the flecks of gold in her caramel eyes and mocking every dark, depressing thought that popped into her head. It had been several days since Harry had ended it (who was she kidding- it was eleven days, six hours and about thirty-eight minutes, but who was counting?) and Ginny had finally gotten her life back to some semblance of normalcy. She realized, after she had come out of her reverie, that she had missed poor Teddy’s fourth birthday and now she owed him a plethora of gifts to make up for their belatedness. Knowing that he adored books, she was now wandering around the children’s section of some large Muggle bookstore in downtown London, looking for something that he might enjoy.
She really had no idea why, but Ginny had found herself more and more fascinated with Muggle Literature. It began back in her Hogwarts days, in Muggle Studies when they had read some of Bryon’s poems, and since then it had festered and evolved into an obsession. Homer, Bronte, Longfellow, Neruda- even a little bit of Tolstoy- now were permanent tenants in Ginny’s room, piled on her nightstand, shoved under her bed and (occasionally) sitting on her bookshelf. And with so many amazing writers and books and stories out there, Ginny was making sure that she passed her obsession on to all her little nephews and nieces, the adopted, the blood related, and all of them in-between.
As she squinted at the selection of brightly colored picture books, a strange stench wafted across her path, causing Ginny to cough and wrinkle her nose. Waving her hand in front her face, she turned her head, wondering where the pile of manure was. A little ways down the aisle was a large woman in an exuberantly floral-patterned jacket- it looked like a garden had threw up on the fabric. Her pungent perfume stretched out its long, wiry tendrils and crept through the air, wrapping around Ginny’s skin and causing her to gag slightly. Only something dead and rotting could produce that stench, although in largely smaller quantities the smell might’ve been vaguely recognizable as some sort of flower- roses, perhaps. “Seriously lady,” Ginny muttered, trying to breathe through her mouth, “less is more. There’s a reason that’s a cliché.”
Desperate to get away from the lady-who-must-have-a-trail-of-unconscious-people-behind-her, Ginny sidled away from the children’s sections and into adult literature, searching for something to keep her occupied at night after work.
Her eyes fell on a copy of Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice. Unbidden, a snort escaped from her lips. Yea, right. “That book gives females unrealistic expectations about love,” she muttered, shooting the paperback dark looks. It stared back unflinchingly, Elizabeth Bennet glancing back over her shoulder, frozen in time, her blue eyes peering out from a different era- a different world.
“Never had you pegged for the cynical type, Weasley,” came a drawling voice from behind her. A flash of icy blond- so pale it was almost white- flittered out of the corner of her eye and Ginny froze, icy vines of dread curling down her spine. Oh please, not him, she begged silently, desperately scouring her memory for anyone else she knew with that color hair. Oh Merlin, anyone but him. Please please please please please don’t let it be-
Draco Malfoy stepped into her line of vision, that insufferable ever-present smirk stretched thinly across his pale features. Ginny didn’t even make an effort to keep the look of disgust off her face. Malfoy had been paired as Ron’s partner on the Ministry’s Auror force by some sort of evil, vindictive superior, and since then he had been a constant and ever-irritable presence in all of the Weasleys’ lives. Ron, of all people, was actually the one who got along best with the obnoxious ferret. However, Ginny was still having some trouble looking past the Git in Draco Malfoy
“Now is not the time, Malfoy,” she replied curtly, turning away from him, “Not that it is ever the time.”
“Come on Weasley, is that any way to treat your favorite brother’s partner?” His chrome eyes glinted.
“Go away.”
Malfoy raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Well well, aren’t we testy today.”
Merlin, he irked her. “It’s not like you aren’t that everyday, Ferret.” She spun around abruptly and stalked away, missing startled look that flashed across his features. But the surprise was fleeting, and behind her back, Draco Malfoy’s expression hardened. “What’s wrong Weaselette, did Potter finally dump you or something?” he called out tauntingly.
Ginny’s shoulders stiffened and she whirled back around, sharp and biting retort on the tip of her tongue. But when she came face to face with him, her mind faltered and went blank. She just stood there- pile of picture books in her hand, mouth open and gaping like a fish. And try as she might to hide it, she knew that he could see the hurt look in her eyes. Ginny flushed, ducking her head down and studying and the tops of her feet.
Malfoy was momentarily taken aback by her reaction, but in an uncharacteristic show of tact, he remained silent, biting back the scathing comments that were rising in his throat as he looked at the forlorn witch in front of him, trying so hard not to let her wounds show. He raised a slim hand as if to pat her on the shoulder, but quickly pulled it back before she could notice. “I’m sorry,” he muttered stiffly, eyes downcast, “I didn’t know.”
Ginny was mildly speechless. Draco Malfoy actually acting somewhat decent? Her brain fizzed loudly with disbelief. Hey Voldemort, having fun skating down there in Hell?
She didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to see the scorn- or worse, pity- etched across his face, but her eyes refused to obey and dragged her gaze upwards. For the first time in her life, Ginny saw Draco Malfoy without a look of contempt on his face. There was no pity there either, only a vague awkwardness behind a curtain of forced indifference. He looked…human, almost. So she decided to act like a human in return.
“Thanks, Malfoy.”
________________________________________
Make mud pies. Stick pins in voodoo dolls.
“Aunt Ginny, Aunt Ginny!”
Ginny raised a weary hand and waved at the flood of small children barring her way to the front door. Maybe coming here after a six hour long practice with the Harpies wasn’t the best of ideas, but Ginny hadn’t seen her family for nearly a month, and she hated missing the weekly Sunday dinners at the Burrow.
She smiled at the sight of her two nieces, adopted nephew and- were those Katie Wood’s twin boys? They were all brown after playing outside for hours. The early May rain showers had taken their toll and the front lawn was a virtual wonderland of grass stains and mud puddles. She suppressed a laugh at the sight of Victoire Weasley, slathered in dirt and grinning cheekily as she shoved a wad of mud into Teddy’s face. The little girl was like a tiny replica of Fleur in appearances, but the similarities ended there. Ginny knelt down to greet the hoard of muddy children.
“Look Aunt Ginny!” exclaimed one of the Wood twins, holding up a grubby, white worm a third of an inch away from the tip of Ginny’s nose.
She stared cross-eyed at the poor little bug. “Wow Ollie, that’s quite…impressive. Almost like the blind monster worm from ‘The Fountain of Fair Fortune,’” she managed to sputter out, smiling awkwardly as she bent her head back, trying to get away from the writhing worm. The little boy beamed back at her.
“Aunt Ginny! Here! Pay attention to me!” came a chorus of other impatient voices, all jockeying for her attention. Ginny bit back a grin.
After receiving five extremely squishy hugs and a set of ten new brown handprints on her robes, Ginny wandered inside the house, the sounds of the kid’s laughter mingling in the spring air behind her. She smiled, quietly, to herself. The Burrow was beginning to fill with children again.
________________________________________
Later that night, Ginny sat on the floor of her old room, leaning a drooping head against the side of her old bed. Tired of the awkwardness between her and Harry, and obvious stilted conversation of her family at dinner, she had volunteered to put the children to bed while the rest of the adults cleaned up downstairs. It wasn’t the first time she had seen Harry again- with him practically a Weasley, she had run into him at the Burrow only two days after their breakup- but that didn’t make it any less awkward. Her family was trying hard to be normal about it but it was obvious things were more tense when they were both around.
Teddy and the Wood twins that Molly was babysitting for the week were already fast asleep in Percy’s old room. (Katie and Oliver were off on some sort of romantic vacation at an exotic somewhere, though the Puddlemore United team was neck deep in heavy training for the playoffs. Who knew that Oliver Wood could be swayed away from playing Quidditch simply by the bat of an eyelash from his wife?) The two girls, however, were proving much more difficult to tuck into bed.
“Can’t we just play for ten minutes Aunt Ginny? Pleeasseeee?” Victoire was barely three years old, but she was better at wheedling and whining than Ginny ever was in her entire life. Molly, Percy’s daughter, didn’t say anything but bobbed her head furiously in agreement, eyes wide and fist stuck firmly in her mouth.
Ginny was too tired to protest. “Fine. What would you like to do?”
“Paper dolls!” Victoire squealed, pulling out a large carton box from the corner of the room. Percy’s wife Audrey was a Muggle-born and had introduced the concept of paper dolls into the Weasley family, something that Ginny was sure she now regretted, as Victoire and Molly would no longer as much as glance in another toy’s direction.
As Victoire happily began dressing her chosen dolls in her favorite costumes (Ginny couldn’t help but note that they were all boys and that they were all wearing Quidditch uniforms) Molly tugged Ginny’s sleeve and pointed to some blank sheets of parchment. “Boy,” she said simply, removing a sticky fist briefly. Ginny understood and began tracing the shape of a little man into the parchment.
After cutting out the basic shape, Ginny pulled out her wand and began performing various little charms to color and animate the doll. “What color should I make his hair?” she asked as she added tiny little fingernails at the tips of his fingers.
“Green.” It was her favorite color.
“Molly,” Victoire interjected, looking annoyed at her cousin, “you can’t have a doll with green hair. He would look weird. Unless,” she added on, looking skeptical, “you wanted to make him Teddy.”
Molly shook her head vehemently, arm waving wildly in the air as her fist moved with her mouth. “No Teddy. Green.” Her bottom lip began to tremble. Victoire crossed her eyes at her little cousin, mouthing Teddy! in a menacing way. Molly began to wail, and she shoved her fist further into her mouth.
“Victoire, stop scaring your cousin!” scolded Ginny, scooping up Molly and rocking her back and forth, a bit worried that she was about to choke on her own fingers. “Here honey, how about I make his eyes green?” The two-year-old sniffed, but nodded mutely.
“And make his hair black,” instructed Victoire bossily from her spot on the threadbare carpet, “we don’t have enough black haired dolls.”
Ginny shot Victoire a look but complied and performed the spells, Molly clinging to her sleeve the entire time. The two of them looked down at the green eyed doll with a mop of jet black hair on its head. Ginny’s brow furrowed.
“Shirt,” commanded Molly, removing a soggy green sweater-shaped parchment from her mouth and waving it in her face.
Ginny complied, but she couldn’t help but jab her needle a tidbit too violently into the little paper doll’s body as she sewed on the bottle green shirt.
________________________________________
Uncover a deep, dark secret.
Ginny sat bleary-eyed in Ron’s kitchen as he scampered from one side of his flat to the other, searching frantically for a clean shirt. It was another Sunday afternoon and they were planning to head over to the Burrow together, but Ron was having a little trouble getting ready. Ginny doubted that he would even be able to find a shirt- let alone a clean one- in the sty that her dear brother insisted was an apartment. After so many years of being pampered by their mother, and then by the Hogwarts house elves, Ron was having a little trouble adjusting.
“Damn shirt, I saw it just- Ow!”
Ginny stifled a laugh as Ron stubbed his toe on the corner of a coffee table and toppled headfirst into the degradation that he called a couch. There came the sharp crack of someone Apparating into the hallway and then a series of quick raps on the door.
“Here you goof bag, I think I see something resembling a shirt from over there behind Pigwidgeon’s cage. I’ll get the door, and you try to get ready before Mum shows up and castrates us for being late,” Ginny called, getting to her feet and reaching for the doorknob.
She pulled the door open and felt the smile on her face wither and die. “Oh joy, raptures and the Cackling Stump, it’s the Ferret,” she said flatly, turning around and letting Draco Malfoy show himself in.
“Why yes, it is so pleasant to see you too Weasley! Come in? Well of course, you needn’t be too kind,” he exclaimed, shutting the door behind him.
Ginny rolled her eyes and ignored him.
“I didn’t think that is was possible for a female to be castrated,” continued Malfoy, refusing to acknowledge the fact that Ginny was pretending not to hear him, “although I did always have my doubts about you and your gender. However-”
“Don’t be an arse, Malfoy,” Ron interrupted cheerily from the corner of the room as he attempted to Scourgify his battered shirt.
“When Voldemort saves stray puppies,” intoned Ginny under her breath. Draco glared at her briefly before turning to Ron.
“Mckinley told me to come over here and remind you that we’re on duty at seven. Something about Jones backing out and so apparently we have to do the bloody stakeout tonight.”
Ron blew out an exasperated sigh. “Damn. Mum’ll eat me alive for ducking out of dinner again.” He scowled.
“You could at least stop by for some food,” Ginny pointed out. Ron’s expression brightened. The mention of food often had that effect on him.
“Not a bad idea. Hey Malfoy, you come along too, I know for a fact that you haven’t had anything that resembled a good meal since last Christmas. Mum always makes too much anyway.”
Draco began to protest but Ron waved him off and shuffled into his bedroom, muttering about socks. Ginny cleaned out a piece of imaginary dirt from under her fingernails as Draco wrinkled his nose (in a very noble, dignified of course- Malfoys don’t make faces.) Why couldn’t he think up an excuse sooner?
There was an uncomfortable pause, and Ginny searched for something to say. Then she realized that it was just Malfoy and there was no one she needed to impress with her brilliant intellect and fantastic wit. Still, she refused to look up.
Suddenly, there came a high pitched and spineless shriek from the direction of the doorway. Ginny looked up to see Draco Malfoy cringing away from the bright orange puffball that was purring and rubbing itself against his leg. “Was that you?” Ginny asked suspiciously.
“No, it was the other ten people in this room who were frightened half to death by this…thing,” Draco answered nonchalantly, distinctly unruffled now as if they both hadn’t just witnessed his particularly girlish behavior.
“That thing is just Crookshanks. I think Ron’s watching him for Hermione for some reason,” said Ginny, trying not to laugh at the look of disgust and inadequately veiled terror on his face. “You’re afraid of cats?”
Draco attempted a snort. “No, of course not.” He sidled away from the cat into the corner, but Crookshanks merely followed him, meowing loudly in protest. “I just don’t like them.” He pressed himself up against the refrigerator door, cringing as far away from the ginger cat as possible. “Especially this one.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with Crookshanks?”
“Have you seen this thing? He looks like an incarnation of the devil.” Draco made a break for the couch and dived onto it, as if the filthy and stained fabric could ward off the poor cat. Crookshanks merely crept over behind him like a very fat and furry orange shadow and climbed into his lap, still purring. His squashed pug face was screwed up in an expression of absolute kitty-content.
“Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure the devil’s incarnation likes you,” Ginny said, unable to hold back a giggle. “Although why, I have no idea.”
Malfoy sniffed. “I happen to be a very fascinating, amazing person Weasley,” he drawled, trying to shove Crookshanks off of his lap and failing miserably, “However, I don’t find it surprising that you are too dense to realize it. Weasleys aren’t expected to appreciate those of class.”
“Hmm, I see, so you’re an acquired preference,” she said, nodding pensively, “Like Brussels sprouts. Or goat cheese.”
Malfoy blinked at her. “Weasley, you did not just compare me to a goat.”
Ginny grinned.
“Okay, I found my shoes and two socks that are somewhat the same color, let’s go,” announced Ron as he flew back into the room, struggling to tie his shoes and walk at the same time.
Ginny jumped to her feet. “Finally.”
“Weasley?” Ron turned to see Draco regarding him with a pained expression on his face, Crookshanks sound asleep in his lap. “Weasley,” Malfoy repeated, “please get your little girlfriend’s spawn of evil off me right now.”
Ron’s brow furrowed. “Malfoy, why in hell is-“
“Whoops, gotta go!” said Ginny brightly, grabbing her brother’s arm and shoving him out the door. “Malfoy’s Apparated to the Burrow hundreds of times. We’ll see you there!” she called happily from the doorway, taking out her wand.
“Weasley, what are you? Wait, where are- wait, Weasley, stop!” Draco’s voice was getting progressively higher- only dogs could hear him now.
Ron caught on and laughed. “You took out three Death Eaters blindfolded and wandless, Malfoy, you’ll be fine.” He winked at Ginny and Disapparated with a pop.
Ginny shot the petrified wizard on the couch one last satisfied smirk. “Have fun Malfoy,” she called, Disapparating amid a final, panicked “Weasley!”
A thousand different curses ran through Draco’s mind as he glowered at the spot where the two treacherous scum had disappeared. He glanced down fearfully at the slumbering kitty on his lap and felt himself break out in a thin sheet of sweat.
Now what?
________________________________________
Eat ice cream.
“It’s not that I want to get back together with him,” Ginny tried to explain as she sat with Luna outside Florence Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, waving around a spoonful of double chocolate chunk ice cream around wildly as she gestured with her hands. “Really, I think deep down I knew that we were never going to work.”
Luna raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really?” she questioned breezily, swirling around her spoon in a half empty cup of pistachio ice cream with dried strawberries and whipped cream. Never let it be said that Luna followed the normal path, even when it came to ice cream.
“It was too perfect,” Ginny stated in a very matter-of-fact way. That statement had become a sort of mantra for her over the past few months. “We are not meant to be together.” Maybe if she said it enough times it would become true.
High above them, the hot July sun beat down on the crowd of perspiring shoppers bustling around Diagon Alley, too distracted by the bright store windows to notice the sweltering heat. The red umbrella shading Ginny and Luna glowed in the sunlight.
“It didn’t seem like you were thinking that when we ran into him earlier,” commented Luna, piercing Ginny with her simultaneously unfocused and sharp glance. The two of them had been friends for a long enough time that Luna could see through the brave-faced, nonchalant façade Ginny was putting up against the world.
“Well, I mean, come on Luna,” said Ginny, chewing on the tip of her spoon, “we were together for nearly four years. Of course I’m not going to be completely over him in just what, three months?”
There was a pregnant pause. “Ginny,” said Luna, looking extremely serious, “are you even trying to get over him?”
Ginny arranged her features in an expression of shock. “What? Of course!” she answered, a little hurriedly, “What, am I going to sit around and pine after some bloke who’s made it clear he no longer wants me?” She scraped at the bottom of her bowl for the last bit of ice cream, concentrating on her task and refusing to look up.
“Maybe,” said Luna. Despite her bowed head, Ginny could still feel her skin prickle from Luna’s penetrating stare. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by a series of hacking coughs.
“Luna? Are you alright?” Ginny asked worriedly, reaching across the table to lay a hand on her friend’s shoulder. Luna smiled and waved her off, taking a sip of her water.
“Don’t worry about me, its fine. I’ve just had this dreadful cough lately and it won’t go away. Daddy wants to put in the Quibbler- it might be caused by the infestation of Nargles we found last week. He already has a headline too- The Malady that No Healer could Cure.”
Ginny shook her head and laughed. She loved Luna’s beautiful, quirky, never dampened personality.
The sun climbed higher as the two of them ordered seconds. It was nearly noon and they should’ve been eating an actual lunch, but what was the point of being grown up if you couldn’t eat ice cream for lunch once in a while? Ginny shoved a large spoonful of fudge and calories into her mouth and grinned happily. Exactly.
“Keep eating like that and you two will end up looking like Slughorn before the age of thirty.” A wry voice came from behind them.
Luna glanced up at the figure towering over them. “Why hello Draco,” she said, smiling amicably at him, “What are you doing here?”
Malfoy smirked and pulled up a chair, plopping himself next to Ginny. She glared at him, not quite sure why he had decided to stop by for a chat, but sure it was for some dirty underhanded motive.
“I was merely shopping and happened to spy two of my dear old classmates from across the street. I would never be so rude to walk by without saying hello.” In the shade of their red umbrella, his platinum blonde hair looked almost pink.
“Really,” replied Ginny dryly, not believing it for a second.
Suddenly a look of pure terror crossed Draco Malfoy’s face and he ducked down behind Ginny, so that he was barely visible from the street. “Bloody hell. Hide me,” he hissed from somewhere near her spleen.
“What, did you spot Crookshanks or something?” asked Ginny, grinning mischievously.
Draco popped up from under the table briefly. “Not funny.”
“Draco? Darling? Where did you go?” A short but unbelievably loud witch came barreling down the street, running into about six different people but not stopping to apologize for a single one. Draco squeaked and dived under Ginny’s chair again.
The woman’s hair was vaguely the same color of Luna’s, but instead of being sleek and straight it was- there was no other way to describe it- puffy. She called out across the Alley again.
“Draco? Where are you? I just found the most fabulous set of robes at Madame Malkin’s and I can’t carry them by myself.” Her voice grew increasingly whiny, with that high pitched nasal tinge to her words. “Draco Malfoy, where are you? Come help me now!” Her demands faded as she moved further down the street.
Malfoy carefully raised his head and peeked around Ginny’s shoulder in the most undignified fashion. “Is she gone?”
Ginny had to suppress a laugh at the sight of Draco Malfoy, his hair tussled and out of place, face flushed, and eyes wide with fear. He looked nothing like the contemptuous jerk she had previously known him to be. “Coward,” she teased, “how is it that every time I see you now, you’re hiding from something cute and harmless?”
He straightened and dusted off his robes, glowering at the redhead sitting next to him. “Astoria Greengrass is anything but harmless. And definitely not cute,” he pouted. In a very manly fashion.
“Really. A short, blonde witch with some sort of afro is rising to fill the void of evil left behind by You-Know-Who, is she?”
“Yes. That woman is mad. Mad I tell you. Her sister introduced us and ever since then that psychopath has been convinced we’re getting married. She stalked me to my apartment two nights ago. And when I came to meet someone at Gringotts she got the notion that we were on a ‘romantic outing’ and has been whining after me ever since.” He winced.
“So basically, you’re hiding from a little girl.”
Draco scoffed. “That is no little girl. And she’s bonkers, that one.” He looked down his nose at Ginny. “Even more so than you.”
Ginny squeaked indignantly, but chose not to respond. She was over immature little insults like that. Obviously. “Bonkers? Really?”
Draco leaned in conspiratorially, like he was going to whisper a secret in her ear. “She told me five minutes ago that she had decided on a name for our first child. Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.” He pulled back, shuddering. “I think I threw up a little in my mouth when I heard that.”
“So you came over to “catch up” with me and Luna in order to hide from your future wife?” Ginny made a face. “Classy.” She looked over to Luna for her input and was surprised to see that the girl had disappeared.
“I am a Malfoy, Weasley,” retorted Malfoy, getting to his feet. “Everything I do is classy.”
“DRACO!” came a loud squeal from halfway down the street.
“Bloody- how in the world can she see me from a mile away? I should’ve just done this in the first place,” Malfoy said, pulling out his wand to Disapparate. He paused and turned to Ginny. “If the Aurors find out tomorrow that Astoria Greengrass has been killed in a bloody and violent manner, it wasn’t me.” He grimaced and was gone with a resounding crack.
“You look considerably cheerier than you did when I left,” remarked Luna as she slid back into her sear, bottled water in hand. Behind her back, a short girl with hair roughly the size of a beach ball stalked down the street, looking for someone. Ginny couldn’t help but notice that her eyes were slightly crossed.
“I got to see Draco Malfoy practically wetting his pants because of that little female over there,” said Ginny, pointing to poor Astoria Greengrass. “That’s enough to cheer anyone up.
She looked down at the four large empty cups sitting on their table. “You know what?” she asked, getting to her feet. “I think we need more ice cream.”
________________________________________
Take a long walk on a cold winter night.
Ginny was pissed drunk. Totally, crazily, unbelievably pissed drunk. It didn’t happen very often, but she definitely was now and the bar at the Three Broomsticks was swimming before her eyes.
Ron and Hermione had refused to do the whole Bachelor/Bachelorette thing the night before their wedding (at Hermione’s insistence, Ginny was sure, because she couldn’t imagine her brother turning down the chance to see half naked women dance around. But then again, he was so bloody in love with Hermione Granger that he would be the one half naked and dancing if she asked. Then it occurred to Ginny that Hermione very well might have asked already, which led to some very disturbing images that Ginny wanted out of her head now. Ow. Damn, those tables were definitely not there a moment ago. Why was the world spinning? Merlin she was drunk) so instead they had a small get together at the Three Broomsticks the night prior to the ceremony.
It had started off well enough, but an hour into the revelry, Ginny had looked over at the dance floor and saw something that promptly encouraged her to reach for the bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. And now here she was, too many shots later, still staring at the spectacle that had caused this whole affair.
She blinked once, twice, to clear her vision.
Yep. Still there. Swaying slowly in place with their arms locked around each other were Harry Potter and Cho Chang. Cho was decked out in a skirt so short that Ginny honestly hoped that the thing had shrunk in the wash, because it wouldn’t be a very good reflection on British society if stores sold strips of fabric like that as a pathetic excuse for a skirt. She had seen bigger belts.
She wasn’t still hung up on him, really (it was too perfect, she repeated to herself, over and over) but the sight of her once boyfriend of four years dancing cheek to cheek with a stunningly gorgeous witch was enough to drive anyone over the edge.
She threw back the last shot, feeling the liquid burn her throat as it went down, and slammed the glass onto the table. The bottle had been half full (or was it half empty? Haha, bitter laughter all around for her wittiness) when she had pulled it towards her, and she was positive no one had dared challenge her ownership once it was in her possession. That meant that she had just drank an inordinate amount of alcohol, and damn, she was definitely feeling the aftermath.
Ginny stood up unsteadily and meandered over to Hermione’s table, tearing her gaze off the still dancing Harry and Cho.
“Well, mates, as fascinating as this evening has been,” Ginny declared a little too loudly, ‘I’m off.” She forced herself to smile, hiding her feelings from the others. Then she hiccupped. “Bloody hiccups, go away, you stupid little…hiccups,” she growled under her breath.
“Are you okay, Ginny?” Hermione asked worriedly. Damn her and her uncanny perceptiveness.
Ginny blinked owlishly at her friend, unfocused eyes concentrating on Hermione’s right ear lobe. A dim part of her brain registered the fact that even though her own evening had been terrible, it would be unforgivable to ruin Hermione’s night as well. This was, after all, her best friend’s wedding celebration, and Ginny would not be responsible for wrecking it.
“I’m fine,” Ginny lied through her teeth. “I’m just feeling a little under the weather. I’ll just pop on home and sleep it off.” She gave a shaky smile and leaned across the table for her wand, but somehow the floor tilted and she ended up toppling into George’s lap. He looked up, annoyed with having his conversation with Angelina interrupted.
“Ginny,” Hermione interjected, floating over and pulling her up, “you are way too drunk to Apparate home. Walk.”
“I’m not letting her walk home by herself,” said Ron, glancing around at the emptying room. “Who knows what perverts are out there waiting to take advantage of a drunk and stumbling woman?”
“Well, then find someone to bring her home.”
Ron looked around, eyeing the door that George and Angelina had just left through. “Seamus doesn’t know where she lives,” he muttered, half to himself, “Harry, well, that’s obvious, and Dad wants me home in five minutes for some man-to-man talk.” Ron was slightly green with dread.
“Well I can’t take her back, I need to pay Madame Rosmerta and get this lot home,” Hermione said, slightly frantic, nodding over at several of her Muggle relatives.
There was an audible sigh of exasperation from the corner. “I can bring her home, Granger.”
Draco walked over to the group from where he had been sitting “Er, I mean Hermione,” he amended with a sharp jab in his ribs from Ron, “I’ve been over to your flat loads of times, when Weasley made me accompany him to that dump.”
Ginny pointed a wavering finger at Malfoy’s Adam’s apple. “You’re one of the ushers.” She hiccupped again.
Draco cast a contemptuous eye at the witch who was swaying slightly in front of him. “I always knew your sister was smart, Weasley.”
“Watch it,” Ron intoned. Ginny narrowed her eyes, belatedly recognizing that platinum blonde hair.
“You’re a Malfoy,” she sneered. “I don’t want you walking with me.”
A brief flash of something flickered in Malfoy’s eyes, but then the corners of his mouth tightened and it vanished. She was pretty sure it was either the lights or her drunken imagination, so she let it go.
“Equally charmed,” he replied in that cold drawl that she detested so strongly, “but I’m afraid you don’t have much choice, Weaselette . It’s either my company or getting Splinched. Despite your distinct lack of intellect, I’m pretty sure you’d pick the former.”
Ginny was about to retort that she would take her chances with loss of limbs, thank you very much, but by then he had grabbed her by the elbow and roughly half heaved, half pushed her out the door, and she was too busy protesting to do much else.
________________________________________
Two blocks later, she finally managed to pull away from him, fiercely wrenching her arm from his grasp.
“Let go of me, Ferret,” she hissed, and spun wobbly around to glare at him for a moment, face to face. Then her head gave a painful thump, the words caught in her throat, and there was a moment, a pause, when they just stood there, gazes locked, breath coming out in little clouds of mist. But then with a disdainful sniff, she broke away and flounced down the sidewalk, her back to him. It was hard to flounce when she was tripping over her own feet, but she did a pretty good job. Minus walking sideways into that brick wall.
The very nerve of him, trying to get in his good Samaritan points by acting like he’s taking care of her. She doesn’t need anyone to take care of her. The last time someone tried to do that, he ended up dumping her out on her arse, so it’s obvious that Ginny Weasley is not someone to be protected. Screw the cloak, she’ll take down Death herself. That was when she stumbled into a parking meter. Damn it.
Draco caught up with her and scowled. “The nerve of you,” he snapped, “Any other person would show a little gratitude, seeing as how I am doing you a favor by helping you home, but I guess manners aren’t something you’re accustomed to.”
A silence. She seethed inwardly, not even registering the barb he’d just shot at her, merely replaying the scene over and over and over in her head. She could see still Harry and Cho swaying gently back and forth, eyes closed, utterly absorbed in the moment, oblivious of their surroundings, and more importantly, of her presence. A sharp throb of something shot through her.
“Weasley?” Malfoy prompted, “Why the silence? Don’t take this as a compliment, but you’re usually all snarky and loud around me.”
She huffed in response, efficiently ruptured out of her memories, but still didn’t say anything back to him. Cue the second long, awkward pause.
“Are you alright?” Malfoy asked, his eye brow rising, and she didn’t know what did it- the slight tinge of uncharacteristic concern in his voice or the large tinges of alcohol throughout her bloodstream- but she decided to answer him honestly.
“No, I’m not bloody alright,” she snapped, hating how her voice broke, “You wouldn’t be either, not if you had to watch your stupid ex paw at another girl for the past four hours.”
“Ah,” Malfoy murmured, “Scarhead.”
“Yes, Scarhead,” Ginny sneered. “Harry bloody Potter, the boy I’ve been in love with for forever. Didn’t even bother to say hello tonight, not even after everything we’ve been through, just blew past me to get to her.”
She sighed before continuing, musing half to herself and half to the world. “Why the hell can’t I just get over him? We were never supposed to work out anyway. It was just too…perfect. But I shouldn’t be surprised, right? Who can stay interested in little Ginny Weasley when there are women like Cho Chang around?” She scoffed under her breath. Great- Ginny Weasley, pity party of one. She felt her eyes sting.
Malfoy allowed her to rant without comment. She was mildly surprised- even in her current state of bitter drunkenness- at his lack of insults. Then he opened his mouth to talk, and she braced herself for the cutting onslaught, inevitable to her overt show of weakness.
“You must be cold,” he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. “You forgot your cloak back there.”
She glanced downward in surprise and saw that yes indeed, she was in nothing but her little black party dress. Bugger. And now that he mentioned it, it was freezing out here, the late November night drawing out her breath in small puffs of ice. She shivered. Double bugger.
Draco sighed and ran a hand through his pale hair. “Come here,” he said, exasperated, rolling his eyes. She quirked an eyebrow but stepped closer, albeit a tad warily.
He pulled off his own cloak and draped it around her bare shoulders, carefully fastening the silver catch under her chin. His fingers fumbled slightly and she could feel his breath, warm and smelling slightly of wine, on her face. Her eyes lingered on the strong line of his jawbone- it was curved delicately, almost femininely- before she realized that she was appreciating Draco Malfoy’s bloody jawbone and snapped her gaze upwards. She must really be drunk.
Ginny heard the soft click as the fastenings slipped into place and she raised her chin, head tilted slightly to the side, staring into his dark eyes swimming with unfathomable depths.
“You’re being decent tonight, Malfoy,” she said, her voice low, “It’s frightening me a little bit.” He chuckled. Draco Malfoy, chuckling. This has been an odd night.
“Most people would say just say thank you,” he replied.
She shrugged at him. “But I’m not most people.”
A pause, as he contemplated this. “That is very true.”
They continued walking in comfortable quiet, both looking anywhere- the darkened sky, the expanse of stars, the cobblestones beneath their feet, the flickering lights all around them- but at each other, and in a miniscule corner of Ginny’s mind, she thought that she could get used to this side of Malfoy. He really wasn’t that bad, not when he didn’t want to be.
Wait, obviously that was the alcohol talking. This was Malfoy. He was always that bad.
“So when do the taunts come?” she asked, looking up at him after a few moments pass, “When do you start laughing at the pathetic Ginny Weasley for pining away and getting hurt over someone who clearly doesn’t care in return?”
“Do you really have such a low opinion of me, Weasley?”
“After the way you’ve treated me for the past twenty one years? Definitely,” she said without hesitation. “But then after tonight?” Ginny raised her chin, contemplating the man in front of her. “But after tonight, I’m starting to think maybe I’ve had the wrong impression of you throughout all these years.”
She had never seen Draco Malfoy look so serious. He sighed, looking as if he wanted to say something, but instead only gave her a small smile and stepped away, slightly, his face hidden in shadow.
A cold winter breeze swirled across the street, turning up the collar of his shirt. Draco shivered slightly, his eyes flashing in the moonlight, and Ginny couldn’t help but think that they were an awfully pretty shade of grey.
“I must be really, really bloody drunk,” she said aloud.
He laughed at this- threw his head back and actually laughed. “You really really bloody are,” he said, mouth still twisted up at the corners, “but what brought you to this brilliant deduction?’
She wrinkled her nose. “The fact that we’re having a semi-decent conversation,” she said. “And the fact that I pretty much just told Malfoy everything I’ve been keeping inside for the past couple months. Honestly, I put up this façade with all the people who have known me since forever, but with you…” She trailed off.
“I think that you forget,” he said quietly, “I have known you since forever.”
Something inside her snapped at these words. She didn’t know what it was- him or this night or Harry with Cho or the alcohol (the smart money was on the alcohol) - but suddenly she found her cheeks wet and her eyes stinging, and she spun around and buried her head into Malfoy’s chest. And all of this was just so cliché, but the only thing she could think about as she sobbed against him was that she was getting his bloody shirt wet.
He froze, not even taking in a breath, but somewhere underneath her squashed and running nose she could feel his heartbeat pounding. Hesitantly, Malfoy unraveled himself and placed an awkward arm around her heaving shoulders.
“Ginny,” he whispered, and his voice cracked. Snowflakes began to fall.
Eventually the tears subsided. She sniffed and pulled away hastily, hardly believing that she had just clung to Draco Malfoy and cried. Her head was throbbing. Merlin, why wasn’t this night over yet?
He shoved a trembling hand (from the cold? Ginny wonders) into his pocket and placed the other one on the small of her back. “Come on Weaselette,” he said gruffly, nudging her forward, “let’s get you home.”
________________________________________
Stay up all night gossiping with your friends.
“You look like absolute crap, Weasley.”
Ginny glanced up at the dark brunette, who was leaning over and peering closely at Ginny’s face. “Thank you, Vanessa. How kind of you,” she replied dryly, fastening the catches on her Quidditch boots.
The other witch shrugged, slamming her locker shut with an indifferent expression on her face. “I was just saying. What, rough New Year’s?”
Ginny shook her head, glancing at the bags under her eyes in the mirror hanging on the inside of her locker. “No, just had a couple friends over last night.”
Hermione and Luna had spent the night over at Ginny’s flat. The three of them hadn’t gotten much time together lately, what with Luna traveling so much for her job and Hermione being a newlywed, but last night the three of them had stayed up late talking, pigging out on chocolate frogs and Pumpkin pastries and who knows what else. Ginny got exactly a half hour of sleep before having to get up and leave for practice.
Vanessa shrugged, looking towards the door, already bored. “Well that’s nice.” She walked away, the edges of her light blue robes fluttering.
Ginny glanced at the picture hanging on the inside of her locker door, underneath the small mirror. Luna, Hermione and herself waved energetically back at her- Colin had taken the snapshot of the three of them at the edge of the lake at Hogwarts. It was at the beginning of Ginny’s fifth year, and despite the impending doom of the world at the time she looked happy, peaceful, one arm slung over each of her friends. The three of them were still waving up at Ginny, even after all this time, wide smiles stretched across their faces. Behind them, the water shimmered in the autumn sunlight. Ginny smiled.
“Don’t mind Vanessa, Gin,” came another voice, startling Ginny from her thoughts, “she’s still jealous.”
Ginny raised her head to see another witch peeking out from behind her locker door. “No Allison, I wasn’t- wait.” She paused. “Why would she be jealous?”
“Oh, you know,” said Allison, moving to pull her golden curls back with an elastic, “She saw you talking with Draco at your brother’s wedding reception a month ago and it got her peacock feathers all ruffled.”
Ginny wrinkled her nose. “Draco? As in Malfoy? Is she off her rocker?”
Allison shrugged. “Jury’s still out on that one. I’d say that she was as sane as that bloke in the Prophet who tried to cut out his heart- Beedle the Bard fashion- after his girlfriend dumped him.”
“Eww. Seriously, I have had much too little sleep for something that morbid this early in the morning.”
The other witch smiled and picked up her Firebolt. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”
“I’ll be there in a second.”
Ginny turned back to her locker, still contemplating the picture. She thought back to the wedding reception last December. Frankly, the most she could remember of the night was sitting at her table, staring forlornly across the dance floor to where Harry and Cho were talking and laughing together. Not that it bothered her, of course.
She sighed and picked up her own broom. Time to face another day.
( Notes on Falling Out of Love 2/3 )
( Notes on Falling Out of Love 3/3 )
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
What would you like to receive?
The tone/mood of the fic: Light, humorous, and romantic, but not without tension of some sort.
An element/line of dialogue/object you would like in your fic: A reference to one of the fairytales in "The Tales of Beedle the Bard" in a situation totally unrelated to children.
Preferred rating of the the fic you want: Any
Canon or AU? I'd like a fic that is mostly compliant with canon, but feel free to ignore the epilogue.
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): An unhappy ending.
Rating: Not Naughty
Possible Spoilers/Warnings: Warnings for language, but nothing else. Spoilers galore for Deathly Hallows and stuff about the characters that J.K. Rowling discusses in press conferences, etc. (that isn’t mentioned in the books).
Summary (if fic): It's hard to learn how to live without that one person you thought would be in your life forever. But Ginny Weasley had always been a quick study, and there are always certain grey-eyed boys to help speed up the learning process...
Author's Notes: Thank you to my absolutely fabulous beta, eternalhope08 (http://www.fanfiction.net/u/785870), who somehow managed to edit more than half of this fic in one night. I know, isn’t she awesome? Also, all of my information on Beedle the Bard and his amazing tales came from here: http://www.amazon.com/gp/feature.html?docId=1000179911. I tried to include at least a subtle reference to one of his tales in each section of the story- see if you can spot them!- as well as incorporate an overall allegorical theme to the fic. I was told the allegory was kind of a blunt-axe-over-the-head kind of obvious, but its essential to the plot so hopefully you’ll forgive me. Enjoy!
Notes on Falling Out of Love
There wasn’t much that Ginny remembered about the day that Harry broke up with her. The memories swirled in her mind like a kaleidoscope of colors- all blurred shapes and jagged fragments, only a chaotic patchwork of what really happened.
She remembered that the sky had been a clear hard cerulean, stretching endlessly overhead in a smooth, unbroken expanse. She remembered that she had stumbled as she stepped off the curb, and that a puddle of icy slush had spilled inside her shoe and seeped into her sock, cold, uncomfortable. She remembered that a tiny dog had barked at her as she climbed the stairs to her flat, a puffy white ball of fluff emitting high pitched squeaks, its mismatched ears sticking out at odd angles.
She also remembered that the weather had been flawless on that day. In the books that Ginny read late at night, curled up under the covers with the dim light flickering overhead, the weather was always dreary, wet, miserable on the day something that monumentally horrible happened. The skies were meant to open up and pour sadness upon the broken earth; the wind was meant to rattle the glass windows, bitterly piercing fragile skin and soul; the lightning was meant to scream and illuminate the utter hopelessness of the world. So of course on the day that Harry broke up with her, the sunlight glinted off of the pure white snow in crystalline winks, the bright sky was vibrant and unmarred and infinity, and the air smelled of the sweet promise of spring.
He had done it gently, regretfully, softly. Nicely. There was no other way to describe it. Or him. Harry Potter was a Nice Boy. It was the one thing he entirely, wholeheartedly. Take away the hero, take away the fame and the loyalty and the courage- strip everything one possibly could from his character- and underneath it all he would still be a Nice Boy.
Ginny remembered this. She remembered how his eyes had earnestly pleaded without words, how his shoulders had slumped with apology, how one strand of jet black hair- the exact same shade as an overturned bottle of spilled ink- had lay across his forehead, reluctant and relived at the same time.
What she didn’t remember was what he said. Or why he was breaking up with her. Every word that came out of his mouth was silent, incomprehensible, falling upon deaf ears- unable to be heard over the final, empty thud of grief inside her and the tiny crash as Ginny’s heart shattered into a thousand miniscule pieces of heartbreak. The shards rained down inside her, cutting against the pain and resentment, showering upon her organs. One of them landed on her liver.
She didn’t remember what she said back, or how she had even left him. For all she knew, she had shook his hand, tipped him two sickles for the favor and then her hat in farewell. The next thing she knew she was standing in the hallway outside her flat, fumbling in her pockets for the key and unlocking the drab, gray door with trembling fingers.
Her expression was blank and her eyes were dry as she stalked into the kitchen, sinking gracefully into a chair. She stared at the far wall, immobile, keys still clutched tightly in her palm. Over her shoulder, a sparrow chirruped cheerfully as it hopped across the windowsill, reveling in the break from the cold winter weather. Sunlight streamed through the window, mockingly beautiful.
She remained at the kitchen table for the rest of the day, never once shedding a tear or even moving a muscle. Her fingers were curled around the metal keys, gripping onto them tightly until her hand grew numb, losing all feeling. Ginny didn’t notice.
She didn’t move until Hermione came home from work, bursting into kitchen and calling for her flat mate. Ginny turned her head to look at her, strained neck protesting from being held in one position for so long, and then at a single “Oh Ginny” from Hermione, she burst into tears, crying huge gut-wrenching sobs into her arms as the sunlight faded from the kitchen window and the sky melted to a brilliant red-gold.
________________________________________
Ginny ducked her head down, silently contemplating the chipped scarlet nail polish on her pinky toe. Beside her, Hermione was leafing through one of her unbearably large and ancient textbooks that took up half the loft, knowing that Ginny needed the quiet but keeping close by, should she require a shoulder to cry on. Ginny tugged at a loose thread from the quilt on Hermione’s bed, winding it tighter and tighter around her finger until it finally pulled free from the fabric in a satisfying snap.
“Is there such a thing as too much perfection?”
At first, Ginny wasn’t sure that Hermione had heard her, but the sound of shifting pages ceased and she knew the other girl was listening.
“It worked out so well between us, didn’t it? I mean, I was his best friend’s little sister, he was the boy I had loved since forever. Seriously, I pined after him for so long, ignored and invisible, and then finally he saw me and… It was like a fairytale.”
Hermione nodded solemnly, her soft gaze trained on Ginny’s face. Outside, wisps of cotton clouds drifted across a dark velvet sky, obscuring the silver moon.
“But the thing is,” Ginny went on, slowly, “fairytales aren’t real. Life isn’t meant to be that easy, that perfect- put on a cloak to evade Death, help your neighbor to lift a curse, cut out your heart-” she took a deep, shuddering breath- “to fall out of love. Fairytales always skip over the hard parts. But if we made it through unbroken and flawless, then we wouldn’t have lived, not really.” Her voice broke. “But I suppose none of that matters anymore. We were too perfect, and now we’re nothing.”
“Oh Ginny,” Hermione leaned over and wrapped a welcoming arm around Ginny’s thin shoulders, enfolding her into an embrace, “it’ll be okay, really. You’ll get over him. You just need time.”
Ginny thought of the aching feeling inside her chest, like someone was reaching up and tugging the scattered shards of glass-heart down into her gut. She thought of the pointy one sticking out of her liver. “How the hell does one get over a guy like that?”
The other witch was silent for a moment, contemplating. “Cry,” she started simply, “read a book that you love. Make mud pies. Stick pins in voodoo dolls.”
Ginny looked at Hermione, at her friend who somehow always knew the answers. “Uncover a deep, dark secret,” Hermione went on, “Eat ice cream. Take a long walk on a cold winter night. Stay up all night gossiping with your friends.”
There was a pause. Ginny closed her eyes, tilting her head back against the wall. “Dance,” she whispered, barely audible as she tucked a strand of vibrant hair behind her ear.
Hermione sighed, and leaned into Ginny. “Jump in puddles. Count the stars.”
“Bake cookies. Catch snowflakes on your tongue. Lie in the grass.”
“Catch up with an old friend. Paint with your fingers.”
Ginny could feel the edges of her mouth turning up. “Fly for so long you can no longer feel your arse.”
“Go skinny-dipping. Soak up the sun.”
The two girls smiled, falling into an easy silence. “We should write a book,” said Ginny, shifting slightly on the mattress, “A step by step plan to falling out of love. We’d make millions.” She laughed quietly, just a little.
Hermione wrinkled her brow, thinking. “Actually,” she said slowly, “I think we’re forgetting a step.”
Ginny looked up, surprised at the other girl’s serious tone. “Um, we are?” she asked, not aware that there was actually meant to be a best-selling book on the way.
“Yes,” said Hermione, almost sternly. She pulled back a little, looking Ginny in the eye. “I think that after that, after all of it and after the scars have faded a little and it doesn’t hurt so much to think of him anymore, you need to do one more thing.”
“And that would be…?”
“You need to fall in love again.”
Ginny didn’t say anything, instead pulling her hair out of its messy bun and feeling the long red locks tumble down her shoulders. She glanced up at the window, where small colorless flakes had began to drift past the glass panes, spiralling from the heavens down, down, down onto the cold, hard ground.
________________________________________
Cry.
Later that night, Ginny lay awake in her bed, feeling that ache in her chest. She had felt this cutting feeling inside years ago, when Sirius died, and then again when others had followed- Dumbledore and Colin and Lupin and Tonks and Fred. Fred. She wondered what he would do to Harry if he were here and found out that he had broken his little sister’s heart. Shove him down a toilet perhaps. Well, no, that was really more George’s style. Fred had always been more temperate, subtle. Or at least as subtle as you could be when you were a Fred and George.
Well, whatever Fred would’ve done, she would never know. He was gone, lost, never coming back, just like how Harry was now never coming back. She tried not to think about it, tried not to think about the way it felt to tuck her hand within Harry’s larger one, the way his chest would rise and fall against her when she leaned in for an embrace, the steady thud of his heart next to her own, the feeling of content and safety she felt simply by being near him.
And that was all it took. Before she knew it, Ginny had big fat tears rolling down her cheeks, and her body was shaking as she tried to suppress the heaving sobs that were rising inside her throat. She hated herself for it, hated to be the kind of girl who would cry over a boy. But try as she might, she couldn’t hold back the barrage of sobs that were breaking against her chest, and before long her pillow was sopping wet from salty tears.
Ginny buried her head beneath the covers, attempting to quiet her crying, knowing that Hermione could hear from her room next door. Trying to control her breathing, she turned over, squeezed her eyes shut and began to recite potions ingredients to herself. Shrinking Potion: chopped daisy roots, skinned shrivelfig, sliced caterpillar, one rat spleen, a dash of leech juice. Draught of Living Death: asphodel in an infusion of wormwood, valerian roots, sopophorous bean… She did not want to think about Harry. It didn’t stop the tears completely, but at least it kept her sobbing from resurfacing.
With thoughts of Draughts and Potions and Solutions, her mind slowly calmed and faded to a blank nothingness. Her cheeks were still wet from the heavy flood of tears- the proof of her pain- but she squeezed her eyes shut tight, concentrating hard on the mantras of fluxweed shavings and powdered bicorn horns.
And so, for one of the few times in her short life, Ginny Weasley cried herself to sleep.
________________________________________
Read a book that you love.
As Ginny wandered around the bookstore that day, the late afternoon sunlight streamed through the glass-ceiling overhead, cheery sunbeams catching the flecks of gold in her caramel eyes and mocking every dark, depressing thought that popped into her head. It had been several days since Harry had ended it (who was she kidding- it was eleven days, six hours and about thirty-eight minutes, but who was counting?) and Ginny had finally gotten her life back to some semblance of normalcy. She realized, after she had come out of her reverie, that she had missed poor Teddy’s fourth birthday and now she owed him a plethora of gifts to make up for their belatedness. Knowing that he adored books, she was now wandering around the children’s section of some large Muggle bookstore in downtown London, looking for something that he might enjoy.
She really had no idea why, but Ginny had found herself more and more fascinated with Muggle Literature. It began back in her Hogwarts days, in Muggle Studies when they had read some of Bryon’s poems, and since then it had festered and evolved into an obsession. Homer, Bronte, Longfellow, Neruda- even a little bit of Tolstoy- now were permanent tenants in Ginny’s room, piled on her nightstand, shoved under her bed and (occasionally) sitting on her bookshelf. And with so many amazing writers and books and stories out there, Ginny was making sure that she passed her obsession on to all her little nephews and nieces, the adopted, the blood related, and all of them in-between.
As she squinted at the selection of brightly colored picture books, a strange stench wafted across her path, causing Ginny to cough and wrinkle her nose. Waving her hand in front her face, she turned her head, wondering where the pile of manure was. A little ways down the aisle was a large woman in an exuberantly floral-patterned jacket- it looked like a garden had threw up on the fabric. Her pungent perfume stretched out its long, wiry tendrils and crept through the air, wrapping around Ginny’s skin and causing her to gag slightly. Only something dead and rotting could produce that stench, although in largely smaller quantities the smell might’ve been vaguely recognizable as some sort of flower- roses, perhaps. “Seriously lady,” Ginny muttered, trying to breathe through her mouth, “less is more. There’s a reason that’s a cliché.”
Desperate to get away from the lady-who-must-have-a-trail-of-unconscious-people-behind-her, Ginny sidled away from the children’s sections and into adult literature, searching for something to keep her occupied at night after work.
Her eyes fell on a copy of Jane Austin’s Pride and Prejudice. Unbidden, a snort escaped from her lips. Yea, right. “That book gives females unrealistic expectations about love,” she muttered, shooting the paperback dark looks. It stared back unflinchingly, Elizabeth Bennet glancing back over her shoulder, frozen in time, her blue eyes peering out from a different era- a different world.
“Never had you pegged for the cynical type, Weasley,” came a drawling voice from behind her. A flash of icy blond- so pale it was almost white- flittered out of the corner of her eye and Ginny froze, icy vines of dread curling down her spine. Oh please, not him, she begged silently, desperately scouring her memory for anyone else she knew with that color hair. Oh Merlin, anyone but him. Please please please please please don’t let it be-
Draco Malfoy stepped into her line of vision, that insufferable ever-present smirk stretched thinly across his pale features. Ginny didn’t even make an effort to keep the look of disgust off her face. Malfoy had been paired as Ron’s partner on the Ministry’s Auror force by some sort of evil, vindictive superior, and since then he had been a constant and ever-irritable presence in all of the Weasleys’ lives. Ron, of all people, was actually the one who got along best with the obnoxious ferret. However, Ginny was still having some trouble looking past the Git in Draco Malfoy
“Now is not the time, Malfoy,” she replied curtly, turning away from him, “Not that it is ever the time.”
“Come on Weasley, is that any way to treat your favorite brother’s partner?” His chrome eyes glinted.
“Go away.”
Malfoy raised a perfectly shaped eyebrow. “Well well, aren’t we testy today.”
Merlin, he irked her. “It’s not like you aren’t that everyday, Ferret.” She spun around abruptly and stalked away, missing startled look that flashed across his features. But the surprise was fleeting, and behind her back, Draco Malfoy’s expression hardened. “What’s wrong Weaselette, did Potter finally dump you or something?” he called out tauntingly.
Ginny’s shoulders stiffened and she whirled back around, sharp and biting retort on the tip of her tongue. But when she came face to face with him, her mind faltered and went blank. She just stood there- pile of picture books in her hand, mouth open and gaping like a fish. And try as she might to hide it, she knew that he could see the hurt look in her eyes. Ginny flushed, ducking her head down and studying and the tops of her feet.
Malfoy was momentarily taken aback by her reaction, but in an uncharacteristic show of tact, he remained silent, biting back the scathing comments that were rising in his throat as he looked at the forlorn witch in front of him, trying so hard not to let her wounds show. He raised a slim hand as if to pat her on the shoulder, but quickly pulled it back before she could notice. “I’m sorry,” he muttered stiffly, eyes downcast, “I didn’t know.”
Ginny was mildly speechless. Draco Malfoy actually acting somewhat decent? Her brain fizzed loudly with disbelief. Hey Voldemort, having fun skating down there in Hell?
She didn’t want to look up, didn’t want to see the scorn- or worse, pity- etched across his face, but her eyes refused to obey and dragged her gaze upwards. For the first time in her life, Ginny saw Draco Malfoy without a look of contempt on his face. There was no pity there either, only a vague awkwardness behind a curtain of forced indifference. He looked…human, almost. So she decided to act like a human in return.
“Thanks, Malfoy.”
________________________________________
Make mud pies. Stick pins in voodoo dolls.
“Aunt Ginny, Aunt Ginny!”
Ginny raised a weary hand and waved at the flood of small children barring her way to the front door. Maybe coming here after a six hour long practice with the Harpies wasn’t the best of ideas, but Ginny hadn’t seen her family for nearly a month, and she hated missing the weekly Sunday dinners at the Burrow.
She smiled at the sight of her two nieces, adopted nephew and- were those Katie Wood’s twin boys? They were all brown after playing outside for hours. The early May rain showers had taken their toll and the front lawn was a virtual wonderland of grass stains and mud puddles. She suppressed a laugh at the sight of Victoire Weasley, slathered in dirt and grinning cheekily as she shoved a wad of mud into Teddy’s face. The little girl was like a tiny replica of Fleur in appearances, but the similarities ended there. Ginny knelt down to greet the hoard of muddy children.
“Look Aunt Ginny!” exclaimed one of the Wood twins, holding up a grubby, white worm a third of an inch away from the tip of Ginny’s nose.
She stared cross-eyed at the poor little bug. “Wow Ollie, that’s quite…impressive. Almost like the blind monster worm from ‘The Fountain of Fair Fortune,’” she managed to sputter out, smiling awkwardly as she bent her head back, trying to get away from the writhing worm. The little boy beamed back at her.
“Aunt Ginny! Here! Pay attention to me!” came a chorus of other impatient voices, all jockeying for her attention. Ginny bit back a grin.
After receiving five extremely squishy hugs and a set of ten new brown handprints on her robes, Ginny wandered inside the house, the sounds of the kid’s laughter mingling in the spring air behind her. She smiled, quietly, to herself. The Burrow was beginning to fill with children again.
________________________________________
Later that night, Ginny sat on the floor of her old room, leaning a drooping head against the side of her old bed. Tired of the awkwardness between her and Harry, and obvious stilted conversation of her family at dinner, she had volunteered to put the children to bed while the rest of the adults cleaned up downstairs. It wasn’t the first time she had seen Harry again- with him practically a Weasley, she had run into him at the Burrow only two days after their breakup- but that didn’t make it any less awkward. Her family was trying hard to be normal about it but it was obvious things were more tense when they were both around.
Teddy and the Wood twins that Molly was babysitting for the week were already fast asleep in Percy’s old room. (Katie and Oliver were off on some sort of romantic vacation at an exotic somewhere, though the Puddlemore United team was neck deep in heavy training for the playoffs. Who knew that Oliver Wood could be swayed away from playing Quidditch simply by the bat of an eyelash from his wife?) The two girls, however, were proving much more difficult to tuck into bed.
“Can’t we just play for ten minutes Aunt Ginny? Pleeasseeee?” Victoire was barely three years old, but she was better at wheedling and whining than Ginny ever was in her entire life. Molly, Percy’s daughter, didn’t say anything but bobbed her head furiously in agreement, eyes wide and fist stuck firmly in her mouth.
Ginny was too tired to protest. “Fine. What would you like to do?”
“Paper dolls!” Victoire squealed, pulling out a large carton box from the corner of the room. Percy’s wife Audrey was a Muggle-born and had introduced the concept of paper dolls into the Weasley family, something that Ginny was sure she now regretted, as Victoire and Molly would no longer as much as glance in another toy’s direction.
As Victoire happily began dressing her chosen dolls in her favorite costumes (Ginny couldn’t help but note that they were all boys and that they were all wearing Quidditch uniforms) Molly tugged Ginny’s sleeve and pointed to some blank sheets of parchment. “Boy,” she said simply, removing a sticky fist briefly. Ginny understood and began tracing the shape of a little man into the parchment.
After cutting out the basic shape, Ginny pulled out her wand and began performing various little charms to color and animate the doll. “What color should I make his hair?” she asked as she added tiny little fingernails at the tips of his fingers.
“Green.” It was her favorite color.
“Molly,” Victoire interjected, looking annoyed at her cousin, “you can’t have a doll with green hair. He would look weird. Unless,” she added on, looking skeptical, “you wanted to make him Teddy.”
Molly shook her head vehemently, arm waving wildly in the air as her fist moved with her mouth. “No Teddy. Green.” Her bottom lip began to tremble. Victoire crossed her eyes at her little cousin, mouthing Teddy! in a menacing way. Molly began to wail, and she shoved her fist further into her mouth.
“Victoire, stop scaring your cousin!” scolded Ginny, scooping up Molly and rocking her back and forth, a bit worried that she was about to choke on her own fingers. “Here honey, how about I make his eyes green?” The two-year-old sniffed, but nodded mutely.
“And make his hair black,” instructed Victoire bossily from her spot on the threadbare carpet, “we don’t have enough black haired dolls.”
Ginny shot Victoire a look but complied and performed the spells, Molly clinging to her sleeve the entire time. The two of them looked down at the green eyed doll with a mop of jet black hair on its head. Ginny’s brow furrowed.
“Shirt,” commanded Molly, removing a soggy green sweater-shaped parchment from her mouth and waving it in her face.
Ginny complied, but she couldn’t help but jab her needle a tidbit too violently into the little paper doll’s body as she sewed on the bottle green shirt.
________________________________________
Uncover a deep, dark secret.
Ginny sat bleary-eyed in Ron’s kitchen as he scampered from one side of his flat to the other, searching frantically for a clean shirt. It was another Sunday afternoon and they were planning to head over to the Burrow together, but Ron was having a little trouble getting ready. Ginny doubted that he would even be able to find a shirt- let alone a clean one- in the sty that her dear brother insisted was an apartment. After so many years of being pampered by their mother, and then by the Hogwarts house elves, Ron was having a little trouble adjusting.
“Damn shirt, I saw it just- Ow!”
Ginny stifled a laugh as Ron stubbed his toe on the corner of a coffee table and toppled headfirst into the degradation that he called a couch. There came the sharp crack of someone Apparating into the hallway and then a series of quick raps on the door.
“Here you goof bag, I think I see something resembling a shirt from over there behind Pigwidgeon’s cage. I’ll get the door, and you try to get ready before Mum shows up and castrates us for being late,” Ginny called, getting to her feet and reaching for the doorknob.
She pulled the door open and felt the smile on her face wither and die. “Oh joy, raptures and the Cackling Stump, it’s the Ferret,” she said flatly, turning around and letting Draco Malfoy show himself in.
“Why yes, it is so pleasant to see you too Weasley! Come in? Well of course, you needn’t be too kind,” he exclaimed, shutting the door behind him.
Ginny rolled her eyes and ignored him.
“I didn’t think that is was possible for a female to be castrated,” continued Malfoy, refusing to acknowledge the fact that Ginny was pretending not to hear him, “although I did always have my doubts about you and your gender. However-”
“Don’t be an arse, Malfoy,” Ron interrupted cheerily from the corner of the room as he attempted to Scourgify his battered shirt.
“When Voldemort saves stray puppies,” intoned Ginny under her breath. Draco glared at her briefly before turning to Ron.
“Mckinley told me to come over here and remind you that we’re on duty at seven. Something about Jones backing out and so apparently we have to do the bloody stakeout tonight.”
Ron blew out an exasperated sigh. “Damn. Mum’ll eat me alive for ducking out of dinner again.” He scowled.
“You could at least stop by for some food,” Ginny pointed out. Ron’s expression brightened. The mention of food often had that effect on him.
“Not a bad idea. Hey Malfoy, you come along too, I know for a fact that you haven’t had anything that resembled a good meal since last Christmas. Mum always makes too much anyway.”
Draco began to protest but Ron waved him off and shuffled into his bedroom, muttering about socks. Ginny cleaned out a piece of imaginary dirt from under her fingernails as Draco wrinkled his nose (in a very noble, dignified of course- Malfoys don’t make faces.) Why couldn’t he think up an excuse sooner?
There was an uncomfortable pause, and Ginny searched for something to say. Then she realized that it was just Malfoy and there was no one she needed to impress with her brilliant intellect and fantastic wit. Still, she refused to look up.
Suddenly, there came a high pitched and spineless shriek from the direction of the doorway. Ginny looked up to see Draco Malfoy cringing away from the bright orange puffball that was purring and rubbing itself against his leg. “Was that you?” Ginny asked suspiciously.
“No, it was the other ten people in this room who were frightened half to death by this…thing,” Draco answered nonchalantly, distinctly unruffled now as if they both hadn’t just witnessed his particularly girlish behavior.
“That thing is just Crookshanks. I think Ron’s watching him for Hermione for some reason,” said Ginny, trying not to laugh at the look of disgust and inadequately veiled terror on his face. “You’re afraid of cats?”
Draco attempted a snort. “No, of course not.” He sidled away from the cat into the corner, but Crookshanks merely followed him, meowing loudly in protest. “I just don’t like them.” He pressed himself up against the refrigerator door, cringing as far away from the ginger cat as possible. “Especially this one.”
Ginny raised an eyebrow. “What’s wrong with Crookshanks?”
“Have you seen this thing? He looks like an incarnation of the devil.” Draco made a break for the couch and dived onto it, as if the filthy and stained fabric could ward off the poor cat. Crookshanks merely crept over behind him like a very fat and furry orange shadow and climbed into his lap, still purring. His squashed pug face was screwed up in an expression of absolute kitty-content.
“Call me crazy, but I’m pretty sure the devil’s incarnation likes you,” Ginny said, unable to hold back a giggle. “Although why, I have no idea.”
Malfoy sniffed. “I happen to be a very fascinating, amazing person Weasley,” he drawled, trying to shove Crookshanks off of his lap and failing miserably, “However, I don’t find it surprising that you are too dense to realize it. Weasleys aren’t expected to appreciate those of class.”
“Hmm, I see, so you’re an acquired preference,” she said, nodding pensively, “Like Brussels sprouts. Or goat cheese.”
Malfoy blinked at her. “Weasley, you did not just compare me to a goat.”
Ginny grinned.
“Okay, I found my shoes and two socks that are somewhat the same color, let’s go,” announced Ron as he flew back into the room, struggling to tie his shoes and walk at the same time.
Ginny jumped to her feet. “Finally.”
“Weasley?” Ron turned to see Draco regarding him with a pained expression on his face, Crookshanks sound asleep in his lap. “Weasley,” Malfoy repeated, “please get your little girlfriend’s spawn of evil off me right now.”
Ron’s brow furrowed. “Malfoy, why in hell is-“
“Whoops, gotta go!” said Ginny brightly, grabbing her brother’s arm and shoving him out the door. “Malfoy’s Apparated to the Burrow hundreds of times. We’ll see you there!” she called happily from the doorway, taking out her wand.
“Weasley, what are you? Wait, where are- wait, Weasley, stop!” Draco’s voice was getting progressively higher- only dogs could hear him now.
Ron caught on and laughed. “You took out three Death Eaters blindfolded and wandless, Malfoy, you’ll be fine.” He winked at Ginny and Disapparated with a pop.
Ginny shot the petrified wizard on the couch one last satisfied smirk. “Have fun Malfoy,” she called, Disapparating amid a final, panicked “Weasley!”
A thousand different curses ran through Draco’s mind as he glowered at the spot where the two treacherous scum had disappeared. He glanced down fearfully at the slumbering kitty on his lap and felt himself break out in a thin sheet of sweat.
Now what?
________________________________________
Eat ice cream.
“It’s not that I want to get back together with him,” Ginny tried to explain as she sat with Luna outside Florence Fortescue’s Ice Cream Parlour, waving around a spoonful of double chocolate chunk ice cream around wildly as she gestured with her hands. “Really, I think deep down I knew that we were never going to work.”
Luna raised a skeptical eyebrow. “Really?” she questioned breezily, swirling around her spoon in a half empty cup of pistachio ice cream with dried strawberries and whipped cream. Never let it be said that Luna followed the normal path, even when it came to ice cream.
“It was too perfect,” Ginny stated in a very matter-of-fact way. That statement had become a sort of mantra for her over the past few months. “We are not meant to be together.” Maybe if she said it enough times it would become true.
High above them, the hot July sun beat down on the crowd of perspiring shoppers bustling around Diagon Alley, too distracted by the bright store windows to notice the sweltering heat. The red umbrella shading Ginny and Luna glowed in the sunlight.
“It didn’t seem like you were thinking that when we ran into him earlier,” commented Luna, piercing Ginny with her simultaneously unfocused and sharp glance. The two of them had been friends for a long enough time that Luna could see through the brave-faced, nonchalant façade Ginny was putting up against the world.
“Well, I mean, come on Luna,” said Ginny, chewing on the tip of her spoon, “we were together for nearly four years. Of course I’m not going to be completely over him in just what, three months?”
There was a pregnant pause. “Ginny,” said Luna, looking extremely serious, “are you even trying to get over him?”
Ginny arranged her features in an expression of shock. “What? Of course!” she answered, a little hurriedly, “What, am I going to sit around and pine after some bloke who’s made it clear he no longer wants me?” She scraped at the bottom of her bowl for the last bit of ice cream, concentrating on her task and refusing to look up.
“Maybe,” said Luna. Despite her bowed head, Ginny could still feel her skin prickle from Luna’s penetrating stare. She opened her mouth to say something but was interrupted by a series of hacking coughs.
“Luna? Are you alright?” Ginny asked worriedly, reaching across the table to lay a hand on her friend’s shoulder. Luna smiled and waved her off, taking a sip of her water.
“Don’t worry about me, its fine. I’ve just had this dreadful cough lately and it won’t go away. Daddy wants to put in the Quibbler- it might be caused by the infestation of Nargles we found last week. He already has a headline too- The Malady that No Healer could Cure.”
Ginny shook her head and laughed. She loved Luna’s beautiful, quirky, never dampened personality.
The sun climbed higher as the two of them ordered seconds. It was nearly noon and they should’ve been eating an actual lunch, but what was the point of being grown up if you couldn’t eat ice cream for lunch once in a while? Ginny shoved a large spoonful of fudge and calories into her mouth and grinned happily. Exactly.
“Keep eating like that and you two will end up looking like Slughorn before the age of thirty.” A wry voice came from behind them.
Luna glanced up at the figure towering over them. “Why hello Draco,” she said, smiling amicably at him, “What are you doing here?”
Malfoy smirked and pulled up a chair, plopping himself next to Ginny. She glared at him, not quite sure why he had decided to stop by for a chat, but sure it was for some dirty underhanded motive.
“I was merely shopping and happened to spy two of my dear old classmates from across the street. I would never be so rude to walk by without saying hello.” In the shade of their red umbrella, his platinum blonde hair looked almost pink.
“Really,” replied Ginny dryly, not believing it for a second.
Suddenly a look of pure terror crossed Draco Malfoy’s face and he ducked down behind Ginny, so that he was barely visible from the street. “Bloody hell. Hide me,” he hissed from somewhere near her spleen.
“What, did you spot Crookshanks or something?” asked Ginny, grinning mischievously.
Draco popped up from under the table briefly. “Not funny.”
“Draco? Darling? Where did you go?” A short but unbelievably loud witch came barreling down the street, running into about six different people but not stopping to apologize for a single one. Draco squeaked and dived under Ginny’s chair again.
The woman’s hair was vaguely the same color of Luna’s, but instead of being sleek and straight it was- there was no other way to describe it- puffy. She called out across the Alley again.
“Draco? Where are you? I just found the most fabulous set of robes at Madame Malkin’s and I can’t carry them by myself.” Her voice grew increasingly whiny, with that high pitched nasal tinge to her words. “Draco Malfoy, where are you? Come help me now!” Her demands faded as she moved further down the street.
Malfoy carefully raised his head and peeked around Ginny’s shoulder in the most undignified fashion. “Is she gone?”
Ginny had to suppress a laugh at the sight of Draco Malfoy, his hair tussled and out of place, face flushed, and eyes wide with fear. He looked nothing like the contemptuous jerk she had previously known him to be. “Coward,” she teased, “how is it that every time I see you now, you’re hiding from something cute and harmless?”
He straightened and dusted off his robes, glowering at the redhead sitting next to him. “Astoria Greengrass is anything but harmless. And definitely not cute,” he pouted. In a very manly fashion.
“Really. A short, blonde witch with some sort of afro is rising to fill the void of evil left behind by You-Know-Who, is she?”
“Yes. That woman is mad. Mad I tell you. Her sister introduced us and ever since then that psychopath has been convinced we’re getting married. She stalked me to my apartment two nights ago. And when I came to meet someone at Gringotts she got the notion that we were on a ‘romantic outing’ and has been whining after me ever since.” He winced.
“So basically, you’re hiding from a little girl.”
Draco scoffed. “That is no little girl. And she’s bonkers, that one.” He looked down his nose at Ginny. “Even more so than you.”
Ginny squeaked indignantly, but chose not to respond. She was over immature little insults like that. Obviously. “Bonkers? Really?”
Draco leaned in conspiratorially, like he was going to whisper a secret in her ear. “She told me five minutes ago that she had decided on a name for our first child. Scorpius Hyperion Malfoy.” He pulled back, shuddering. “I think I threw up a little in my mouth when I heard that.”
“So you came over to “catch up” with me and Luna in order to hide from your future wife?” Ginny made a face. “Classy.” She looked over to Luna for her input and was surprised to see that the girl had disappeared.
“I am a Malfoy, Weasley,” retorted Malfoy, getting to his feet. “Everything I do is classy.”
“DRACO!” came a loud squeal from halfway down the street.
“Bloody- how in the world can she see me from a mile away? I should’ve just done this in the first place,” Malfoy said, pulling out his wand to Disapparate. He paused and turned to Ginny. “If the Aurors find out tomorrow that Astoria Greengrass has been killed in a bloody and violent manner, it wasn’t me.” He grimaced and was gone with a resounding crack.
“You look considerably cheerier than you did when I left,” remarked Luna as she slid back into her sear, bottled water in hand. Behind her back, a short girl with hair roughly the size of a beach ball stalked down the street, looking for someone. Ginny couldn’t help but notice that her eyes were slightly crossed.
“I got to see Draco Malfoy practically wetting his pants because of that little female over there,” said Ginny, pointing to poor Astoria Greengrass. “That’s enough to cheer anyone up.
She looked down at the four large empty cups sitting on their table. “You know what?” she asked, getting to her feet. “I think we need more ice cream.”
________________________________________
Take a long walk on a cold winter night.
Ginny was pissed drunk. Totally, crazily, unbelievably pissed drunk. It didn’t happen very often, but she definitely was now and the bar at the Three Broomsticks was swimming before her eyes.
Ron and Hermione had refused to do the whole Bachelor/Bachelorette thing the night before their wedding (at Hermione’s insistence, Ginny was sure, because she couldn’t imagine her brother turning down the chance to see half naked women dance around. But then again, he was so bloody in love with Hermione Granger that he would be the one half naked and dancing if she asked. Then it occurred to Ginny that Hermione very well might have asked already, which led to some very disturbing images that Ginny wanted out of her head now. Ow. Damn, those tables were definitely not there a moment ago. Why was the world spinning? Merlin she was drunk) so instead they had a small get together at the Three Broomsticks the night prior to the ceremony.
It had started off well enough, but an hour into the revelry, Ginny had looked over at the dance floor and saw something that promptly encouraged her to reach for the bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhiskey. And now here she was, too many shots later, still staring at the spectacle that had caused this whole affair.
She blinked once, twice, to clear her vision.
Yep. Still there. Swaying slowly in place with their arms locked around each other were Harry Potter and Cho Chang. Cho was decked out in a skirt so short that Ginny honestly hoped that the thing had shrunk in the wash, because it wouldn’t be a very good reflection on British society if stores sold strips of fabric like that as a pathetic excuse for a skirt. She had seen bigger belts.
She wasn’t still hung up on him, really (it was too perfect, she repeated to herself, over and over) but the sight of her once boyfriend of four years dancing cheek to cheek with a stunningly gorgeous witch was enough to drive anyone over the edge.
She threw back the last shot, feeling the liquid burn her throat as it went down, and slammed the glass onto the table. The bottle had been half full (or was it half empty? Haha, bitter laughter all around for her wittiness) when she had pulled it towards her, and she was positive no one had dared challenge her ownership once it was in her possession. That meant that she had just drank an inordinate amount of alcohol, and damn, she was definitely feeling the aftermath.
Ginny stood up unsteadily and meandered over to Hermione’s table, tearing her gaze off the still dancing Harry and Cho.
“Well, mates, as fascinating as this evening has been,” Ginny declared a little too loudly, ‘I’m off.” She forced herself to smile, hiding her feelings from the others. Then she hiccupped. “Bloody hiccups, go away, you stupid little…hiccups,” she growled under her breath.
“Are you okay, Ginny?” Hermione asked worriedly. Damn her and her uncanny perceptiveness.
Ginny blinked owlishly at her friend, unfocused eyes concentrating on Hermione’s right ear lobe. A dim part of her brain registered the fact that even though her own evening had been terrible, it would be unforgivable to ruin Hermione’s night as well. This was, after all, her best friend’s wedding celebration, and Ginny would not be responsible for wrecking it.
“I’m fine,” Ginny lied through her teeth. “I’m just feeling a little under the weather. I’ll just pop on home and sleep it off.” She gave a shaky smile and leaned across the table for her wand, but somehow the floor tilted and she ended up toppling into George’s lap. He looked up, annoyed with having his conversation with Angelina interrupted.
“Ginny,” Hermione interjected, floating over and pulling her up, “you are way too drunk to Apparate home. Walk.”
“I’m not letting her walk home by herself,” said Ron, glancing around at the emptying room. “Who knows what perverts are out there waiting to take advantage of a drunk and stumbling woman?”
“Well, then find someone to bring her home.”
Ron looked around, eyeing the door that George and Angelina had just left through. “Seamus doesn’t know where she lives,” he muttered, half to himself, “Harry, well, that’s obvious, and Dad wants me home in five minutes for some man-to-man talk.” Ron was slightly green with dread.
“Well I can’t take her back, I need to pay Madame Rosmerta and get this lot home,” Hermione said, slightly frantic, nodding over at several of her Muggle relatives.
There was an audible sigh of exasperation from the corner. “I can bring her home, Granger.”
Draco walked over to the group from where he had been sitting “Er, I mean Hermione,” he amended with a sharp jab in his ribs from Ron, “I’ve been over to your flat loads of times, when Weasley made me accompany him to that dump.”
Ginny pointed a wavering finger at Malfoy’s Adam’s apple. “You’re one of the ushers.” She hiccupped again.
Draco cast a contemptuous eye at the witch who was swaying slightly in front of him. “I always knew your sister was smart, Weasley.”
“Watch it,” Ron intoned. Ginny narrowed her eyes, belatedly recognizing that platinum blonde hair.
“You’re a Malfoy,” she sneered. “I don’t want you walking with me.”
A brief flash of something flickered in Malfoy’s eyes, but then the corners of his mouth tightened and it vanished. She was pretty sure it was either the lights or her drunken imagination, so she let it go.
“Equally charmed,” he replied in that cold drawl that she detested so strongly, “but I’m afraid you don’t have much choice, Weaselette . It’s either my company or getting Splinched. Despite your distinct lack of intellect, I’m pretty sure you’d pick the former.”
Ginny was about to retort that she would take her chances with loss of limbs, thank you very much, but by then he had grabbed her by the elbow and roughly half heaved, half pushed her out the door, and she was too busy protesting to do much else.
________________________________________
Two blocks later, she finally managed to pull away from him, fiercely wrenching her arm from his grasp.
“Let go of me, Ferret,” she hissed, and spun wobbly around to glare at him for a moment, face to face. Then her head gave a painful thump, the words caught in her throat, and there was a moment, a pause, when they just stood there, gazes locked, breath coming out in little clouds of mist. But then with a disdainful sniff, she broke away and flounced down the sidewalk, her back to him. It was hard to flounce when she was tripping over her own feet, but she did a pretty good job. Minus walking sideways into that brick wall.
The very nerve of him, trying to get in his good Samaritan points by acting like he’s taking care of her. She doesn’t need anyone to take care of her. The last time someone tried to do that, he ended up dumping her out on her arse, so it’s obvious that Ginny Weasley is not someone to be protected. Screw the cloak, she’ll take down Death herself. That was when she stumbled into a parking meter. Damn it.
Draco caught up with her and scowled. “The nerve of you,” he snapped, “Any other person would show a little gratitude, seeing as how I am doing you a favor by helping you home, but I guess manners aren’t something you’re accustomed to.”
A silence. She seethed inwardly, not even registering the barb he’d just shot at her, merely replaying the scene over and over and over in her head. She could see still Harry and Cho swaying gently back and forth, eyes closed, utterly absorbed in the moment, oblivious of their surroundings, and more importantly, of her presence. A sharp throb of something shot through her.
“Weasley?” Malfoy prompted, “Why the silence? Don’t take this as a compliment, but you’re usually all snarky and loud around me.”
She huffed in response, efficiently ruptured out of her memories, but still didn’t say anything back to him. Cue the second long, awkward pause.
“Are you alright?” Malfoy asked, his eye brow rising, and she didn’t know what did it- the slight tinge of uncharacteristic concern in his voice or the large tinges of alcohol throughout her bloodstream- but she decided to answer him honestly.
“No, I’m not bloody alright,” she snapped, hating how her voice broke, “You wouldn’t be either, not if you had to watch your stupid ex paw at another girl for the past four hours.”
“Ah,” Malfoy murmured, “Scarhead.”
“Yes, Scarhead,” Ginny sneered. “Harry bloody Potter, the boy I’ve been in love with for forever. Didn’t even bother to say hello tonight, not even after everything we’ve been through, just blew past me to get to her.”
She sighed before continuing, musing half to herself and half to the world. “Why the hell can’t I just get over him? We were never supposed to work out anyway. It was just too…perfect. But I shouldn’t be surprised, right? Who can stay interested in little Ginny Weasley when there are women like Cho Chang around?” She scoffed under her breath. Great- Ginny Weasley, pity party of one. She felt her eyes sting.
Malfoy allowed her to rant without comment. She was mildly surprised- even in her current state of bitter drunkenness- at his lack of insults. Then he opened his mouth to talk, and she braced herself for the cutting onslaught, inevitable to her overt show of weakness.
“You must be cold,” he mumbled, avoiding her gaze. “You forgot your cloak back there.”
She glanced downward in surprise and saw that yes indeed, she was in nothing but her little black party dress. Bugger. And now that he mentioned it, it was freezing out here, the late November night drawing out her breath in small puffs of ice. She shivered. Double bugger.
Draco sighed and ran a hand through his pale hair. “Come here,” he said, exasperated, rolling his eyes. She quirked an eyebrow but stepped closer, albeit a tad warily.
He pulled off his own cloak and draped it around her bare shoulders, carefully fastening the silver catch under her chin. His fingers fumbled slightly and she could feel his breath, warm and smelling slightly of wine, on her face. Her eyes lingered on the strong line of his jawbone- it was curved delicately, almost femininely- before she realized that she was appreciating Draco Malfoy’s bloody jawbone and snapped her gaze upwards. She must really be drunk.
Ginny heard the soft click as the fastenings slipped into place and she raised her chin, head tilted slightly to the side, staring into his dark eyes swimming with unfathomable depths.
“You’re being decent tonight, Malfoy,” she said, her voice low, “It’s frightening me a little bit.” He chuckled. Draco Malfoy, chuckling. This has been an odd night.
“Most people would say just say thank you,” he replied.
She shrugged at him. “But I’m not most people.”
A pause, as he contemplated this. “That is very true.”
They continued walking in comfortable quiet, both looking anywhere- the darkened sky, the expanse of stars, the cobblestones beneath their feet, the flickering lights all around them- but at each other, and in a miniscule corner of Ginny’s mind, she thought that she could get used to this side of Malfoy. He really wasn’t that bad, not when he didn’t want to be.
Wait, obviously that was the alcohol talking. This was Malfoy. He was always that bad.
“So when do the taunts come?” she asked, looking up at him after a few moments pass, “When do you start laughing at the pathetic Ginny Weasley for pining away and getting hurt over someone who clearly doesn’t care in return?”
“Do you really have such a low opinion of me, Weasley?”
“After the way you’ve treated me for the past twenty one years? Definitely,” she said without hesitation. “But then after tonight?” Ginny raised her chin, contemplating the man in front of her. “But after tonight, I’m starting to think maybe I’ve had the wrong impression of you throughout all these years.”
She had never seen Draco Malfoy look so serious. He sighed, looking as if he wanted to say something, but instead only gave her a small smile and stepped away, slightly, his face hidden in shadow.
A cold winter breeze swirled across the street, turning up the collar of his shirt. Draco shivered slightly, his eyes flashing in the moonlight, and Ginny couldn’t help but think that they were an awfully pretty shade of grey.
“I must be really, really bloody drunk,” she said aloud.
He laughed at this- threw his head back and actually laughed. “You really really bloody are,” he said, mouth still twisted up at the corners, “but what brought you to this brilliant deduction?’
She wrinkled her nose. “The fact that we’re having a semi-decent conversation,” she said. “And the fact that I pretty much just told Malfoy everything I’ve been keeping inside for the past couple months. Honestly, I put up this façade with all the people who have known me since forever, but with you…” She trailed off.
“I think that you forget,” he said quietly, “I have known you since forever.”
Something inside her snapped at these words. She didn’t know what it was- him or this night or Harry with Cho or the alcohol (the smart money was on the alcohol) - but suddenly she found her cheeks wet and her eyes stinging, and she spun around and buried her head into Malfoy’s chest. And all of this was just so cliché, but the only thing she could think about as she sobbed against him was that she was getting his bloody shirt wet.
He froze, not even taking in a breath, but somewhere underneath her squashed and running nose she could feel his heartbeat pounding. Hesitantly, Malfoy unraveled himself and placed an awkward arm around her heaving shoulders.
“Ginny,” he whispered, and his voice cracked. Snowflakes began to fall.
Eventually the tears subsided. She sniffed and pulled away hastily, hardly believing that she had just clung to Draco Malfoy and cried. Her head was throbbing. Merlin, why wasn’t this night over yet?
He shoved a trembling hand (from the cold? Ginny wonders) into his pocket and placed the other one on the small of her back. “Come on Weaselette,” he said gruffly, nudging her forward, “let’s get you home.”
________________________________________
Stay up all night gossiping with your friends.
“You look like absolute crap, Weasley.”
Ginny glanced up at the dark brunette, who was leaning over and peering closely at Ginny’s face. “Thank you, Vanessa. How kind of you,” she replied dryly, fastening the catches on her Quidditch boots.
The other witch shrugged, slamming her locker shut with an indifferent expression on her face. “I was just saying. What, rough New Year’s?”
Ginny shook her head, glancing at the bags under her eyes in the mirror hanging on the inside of her locker. “No, just had a couple friends over last night.”
Hermione and Luna had spent the night over at Ginny’s flat. The three of them hadn’t gotten much time together lately, what with Luna traveling so much for her job and Hermione being a newlywed, but last night the three of them had stayed up late talking, pigging out on chocolate frogs and Pumpkin pastries and who knows what else. Ginny got exactly a half hour of sleep before having to get up and leave for practice.
Vanessa shrugged, looking towards the door, already bored. “Well that’s nice.” She walked away, the edges of her light blue robes fluttering.
Ginny glanced at the picture hanging on the inside of her locker door, underneath the small mirror. Luna, Hermione and herself waved energetically back at her- Colin had taken the snapshot of the three of them at the edge of the lake at Hogwarts. It was at the beginning of Ginny’s fifth year, and despite the impending doom of the world at the time she looked happy, peaceful, one arm slung over each of her friends. The three of them were still waving up at Ginny, even after all this time, wide smiles stretched across their faces. Behind them, the water shimmered in the autumn sunlight. Ginny smiled.
“Don’t mind Vanessa, Gin,” came another voice, startling Ginny from her thoughts, “she’s still jealous.”
Ginny raised her head to see another witch peeking out from behind her locker door. “No Allison, I wasn’t- wait.” She paused. “Why would she be jealous?”
“Oh, you know,” said Allison, moving to pull her golden curls back with an elastic, “She saw you talking with Draco at your brother’s wedding reception a month ago and it got her peacock feathers all ruffled.”
Ginny wrinkled her nose. “Draco? As in Malfoy? Is she off her rocker?”
Allison shrugged. “Jury’s still out on that one. I’d say that she was as sane as that bloke in the Prophet who tried to cut out his heart- Beedle the Bard fashion- after his girlfriend dumped him.”
“Eww. Seriously, I have had much too little sleep for something that morbid this early in the morning.”
The other witch smiled and picked up her Firebolt. “Come on, we’re gonna be late.”
“I’ll be there in a second.”
Ginny turned back to her locker, still contemplating the picture. She thought back to the wedding reception last December. Frankly, the most she could remember of the night was sitting at her table, staring forlornly across the dance floor to where Harry and Cho were talking and laughing together. Not that it bothered her, of course.
She sighed and picked up her own broom. Time to face another day.
( Notes on Falling Out of Love 2/3 )
( Notes on Falling Out of Love 3/3 )
ORIGINAL REQUEST:
What would you like to receive?
The tone/mood of the fic: Light, humorous, and romantic, but not without tension of some sort.
An element/line of dialogue/object you would like in your fic: A reference to one of the fairytales in "The Tales of Beedle the Bard" in a situation totally unrelated to children.
Preferred rating of the the fic you want: Any
Canon or AU? I'd like a fic that is mostly compliant with canon, but feel free to ignore the epilogue.
Deal Breakers (what don't you want?): An unhappy ending.