It was a cold summer evening, and violent winds were blowing trees into sharp stumps through Muggle telephone poles and unlucky vehicles in crowded streets. The sky was pink-blue, filled with a dampness London hadn’t seen in years, and sinking slowly onto the populace. Ginny Weasley’s eyelids drooped, and her head with them, as she sat at her desk, legs propped onto a large leather futon. The icy breeze fluttered about her long dress, swishing around her calves with a happy sort of dance.

As her elbow, propped on the arm of her chair, began to slide, she sat up with a quick gasp and looked around. Papers were cluttered in messy stacks on the carpet, marked with ink and waving dangerously in the breeze. Standing clumsily, Ginny closed the large windows. As she turned for the door, it smashed open, revealing a long, bright corridor swarming with workers.

Sighing, Ginny waved her wand to lock the unwanted portal to humanity and sat in her chair. She hadn’t gotten out of her office in days, and hadn’t eaten a meal in half a day. Large, blotted hearts dotted the papers on her table, distracting from the report she should have been reading and instead drawing her attention to the psychological aspect of the doodles. She hadn’t been on a date in two years, and even then Harry hadn’t really taken her out. She was pruning.

“Bloody fuck,” she muttered, pulling the top of her dress up over her ample breasts as she stood again. Long, blue cotton brushed against her body as she lifted the papers and threw them into the fire. Despite the humidity and the warmth from the grate, shivers ran over her skin, and she stood in front of the glowing hearth for a moment, playing with a large, tawdry ring on her hand.

Stuffing her feet into old, weathered sandals, she quickly grabbed her bag and exited the room. Locking it with several of Fred and George’s charms, she proceeded to walk through the hall slowly, gazing at the bustle of workers with weariness.

Malfoy was the one who had sent them all into this frenzy. To be brutally honest, Ginny was convinced he didn’t care if all of them died of exhaustion as long as he looked good to his higher-ups. Then again, that characteristic had never been in question. Raising her hand, she waved at Hannah Abbot and Seamus Finnigan, with whom she had barely had a conversation in months. Perhaps Malfoy hadn’t had anything to do with that, however.

As Ginny looked around her with a dull sort of interest, the things she saw seemed to lack a certain vividness, a feeling of consciousness, almost as though it would all soon disappear, and she would be in bed, shaking and crying. Waving off the nonsensical thought, she passed through the doors of the building and stepped onto the street. Muggles swarmed around her, chatting on cellular phones, carrying shopping bags full of trinkets, and laughing.

Something sapphire glittered to her right, and Ginny turned her head to look. A small board lay on the ground, with careful black lettering reading Airstrip One Bar – Just Opened!

Glancing around furtively, Ginny approached it. Below the announcement, small handwriting provided the address and way of entry. Looking back at her office, Ginny sighed as she saw a blank gray building instead, showcasing the traditional warning to Muggles and unidentifiable. Quickly memorizing the information on the board, Ginny ducked into the nearest alley and apparated.

A ripe blue and a bright pink wall surrounded her on both sides. Behind her, a dumpster reeked of decay. With her nose scrunched, she walked out of her cove and glanced up. A large sign stuck out of the wall, marking the bar conspicuously. The street was empty, for the most part. A bulky man stood by the door, glaring at her, a fuming cigar poking out from between two hairy lips.

Clutching her bag to her visible cleavage, Ginny strutted to the old, moldy door. An oval window gave a murky view of the inside, but as the man stared insistently at her chest, Ginny barged in without even a thought. It wasn’t as raucous as she had expected. People sat in a dim buzz at separate corners of the containment. Navy vapors blew around her, warming her skin, and Ginny even felt a small sweat break out on her back.

She was the only woman in the pub. Taking a table in the very rear of the bar, Ginny quickly reached for her wand. Whispering harshly, she waited for her hair to shorten, her ribcage to widen, her arms to thicken, and her face to become unrecognizable. Within seconds, a flirty waitress appeared at her side.

“Is there anything I can do for you, sir?”

Startled, Ginny asked speedily for a beer, and watched the waitress leave with hips swinging for Ginny’s benefit. Gagging, she turned to the wall next to her, staring into the mirror hanging there. Her thick eyebrows resembled Harry’s, her eyes were a darker version of Oliver Wood’s, and her perfect, thin nose was a copy of Malfoy’s. Transformed into a man, she looked like a dark, exotic god of sex. Annoying, tinny music began playing from the ceiling, and Ginny sat back against her seat, getting acquainted with the new senses of her body.

The door clanged open. The man with the cigar walked in, stepping heavily around rickety tables. He settled himself on a barstool and mumbled to the bartender. Three drinks were offered to him immediately. Ginny watched him sullenly, hoping with avid desperation that this would be the last time she would end up at a place like this. Before she could catch his beady eyes watching her through the mirror behind the bar, the door opened again, and a small man walked in, glancing around stealthily. His eyes landed on Ginny with a look of relief, and he ran quickly to sit at her booth.

“Smith! You’re early! How’s it going, mate?” he exalted in a happy, light tenor. He smelled slightly of boilt cabbage, and the rags he’d haphazardly pulled on himself were wrinkled and decaying. His small eyes jumped around the pub excitedly, and his tongue darted out to wet his lips in a comical, disgusting manner.

Ginny sank into her seat, attempting to hide herself, and stuttered a few times. “Excuse me?”

The young man looked confused, then recomposed himself, and nodded, “Oh, pardon me, were you expecting someone else?”

Studying him, Ginny narrowed her eyes. Big gray stains covered the man’s shirt, implying they’d fallen from above, and Ginny grimaced despite herself, wondering how in Merlin’s beard she’d managed to transform herself into this man’s acquaintance. At that moment, the waitress returned with her drink, setting it onto the table eagerly, and turned to Ginny’s companion for his order. Staring exhaustedly at her reflection in the glass beside her, Ginny tried to ignore the way the young waitress pointedly leaned forward and exposed her very uncovered chest before going back to the bar.

She took one gulp of her beer and waited for the acid taste to slide through her throat, wincing. Her companion watched her with amusement and nodded. “You trying to drown your sorrows there, mate?”

Nodding, Ginny closed her eyes and leaned back. There were no fans in the building, and her damp clothing stuck to her back. Remembering herself, Ginny glanced down to see what her dress had been transformed into. The shirt and shorts were fairly decent, modern and Muggle, and Ginny closed her eyes again, setting the bottle onto the tabletop. It made a satisfyingly quiet noise, and small droplets of condensation began dripping onto the wood.

“Here you are, Mr. Holt. Would you or your friend like a snack to accompany the drinks?”

Holt murmured his dissent, bidding thanks to the woman, and Ginny opened her eyes. She watched his face, so similar to Malfoy’s, but so lacking in comparison; too friendly, perhaps. Even when he was making a face at the briny taste of his whiskey, his eyes seemed to smile. Ginny looked away, then, straight into the mirror, and straight into the eyes of the large man at the bar. He stared a moment longer at her and then glanced away. He did not look back the rest of the night.

Surprisingly, Holt didn’t have much more to say. Ten minutes went by, half an hour; by two hours after his arrival, he was frankly quite bored, and left the table to have a dance with some pretty waitress. Ginny stood to go pay at the bar at the same time that a small group of men entered, walking toward the man at the bar. They were all similar, all uncommonly obese, and all guffawing as they approached him.

As she waited for the waitress to process her Muggle money, Ginny heard their quiet conversation a meter or so away, undecipherable, yet clear and pronounced. Suddenly, raucous laughter started up, and Ginny turned to see all but the large man of the group holding their middles and guffawing.

Frowning, Ginny took her change from the provocative girl and began to walk toward the door. Suddenly, a small, warm hand grasped her wrist, swinging Ginny to face a short, pretty girl whose height equaled half of Ginny’s glamoured one. She blinked her eyes unattractively three times and whispered, “Want a drink? Don’t leave so early.”

Ginny shook her head, puzzled, and pulled herself from the girl’s grasp. Stepping around her, she came face to face with another crazed fan. She put her hands on Ginny’s shirt, rubbing slow circles into her chest, and Ginny cringed from habit, forgetting that her chest was flat, muscled, and unmistakably male. The first girl had appeared at her side once more, and pouted, “So you’ll talk to her and not to me?”

Ginny pulled away from both, suppressing the urge to gag once more, and sprinted through the door.

+

Ginny’s hand was single-mindedly scribbling hearts onto her papers when she heard Malfoy’s voice. The meeting was boring, once again urging the entire department to work faster, better, more effectively. No one was listening to Malfoy’s voice except perhaps Malfoy himself, and Ginny’s subconscious had let through another slip.

“I don’t care if you put big red banners in my own office, Weasley, I will not acquiesce your pathetic love-related needs. Pay attention when I’m talking and stop doodling like you’ve got no brain.”

Ginny turned to glare at him half-heartedly and seethed, “But don’t I lack one, according to your religion?”

He tilted his head, studying her, and drawled, “I don’t affiliate with a religion, Weasley, and even if I did, you wouldn’t be nearly important enough to be a part of it.”

“Your own personal theories on who’s the scum of this world and whose blood is the purest are well enough widely known to be published and circulated much like a holy book,” Ginny spit.

Malfoy’s eyes shone when he spit back, “Flattered, but I won’t humor you. Put the quill away and act like you are capable of doing your job.”

Ginny lowered her head and put her quill away. Setting her elbows on the table and her chin on her hands, Ginny gazed out of the large window into the bright blue sky outside. Birds were flying freely, cawing in the distance, and the windows were waving slightly above the marble tiled floor. She sighed, tapping her fingers silently on her cheeks, and watched Malfoy pace in front of them energetically.

His thick eyebrows were raised in an attractive manner, implying a straightforward kind of passion for his thoughts, and his well-tailored suit folded softly, rather than stiffly, with him as he moved. One arm was folded behind his back, showcasing a bright emerald ring, and the other was clasping the back of his chair, tucking it into the long oval table. He smiled when one of the vacant women beside him giggled a comment, and Ginny was reminded of Holt, with his genuine grin and open expression. Holt, however, had smiled at her.

Rubbing her eyes exhaustedly, Ginny listened for Malfoy’s dismissal and was the first to jump from her seat when it came. Fate wasn’t on her side.

“Stay behind, Weasley, we have some things to cover.”

Ginny groaned dejectedly, crashing back into her chair. Her weary eyes rose to meet his defiantly, lashes brushing her eyebrows with surprise. He was sitting on the edge of the table beside her, hands clasped. His face was expressionless as they gazed at one another, but he finally muttered, “I direct you control your insolent attitude in the workplace.”

Ginny rolled her eyes, sitting back in her chair. “You direct me? Listen to yourself! None of the people in this office have had time for sleep or meals in days! Do you care at all – do you have any humility?”

Malfoy looked amused. Ginny clenched her fists, pursing her lips, and waited. Finally, he tilted his head. “If you’re so tired, you may take a day off. I still expect the papers on my desk tomorrow morning, or you’re fired.”

Ginny glowered, standing, and snatched up her papers. “Fuck you, Malfoy. If you think people in this office respect you, you’re wrong. Those girls – the ones you’re currently shagging – they want your money, and the men only tolerate you because they get promoted within a year.”

His gaze sharpened. “And why have you been here for four years, then?”

Ginny shrugged as she began walking towards the door. “Maybe because I think I’m being noble; maybe because I enjoy torturing myself.”

The door closed behind her, and he didn’t call after her as she expected he would. It was after she’d gathered her belongings and locked her office, walking out into the corridor, that she noticed the excited murmurs buzzing through the building. She stepped up to Parvati’s desk and motioned to the crowds, “What’s going on?”

The older girl smiled widely and clapped her hands giddily. “Malfoy just made an announcement, letting us off work for two days!”

When Ginny made her way to the lifts, she could not help grinning at Malfoy through the glass walls of his office.

+

The small flat Ginny had purchased a month after her graduation contained little more than a large bed to sleep on and her wand. Rarely did she utilize the services of her avaricious cuisinere, and the washroom wasn’t as well-kept and presentable as she would have liked. Molly would have done everything short of cursing her daughter for it if the two had still upheld communication.

Presently, Ginny wringed the large ring on her hand, a green flower she’d nicked from Malfoy’s desk last Christmas eve. It hadn’t fallen apart yet, as she’d expected such a cheap-seeming bauble to do, and at times she wondered if it had been wrong and criminal to steal the stupid thing as she had. And yet, it felt foolish to pretend the ring was made of emeralds.

She sighed, staring through the open window unseeingly, and stood. From her flat, Ginny had a broad view of the Muggle city, and on workday mornings, Ginny spent a time just gazing at it. The lack of sleep she got at night was slightly made up for in the restful hour she spent just staring at the happy Muggles bustling through London.

The floo powder Hermione had provided as a housewarming gift stood untouched by the fireplace, stale and unneeded. As a tear slowly trickled down her cheek, Ginny sighed again. Luna Lovegood, the only woman who still knew her, reached out a hand and wiped it away.

“I don’t mind being alone, you know.”

Luna turned to glare at her. The girl’s big blue eyes had been something of a joke even to Ginny before they had met, but seeing them now was like seeing Molly, or Arthur, or any other member of the family she no longer had.

“I’m not a fool, Ginny. You’re twirling your ring.”

Ginny blinked. “And that indicates what?”

“That you’re anxious, silly. Look at that – you’re scrubbing your skin raw. Stop it, or I’ll have to get Blaise.”

Ginny stopped. Another sigh bubbled out of her, and she laughed, “I’m so melodramatic. Listening to me, you must think my life is in the slums. Look – I have everything I wanted when I was graduating: a home, a decent job, and you. Why must I always want more?”

Luna tilted her head slightly and hummed. Her rosy cheeks glittered in the bright sunlight, fat and healthy. “Why don’t you go visit the Burrow for a change?”

Eyes wide, Ginny shook her head. “You’re insane, how can you even suggest that? They must hate me.”

A long pause ensued. Children’s cries filtered in through the window, disrupting the silent peace inside the flat. A bright smile on her face, Luna flipped her long hair over her shoulder and stood. “Come on, we’re going.”

“Where?”

“To Blaise’s place. You know he can make anyone feel better.”

+

On nights when her work was finished early and Ginny had no place to go, she would wander about in Knockturn Alley and visit little shops that reminded her of home. On one such occasion, the day he had yelled at her in front of twenty other employees, it had seemed the perfect opportunity to do so.

Her eyes landed on a newspaper clipping in a tea shop, displaying the happy “Golden Trio” on their way to the Ministry. Tears welled in her eyes whenever she thought of anything to do with the home she’d left behind and neglected. She was worn.

With no signal from her mind, her hands pushed open the door to the shop, and she ordered a cold drink, seating herself by the window. While the cutout remained within her view, she heard two familiar voices enter through the door, seating themselves just behind her. In the reflective glass, she could see Malfoy and Luna's love interest Blaise. Malfoy had his eyes closed as they waited for their order, and the darker of the two was taking little pity on the man as he smirked and scanned the containment quickly.

"You don't understand, Zabini. I saw her there, I know I saw her just outside."

His friend shrugged a shoulder lazily and gazed levelly at a flirty waitress by the bar. "Say, doesn't that gorgeous one look like my Luna?"

Malfoy groaned. "I have to fire her."

Zabini sat up, tremendously more alert now as he glared at the blond. "No, you do not. You're a bloody prick when it comes to these things, and you get your way, but you absolutely will not fire the poor carrot. Luna's told me what she’s went through with you."

Ginny watched them in the glass silently, sipping her cold water, eyes glued to Malfoy's angular face. Around the hall, silverware clicked upon contact with dishes, and soft voices blocked out what was murmured between the two next. Zabini's eyes widened and he began to laugh openly, drawling, "That's what you deserve, Malfoy, that's karma."

She stood to leave then, tingly at the proximity she had with the both of them, and made sure to walk by them on her way out. They watched her, surprised, with very contained expressions as she passed them. "Lovely surprise," she murmured to them, pained eyes on the door, and just before it closed behind her, she was fairly sure she heard Malfoy sigh. "Never done anything so good in my life, Zabini, as to earn myself that Weasley."

Taking it for his repeated sarcastic insults of her character, she made a rude gesture as she stormed past the window. Blaise grinned at her.

+

The familiar smoking man guarded the door, small, beady eyes scanning the street. His eyes landed on her as she came into view, running to the pub in tight shorts and a thin shirt. Sleet hit Ginny’s skin ruthlessly, leaving small red marks where her freckles should have been. Once her pale feet reached the porch, the man began coughing.

Frightened and cold, Ginny ignored him as she ripped the door open, taking a seat at the bar. Running from the Zabinis’ cunning plotting in regards to her and Malfoy had been difficult and unpleasant, and the colorful fumes in the pub created a cold sweat on Ginny’s skin as she panted. The bartender glared at her.

“Bloody hell,” she muttered, sliding off her stool, and walked hurriedly to the water closet. The air was stale in the niche, and the toilets were rusty. The only mirror that was provided was small and cracked, and gray paint had been dripped onto it in repairing the walls. Steadfastly ignoring her reflection, Ginny quickly pulled out her wand and muttered her glamouring spells under her breath.

Pink swirls had appeared in the blue-coloured air when Ginny reseated herself at the bar. It was still late afternoon; little more than a handful of men sat in separate seats around her, all turned away, all drinking. A gust of air hit her back, though its cause was indistinguishable at first; then the man appeared.

For weeks past, he’d always stood at the door when she’d arrived at the bar. Each time, his reaction would be different upon seeing her, but he always seemed to expect her. Once they were both in close vicinity, he would glance at her through the mirror at the bar or through the glass decorations in the booths even though she would be glamoured. Her own sentiments for him were strange – she felt obliged to know him, but couldn’t place their affiliation.

Presently, he sat beside Ginny, shifting his enormous body this way and that, and slid his empty beer glass toward the bartender gruffly. Studying his profile, Ginny was startled and mortified when the man grumbled, “You don’t look like a wanker to me.”

He didn’t meet her eyes, instead preferring to stare at her through the mirror on the wall. He smelled of alcohol and something else, something vague and familiar, pleasant and favored in Ginny’s memory, completely unfitting for her current predicament. He pulled out a clean, ironed handkerchief, and wiped the condensation off his refilled glass, grabbing it by the middle and gulping down the whole thing in one try.

Ginny stuttered for a moment, gazing at the wooden bar, scratched and weathered, and then murmured, “Did you expect me to be?”

He chuckled, finally facing her, and drawled, “As this is a gay bar, yes. I take it you didn’t know that?”

Ginny’s jaw fell, but she caught herself, shaking her head. “No.”

For a time, the only sound around them was the thump of glasses on wood, isolated and welcome. Dishes tinkled somewhere behind the mirror. Ginny lifted a finger to her empty glass, drawing a small heart in the condensation running down its sides. Why wasn’t any music playing?

The large man cleared his throat. “So why are you here, mate?”

Ginny shrugged, gazing at the other patrons of the pub. “There’s a – woman I can’t get out of my head.”

The man began to shake his head, “I, myself, I tell you – the woman is everywhere. I bloody thought I saw her in this pub a moment ago. I’m going insane, and she doesn’t even have to lift a finger.” He looked at Ginny and grinned, as though laughing at a private joke. “When you grow up, mate, don’t make the same mistake. Tell her.”

After this proclamation, there was a pause, neither was willing to break the silence. A voice to Ginny’s right suddenly asked, “So what’s the story, Wheezy? You’ve never told me about this.”

Holt’s expression was excited, almost gleeful, when Ginny looked at him. His short, blond hair was gelled back, and his sharp nose sniffed the heated air rapidly. Wheezy groaned, rolling his eyes, and muttered, “It’s not that interesting, Holt, or I would have told you already.”

Ginny snorted, “Pardon me, your name is what?”

He turned his large head to face her, eyes black and stormy, “Gerald Wheezy. And yours?”

Thinking quickly, she waved a hand to Holt, looking away. “He can tell you.” Wheezy’s eyes narrowed.

Holt happily chanted, “His name is Wilson Smith. He works with me in the records courthouse.” Ginny nodded along, carefully memorizing the information.

Wheezy tilted his head, eyes fixed on Ginny. “What do you do?”

“Organize papers, sometimes hunt for restricted information,” Holt nearly swallowed his words, “There’s virtually nothing that our department doesn’t know about anything. It’s an interesting feeling. It’s possible that someday, our power of knowledge will be so controlled that everyone will have access to absolutely everything. Wouldn’t that be a party?”

Ginny balked, staring at Holt, whose happy face was shining blue. He continued to smile stupidly, sipping his fruit drink, and then hummed, “This is very good.”

Wheezy cleared his throat, “Shouldn’t the two of you be at work now?”

“I took the day off.”

“That’s funny,” Holt exclaimed, “I thought I saw you in your cubicle just before I left.”

Twisting the ring on her finger, Ginny shook her head, “No, you must be mistaken. I left early.”
She didn’t realize that either of them had noticed her ring until Wheezy leaned forward, staring at it, and drawled, “What – on earth – is on your finger?”

Ginny jerked her hand away, ripping the flower off, and blushed, stuttering, “It’s a trinket – my girlfriend, she gave it to me, for laughs – guess I forgot to take it off.”

Wheezy sneered. “And this woman you can’t get out of your head – she’s not your girlfriend?”

Holt smirked and nodded, enthused, and waved to the nearest waitress. “Can we have a few more drinks here, please?”

Ginny, petrified, merely muttered, “Why don’t you tell us your story?”

The waitress appeared with the order, making sure to brush Ginny’s skin as she handed hers over, and then blinked several times, emphasizing the length and fakeness of her gaudy, glued-on eyelashes. Ginny scowled, downing her shot blindly.

Wheezy snorted, cleared his throat, and smashed his glass onto the bar with her. His large, chubby hands wrestled one another for a full minute before he spoke, and even then, large pauses tore holes in his speech. “I work with the woman, naturally. She’s the – head of my department, worked there longer than – any of the others.” His strange, jerky way of speaking surprised Ginny, and even Holt. “I’m hallucinating about seeing her in M – musty pubs, and she’s probably dating her stupid – ex-husband again.”

Ginny hummed, smiling. “That sounds awfully familiar.”

Wheezy’s eyes were on hers instantly. “It does?”

Holt broke in, “Yeah, sort of … like a film I saw recently.” He smiled.

Wheezy narrowed his eyes, almost withering at Holt, and turned back to glaring at his reflection in the mirror. His fingers bothered a napkin as he thought, and then he turned to Ginny. “Your story is similar?”

A sudden cry started in the back of the pub, and they three turned to see two thin men fighting. One flung a weak fist at the other’s mouth, and missed, cracking his nose instead, while the first kneed him messily but painfully. After a moment, both stopped, leaning on each other for support, and smiled bloody smiles as they made their way back to their seats. Perplexed, Ginny shrugged and began sipping her refilled drink.

“The thing is,” Wheezy muttered tersely, “I know how she sees it. I’m out all the time, with women whose names I don’t even remember, but if I stop, everything will change.”

Holt pursed his lips. “So you’re not a one-woman man, and you’re afraid you’ll get bored if you do become one?” His laughter was evident in the creases of his cheeks, and his amused gaze was leveled straight at Wheezy’s ugly black beard and large, bottomless gut.

Wheezy grinned, slapping a hand to his middle, “You don’t know – compared to the fuckers I work with, I’m a lean, handsome, beastly attraction.”

Ginny smiled. “I’m in love with my boss, who, unlike yours, couldn’t care less.”

Holt leaned forward, “Who is this woman I’ve never heard of?”

Ginny quickly shut her eyes, wishing for all the gods that Holt would just vanish. “I work two jobs, Holt, you wouldn’t know her. H-she’s a god – dess.”

Wheezy began to thump his fingers on the wooden bar, and frowned. “How?”

Ginny twisted her arse on the miniature seat and sighed. Through the window in the door Ginny saw it was pitch black outside, and the clock soon chimed midnight. A flood of emotions drowned Ginny, like it often did when she noticed the time, and when the time was midnight.

There was a time when, at midnight, Charlie and Bill would appear at her flat, and the three would spend all night talking and testing out new creations from George and Jordan’s shop. At midnight, on a boring night two years ago, Hermione and Ron had burst into Ginny’s flat shouting excitedly about their long-awaited pregnancy. On New Year’s Eve, at midnight, exactly six months ago, Ginny had fallen in love with Draco Malfoy and stopped coming home from work until the wee hours of the morning, hoping, waiting.

Ginny raised her eyes to the mirror in front of them, catching Wheezy as he stared at her. Her fingers found her green ring in her pocket, twisting it every which way as she thought. Ginny opened her mouth to explain just as Wheezy grabbed her shoulders and attached his own to it. For a moment, Ginny merely watched him, wide-eyed, as he stressed his large belly up against her legs. All she could sense was the vivid smell that seemed to surround Wheezy, and the colours that moved behind his head. When she began to struggle, Wheezy was already gone, on the floor, breathing deeply and glaring at her.

“Shit,” he mumbled, lifting himself lightly. “Shit, shit, bloody hell.”

He paced beside his stool several times and then sat, head in his hands. He groaned quietly, and the sound echoed throughout the empty bar. The fumes continued to swirl in the air.

Holt, on his knees and elbows as he watched the scene, began to laugh maniacally. His light, falsetto voice tinkled in the overall din of the containment, and numbers of other men turned, interested. “What’s gotten into you, Gerry? Finally given in to our massive charm?” he motioned with one arm towards the rest of the patrons.

Wheezy shook his head repeatedly, staring at a spot on the old wooden bar. Turning slowly to Ginny, he drawled, “That was inappropriate, to say the least. Please excuse me, I don’t know – for some reason, I thought you were – I mean, I’m not – “

As he broke off, he seemed to fight himself silently. A peculiar expression settled on his face, and he turned to Ginny. “Am I - ?” When she didn’t respond, he shook his head, crying, “I’m a bloody homophile!”

Holt’s eyes narrowed, and he stuck a skinny arm out to slap Wheezy’s shoulder. Ginny had to lunge towards the other end of the bar to avoid laughing in the two drunk men’s faces. Ginny asked for her check for lack of anything better to do. She hadn’t really been planning on leaving. Where would she go?

Swiftly rubbing her mouth with a bright red napkin, Ginny tossed it back onto the table she got it from and ran for the door. Behind her, she heard a loud wheeze, and then Holt’s indignant huff. Doubling over, Ginny struggled to control her laughter – the Wheezing Gerald Wheezy. Perhaps she’d had too many drinks. Gerald Wheezy. Tilting her head, Ginny turned back to the large man on the stool. Gerald Wheezy. His profile was outlined by the light orange colors swirling in the air, and Ginny’s eyes widened as she saw his straight, long nose and his thick, beautifully arched eyebrows. Gerald Wheezy.

She leaned breathlessly on the door of the pub after she stumbled out of it. As she scrubbed her mind for any recognition of his scent, and finally realized who exactly had been kissing her, Ginny’s skin turned cold, and she bashed her head against the reflective glass behind her repeatedly to forget it had ever happened. Draco Malfoy was gay.

+

At the shutting of the door behind her, Ginny’s drooping head hit the table she sat at with minimal force, but colourful spots still clouded her vision angrily as she blinked. The resulting gust of wind splashed against her bare back gently, accompanied by his even softer voice. “You’ve missed two meetings this week.”

Ginny swiveled around in her chair, glaring at her boss, and crossed her arms. She didn’t have energy left to speak. Malfoy stood elegantly beside her desk and smirked. “You should really go home sometimes, Red. I don’t need your brother’s bloody tantrums in my office.”

With no warning, and no clear reason, tears began to spill down Ginny’s cheeks. She scrunched her face, dropping it to hide behind her hair. Noiselessly, her body heaved, and Malfoy stood by, watching. Brushing a hand through her vibrant hair, Ginny mumbled, “You don’t have to worry about any of my family members showing up.”

A painful grip at her wrist sent Ginny onto her feet, yelping. Malfoy’s eyes were fascinated, wide and silver when stepped towards her. Ginny took a tentative step back, but he followed. He smirked again, eyes glued to her hand. “Dancing?”

Ginny’s eyes never left the floor, but a crimson blush spread over her skin traitorously. Malfoy stepped even closer, taking a gentler hold of her hand, and placed a long finger on her green lily. “Did you honestly think I wouldn’t recognize this with my eyes and ears ripped out?” Ginny shifted, trying fruitlessly to escape his grasp.

“Shh,” he grinned. “I won’t report you, Weasley. Matter of fact,” he raised his own right hand, watching her disinterestedly, “I have one similar to it. I hadn’t even had time to pack it decently before you robbed me of it. I suppose it’s your Weasley poverty habits showing. Don’t know how I didn’t notice the stupid thing before. Looks as good on you as I imagined.”

Her eyes scrunched closed, and she shook her head mutely as more fat tears fell down her cheeks, ripping her hand out of his grasp; he didn’t struggle. “I’m sorry. It was a low thing to do. But you’d never understand.”

“How many times have I told you not to bring your emotions to work with you? Do you even understand how important this project is? Do you want to keep your job?”

Ginny wiped her tears away roughly, sniffling weakly, and turned to the window. “Why are you here? Did you not get enough entertainment from publicly making vulgar moves on Heather Jules? Or Fiona Hough?” She wasn’t thinking about her words – she was immune to them, they escaped her independently – because if she would think about what had happened between him and the women in the office, everything would hurt tenfold.

Malfoy scoffed. “You think my position here circles around women?”

The urge was sudden. She couldn’t have stopped it if she’d tried. All she knew was that she had to hurt him as much, if not more than, he was hurting her. Swiveling around, a malicious, pained scowl on her face, she spit, “No, it’s really the men you like to kiss, isn’t it?”

Everything that followed seemed to have been charmed into slow motion. There was a long silence, and it never seemed to end. Ginny’s eyes were, through no will of her own, glued to Malfoy’s. He gazed at her with no change in his expression – for all intents and purposes she might have just told him Harry Potter was dead – his expression never changed. Then his bright eyes widened only slightly, and his gaze flittered from her ring to her face, to the papers on her carpet, with the hearts on them. He was about to speak, he stepped towards her, but a strangled cry escaped her as she jerked away.

Running to the desk, Ginny pulled open the drawers and splashed all of her due work papers onto the surface. Still weeping silently, she grabbed her jacket and ran out of the office.

+

The door might have broken if she'd knocked on it any harder. It was old, and rickety, and useless for the purpose it should have served – if anyone had needed to get in, they could have done it without even a wand. It was her favourite door in the world, and became even more so when her mother's face appeared in the small window at the top.

Molly's eyes widened, and a muffled shout echoed behind the door before it creaked open and she leaped on her daughter.

“Ginny, dear!'' The embrace was warm and tight, and Ginny's tears spilled onto Molly's shoulder just as they'd used to before everything had gone awry. They rocked from left to right as they hummed apologies to one another, and by the time they pulled away, Arthur was waiting for his turn. This was her second chance.

Arthur pulled the ends of her hair playfully, stepping back into the doorway, and Ginny started to follow just as the loud crack of apparition echoed behind her. The figure at the other end of the walkway stood tall and intimidating, black robes melting off him in the summer heat. Tightly closing her eyes, Ginny walked out of the house once more, while Molly ushered her husband inside, closing the door gently.

“Why did you follow me here?“ she called, voice breaking as she saw him approach. A hot, useless breeze hit her, swaying her loose dress around her figure unpleasantly. Soft sounds escaped through the window to her right, voices she'd known at a certain point in time and had forgotten.

Another voice attacked her from the porch steps, “I've known for a while now you've been chummy with Zabini, but I never throught you would put him up to this.“

Ginny tilted her head, breathing in the hot air heavily, and looked out into the distance. “What exactly is this?“

Sudden banging started in the room behind her, and Ron's shouts became evident through the noise. Malfoy's eyes flickered to the window quickly, then to Ginny's hand. The ring was still there, glittering in the sweltering light. He stepped forward. She stepped back. The sun continued to pelt them with its heat, merciless.

“Then again, if not for the bet ...“ he murmured. “Why did you glamour yourself as a man?“

Ginny rolled her eyes, turning back to the door. Ron's face loomed over her in the window on the door, glaring holes through Malfoy's shadow. She stood between two homes, both proud, both did not want her. Ginny stared at her ring as she twisted it slowly, tears leaking from her eyes.

“I was the only woman there – what would you have had me do? Turn into one of those waitresses?“ she spit. “And how original – Gerry Wheezy.“

Just barely catching his smug smirk, Malfoy took another step forward. “I saw the ring, the hearts, the mannerisms – you understand, I don't kiss men. I knew I saw a semblance of you, Weasley.“

“You are saying you wanted to kiss me.“

There was a silence. Ron was shouting something to someone, but in the overall din escaping through the rickety open windows, it was impossible to discern his disquiet. The floorboards creaked beneath Ginny's feet as she took a tentative step back. Arms wrapped nervously around her middle, she watched him.

“You've lost weight.“

Ginny narrowed her eyes. “That's not an effective response.“

“You've lost weight because of me.“

Ginny blushed, red as her dress and sweating profusely, as she looked away. Malfoy stepped towards her once more. “I needed you to suffer for me before I could suffer for you. Can you understand that?“

Ginny glared at him, wiping away her tears. Another wobble backwards pushed her back against the door. Malfoy's eyes sparkled. There was no growl from behind the door; Ron had left. The sunlit wooden porte scalded her bare back, Ginny winced.

“So you made me lose my family, drop a few dress sizes, and become an insomniac before you decided to kiss a man?“

He didn't even blush. He was perfect, clean, unruffled. She fell for him twice over. He came closer, step by step, until he stood centimeters away from her. “The idiot was right; falling so deep was exactly what I deserved for fighting so hard against it. I'll meet you at the office.“ He ran one long, cool hand over her arm slowly, down to the emerald flower on her finger, which he twisted gently, and then stepped back. “It was a good dance, Red.“ He glanced behind her and disappeared.

Ginny turned around, catching sight of her enormous brother in the open doorway. His orange eyebrows dipped over his sad periwinkle eyes, and he didn't budge as she tried to step inside.

“How did you open the door so silently?“

Ron reached forward, grabbing her by the shoulder, and shoved her against his hard chest. Her feet created a melody on the loud wooden planks of the kitchen, and there was a full five seconds of Hermione's tinkling laughter somewhere in the den. Ron was breathing heavily, and his thick cologne wafted into Ginny's nose through the heated air. His warm skin stuck to her long hair, and the squeak startled them both as she pushed him away. They laughed.

Serious again, Ron awkwardly brushed a fresh tear from Ginny's cheek and led her further into her home. “That git opened it wandlessly before he left. He bloody smiled at you, Gin.“