Chapter one: Displaced

Thud, thud, thud.

Ginevra opened her eyes blearily as she lay engulfed in a cocoon of blankets, arm and head both hanging precariously over the edge of her mattress, and the moment they were met by blinding sunlight she instantly regretted it. Despite the piercing ache that split through her skull, she slowly sat up, absently wondering what had woken her. Merlin, everything hurt.

She rose to her feet, then clutched her head as a sudden wave of vertigo crashed over her. Oh Merlin, I'm getting old, she thought with despair as she recalled the evening before. What a joke; twenty-four years old and barely able to stomach a couple of glasses of champagne… not to mention that the alcohol had been consumed in her flat, alone, on a Saturday night, while she spent the better part of her evening gorging on chocolate cake, attempting to paint her toenails, and lamenting the fact she could barely reach them and that no wonder she was probably destined to die alone if this was how she chose to spend her spare time instead of going to glamorous socialite events with Her Fiancé (Her Fiancé!) who was undoubtedly going to break up with her the minute he found out that she had cracked open his 1993 Bollinger Blanc de Noir last night in her fit of rebellion... Talk about a quarter-life crisis.

Stumbling toward the window and crashing into things that she wasn't entirely sure were in their usual places, she grabbed her curtains and flung them closed, feeling the tiniest bit better now that the near-blinding sunset wasn't about to fry her corneas –

Wait a minute. Sunset?

That stray thought was enough to snap her lagging brain to attention. She had missed a whole day of work!

She raced toward the door of her bedroom before stopping dead in her tracks, her brain now alert enough to notice a few things:

Firstly, that her pyjamas must have somehow vanished in the middle of the night, because she certainly remembered putting them on before going to sleep.

Secondly, that wherever it was that she'd woken up, it was definitely not her own bedroom. Besides the fact that the cramped space had an extremely solid wall where her door should be, and that the sun must have inexplicably decided to mix things up a little and set in the east today, there was not a chance in hell that she would ever in a million years surround herself in so much clutter. There were things everywhere: shoes littering the floor, pictures of strangers leaning against walls instead of hanging on them, a tie or seven tossed carelessly across a desk and chair... It was like the Room of Requirement had thrown up in there, and when Ginevra spotted a very old-looking pizza box lying innocently in the middle of the floor, she thought she might throw up, too.

Thirdly, Ginevra was entirely sure that amidst the probably dirty blankets bundled on top of the bed, she could see part of a bare arse peeking out at her that was definitely not firm enough to belong to Her Fiancé.

So, naturally, she did the very first thing her very alert brain could think of: she grabbed the nearest thing to cover her naked body, and screamed at the top of her lungs.

Harry shot straight up in bed, thanking Merlin that he still slept with his wand under his pillow, even after all these years. Grabbing his glasses from the bed stand, he looked over his bedroom, searching for the culprit of Ginny's distress, but saw nothing amiss, other than Ginny crushing the blanket she had ripped off the bed against her body and staring at the wall behind him in absolute horror. Except after he glanced over his shoulder and saw nothing besides the slightly cracked stucco, he had the curious feeling that she wasn't staring at the wall so much as she was staring at him, her cheeks flushed as though in embarrassment. "Gin? What's wrong?"

The sound of his voice seemed to snap her out of whatever daze she was in. Instead she dropped the blanket to the floor, and covered her eyes. "Oh no, oh dear Merlin, no!" she cried, before she seemed to remember that she was naked and bent over, flinging out a hand to catch the blanket as she shook her head and refused to move her other hand away from her eyes. When she had finally covered herself again, she risked a glance at him through her fingers and screamed again, apparently distressed that he hadn't vanished.

She seemed at a loss as to what to do, and cried out in dismay. "How the hell did I get in your bed, Harry Potter? Naked!"

That took Harry slightly aback. He knelt on the mattress, about to reasonably talk her through what was probably some kind of anxiety attack which, Ron had mentioned, could sometimes happen close to That Time of the Month, until she almost dropped the blanket in her haste to arrange it around her body and he got a glimpse of the inky letters scrawled across her hip.

"What the bloody hell is that!" he yelled, more in shock and confusion than anger.

When she didn't acknowledge his question and began looking around the room, presumably for some kind of clothing, he leapt off the bed and, ignoring her distressed screams, grabbed her arm, twisting her body so he could see the intricate tattoo adorning her skin. "What the fuck, Ginny?"

"What the fuck, Potter?" She turned on him, wrenching her body from his grasp. "I don't know what game you're trying to play here, but it's not funny."

Harry stared at her, absolutely sure that despite any womanly problems she might be dealing with, this behaviour was definitely not normal. "What game? You've spent every weekend at my place since I bought it. What is wrong with you?"

She scoffed, her cheeks flushing pink in anger. "What's wrong with me? We haven't spoken since we were kids, and you suddenly just decided that it would be a fun joke to strip me and leave me in your bed and pretend this is normal?" She pushed him aside with as much dignity as she could muster.

"I'm going home," Ginny declared before storming out of the room.

Deep breaths, she told herself firmly as she strode into the unfamiliar apartment.

She heard Potter's hesitant footsteps follow her to the door, and she reminded herself not to look at him since he was yet to put on a pair of pants. "Gin... let me Floo Arthur to let him know you're coming."

That stopped her in her tracks, and she risked turning around to look him in the eye. "How could you?" she cried. "You know I haven't seen them since before..." She stopped, not wanting to say the words aloud, to admit how her parents had shamed the family.

Potter ran a hand through his hair, brow furrowed, maybe mistaking her hesitation for something else. "Ginny," he began, enunciating very carefully, "we were at the Burrow yesterday, remember? For Hermione's birthday supper -"

She cut him off, the last thread of her patience snapping under the weight of the unfamiliar name and place. "I swear to Merlin, Potter, you better stop making this stuff up because it's not funny," Ginevra said, her voice cold as ice.

He stopped, and looked at her cautiously, almost calculatingly. "Okay, I'll take you... home." Her relief at his concession was only slightly diminished by his skeptical pause. "Get dressed and we'll go."

Even as the tension in her body eased slightly, she couldn't shake the nagging feeling that something was off, but she steeled her resolve, determined not to worry about it - at least until she got home and cleaned some of this filth off her. "Okay... um, where are my clothes?"

Wisely, Potter said nothing, only stepped back into the bedroom to find her a bundle of things to put on, then showed her to the bathroom.

Once the door was firmly shut, Ginevra quickly examined the items she'd been given: a pair of grungy looking jeans, a plain nylon shirt, equally plain nylon underwear and a pair of ratty trainers. She nodded her head, satisfied that this must be some kind of a joke, because she had never owned anything made from synthetic material in her life, much less worn them. Sniffing disdainfully at the fact that Potter apparently expected her to wear someone else's used knickers, she opted to go without, though threw on the rest of the clothes quickly, eager to get out of this hell-hole.

When she emerged from the bathroom, Potter was sitting on the couch across the room, watching her carefully as he pulled on his own trainers. Now that she was actually clothed, albeit poorly, Ginevra was beginning to feel a little more like her old self, and so shot him an appropriately haughty look in response. She briefly considered berating him for the doubtlessly filthy clothes he had provided her with, but decided she would be better off channeling her efforts elsewhere. "My wand?"

He didn't take his eyes off her, merely nodded to the short, lopsided table in front of him where a wand was perched haphazardly on a stack of well-used books, and she hiked a slender brow at the thing. "That is not my wand," she told him emphatically, crossing her arms.

Potter blinked at her warily, gathering his thoughts before he formulated a retort, and she didn't like his tone one whit. "Well, it will have to do until you get home, won't it?"

Her lips twisted in a sneer, but with no other choice she gingerly picked the wand up between two fingers.

Potter got to his feet and gave her a pointed look. "It's a wand, Ginny, not an Acromantula."

"Ginevra," she corrected him, shuddering at the ridiculous pet name. She sniffed indignantly as she tightened her hand around the handle, and couldn't help but feel uncomfortable with the foreign instrument in her palm. She was used to the feel of sleek elm wood between her fingers, not this warped cypress thing, no matter that they were equally matched in size, flexibility and most probably core. The wand seemed to agree that this partnership was ill-advised, if the half-hearted smattering of red sparks that erupted from the end when she gripped it firmly was any indication. There really isn't anything to do about it, Ginevra thought to herself, then tilted her head loftily. "Take me home, Potter," she ordered him in the most imperious tone she could muster.

After discovering that minorly splinching oneself with a temperamental wand was really not a pleasant experience, it was with a deathly silent, twenty-minute taxi ride that they arrived at Ginevra's Kensington apartment.

Potter had been accusingly silent during the journey, though why he was still here she had no clue.

"You can leave now," she informed him, waving her hand dismissively.

Potter grabbed her hand mid-wave and stared at it, his mouth slightly open. "Don't touch me," she snapped at him, pulling her hand out of his loosened grasp. He continued to stare at her hand, as though there was something wrong with it. "What?" she asked him, but he only frowned, his mouth curving in a surprised 'O.' "Spit it out, Potter, I don't have all day."

That seemed to shake him from his stupor, though it didn't seem to work any miracles for his intelligence. "That. On your ring finger," was all he managed to get out.

She hiked a single brow and glanced down at the ancient rock, set in a delicate platinum band. "My engagement ring. Honestly, Potter, have you never picked up a copy of the Prophet?"

Potter stared at her intently, utterly lost for words. After a few moments he cleared his throat and, some kind of conclusion apparently reached, gestured to the building's entrance. "I'll see you to the door."

Ginevra narrowed her eyes at him, but turned on her heel and made her way into the building, pausing only while she waited for the doorman to hold the door for her.

As she strutted purposefully across the marble foyer like she owned the place - because, quite frankly, she did own the place - her path was blocked by a burly man in a suit. "Can I help you, madam?"

She gave the unfamiliar security guard a once-over. "You can send the lift to the penthouse for me," she told him.

It was his turn to give her a once-over. "Madam, I'm afraid that the owners won't be home for quite a while. Would you like to leave a message for them?"

Ginevra scowled at the guard, her temper flaring. What was wrong with everyone? "I am the owner, you stupid Muggle, and if you don't get out of my way I will Crucio you into oblivion -"

Potter slapped a hand across her mouth and she turned on him, elbowing him viciously in the ribs to no avail. "I am so sorry, sir, we'll just be on our way," he told the guard, who looked utterly bemused. Potter took advantage of the situation and dragged her back out onto the street.

"Are you insane?" he demanded, sotto voce, once he had dragged her all the way across the road.

"Okay, fine, I'll humour this bloody mental story you've come up with, and I won't ask any questions about that thing on your hip or that ring on your finger, but don't you dare think for a second that I will stand by and allow you to compromise the Statute of Secrecy."

She glared at him in irritation. "Am I insane? You're the one who let that filthy Muggle speak to me like that - he needs to remember his place-"

Potter grabbed her arms and shook her forcefully. "This isn't you," he told her vehemently, "'Filthy Muggle'? Using an Unforgivable on another person? This isn't you."

"Get your hands off me, you - you disgusting little blood traitor," she spat at him, trying to tear herself from his grasp to no avail as her pulse began to race with adrenaline.

He held her firmly in front of him. "This isn't you!" he repeated, as though saying it over and over would somehow make her whoever he thought she should have been, and she shook her head, wishing that this veritable stranger would let go of her.

"I said get your hands off me!" she yelled in a panic, and before she knew it the wand she'd been given was in her hand and she threw the first spell she could think of at him.

"Crucio!"

The next few moments happened so quickly that Ginevra scarcely had time to react. Potter had dropped to the ground, writhing in pain as she tried to calm her racing pulse and then she was suddenly surrounded by a trio of wizards, all pointing their wands at her.

It was then that she spotted a flash of familiar platinum blond hair. A voice she knew as intimately as her own yelled 'Stupefy,' and her last thought as her world faded into darkness was for the man who had somehow betrayed her.

Draco.

Author notes: Special thanks to Hannah Askance for her beta work, because I couldn't have done it without her.