C4: Not Just a River in Egypt
“Jesus Christ,” Ron said as he trespassed on Ginny’s sanctuary, the flat she lived in in Wales where she could hide from the press, her adoring fans, her family (sometimes). But never herself. No, unfortunately, Ginny could not hide from herself.
Blinking in the bright light emanating from her front door, obscuring Ron’s features from view, Ginny groaned out, “Why are you cursing like a Muggle?”
Ron closed the door, encasing them in darkness, which he remedied with a flick of his wand. Light shined from the tip as he gingerly came closer, careful with his feet so as not to step on her empty bottles and all the rubbish she’d left on the floor.
“Hermione says it sometimes and then covers her mouth like she didn’t mean it. It makes me laugh to see her face when I use it because she can’t say anything without sounding like a hypocrite.”
“How romantic.”
Ginny groaned again when he reached the lamp in the corner and turned it on, her head pounding now that her brain was being stimulated against its wishes. She slowly lifted herself off the floor, flopping onto the sofa as if that would make her a better host. Why she bothered, she didn’t know. For one thing, the sofa felt no more comfortable in her inebriated state than the floor did. For another, she didn’t care what Ron thought and hoped he’d bugger off any second now.
Instead he started picking up her trash, which meant he planned to stay for a while. Normally she would have fussed at him for making her feel incompetent in her own home, but the result would be a clean flat, so maybe enduring him for a while would be worth the outcome.
“Heard about the match,” Ron said.
Oh, good. They were getting straight to the point. “Did Malfoy tell you about it?”
“No.” He lifted a bottle to his nose and took a sniff, a shudder going through him as the smell registered. “Malfoy told Harry, who told me.”
The exceptional amount of alcohol she had consumed all day made her whole body numb and floaty, which stifled the physical manifestation of her anger. In fact, under the influence, her anger was mere irritation.
She said nothing because opening her mouth in this state always led to her feeling like the immature one of the two. Ron continued picking up her rubbish and depositing it on her kitchen counter, the bottles lined up like marching soldiers, the sweets wrappers and crisp bags in a neat pile, the dirty dishes stacked precariously in her full sink.
Ginny leaned her head back and closed her eyes, suppressing a groan as the world spun around her.
Finally, Ron returned to the sofa and sat down, pressing a cold glass of water into her hands. Ginny desperately wanted to drink it, to wash out the bad taste in her mouth, to try to clear her head. But she didn’t want to give Ron the satisfaction of knowing exactly what she needed, and she was loathe to get rid of the tingly numbness in her body.
“You know,” Ron said in an offhand fashion, “Malfoy’s team isn’t allowed to drink alcohol.”
She jerked away from him, affronted by the casual mention of her nemesis’s name.
“Did Harry tell you that, too?”
“No, Malfoy did. At Victoire’s birthday party, which you didn’t attend.”
“You didn’t need me with Malfoy there.”
With an exasperated roll of his eyes, he said, “For the last time, we haven’t replaced you with him.”
She’d never said they had, but why was it so difficult for him to understand her refusal to attend family events to which Malfoy had been invited? Why did he and Harry and Hermione always act like she was being unreasonable about this decision? She wasn’t used to being seen as less level-headed than Ron, and she certainly despised feeling that way in her own home.
Changing tracks, but only slightly, Ron pleaded with her. “Can we talk about the match, please?”
“What is there to talk about? I owe Malfoy five life debts now. And also we lost. What else could we possibly discuss about my uneventful weekend?”
“You’re right,” he said grimly as he stood up. “I guess there’s nothing left to say.” He went to the door and opened it a crack, harsh light once more flooding the small flat, leaving Ginny blinking in its wake. “Dominique’s birthday party is next week. Malfoy might be there. If you don’t show, the only people you’ll be disappointing are your nieces, who adore their famous Aunt Ginny. The rest of us? We don’t care anymore if you visit or not.”
He let himself out at that point, and the lamp he’d turned on earlier turned off with his absence, leaving Ginny sitting in the dark once more.
“What a bastard,” she said with an annoyed huff, though she couldn’t help but feel like she was the irrational bastard here.
“No, I’m not,” she said to herself.
But there was no one to convince. She was alone.
By the time Ginny mustered up enough energy to pull herself off the sofa and out of the dark, her buzz had all but disappeared, leaving behind a head that felt stuffed to the brim with cotton and a stomach that revolted against her, threatening to dispel its contents against her strict wishes. Three glasses of water and a shower had her almost back in tip-top shape, her head and stomach now only weakly rebelling against her.
Ron’s visit had been short, and he hadn’t said anything Ginny hadn’t heard before. This time, however, she decided to read between the things he’d said. Instead of You should be friends with Malfoy because Harry, Hermione, and I are idiots who’ve forgiven him, so you should, too! Ginny heard, You shouldn’t let Malfoy stop you from doing things you want to do, like spending time with your family!
This time she would give Ron the benefit of the doubt by assuming he’d stopped by with the intention of communicating the latter sentiment and not the former.
Shopping was her first order of business post-shower, because she had decided she was going to Dominique’s birthday party. After all, it wasn’t every day one of her nieces turned two, and she wasn’t going to let Malfoy have any sway over her decision to see her family.
If her arrival at the party smoothed things over with said family, too? Well, that was just a lucky coincidence. This was one-hundred percent an opportunity to show Malfoy that she didn’t care one bit about him, that his presence did not affect her life or her choices.
Because it didn’t.
Not at all.
“Jesus Christ,” Ron said as he trespassed on Ginny’s sanctuary, the flat she lived in in Wales where she could hide from the press, her adoring fans, her family (sometimes). But never herself. No, unfortunately, Ginny could not hide from herself.
Blinking in the bright light emanating from her front door, obscuring Ron’s features from view, Ginny groaned out, “Why are you cursing like a Muggle?”
Ron closed the door, encasing them in darkness, which he remedied with a flick of his wand. Light shined from the tip as he gingerly came closer, careful with his feet so as not to step on her empty bottles and all the rubbish she’d left on the floor.
“Hermione says it sometimes and then covers her mouth like she didn’t mean it. It makes me laugh to see her face when I use it because she can’t say anything without sounding like a hypocrite.”
“How romantic.”
Ginny groaned again when he reached the lamp in the corner and turned it on, her head pounding now that her brain was being stimulated against its wishes. She slowly lifted herself off the floor, flopping onto the sofa as if that would make her a better host. Why she bothered, she didn’t know. For one thing, the sofa felt no more comfortable in her inebriated state than the floor did. For another, she didn’t care what Ron thought and hoped he’d bugger off any second now.
Instead he started picking up her trash, which meant he planned to stay for a while. Normally she would have fussed at him for making her feel incompetent in her own home, but the result would be a clean flat, so maybe enduring him for a while would be worth the outcome.
“Heard about the match,” Ron said.
Oh, good. They were getting straight to the point. “Did Malfoy tell you about it?”
“No.” He lifted a bottle to his nose and took a sniff, a shudder going through him as the smell registered. “Malfoy told Harry, who told me.”
The exceptional amount of alcohol she had consumed all day made her whole body numb and floaty, which stifled the physical manifestation of her anger. In fact, under the influence, her anger was mere irritation.
She said nothing because opening her mouth in this state always led to her feeling like the immature one of the two. Ron continued picking up her rubbish and depositing it on her kitchen counter, the bottles lined up like marching soldiers, the sweets wrappers and crisp bags in a neat pile, the dirty dishes stacked precariously in her full sink.
Ginny leaned her head back and closed her eyes, suppressing a groan as the world spun around her.
Finally, Ron returned to the sofa and sat down, pressing a cold glass of water into her hands. Ginny desperately wanted to drink it, to wash out the bad taste in her mouth, to try to clear her head. But she didn’t want to give Ron the satisfaction of knowing exactly what she needed, and she was loathe to get rid of the tingly numbness in her body.
“You know,” Ron said in an offhand fashion, “Malfoy’s team isn’t allowed to drink alcohol.”
She jerked away from him, affronted by the casual mention of her nemesis’s name.
“Did Harry tell you that, too?”
“No, Malfoy did. At Victoire’s birthday party, which you didn’t attend.”
“You didn’t need me with Malfoy there.”
With an exasperated roll of his eyes, he said, “For the last time, we haven’t replaced you with him.”
She’d never said they had, but why was it so difficult for him to understand her refusal to attend family events to which Malfoy had been invited? Why did he and Harry and Hermione always act like she was being unreasonable about this decision? She wasn’t used to being seen as less level-headed than Ron, and she certainly despised feeling that way in her own home.
Changing tracks, but only slightly, Ron pleaded with her. “Can we talk about the match, please?”
“What is there to talk about? I owe Malfoy five life debts now. And also we lost. What else could we possibly discuss about my uneventful weekend?”
“You’re right,” he said grimly as he stood up. “I guess there’s nothing left to say.” He went to the door and opened it a crack, harsh light once more flooding the small flat, leaving Ginny blinking in its wake. “Dominique’s birthday party is next week. Malfoy might be there. If you don’t show, the only people you’ll be disappointing are your nieces, who adore their famous Aunt Ginny. The rest of us? We don’t care anymore if you visit or not.”
He let himself out at that point, and the lamp he’d turned on earlier turned off with his absence, leaving Ginny sitting in the dark once more.
“What a bastard,” she said with an annoyed huff, though she couldn’t help but feel like she was the irrational bastard here.
“No, I’m not,” she said to herself.
But there was no one to convince. She was alone.
By the time Ginny mustered up enough energy to pull herself off the sofa and out of the dark, her buzz had all but disappeared, leaving behind a head that felt stuffed to the brim with cotton and a stomach that revolted against her, threatening to dispel its contents against her strict wishes. Three glasses of water and a shower had her almost back in tip-top shape, her head and stomach now only weakly rebelling against her.
Ron’s visit had been short, and he hadn’t said anything Ginny hadn’t heard before. This time, however, she decided to read between the things he’d said. Instead of You should be friends with Malfoy because Harry, Hermione, and I are idiots who’ve forgiven him, so you should, too! Ginny heard, You shouldn’t let Malfoy stop you from doing things you want to do, like spending time with your family!
This time she would give Ron the benefit of the doubt by assuming he’d stopped by with the intention of communicating the latter sentiment and not the former.
Shopping was her first order of business post-shower, because she had decided she was going to Dominique’s birthday party. After all, it wasn’t every day one of her nieces turned two, and she wasn’t going to let Malfoy have any sway over her decision to see her family.
If her arrival at the party smoothed things over with said family, too? Well, that was just a lucky coincidence. This was one-hundred percent an opportunity to show Malfoy that she didn’t care one bit about him, that his presence did not affect her life or her choices.
Because it didn’t.
Not at all.
Author notes:
Chapter five is almost done, so there will be a new update for sure next week!!
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