Chapter Text
A sharp crack resounded over the deserted moonlit beach. Ginny Weasley staggered for a moment before regaining her balance, righting herself. She knew apparating drunk was a bad idea, her mum’s chidings of splinched fingers echoing in her mind, but she needed to get away from that party, fast. She held herself, arms clutched around her sides, in an attempt to catch up with her rapid breathing.
Breath in through your nose, hold it… Out through your mouth. Repeat ad nauseam.
She stood still for several moments, gathering herself. Waves crashed onto the beach in a clattering of broken shells before rolling back out. She shivered and drew her thin cardigan tighter around her skin. The dark silhouette of a building caught the moonlight only a few hundred metres ahead.
A small cottage perched where grass met sand, driftwood walls and missing shingles. She blinked for a moment, unsure why her drunken mind had brought her to Bill’s place, but she shrugged it off. He’d forgive her for the late night intrusion, he was always the calmest of her brothers.
Slipping her flats off she trudged forward, getting lost in the feeling of the cold sand in her toes. It’d been a few years since she’d been to Shell Cottage, but being there always brought her back to the month after the war, when she would show up unannounced every other day. When rows with her mum and that nauseating feeling constantly threatening to lurch out of her stomach became too much to bear.
She would walk out alone and lay limply on the beach until her skin bubbled up and peeled. Bill would eventually find her and bring her inside, where they’d sit in silence over a cup of tea gone cold, a thick blanket of grief draped over their heads. Bill was the only person she could stomach seeing for a while; being that he was so far removed from the war, and that she barely saw her dead brother’s face in his.
It was selfish, she knew that. She was hardly the only one who had lost something. She should’ve been celebrating, or she should’ve tried to help rebuild like Harry. Should’ve put aside her grief for the others. Should’ve found a way around, a way to be brave. Should’ve. She thought of George as she trudged along the beach. She thought of George—alone—and her stomach still twisted slightly in that familiar way.
A voice startled her from her reverie. “Ginny?”
She looked up to find she was already at the front gate. Bill was leaning against the other side of the fence, with a lit cigarette between his fingers and an inquisitive look.
“What the hell are you doing up this late?” She asked before she could stop herself.
“I could ask you the same,” He said and chuckled. His eyes flicked to hers as he saw her staring at the cigarette. “Don’t tell Fleur, I told her I quit.” He added with a lopsided grin.
A pause lingered as Ginny narrowed her eyes at him. She sucked her teeth then said, “Fine. But give me a drag.”
She half expected him to deny her, some nonsense about her being the youngest, but he nodded, taking a quick puff himself before handing it over to her, their fingers dancing around the lit end.
“Seriously, what are you doing here at this hour?” He looked her up and down. “Are you bleeding?” Bill added and pointed to a large red stain on her otherwise cream dress.
She looked down, suddenly worried she had in fact splinched herself before she realised what it was. “No, no, I’m fine. Just an accident with a drink, that’s all.”
“You were at a party,” He said as she returned the cigarette to his waiting fingers. She rolled her eyes, blowing the smoke in his face.
“Yes, technically, but it wasn’t one of those parties, it was much more formal. Nice dresses, fancy dress robes. It was fo- Oh! Did you hear? Harry’s going to be the new Defence Against the Dark Arts professor next year! That’s what the party was for actually.”
“Ah, that was tonight I guess. He sent an owl a few weeks back. Couldn’t make it though, what with Fleur and all,” Bill said, pointing with his thumb towards the house.
“Yeah,” she said, shuffling in place, feet feeling clumsy.
“How are things between you two by the way? It’s been, what… a year now right?”
“It’s fine. We’re fine… we talk.” She could tell from the look in his eyes that he wanted to probe deeper. She spoke before he could get the chance.
“Anyway, yes, I was at a party. One of those private rooms in the Leaky Cauldron. Loads of people there, old Hogwarts pals, virtually everyone who was in the D.A. back then, and a fair few professors too. Hagrid had to hunch all night,” she said with a small laugh. “But… well, I was standing there, a bit pissed already, and everything, I dunno… just went out of focus”
Bill raised his eyebrows slightly, “Well, there you go. You were just drunk. You still are.”
“No, not like that. I’ve been drunk plenty,” Ginny said, leaning forward opposite him on the wooden fence, the ground feeling slightly lopsided beneath her. “This was different. It was like… everything lost all of its realness. Like I suddenly lost communication with my head, and was left on my own.”
“People were talking to me, trying to chat, and it suddenly felt like I’d forgotten how to… I dunno, act human.” Ginny said with a sigh. “I didn’t even know what to do. I mean these are people I’ve known for a decade, Bill. Hermione was talking to me, asking me if I was alright, and it was like talking to a stranger.” She crossed her arms on top of one another and laid her head down.
“I think she could tell too. I told her I was sorry and I ran. I meant to apparate to my flat, honestly, but I guess I got mixed up.” She turned her head up to look at him, his brow was furrowed and he was staring directly at her, as if he was turning something over in his head.
“Sorry. I don’t mean to dump this all on you right now,” she said. They stood in silence for a few moments, Bill still staring at her.
“Tea?” He said just as the silence was reaching unbearable levels.
Ginny sighed and nodded. Bill lifted his foot up and rubbed the cigarette out on the sole of his leather sandal, before vanishing the butt. She pulled her head up and joined him on the other side of the gate, where he wrapped his arm around her shoulders and muttered, “I’ll start a fire,” before opening the paint chipped door.
She adored talking to her brothers, about anything, whether it be Quidditch, politics, or Muggle music, but she still hated how anytime she was upset she felt exactly like she was eleven again. Eleven again and just been possessed by the darkest magic possible for an entire year, feeling like a stranger in her own skin, with a mind nearly alien. The worst part was how she had truly trusted the diary. She’d spilled every single thing she could, the everyday minutia of an eleven year old girl, but also the secrets. The secrets she had never told a soul, things she hadn’t even admitted to herself.
If it hadn’t been for her family it would’ve been far, far, worse. They’d cared for her and loved her, but she hated how much she had needed it at the time. Without them she wouldn’t have gotten through. She’d done everything since then to never need to fall back on others like that, to never be so dependent. Some routines however, were hard to rewrite. Those routines written over years and years of war, love, and numbing grief.
Bill led her inside to the sitting room, where he lit a quick fire with a wandflick. His footsteps receded to the kitchen, where he returned from shortly after, two mugs in hand. Ginny nestled herself into one of the throw blankets on the sofa, a knit piece surely done by her mother.
“I hope you still take it the same,” he said as he set the steaming mug on the coffee table in front of her. She nodded, mouthing a small thanks before reaching for the mug.
“So, why don’t you start from the beginning?”
***
Ginny felt like the party was going to go poorly before she’d even left her dingy flat. Sitting on the sagging sofa fully dressed with a drained shot of vodka, she awaited nine o’clock head in hands.
It’s not that she didn’t like her friends, she loved them, but so much had changed. She was twenty-four now for one, and she wasn’t with Harry anymore; which had been shocking to everyone but them. They’d broken up in January of that year, out of a mutual understanding that they were both too utterly broken to be of any help to each other.
During his ‘bad times’ Harry would be completely absent, for days sometimes, always buried in his work, anything to keep his mind busy. On Ginny’s she would be whittled down to a million raw nerves, she’d fly off the handle at the slightest nudge. They’d both been dealing with it the best they could on their own since then, but it was hard to get past. But at least it seemed like he was moving past it now, moving on and moving up. So did all of her friends.
Harry was a successful Auror—soon to be professor—Hermione had already pushed through several humanitarian bills in the Ministry, Neville was abroad researching rare plants, even Ron was doing well with George at the Joke Shop. And Luna. Well from what Ginny could tell Luna was quite successful wherever she’d gone.
Ginny was still upset with Luna for leaving like she did. Luna had been her best friend, her brightest light in a darkened life. On the day of their graduation, still bedecked in Hogwarts regalia, Luna approached her, with that dreamy look of hers. “Hello Ginny,” she’d said, face unreadable, “I’m going away for a bit. I think I need to see some things. I will miss you dearly.”
She’d left the next month. Ginny had tried to talk her into staying, she had begged, she even offered to join her, but Luna remained stalwart. The first days after her departure Ginny was brought back to her sixth year, Luna having just been abducted off the Hogwarts Express while Ginny was completely powerless in the face of it.
Ginny had comforted herself the best she could. In the beginning she’d hoped her absence would only last a few months; but months turned into a year, and a year into six. They’d owled of course, but it was quite sporadic.
If Luna were still here, she would have someone to talk to at this dreadful party. Talking with Luna had always been easy, conversation flowing unfettered between them. She felt foolish now to think that someone as feeble as her could constrain the unstoppable force of Luna Lovegood.
She groaned and tore herself away from her brooding before checking her watch: 9:03. Raising her head from her hands she stood and made her way to the kitchen to down another shot. She reeled for a moment while she stood over the sink, the dirty dishes mocking her. She focused on the London traffic bustling outside.
Half an hour later she stepped into the Leaky Cauldron. She spied Tom the bartender, past the patrons sitting at ancient wood tables. He greeted her with a nod and pointed up. She smiled a thanks, and made for the stairs. Once up she spotted two familiar faces down the landing, leaning on the railing that overlooked the bar below.
“Oi! Ginny!” Her brother shouted. She made her way over to Ron—who was already dipping into slurred speech—and Neville. Ron pulled her into a hug, their shocking red hair becoming one mass for a moment, before Neville did the same.
“The party’s just through there,” Neville said, gesturing, glass in hand, towards the door behind them. She peeked her head inside, she could see at least fifty people all milling about. A table had been set up in the middle of the room bedecked with finger food: cornish pasties, cauldron cakes, jelly slugs, and puddings of all sorts. Adjacent to that table was a smaller circular one, with a massive glass punch bowl resting on it.
She lingered on the balcony with them for a moment, chatting. Neville had just returned from abroad that morning, a late-night portkey from Vietnam. After fumbling out a poorly worded joke about the price of tea in Vietnam she excused herself, and made her way through the door.
The room had been decorated with all of the colours of the Hogwarts houses. Streamers hung from the ceiling, and multi-coloured confetti littered the ground. Somewhere she could hear a record player belting out Muggle rock music three decades too old (Harry’s choice she presumed). Some people sat at small tables that were dotted around, enjoying the refreshments. She looked around at all of the faces swimming before her in the firelit room.
Angelina Johnson, Professor McGonagall, Terry Boot, Hannah Abbott, Pansy Parkinson?
She spotted Hagrid (you’d have to be blind not to) hunched over, conversing with an older man she didn’t recognise. She ducked her head before he could see her and rope her into a backbreaking hug, and made her way to the drinks table. Harry was standing there, dressed in Gryffindor crimson and gold, pouring himself a glass.
“So, Professor Potter is it now?” She said, walking up beside him. He looked up and smiled. They performed an awkward dance as he went for a hug and she went for a handshake, before settling somewhere in the middle.
“It’s surreal it is,” Harry said as he pulled back and gazed across the partygoers, “It’s gonna take me a bit to get used to being called that.”
“They could always call you the Boy who Taught.”
“It’s better than anything the Prophet’s come up with.”
“Of course it is.”
They stood awkwardly for a moment, both figuring out how to navigate the conversational minefield.
“So… How have you been? Has everything been going well with the job?” He asked as he fixed her with a serious look.
“Yeah, yeah, brilliant actually, had to deal with some prat from Wimbourne who thought it was perfectly legal to drink two Invigoration Draughts before a match. Truly a great use of my time,” Ginny said. She poured herself a glass of punch and drank half of it in one gulp, before filling it again.
“Seriously, have you been doing okay?” Harry said as he placed a hand on her arm. “I haven’t heard from you since August, and I know your mum’s worried too, saying you’re always sitting at home alone.”
“Harry, I’m fine,” she snapped. “I’m my own person and I can take care of myself. I don’t need you, or mum, or Ickle Ronniekins nosing in my business.”
Harry retracted his hand at that and sighed. “Sorry, I know it’s different after… you know,” he said, gesturing between them. “But I still care, and so does everyone else.”
She fixed him with a wilting glare, before letting it fall. “Sorry too, I know… I didn’t mean to snap. It’s just been hard, I dunno, being around lately. In general.”
Ginny hesitated, unsure whether to continue, but was saved from decision as Hagrid finally loped up and pulled them both into a suffocating hug. Once they’d been released and Ginny was sure all of her ribs were intact, she excused herself once again, this time to find an area more private. She found a deserted table in the corner and sat down, holding her drink to her head. The cold glass against her forehead was refreshing in what was beginning to be a very warm room.
She’d barely been there half an hour and already she was bungling it. She’d hurtled through her conversation with Ron and Neville with all the grace of a newborn unicorn, and had been a right bitch to Harry. A new record in the book of Ginny Weasley.
She slumped in the chair for a couple of hours, various old friends drifting by to chat with her. Ginny knew they were all so much more successful than her, but it almost felt like they were rubbing it in. Dejectedly she made small talk but even that felt fleeting at best. As she watched the various partygoers buzz about drunkenly, having a good time felt like a distant memory.
It was her fault of course. She hadn’t even tried. Getting drunk before arriving, working herself up into a tizzy. She’d fought in a war, nearly died many times, and yet she was reduced to absolute nothingness over this. For the second time that night she missed Luna.
Everything very quickly started to seem very loud. The twangy voice and stilted guitar from the record player was becoming maddening. Oh-oh-oh-oh-oh-ohhh, you don’t have to go, it sang over the din of mingled voices.
Ginny hadn’t realised her hands were shaking until she missed her mouth and spilled the remains of her punch glass on her dress. She looked down and swore. She took a deep breath to calm herself from the anger that had quickly risen. The large red splotch that now adorned her dress was fine, she was well adjusted, she could deal with it. An empty glass was not something she could deal with though. She stood and looked up into a great mane of brown hair right in front of her.
Ginny swore loudly as Hermione Granger jumped back a few inches. “Merlin, Hermione, do you always walk so quietly?”
“Very sorry, really. Grabbing another drink? Great I’ll join you,” Hermione said, speaking very quickly. Before she could reply Hermione had roped her hand around her arm and started tugging her towards the drinks table. Ginny narrowed her eyes at the back of Hermione’s head. Something was off, Hermione had always been bad at hiding things.
As they wove through the crowd she spotted Professor Flitwick. He was standing on a chair before a blurry crowd of people, doing an animated impression of something that they clearly found amusing. Their laughter made her feel sick.
Hermione took her glass once they arrived and refilled it for her before handing it back. “What have you been up to lately, any new dates?” Hermione asked, making unnerving eye contact.
In the first months after the split she’d entertained dates, nice dinners and museum outings, but they never felt whole, something important always missing. They all burned out eventually, until it was just meaningless sex with strangers. But she wasn’t going to say all of that, instead she quickly drained her glass and shrugged. Her head was throbbing.
“Ginny,” Hermione said as she dropped her voice and leaned towards her. “I know this hasn’t been the best year, but-“
“Did Harry put you up to this?” Ginny said, trying to steady her breathing. She felt like she was standing in the most crowded spot in the room, elbows bumping into her side.
“Well, yes, he did tell me you weren’t doing well, but…” Hermione clutched her shoulders “Oh you’re my friend Ginny, I’m not asking because of him, I’m asking because I care. I haven’t seen you in months!”
Ginny stared at her in silence, jaw clenched. She was on the verge of tears, nearing nausea. She downed her glass again, and tried to think of something appropriate to say while Hermione’s eyes bore into her.
“I-” Ginny started. She looked around at the people surrounding her, feeling infinitely alone in this room of friends. All of these people were so happy.
A crack that had slowly been forming over the past few months abruptly widened into a chasm and Ginny was on the edge, her head reeling from the vertigo. She could feel the tears welling up then, and she looked up again, at the woman in front of her, and she was met with a face like a mask. The woman she’d known for nearly fifteen years.
“I’m so sorry,” she blurted out before dropping her glass on the table with a clatter and rushing towards the door. She heard Hermione behind her calling her name, she could feel people’s heads turning to look. She could almost hear her name on their lips.
She made it to the bathroom finally, and wrenched a stall door open. A yelp came from the neighbouring stall as she slammed the door shut. She sat down on the toilet and gathered her breath, trying to calm herself down enough to apparate. She heard the bathroom door open.
“Ginny, please,” was all she heard Hermione say before she apparated.