CHAPTER FOUR
A first class ticket to the city of Boston
Is all she knows of her destiny
The boarding process wasn't so bad, she thought as she settled comfortably into her seat. After all, it wasn't that much different from a train. But the skirt was another matter altogether. Every few moments she'd tug self-consciously at the material, feeling as though her legs were overexposed.
"You'll want to dress the part," Molly had insisted briskly, picking out the clothes with the efficiency-and insistence-of a drill sergeant. If she couldn't stop her only daughter from going, she could at least have a hand in helping her go.
"Well, then, hello love!" A portly woman bustled down the aisle and sat into the seat next to Ginny, rocking back and forth a little as though to make the seat conform to her plump bottom. "Looks as though we'll be getting chummy on the flight, eh?"
Ginny nodded mutely, smiling. It would be a comfort, she supposed. If there was someone to talk to, it would stave off the nerves. Don't you mean it would stave off the wild daydreams? she asked herself frankly.
"Name's Iris Hannigan," she said, stretching out a many-ringed hand to shake.
"Ginny Weasley." Ginny found her small hand engulfed by the jeweled hand of the older woman and stifled a giggle. Doubtless the woman would be horrified if she knew the girl she was sitting next to was flying halfway around the world to meet a faceless man with illicit intentions.
"You look nervous, m'dear. First time flying?"
"No," Ginny said automatically, thinking of brooms. Her face flushed and she amended her statement. "Well, first time in a plane."
"Ohhhh!" the woman stretched out the syllable knowingly, making Ginny's blood run cold. Had she given up too much? It would be just like her to be apprehended on the plane for revealing herself to a Muggle. "Helicopters, bloody marvels, aren't they?"
Gratefully, Ginny nodded. It was mortifying to feel so stupid, she thought. She hadn't the slightest idea of what she was doing, how she was supposed to be acting, and all for what? A mystery.
"If you don't mind me asking, dearie, how is it a young girl as yourself is traveling first class?" Iris leaned into the aisle and snagged a drink from a passing cart, smiling matronly at the stewardess.
First class? Ginny's brow furrowed as she tried to puzzle out the woman's meaning. Luckily for her, however, Iris Hannigan wasn't one to allow conversational holes.
"I don't mean any ill, of course. I'm only flying first class because my husband dotes on me." So saying, she wiggled her fingers, sending light bouncing off the many rings.
"Wh-what are you going to Boston for?" Ginny found the nerve to ask. There now… that was more normal. Making conversation instead of staring like a dolt.
"I'm visiting a cousin," Iris said confidentially. "Isn't it exciting? Is it family for you? What's the name, love? Perhaps I know them." But before Ginny could answer, the loquacious woman was barreling on. "Then again, perhaps I don't. You know Boston, it's all about old money and family lineage. They're more blue-blooded than the royal family." With that proclamation she laughed, a long, genuine laugh that had people in other seats turning and looking.
Ginny's brain circled warily around the words, around all those things that pointed to the identity of her host; she didn't want to uncover what they pointed to.
Expensive ticket to a ritzy town.
Blue-blooded people, proud of their families.
She'd closed her eyes with a small whimper when Iris elbowed her cheerily. "Buck up, darling. Someone must want very much to see you."
That's what I'm afraid of, Ginny thought with her head, even as she spoke from her heart.
"That's what I'm hoping."
When she touches down
Will her feet hit the ground
It was smoother than the Knight Bus, that much was for certain, and it lacked the free feel of a broom ride. But all in all, Ginny decided, flying in an airplane wasn't so bad. It certainly wasn't the plane making her nauseous-it was her nerves. An hour into the two and a half hour flight, Ginny was valiantly fighting sleep. The last thing she needed was to have one of those dreams and wake up moaning-or worse. The whole plane would think she'd gone completely jakers.
As Iris snoozed beside her, emitting soft, ladylike snores, Ginny read the magazine provided but felt sick after looking too long at several of the strange, stationary pictures.
Finally, resigning herself to the fact that there wasn't any sort of Muggle entertainment she'd be able to convincingly peruse, she laid her head against the seat and looked out the window.
The clouds streaking by were a welcome sight, one she hadn't even realized she'd missed. She hadn't flown since her brief stint as Seeker in her fourth year; after that, there had been little time for Quidditch. The war had blown full after that, and Slytherin had barely had a team. Slytherins seemed to go missing by the day, their parents dead or imprisoned or worse. And it was anyone's guess what had happened to the students themselves.
Rolling her eyes at the melodramatic turn she'd let her thoughts take, Ginny cast her eyes away from the window, never even realizing her eyes were drifting slowly shut.
There were flames again, but this time she was clothed, standing amidst the flames and seeking someone, expecting someone. But it was impossible to see if he was coming for her or not, coming through all those strange, yellow-green flames.
Her body felt sorely used, and somewhere deep in Ginny's subconscious, she realized it could have taken place after the previous dream-that would explain the slight ache between her thighs, the fact that her mouth felt chafed and bruised.
She turned in a circle, losing her bearings in the room full of flames, and she could feel the wild mix of emotions boiling inside her.
Desperation, anger, lust, and fear.
And through it all, she looked for him, not knowing who he was, but sure she'd know as soon as she saw him.
~~~
She awoke with a jerk, her eyes skittering wildly from side to side. Had she spoken in her sleep? Moaned? Screamed? Any
of those were possible, she knew. But none of the Muggles were looking at her, and she breathed a heavy sigh of
relief.
"Strap in, love, lest you want to fly out of your seat when we land." For a short, frightening moment, Iris's face hung suspended in front of Ginny's, her surplus of eye makeup making her look a bit manic.
"Right, then," Ginny said weakly, her hands fumbling a bit with the unfamiliar buckles and contraptions. She was sharp enough, though, and had herself secured within moments.
It all happened a bit too quickly, like time charmed to run fast, and before she could even gather her bearings and take the time to realize she was in America, she was off the plane and walking on American soil. It seemed too wide-open, too bright, too hard.
"Good luck!" Iris called, picking a bag off the large moving belt and disappearing into the crowd, leaving Ginny once again completely alone.
There were people hugging family members, people waving at long-absent friends. There were those holding simple signs and those holding banners, and it didn't take Ginny long to come to a simple conclusion.
There was no one there with her name on a sign, plain, flashy, or otherwise.
Her shoulders dropped and her mind piped up immediately with a cynicism she'd held back in her personality, a cynicism few ever saw. You didn't think anyone was really going to be here, did you? The only guy that ever paid you more than the required attention was the epitome of evil, drawn out from memories and all but dead.
And then a hand descended on her shoulder.
"This way, Miss Weasley." Her heart leapt in her chest as she clutched her single suitcase tighter to her and eyed the thin, middle-aged man standing beside her.
"I'm not going anywhere with you! Who the hell are you?" Disappointment warred with fear as she looked the balding man over. She didn't know this man, and he certainly wasn't the one from her dreams.
He at least had hair.
"I'm the person picking you up," he retorted in the bored tones of one long used to tantrums and long used to waiting them out. "I've specific instructions to take you back to my employer's home. And before you ask, part of that specificity was anonymity, so don't even ask." And so saying, he held one hand out while he let his nose inch a bit farther into the air.
Some arrogant bastard, she thought, had sent a servant for her.
It was getting harder and harder to look away from where the clues pointed.
All signs point to rich and conceited, she thought, hiking her own chin in the air as she held onto her suitcase for herself and followed the man to the curb.