When You Return
A/N: Between the 6th December and 20th December, Ginny has met up with everyone except for Bill.
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Chapter Four
-> This Is Love
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The Burrow, Ottery St. Catchpole: 6th December 2008
Dear George, Katie, Arthur, Frank, Guy and Timothy... Dear Mr. Lovegood... Dear Fred... Dear Mr. and Mrs. Bell... Dear Bill, Fleur and Agnes... Dear Harry and Hermione...
Ginny shook her hand, two specks of green ink flying through the air to land beside Hermione's name. She didn't know how all these people were going to fit in the Burrow on Christmas day, but nobody else had commented on it, so she kept her mouth shut as well. She crossed off Harry and Hermione's name on the list of guests her mother had written up for her, and read the next name.
Dear Percy, she wrote. There wasn't really a point in sending an invitation to Percy, unless her mother was still hoping for him to have a change in heart and come back to his family. Maybe what she was thinking was what her family would have thought about her - that she wouldn't come back. Regardless, she finished the card, placed it in one of the creamy, floral envelopes, wrote Percy's name on the envelope, and put it in the pile with all the other cards.
'Mail.' Ron grunted, chucking two letters onto the table, in front of Ginny. 'Luna, Luna, Luna, Dad, Luna.' he read, placing the pile on the kitchen counter and sighing. 'Why is there never any mail for me?'
Ginny slid her two letters towards her, across the table. With her right index finger, she carefully tore the envelope of the first, pulling the letter out and unfolding it. Ron took the list of guests for the Christmas reunion, and began reading them, muttering things under his breath at certain names, and grunting loudly and disapprovingly at the end. Ginny guessed he had reached the last name - Percy's.
Dear Miss Ginevra Weasley,
Your work as a highly-qualified auror will resume on the 2nd of January, 2009.
Ginny groaned.
'Work?' Ron asked.
'Yes. How'd you know?'
'Macmillan made it known by all of level 2 that an auror from the IFM would be beginning work in the Ministry, and so everyone had to polish their shoes and behave so that you don't go dobbing them into the president of IFM. Not in those exact words, of course, because he added a thousand more complicated words like he always does.'
Ginny laughed, imagining herself strutting down the level 2 corridor, and hearing every staff member become dead silent at the sound of her red Henrietta high heels clicking against the marble floor. But they probably had carpet floors.
Your office will be situated on level two of the Ministry of Magic, and you will be expected to be at work Monday-Friday at 10am.
Yours sincerely,
Ernest Macmillan
Minister of Magic
'Ten o'clock on Monday the 2nd of January.' Ginny said, yawning. 'I'll hate having to wake up so early.'
'Ten o'clock?' Ron asked, appalled, he took the letter from her hands and read it himself. 'I have to be in by eight!'
'Yes, but remember, Mr. Ronald Weasley, that I am part of the International Federation of Magic.' she said, pursing her lips, raising two skeptical eyebrows and holding up her chin, which reminded Ron spectacularly of Professor McGonagall.
Ron grunted, stretching out his legs underneath the table, and folding his arms behind his head. After a while, he seemed to decide this wasn't a comfortable position to sit in, and resumed to as he had sat moments before. 'Have you got tickets for the Quidditch World Cup, Gin?' Ron asked. 'I would have bought you a ticket, but I bought them before you came back. We've got one of the top boxes.' He said, grinning widely.
Magnus had been vibrantly ecstatic about the debates over whether the Quidditch World Cup was safe to be resumed. Ginny thought it was all rather silly. You-Know-Who was dead now, so what was the big deal about holding another tournament?
'I'll buy a ticket sometime. I'm sure I'll be able to get a good seat, seeing I'm a member of the IFM.' she said, winking teasingly. She began to tear the next envelope, Ron muttering imitations under his breath, a mocking expression playing across his freckled face.
Dear Ginny,
I have been asked to attend the opening event for the Quidditch World Cup, which is limited to specific guests involved in the sponsorship and management of the tournament. I have been asked to accompany Morag MacDougal as a photographer - she representing the Daily Prophet, a sponsor of the Quidditch World Cup.
I am sure it will be an event quite unlike any other, and it would be in the best interests to a person's reputation to attend, as well as being quite an entertaining night. It is on the 20th December, and I would be pleased if you would accompany me.
Yours,
Colin
'I have been invited to the opening event for the Quidditch World Cup.' Ginny said, turning the invitation over and scribbling her response:
Colin,
I would love to come with you. It sounds like fun, and I will speak to you soon about it.
Love Ginny
'Well, Miss I'm-An-IFM-auror, I happen to have been invited as well.' Ron said triumphantly. 'The Ministry aurors have donated money for defence purposes.'
'Really? Well that's convenient; you can take me.'
'Nice try, Ginny, but no.' Ron said, standing up lazily and stretching. 'I'm not going. I'll be watching my son's Quidditch game, for the Kids Quidditch Club. It means a lot to him, that I come.'
---
Stockholm, Sweden: 20th December 2008
Magnus Christensen wiped his forehead with his shirt as he made his way across the Quidditch stadium. His wet hair was tangled and ruffled -- a silent blonde mass of thick hair, cut professionally to look like he never got it cut. He was a failure with his wand, but a legend on his broomstick, and the world loved him. Life was good for him.
'That turn was nice there, Magnus, but you're still grabbing that quaffle rather clumsily.' his coach said. Magnus didn't believe the uptight bastard had ever complimented any of the players in his whole three years coaching.
Signe had now come up behind him, her shirt gripping tightly to her small framed body, a few sizes too small, Magnus thought. Her hand brushed his arm flirtingly, but she didn't look at him, but just at Coach Hansen, her cold blue eyes peering up at him as he spoke, and her long eyelashes clinging to the skin under her thin brows.
'Quidditch Cup starts soon, and I'll be kicking off players instantly if I see any reason for it.' he said gruffly. 'That includes world-famous models. I don't care if your picture's on the front of Witch Weekly.'
Magnus didn't look up at him, because he knew the coach wouldn't be looking at him. He waited for Hansen to finish his speech, then walked past him and through the stands, Signe following him, her feet dragging against the stairs as she walked. The sun was only just invisible, and a sliver of silver moon had already taken its position in the sky.
'Signe, what we've got, we have to end.' he eventually said, looking up at her, exasperated. His ocean blue eyes peeled widely opened as he waited for her reaction. She didn't say anything, but opened her mouth hopelessly, and shook her head. 'It will never work!'
'Are you still in love with that red-head British girl?' Signe asked accusingly, snatching a cloth from her bag and beginning to wipe down her broom. 'She's gone now, Magnus! She's not coming back for you!'
'How do you know she's not going to come back here?' Magnus exclaimed brutally, sitting down at the seat opposite her, seperated by the isle leading down to the field. 'Of course she'll come back for me! Every other girl comes back for me!'
'She doesn't need you!' she proclaimed, and she stuffed the cloth back in her bag. Her hair was short, ending just below her ears, and blonde. She was beautiful, yes, but he wasn't going to keep her. 'She has lots of money already, so she doesn't need you!'
'We were in love, Signe! Of course she needs me!'
'You were in love before, Magnus. But she doesn't love you anymore.' Signe said coldly. 'Forget her.'
'Don't be stupid.' Magnus said, because he didn't know what else to say. He looked down sulkily, like a little boy who's mother wouldn't give him Bertie Botts', and didn't say anything to her.
'She isn't pretty anyway.' Signe said dignantly, and she stood up from her seat and stepped towards Magnus. 'I think, well it's only my opinion, but I think I'm prettier than her.'
Maybe Signe was prettier than Ginny. Magnus turned this through his head, but his mind still rested with the same opinion. Signe was like him - both a player in Quidditch, and a player in love. He didn't want that. He wanted someone to love him, and be loyal to him; faithful to him. Signe had been with Axel last Friday and hadn't come back to his own apartment until the next morning. There was no doubt about what happened there.
Her hands slid down his shoulders to the sides of his neck, and she bent down to kiss him on his cheek, which was flushed red from playing Quidditch. He ignored this gesture, slumping lower into his seat instead.
'Honey, forget her.' she said slowly, coming to face him. He looked up at her, scowling. She was gazing at him hopelessly, almost pleadingly, her blonde hair hanging loosely over her face, so that a strand lay upon her bottom, rose pink lip. He stood up, so that his face was inches from hers. Ginny was shorter than him; Signe was nearly the same height. He had preferred Ginny's height, as it made him feel more powerful; more superior.
She blinked, smiled, and placed a kiss on the corner of his lips, and then her tongue slid into his mouth, so that he couldn't resist her pleading gestures any longer. One arm slid around her waist, the other still holding his broom, and he deepened the kiss, pressing her so tightly to his body that her stomach was against his own.
---
Malfoy Manor, England: 20th December 2008
'Oh yes, Hannah Abbott wasn't it? I remember you from school!' Pansy said, pulling a fake big smile and patting Hannah on the arm. 'Of course we weren't good friends then, but that was a long time ago! Oh, I remember that time I gave you that hair strengthener, and really, it was cursed to make your hair fall out!' She laughed shrilly, arching her b ack and looking up at the ceiling as she did so.
Draco, catching the look on the Minister's and his wife's face, took her pudgy arm and pulled her away, leaving both Mr. and Mrs. Macmillan without a last word. She wore her provocative black dress robes, which cut unattractively into her back, showing layers of bare fat on her stomach and back. Draco winced, wishing that he had stopped her at Madam Malkin's, and told her to buy a less revealing set of robes.
'Why did you do that, darling? I was having fun talking to Mrs. Macmillan!' Draco did not answer her, but instead took her to a group of conversed witches and wizards standing relatively close to the food table. 'Oh look, it's your mother, over there. Who's she talking to right now?'
'Mrs. Crabbe.' Draco said, taking wide strides towards his thin, tall and petite mother, who looked relatively small compared to the large build of Mrs. Crabbe.
'Draco, look at you!' Mrs. Crabbe squealed, taking small hurried steps towards him and placing both of her hands on his arms. 'You've become so big and handsome!'
'Just like his father.' Narcissa said monotonously, placing one hand on the edge of the beverages table, while she held a champagne glass in the other hand. 'Draco, I wish to find Regina Greengrass. Have you any idea of where I should find her?'
'She is over there, approaching the Minister.' Draco said, freeing himself from Mrs. Crabbe's grip and standing a bit further away. Narcissa wandered off, her sky blue robes rippling as she walked, accentuating her narrow curves.
'Neville Longbottom Hall...' Mrs. Crabbe said, sighing. 'If Vincent had died fighting You-Know-Who instead of fighting with him, there might have been a Vincent Crabbe Hall.' Two tears welled up in her eyes, and she wiped them away, patting Draco's arm. 'If only he'd have let me draw a small line with my quill on the side of the wand he needed to hold, he wouldn't have killed himself--' she let out a rasping breath. '--with the killing curse!'
Draco was not the type to sympathize. It was one of the few things he could not do. He peered frantically around the room, allowed Pansy to calm Mrs. Crabbe down, and left in the opposite direction.
'Mr. Malfoy, fancy a pumpkin juice?' Ernie asked pompously as he passed. He handed Draco a glass of the orange substance, and Draco drank it unwillingly, as he had never liked pumpkin juice. 'It will be not long before the Weasleys arrive, and I shall resort to the Ministry lounge upstairs. I am sure that by the time I come back down, the place will have been torn into pieces.'
Macmillan was perfectly correct, Draco thought. Messieurs Fred and George Weasley had a new entrance joke for every event they were invited to, and though it pleased most, it did not do the same for him, and neither, Draco acknowledged, did it please Macmillan.
'I was almost inclined to reject them as sponsors.' Ernie said. 'But as Finnigan pointed out, what kind of an idiot would turn down that amount of money when it's shoved in front of their nose?'
Draco did not answer this. He didn't know which option was more idiotic - accepting the Weasleys as sponsors, or turning down their vast fortune of money.
'Ah, Mr. Creevey!' Ernie said suddenly, beckoning for a tall, thin man to come towards him. Mr. Creevey nodded, gently touched the arm of an auburn haired woman beside him, who was speaking to Hannah Abbott, said something in her ear, and came towards, them, his partner following him.
Ginny Weasley.
'I suppose you remember Colin and Miss Weasley from school, Mr. Malfoy.' Ernie said, taking another glass of pumpkin juice as the round saucer-shaped plate levitated past them.
'Yes.' Draco said stiffly. 'Yes, I do.'
'Well Miss Weasley has just come back from Sweden.' Ernie said cheerfully, and she smiled, but not for long, and she resumed scowling at Draco. 'Interesting life you leave, eh?'
'Yes, very. I must admit.' Ginny said, once again smiling for a limited time.
'Italy as well, I hear.' Draco said. 'You fought Voldemort's followers there, I hear.' He ignored Ernie's hiss at Voldemort's name.
'Yes, but I wasn't officially an auror then. I hadn't finished my training.'
'Even more complimenting to yourself.' Draco said gruffly.
'Colin's a photographer for the Daily Prophet, Mr. Malfoy.' Ernie said. 'And speaking about your job, Colin, I need that camera to start clicking. There are a lot of important people here.' His eyes glanced towards the door, and he grimaced. 'Ah, it is time for me to go upstairs.'
'Introducing...' came a loud booming voice, and Draco took a step to the side to see past Colin's head. 'Fred and George Weasley!'
The hall burst into tumultous applause, cheering and clapping at George's words. 'It is with great regret that I announce that you will all leave tonight in no worse condition than when you entered.' More applause, mixed with an assortment of disappointed yells. 'However, we will be signing autographs from eleven til midnight!'
'Could I have your autograph early?' Ginny asked, George having now walked up to them.
'You can have it anytime.' George said, flicking his hand carelessly. 'This party looks a bore.'
'How do you like first page of the Prophet, Mr. Weasley?' Colin asked, turning around his muggle camera to show George the pictures he had taken of their entrance.
'You're too good, mate.' George said. 'Ah! Harry!' He greeted, holding his hand out to the raven haired man who had just entered. 'Always fashionably late, you are!' He raised his hand to his forehead and bowed, then left with Harry towards the beverage table.
Draco winced at George's clothing. It was entirely dragon skin, and though it was the most expensive material available, it looked absolutely horrible. He wore three different shades of green dragon scales, and, peering over at Fred, he noticed that he was wearing three different shades of red dragon scales.
'Darling, dance with me. Look, Mr. Fred Weasley and Mrs. Hannah Abbott have started a trend.'
'Then I won't be following it.'
He winced at her clothing as well.
'Look, even your mother is dancing, with Harold Greengrass.' Pansy said, pointing his graceful mother out. And with that, she dragged him to the center of the hall.
---
'I didn't know you were such a great dancer.' Ginny said. 'At our graduation dance you kept stepping on Laura Hantling's feet.'
'I've had practice.' Colin said, and she laughed, imagining him practicing in front of his bedroom mirror at home.
'Colin, you've changed a lot.' She said quietly. 'I mean, since we were at school.'
'You've changed as well.' Colin said. 'I'm sure a lot more than I.'
He was probably right, Ginny thought. She peered over at Fred, who was dancing with Hannah Abbott. She had always been rather chubby, with bright blue eyes and shoulder length blonde hair. The only thing that had changed about her was that now she never smiled.
'Ginny...'
'Colin.' She said brightly, smiling up at him.
'You've used a Teeth-Whitening Charm.' Colin said teasingly, and she laughed.
'How did you know?'
'Because it is beginning to fade.'
She closed her mouth quickly. 'I've never been very good at them.'
'Funny, because you were always good at charms.'
She had always been good at charms. But she had chosen a career in defense against the dark arts.
'All kind of charms.' Colin said, looking into her eyes, so that she wanted to look down at the ground for the rest of the night. But she didn't, and instead, looked back at him, until he said, in a whisper, so that nobody else around them could hear, 'I love you.'
---
'This lounge is for Ministry workers, Mr. Weasley.' Ernie said sternly, standing up from the corner of the room, where he sat in a large red armchair, smoking a pipe.
'I know, but of course you wouldn't mind, would you?' George said, patting him on the shoulder and taking a glass of firewhiskey for himself. He took a large gulp, so that his throat tingled and burned, making him cough. 'Now, mate, you know smoking's bad for you. Whoever thought we'd be following a Muggle trend, of all things?'
Ernie didn't answer, but instead took a large mouthful of smoke, then breathed it out the side of his mouth, George waving his hand in front of his face. 'I'll have you taken away by Ministry guards if you don't leave, Mr. Weasley.'
'Would you care to join me downstairs?' George asked. 'We can maybe dance together, you know, hand in hand, heart to heart, to the Valkyries. Just a couple of songs.'
'No thank you.'
'Oh come on, I'm just being friendly, because you don't have anyone else to dance with.' George said, pouring another glass of firewhiskey and this time taking it in one full gulp. 'Seeing your wife's dancing with my brother.'
Ernie turned his head in one swift second, glaring at George. He then put out his pipe and stalked off downstairs, leaving George alone in the Ministry lounge. He took the firewhiskey bottle, made himself comfortable, and took a swig from the bottle.
---
Draco stared ahead, past Pansy's face, because he didn't want to look at it right now. His mother had now sat down, one leg crossed over the other, a glass of champagne in her hand. She was speaking to Regina Greengrass, both of them wearing digusted looks on their faces. Parvati Patil was dancing with Potter now. Now, that was a name he had never grown out of hating. Potter was married, to Hermione Granger, so Patil shouldn't be looking at him in that way.
'Darling, I can't wait until we get married.'
Why was Weasley dancing with the Minister's wife? That wasn't something proper. Where was the Minister? There he was, coming down the stairs. Draco watched the plump man come down the stairs, his flabbery face wobbling. Where was the other Weasley anyway? Ginny was dancing with Creevey. Her head was now resting on his shoulder; they had become closer and closer as every minute passed. He groaned, then released himself from Pansy and made his way to the spare seat next to his mother.