Author's Note: As always, where_is_truth deserves a double dose of thanks for her work as beta. And, of course, thanks to those of you who are reading and reviewing. Hope you enjoy the update.
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Ginny had inherited the flaming red hair that readily identified her as a Weasley, and she was similarly pale and freckled to the other members of her family, as well. But the all-important cooking gene, which by all rights should have been hers, had magically - maddeningly - found its way to Charlie.
"At least the dragons will eat well," Ginny grumbled as she flipped the dog-eared pages of her mother's favorite cookbook, Incredible Edibles: A Witch's Guide. She'd been given all the family recipes, and Molly Weasley had seen to it that her only daughter's kitchen was equipped with everything she might need to put together a four-course feast. Now the only thing lacked, as Ginny surveyed the array of never-used kitchen tools she'd placed on the countertop, was the ability to follow a recipe.
She was beginning to seriously question the decision she'd made to explain things to Harry over dinner - the part of the plan where she cooked the dinner, anyway. But she couldn't stomach the idea of telling him in public, breaking off their engagement just as a Daily Prophet reporter snapped a picture or a Quidditch groupie stopped to beg for an autograph.
The thought of it was as distasteful to her as the concoction she was gingerly prodding promised to be. It was meant to have been meatloaf, but it looked like … a mess. She frowned and bent closer, trying to puzzle out what had gone wrong. Certainly something had, as the meatloaf appeared to have collapsed inward, exposing a raw center. That was fitting, Ginny thought. She was about to break Harry's heart over a plate of misshapen mush.
There was still wine, though, and she hadn't managed to ruin the salad. It would be liquor and lettuce, then. Ginny reached for the bottle of white wine she'd chilled - she'd lost her taste for red approximately twenty-four months ago - forgetting she'd poked her fingers into the meatloaf. The bottle slipped and slid silently out of her greasy grasp, and there was no Cushioning Charm waiting to soften its impact on Ginny's linoleum.
It shattered, contents splashing up onto the skirt of Ginny's carefully chosen dress. Shards of glass skittered across the floor as Ginny froze in place. She wouldn't have guessed, couldn't have dreamed things might go so wrong, but the evidence - well, the evidence was all over her kitchen.
She'd made a mess of things.
Ginny groped for her wand, fingers wrapping around the slim rosewood stick and holding tightly as she gasped out, "Reparo!" The bottle resumed its original shape and Ginny waved away the mess on the floor, feeling her head start to pound. What else could possibly -
A familiar tapping noise in the living room derailed that thought, and Ginny held her damp skirt away from her legs as she hurried to the window. The enormous owl hovering there flew in as soon as it could fit, perching on the mantel and offering its leg.
Ginny quickly untied the package and stood staring at it while the owl flew away. The evening air left goose bumps along her skin, and she shivered as she turned the soft bundle over. Her name, written in the same anonymous calligraphy as the card that had accompanied the shoes. Her fingers were nimble in spite of the residual stickiness, and she opened the flap of the envelope with ease.
Her headache was gone - now it was her pulse pounding as she slipped the message out and prepared to read.
"What've you got there, Gin?"
"Seeker's reflexes," Ginny murmured, feeling numb.
The entire world, as far as Ginny Weasley was concerned, rested casually between Harry Potter's thumb and forefinger. She wanted to laugh, and she needed to cry. So this was how it was to happen.
Harry was trying to read her face as he rolled the card between his fingers. Ginny decided that the message itself would be less damning than the naked emotions she couldn't begin to hide, and her slight laugh was harsh.
"Just read it."
His eyes widened slightly, and he frowned at her, shaking his head. He thrust the card toward her and her hand shot out to stop him. She pushed his hand away a little too roughly, and she closed her eyes against the confusion in his.
"Read it," she repeated, bowing her head.
She knew when he'd finished because of the soft exhalation he made. Ginny opened her eyes. The card was still in Harry's hand, but his grip had tightened, and the edges were crumpling under the pressure.
"Who wrote this?" he asked, and Ginny was glad to hear the sharp edge in his voice. It would be better for both them if he was angry - easier for her; less painful for him. She sucked in a breath and pushed out the last four syllables Harry would have expected.
"Draco Malfoy," she answered, pausing for a heartbeat, watching his nostrils flare and fury transform his face. "What does it say?"
Harry glanced down, bringing his free hand up so that he clutched the card between both hands. His fingers flexed and Ginny panicked, sure he would rip the card in half and deny her the knowledge of what Draco had said.
"No!" she whispered, reaching instinctively for it.
"What does it say?" Harry asked, his tone incredulous. "I find out you're hiding things from me, that you're getting secret messages from Draco Malfoy, and all you can do is ask what it says? Ginny, that's … you're unbelievable."
The card fell to the ground then as Harry's furious gaze focused on something behind Ginny's shoulder. He reached around her and she heard a rustling noise that seemed oddly out of place before his hand darted back and she saw what he held.
She'd nearly forgotten the package.
He was ripping it open, digging his nails into the thin paper and tearing at it furiously before she could find her voice to object. When the paper fell away under his onslaught, Ginny could only stare.
The dress in Harry's hands was the same green as his eyes - a brilliant, beautiful emerald. It looked as though it would cling to her waist, flare gently over her hips and fall to just above her knees. Tiny straps would tie at the back of her neck and trail around to disappear into the center of the bodice. The material gathered itself down the center in tiny, casual pleats from breast to navel and continued down in an elegant fall of green.
"Oh," Ginny breathed, brushing the whisper-soft material with her fingertips, forgetting Harry for a moment, lost in the wonder of the dress Draco had sent.
Harry made a choked noise and thrust the dress into her arms. She accepted it automatically, hugging it to her, but her eyes were sad with sudden realization as she looked up at Harry.
"Harry, let me …" She sighed and soldiered on. She owed him this much - she owed him more - but she certainly had to explain. Or at least she had to try. "I don't know if there's any way to tell you this so you'll really understand, but I'll tell you whatever you want to know."
"Want to know?" Harry burst out. "Want to know, Ginny? What I want to know is that this is a mistake. A horrible joke Fred and George thought up, a prank gone bad. Something - anything - like that. What I want to know is that this isn't really happening, that you're not about to tell me you're in love with Draco Malfoy."
The name came out as half-sob, half-shout, and his eyes were pleading with her as they stood in silence. Tell me what I want to know. Tell me it isn't true.
And she couldn't. Tears were sliding down her cheeks in a steady, salty stream, and she reached out for Harry, offering to ease the pain she was causing. When he jerked away, his eyes were dark with hurt, but his jaw was set. In the next second, Ginny felt him take her hand and she nearly threw her arms around him, but then he spoke in a cold voice she'd never heard.
"Guess you won't be needing this."
She didn't need to ask what he meant, because he punctuated the sentence by roughly slipping off her engagement ring. As he stalked over to the window, Ginny glanced down at her bare finger. The ring hadn't even left a mark.
She turned back to Harry when he spoke again.
"I won't be needing this, either," he spat, drawing his arm back, and Ginny's eyes followed the symbol of Harry's love and devotion as he whipped his arm forward and hurled the ring out the open window.
Ginny's tears caught in her throat when he turned around, seeming to look through her. She blinked once, trying to push the tears aside, and that was all the time it took for Harry to cross the room, throw the door open and slam it behind him.
She was alone again, and she felt it keenly.
Alone for now, at least, she thought, dropping to her knees to retrieve the card.
You'll be needing this, too, it read, but not as much as I still need you. Soon.
"Soon," Ginny whispered, and the word slipped out the window into the night.