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Category: Post-DH/AB Characters:None Genres: Action/Adventure, Romance Warnings: Dark Fiction, Death, Extreme Language, Mild Sexual Situations, Negative Alcohol Use, Rape Story is Complete Rating: R Reviews: 193 Summary: After the Battle of Hogwarts, Harry Potter is training to be an Auror, and he is finally back together with Ginny Weasley. But when a young woman dies of poisoning at the Ministry’s Midsummer Ball, Harry is the first suspect, and he can only uncover the true murderer by working with his childhood rival, Draco Malfoy. Hitcount: Story Total: 56283; Chapter Total: 2573 Awards: View Trophy Room |
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Chapter 5: Romilda June 20, 1998 The Ministry of Magic Once upon a time, Ginny had hated Romilda Vane. At Hogwarts, Romilda had an army of well-groomed girls whose job was to agree with everything Romilda said. As the daughter of the senior beauty director of Witch Weekly, Romilda received weekly shipments of perfumes, makeup, beauty potions, and designer clothes, all perks of Mrs. Vane’s job. She was captain of the Gobstones Team and used her position to terrorize first years. She’d once referred to Demelza and Ginny as manly for being on the Quidditch team, and she had made remarks about Ginny’s secondhand robes on more than one occasion. All of which could be forgiven. But she was also very obsessed with Harry, and that Ginny had been unable to forgive her for. That was fifth year. Last year, all the girls of Hogwarts had looked out for each other, protected each other. But they hadn’t been able to protect Romilda in time. She remembered the morning they’d found her on the fourth floor, bleeding and unconscious. The younger girl had been in the hospital wing for a month, but she’d pulled through. She was stronger than Aimee Cartwright, who had a breakdown and had to be sent home when she’d gone through what Romilda had. Ginny was vaguely aware of Harry beside her. Her boyfriend had slipped into Auror mode. He had one hand protectively behind her back, but he was also scanning the ballroom, as if trying to memorize every detail and every person, imprinting the scene in his mind. But Ginny only had eyes for Romilda whose limp body was being cradled by her sobbing mother, while her father stood by in shock. She couldn't blame him. Teenagers didn’t just drop dead at balls. Even during the war, there were curses and flashes of green light, and obvious signs that something terrible was about to happen. “Oh, Harry. It’s too terrible.” “It’ll be all right,” Harry said, as he guided her back towards Hermione. “All right? She’s dead, Harry!” A healer who had been one table over from Romilda had declared her to be so. Just two hours ago, Romilda had been just another girl getting ready for the ball. She had picked out the lipstick that went best with her gown. Perhaps her mother had helped her with her hair, using a curling charm to get her dark tresses to fall into perfect waves. Romilda would have looked into a full length mirror before leaving to make sure her knickers didn’t have visible lines beneath her satin gown. Her father had likely made some comment about her growing up too fast just like Arthur had done when Ginny came down the stairs. Romilda would have felt very adult entering the ballroom, grabbing a glass of champagne, catching the eye of grown men. Now, she would never dance again. Never finish Hogwarts, hold a job, or have her father walk her down the aisle. Ginny realized just how badly she had wanted Romilda to move on with life, to thrive. Because if Romilda had recovered from the war, if Romilda was happy, then there was hope for all of the lost girls. “Sorry, Gin. I just meant . . . I don’t know what I meant. Were you friends?” She glared at him. “Everyone at Hogwarts grew closer last year. All we had was each other.You wouldn’t know about that.” Even as she said that, she knew it was an unfair comment. Harry couldn’t have been at Hogwarts last year. He had been Undesirable Number One. And was she honestly blaming Harry for Romilda’s death? Harry, who blamed already blamed himself for every premature death. “You’re right. I wouldn’t know. Gin, I’m sorry, but Ron and I have to go. Report to Gawain.” He gestured towards a group of gathering Aurors. She tried to smile at him. “Go. Be an Auror. I’ll be okay. And sorry, I didn’t mean to snap at you.” He squeezed her hand, then moved to join his colleagues. Hermione gave Ginny a quick side hug. “I thought we were done with this. Do you think it could have been natural causes?” Ginny shrugged. She didn’t think there was anything natural about a sixteen-year-old dropping into a plate of Stilton. She watched Harry summon parchment and a quill and begin writing whatever Gawain Robards was dictating. An annoyed junior Auror, likely two or three years older than Harry, was refusing to allow the reporters to take photos of Romilda’s body, and he was being completely ignored as flashes erupted all around him. “Romilda had a terrible year last year, Hermione. I don’t know how she survived it.” Ministry officials began herding everyone out of the ballroom and into the Atrium. It was made clear that absolutely no one was permitted to leave the building. Beside her, Hermione was murmuring comforting things in a Hermione-ish fashion. Ginny, who normally liked Hermione’s motherly nature, had no interest in being comforted and shook her off by pointing out a Ministry official who had recently drafted a law Hermione was interested in. Ginny disappeared as soon as Hermione spotted the woman in question. She headed toward the half-completed statue in the middle of Atrium, pretending to be examining it, but instead she was wrapped in her own thoughts. As she adjusted her wrap around her shoulders, she heard an alarming ripping noise that immediately drove Romilda from her mind. Damnit! Her dress had ripped along a side seam. She had known she was on borrowed time with this dress. When she had been measured for it during Christmas break her fifth year, she had been five feet tall, ninety-five pounds soaking wet, and a B-cup. Madame Fortier, the famous French dressmaker, had been told that Ginny and Gabrielle were both still growing and to make the dresses slightly big. Therefore, it was not a big deal when she grew an inch by the time of Bill’s wedding, and the dress was a perfect length. What Madame Fortier had not anticipated was Prewitt woman genes that allowed a teenage girl to gain a full cup size in seven months. Evidently, French breasts were better mannered and not permitted to grow in such a reckless fashion. By late July, Molly had been in hysterics over the amount of cleavage Ginny showed in her bridesmaid dress, and she attempted to bring the neckline up until it even covered Ginny’s throat. If not for Fleur’s intervention, it would have stayed that way. After many a fight between Fleur and Molly, the dress was made more modest but still showed a hint of cleavage, which Ginny was pleased to note caught Harry’s attention. Of course, once middle-aged Death Eaters showed up at the wedding and began looking down her dress, Ginny began to wish her mother had got her way. Now, nearly a full year later, Ginny was another inch taller and curvier still. She had let Fleur and Hermione do the alteration charms on her dress so Molly didn’t leave her with fabric up to her chin again. It seemed fabric only allowed so much magical adjustment. Hermione had warned her this could happen, but Ginny had been unwilling to purchase a secondhand ball gown when she had such a lovely designer dress in her closet. Ginny carefully held her bodice in place and adjusted her wrap so no one could see her exposed bra. She began walking down a corridor where she knew from previous visits to the Ministry that she would find a restroom. When she heard raised voices, she ducked behind a large potted plant. She could just imagine what kind of stories Rita Skeeter would write if she spotted her with ripped clothing. It wasn’t Rita. There were two blond girls, possibly sisters, who were arguing. Ginny recognized one of them as Draco Malfoy’s date. The girl appeared very distressed, and Ginny’s first thought was to hope that Draco had not tried anything inappropriate with her. She was an extremely pretty girl and as unlike Pansy Parkinson as it was possible to be. Pansy’s hard prettiness was a combination of overgrooming and a fierce personality and had little to do with nature. This girl had a wildflower beauty. She had a delicate bone structure, and her brown eyes were large and doe-like. She was small, maybe an inch or two taller than Ginny. Her hair was a golden blond, different from Draco’s silvery blond. She wore a rose silk dress and its low neckline was the only thing saving her from looking too young and innocent to attend a Ministry ball. “Tori, you can’t tell anyone about this,” the older girl was saying. Her features were nearly identical to her sister’s, but she lacked Tori’s fragility and appeared to be a year or two older. “But Daph, she was poisoned!” Draco’s date said. “I saw it when I was sketching her.” Ginny leaned closer. Were they talking about Romilda? Daph lowered her voice. “And what would the Aurors think if you told them you drew Romilda Vane’s fate before it happened? Best case scenario, they would think you were crazy. Most wizards don’t put a lot of faith in Divination. But they might think you did it. Or they might try to use you. You know why we left England last year.” “We left because Grand-père was dying,” Tori said. “No, that was our excuse. Astoria, we left England because of you. Maman was frantic that You-Know-Who would find out about your gift and decide you could be useful to him.” “No, she would have told me if she thought I was in danger. We had to help Grand-père and then help Tante Caresse take over the vineyard once he was gone.” Ginny had the impression that the younger girl didn’t really believe this. Or if she once had, she did not anymore. “Tori, we left in the middle of the night. You’re old enough to know that isn’t normal.” “Okay, let’s say you are right about why we spent a year in France. It’s over now. You-Know-Who is dead.” “I’m not convinced the Ministry is much better. And let’s not forget who you came with. Draco’s bad news. Not even Pansy Parkinson could control him. Does he know anything about your abilities?” “No.” “Let’s keep it that way. Come on, let’s get you cleaned up. Your makeup is all smudged. Then you’ll go back to Draco and act neither more nor less shocked than anyone else here.” As the girls turned the corner in the direction of the women’s bathroom, Ginny tried to make sense of what she had just heard. What did that Daph girl mean when she said Tori drew Romilda’s fate. Like drawing cards? Had she been consulting a Tarot deck? Ginny had never taken a Divination class in her life. After hearing Ron and Hermione’s complaints about Professor Trelawney her second year, she had signed up for Ancient Runes and Care of Magical Creatures for her third year electives. She supposed she could ask Harry. He’d had three years of Divination, although she had the impression that he hadn’t learned anything in the class. She decided to avoid the loo until they came out. The young blond girl would need a moment of privacy to pull herself together. She sighed and looked down at her dress. A simple Reparo would fix the problem. One tiny underage spell would be undetectable in a building full of qualified wizards, and she had her wand tucked into the side of her corset style bra. But if anyone came around the corner and caught her, her father would be in so much trouble at work. She saw a familiar head of red hair turn the corner, heading in the direction of the women’s room, and she sighed in relief. “Mum! Quick! Over here!” “Ginny? What are you doing in the bushes?” “Avoiding public nudity, Mum. When I was three, you told me I wasn’t allowed to take off my clothes in public, and I took it to heart.” “Oh, Ginny! Your dress! Reparo!” Her mother fussed over her, adjusting a strand of Ginny’s hair and smoothing down her dress. Ginny realized she was taller than her mother at that moment. It was strictly her high heels, she knew, as both mother and daughter stood an even five feet and two inches in bare feet, but it was strange to look down at her mother and realize her brothers had been doing just that for many years now. “Thanks, Mum. I will be so glad when I no longer have the Trace.” “I could move the neckline up a little.” “Mum!” The corners of Molly’s mouth twitched slightly. “Well, I think it should hold. You should get back. Harry will be looking for you when they release him from the ballroom.” “The Aurors are still in there?” “I believe so. Did you know that girl?” “Yes. She was a Gryffindor. She would have been about to start her sixth year.” “What a shame! So young! I cannot imagine what her mother must be going through.” Molly sighed. “Well, maybe I can.” “I’m not ready to go back, Mum.” Ginny wanted to see Harry, but he was still in the ballroom, and she had little desire to mingle with other people. “I’ll visit the loo with you, and then we can go back together.” In the women’s room, Ginny took her time, adding lipstick and adjusting her hair. She didn’t cry, but she worried that might change once she was in a crowd. When Ginny and Molly returned to the Atrium, the Aurors were still investigating inside. “Where did you go?” Hermione asked. “I had a mishap with my dress,” Ginny said. “Mum fixed it.” “What did you mean earlier? When you talked of Romilda having a harder time than most? Did the Carrows single her out?” “No, I don’t think they did,” Ginny said. They might have, but if they did, it would hardly been the worst thing that had happened to her. Ginny remembered when Romilda got out of the hospital wing after a month’s stay. She had been pale and unsteady, physically a shadow of her former self. But her dark eyes had been determined, and she had told Ginny that she wanted to join the D.A., that she would do anything to fight the dark side. Looking at her, Ginny had known the Slytherins and their allies had messed with the wrong girl, turning a beauty queen into a warrior. Ginny checked to see if her mother was listening and seeing her in conversation with Arthur, she continued in a shaky voice, “Romilda was gang-raped. She was raped, tortured, then left for dead.” Damnit. There was no stopping the tears this time. |
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