Chapter Two - The Saga Continues

The next morning, Ginny woke up to the sun flooding her eyesight. She got up, got showered, got dressed and headed down to the Great Hall with Colin Creevey. Like every other day, there were biscuits, pumpkin juice, toast, jam and Draco. Unlike every other day, the biscuit, pumpkin juice, toast, jam and Draco weren’t asking her out. She talked to Colin about the Falcons versus the Cannons game while nibbling on a piece of burnt bread, smothered with strawberries. She sipped on her pumpkin juice, laced with cinnamon, which was absolutely divine.

“Are you going to Hogsmeade?” Colin asked.

“Yeah. You?” Ginny replied.

He nodded in acquiescence.

“Beautiful tyrant! Fiend angelical!” a soft voice recited.

Ginny and Colin turned to face Luna Lovegood.

“What are you spouting off?” Ginny questioned.

“It’s Shakespeare,” Colin answered for her. “He’s one of the most famous muggle poets there was. That was from Romeo and Juliet, one of his most popular romantic tragedies in which they commit a double suicide out of love and pure passion.”

Ginny looked at him with a weird expression.

“What a bunch of ninny’s. They deserved to be knocked off,” she cackled.

“Have you no compassion? Romeo killed himself for her!”

“All is fair in love and war,” Ginny nodded.

“I wasn’t only pertaining to the story,” was Luna’s vague comment.

She walked away. Colin and Ginny watched her with consternation. Luna was somewhat a Seer. She saw what no one else could see while being elusive with what she tried to incorporate into their lives. It was usually a little too late when they finally understood what she had been insinuating.

“O… kay,” Ginny frowned, turning back to her breakfast.

Colin looked a bit frazzled.

“Do you think Blaise is cheating on me? Is that what Luna was trying to tell me? I mean, he can’t be cheating on me. I know he’s a Slytherin and all, but still. Then again, he’s notorious for being a sex God among other things. Plus, he’s so very good looking,” Colin ranted.

“Wait a minute! When did I miss this development? When did you and Blaise start dating?” Ginny queried.

“Last… week,” Colin responded with a hint of trepidation.

“And why was I not informed?”

“I didn’t want to tell anyone. I didn’t want you to think oddly of me,” he sniffled.

“You know I love you, right? How could I think oddly of you?”

He shrugged, feeling mighty foolish.

“So,” Ginny said in a sly tone. “Have you… you know. Done anything?”

Colin blushed to the root of his flaxen hair. Ginny squealed with unhidden mirth.

“You did, you dirty little boy,” she giggled.

“Shut up,” Colin mumbled.

“It’s okay. I guess we all have our little secrets,” she smiled knowingly.

“What? Are you dating Pansy or something?”

“I’ll take the ‘Or something’ category,” Ginny answered smoothly.

“Can’t tell me? You banging ferret face?” Colin joked.

“Maybe,” Ginny smirked.

“Eww, Gin. Don’t tell me you’re serious.”

“Of course not. We’re just going to meet at Hogsmeade for a date at the Three Broomsticks,” she told him.

“You know, we should make a Harry Potter Groupies Gone Bad club,” Colin teased.

They laughed, talking about what they would do if they did.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ginny browsed the items, picking out choice selections. A few chocolate frogs, toss in a few sugar quills, a box of Bertie Bott’s every flavor beans, a couple chocoballs and cauldron cakes and she was ready to go. She purchased her candy, but made sure she had enough money for lunch, as she did not delight in making men (or more like boys) pay for her meal. Women’s liberation, right?

“Oi! Gin!” Ron called out.

She spun around to face her brother, whose face was completely flushed.

“Hey Ron. What do you want?” she asked.

“What’s this I hear about you and the bouncing ferret shagging in a broom closet?” he questioned angrily.

Her eyebrows shot up in surprise.

“Excuse me?”

“Lavender came up to me and asked me why I would let you do such a thing.”

“It’s a complete fabrication of a rumor. Come on, Ron. Be realistic. Why would Dra- Malfoy be shagging in a broom closet? And with me?” she sighed in irritation.

“Yeah, I guess so… But be careful, alright?” he warned.

“Yeah, yeah,” she grumbled.

He began to turn and walk away when he smacked right into someone. A very petite someone. A very crazy, but still pretty petite someone.

“Oh, Ron. I’m going to fall in love with you. You don’t have to love me back. I’m going to give you my heart. You may not love me today, tomorrow, or ever, but I will love you until it kills me and then you’ll still be in my heart,” Luna sighed wistfully, grasping onto his forearm.

“What? No! Get off of me, you crazy bint! Are you out of your mind. No, wait. Don’t answer that. I already know you are! Let me go!” he spat, trying to make her vice grip release his arm.

“Never! I love you, Ronniekins!” she giggled.

“Ginny! Get your lunatic of a friend off of- Ginny?”

She was already gone.

“Merlin save me,” he pleaded as he was dragged off to go shopping.

She was really quite strong for a girl. Or for anyone.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Ginny made it to the Three Broomsticks just on time. Her cognac eyes danced around the room, searching for his pale hair. She froze. He sat in a booth, grinning over at her. She slowly strode over to him, sitting down cordially. He had even ordered two butterbeers, one for him and one for her. He pushed it toward her, motioning for her to drink.

“Thank you,” she smiled gently.

“Chivalry, darling,” he drawled.

They discussed Quidditch, Professor Snape, Hogwarts food and Neville. It was better than any other date she had ever been on, thankfully. Once, the guy kept forgetting her name and called her Jeanie. That wasn’t even her worst date, but in the top five. For some reason, they moved to ex-boyfriends and ex-girlfriends, moving to the ever-controversial subject of love.

“The essential sadness is to go through life without love. But it would be almost as equally sad to leave this world without ever telling those you loved that you love them,” Ginny argued.

“Have you ever been in love, notwithstanding Potter?” She nodded. “Horrible, isn’t it?” She quirked her eyebrow up. “I mean, it opens your heart and it means someone can get inside you and mess you up. You build up all these defenses. You build up this whole armor, for years, so nothing can hurt you, then one stupid person, no different than any other stupid person, wanders into your own stupid, useless life… You give them a piece of yourself that they didn’t ask for. They do something dumb one day, like kissing you, smiling at you or whatnot and your life isn’t yours anymore. Love takes hostages. It gets inside you. It eats you from inside out and leaves you crying in the darkness, so a simple phrase like ‘Maybe we should just be friends’ turns into a glass splinter working its way into your heart. It fucking hurts. Not just in the imagination, either. It’s a soul-hurt, a body-hurt, a real gets-inside-you-and-rips-you-apart kind of pain. I hate love.”

This made her wonder what kind of love he was experiencing and with who and why he was conversing about the merits of love with her.

“Well, I guess I can’t blame you for saying that,” she muttered.

“What does that mean?” he questioned indignantly.

“Men speak conveniently of love when it serves their purpose, and when it doesn’t, it’s a burden to them,” she replied easily.

“I guess I see it like this: Love anything and your heart will be wrung and possibly broken. If you want to make sure of keeping it intact, you must give it to no one, not even an animal. Wrap it carefully around with hobbies and little luxuries; avoid all entanglements. Lock it up safe in a casket or coffin of your selfishness. But in that casket – safe, dark, motionless, airless – it will change. It will not be broken; it will become unbreakable, impenetrable, irredeemable. To love is to be vulnerable.”

“So this is your theory to love? Love is another form of pleasure, which may or may not be physical in a sense. Is this why you’re such a little shit to my family, Harry, Hermione and Gryffindors in general?” she inquired.

“Not just you lot. I’m not so pleasant to the Slytherins either, save Blaise. Family pride and all. For the Gryffs, well, that’s house rivalry. No other way around it.”

“Are you going to make an exception for me?” she whispered gently, peering into his slate eyes.

“Maybe,” he smirked.




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