A/N: So, so, so very sorry! :( I've been battling with writers block for my other story and this was kinda just was neglected for a while eek! Hopefully this explains some of the things I've mentioned in previous chapters and I *hope* that I've portrayed little ol' Ginny in a way which makes y'all both aggravated and sympathetic towards her (sorry for the cliffhanger). Enjoy! (p.s I will update life of a rose by this Sunday I promise :))

Ginevra Weasley felt like the world had come crashing down. The love of her life- the only boy she'd ever truly fell in love with- was utterly absorbed by someone else and off on a wild goose chase to reclaim the one he truly cared for. She wasn't one to act all mopey and sad about it. But it hurt. A hell of a lot. So she did what any other slightly insecure heartbroken young girl would do and she followed him. Her temples were still pounding from what's-her-name's party last night. The hangover was brutal; a cacophony of pervasive light and overwhelming sound assaulted her. She had half a mind torn to retreat home and nurse the after-effects with hours of sleep and buckets of water. Instead, she nursed her thumping head and cradled her sunglasses against her eyes. She remembered yesterday morning, when she'd traipsed home with her heels in her hand and glitter streaked across her face. Toppling over one disarrayed garden gnome, giggling out a slurred 'Whoopsie daisy', she'd caught the attention of her mother.

The frown on her mum's face said it all. The creased forehead, the sad eyes, the tight lines around her downturned mouth. Her father wasn't by mum's side. He's probably at the Ministry. She'd thought. Helping them recover from the destruction of Hogwarts. She's swayed as she'd stilled. Under the threat of tumbling to the ground, she'd walked further on, entering the threshold. The conversation muted as they all became aware of her.

"Late night?" came a wearied voice from the kitchen table. Emerald eyes met hers and her heart skipped a beat. Those emerald eyes… Ahh, how she adored them. She nodded her head. George stifled a snort. Caught his mother's glare and left the room. The door shuts with a heavy slam. She instinctively protects her ears from the harsh sounds.

"Ginevra Weasley, you cannot keep going out and partying all night! This is unfair to both me and your father and it is completely unacceptable. You sneak out robed in nothing more than scraps of fabric! What were you thinking!?" Molly Weasley's voice is like a sharp ringing. She groans in pain. Molly jabbed a finger down at the tight, black cocktail dress. Her pursed lips hold back a few undesirable adjectives. She waits for her daughter to give her an answer.

Ginny hops onto the table, stealing Harry's leftover toast, and nibbling at the crust. She gives no answer to her mother. "Don't you have anything to say for yourself? You've been out all night god knows where-"

"I was at Cassie's sisters flat-"

"-doing god knows what-"

"-dancing, smoking and making out pretty much sums it up." she surmised, thinking back on the muddled images dancing around n her mind. She finishes off the toast, swings down from the table, knocking into a vase and smashing it. Molly Weasley's eyes widen in anger and shock.

"Oops." Ginny mumbles, stealing Harry's mug and giving him a smirk as she sips from his coffee. He doesn't even notice, he's mumbling about the Malfoy house. She pouts, not liking that he's too self-absorbed to pay any notice of her, and sips loudly to no avail. She turns back to see her mother's miserable frown. The mug has been magicked together by a spell and mocks the tipsy girl from its position on the mantelpiece.

"I don't understand… The war is over. Why are you acting this way?" her mother despairs. The redhead tosses her fiery tresses over one love-bitten shoulder. She remembers through her alcohol-buzzed mind the pitying look in those emerald eyes when he'd confessed to her that he'd never loved her. It was always Hermione. Clever, beautiful, golden-girl Hermione. She remembered the way he'd called her name after he'd beaten Voldemort. How when he screamed in his nightmares and sobbed until dawn it was always for her. Her brother was dead, her family torn and shredded right down to its very seams, and the boy she loved had stomped on her heart and pulverized it into one twisted bleeding mess. That was the reason she stayed out all night and spent her waking moments with faceless people at nameless bars. She couldn't bear all the yearning, the cold shouldered neglect and the responsibilities that the Burrow shoved onto her. After all, why should she stick around if all she'd see was Harry's longing for sweet little Hermione and her mother's cross hard-headed frowns?

Instead of saying all that she'd popped in some bubblegum, chewed it loudly and disrespectful snapped it in her mother's face. "Whatever." she mumbled, staggering up the stairs to get some much-needed rest.

And yet here she was now, three hours later, traipsing behind the boy-who'd-lived for what felt like the fiftieth time. She'd changed into a hoodie and jeans and had showered since the midday powwow. Why am I doing this? She wonders internally. Am I really that desperate? Harry shies away from some muggles crossing the street and she watches him mutter under his breath about that 'stupid malfoy' and 'I hope she's there'. She huffs out a breath, seeing him as he ducks into some nearby bushes and apparates with a loud crack. Following what she'd gleaned so far she takes muggle transport to the town closest to Malfoy manor. Walking down the streets, she curses the fact that she's not yet old enough to apparate. Weaving throughout the muggle streets she's also strangely proud of her knowledge on muggle currency. Not all of the parties she'd attended had been magical ones, some muggle raves had lured her out into the unfamiliar world, and she'd even gotten chance to make a few friends along the way. Of course they didn't know she was a witch. She wasn't quite that stupid.

Listening to the crowd, she tunes her sore senses into the activity of general muggle evenings. A mother holding a little girl's hand pops into a supermarket to collect some groceries, a homeless man leans heavily against a shop storefront, his cardboard proclaiming he's both blind and deaf. She peers closely at him, watching his eyes flicker and track her movement, he tries glazing his eyes once more but it's too late. She knows he's lying. She scurries over to him and plucks the board from out of his hands.

"Hey!" he protests. She tears the cardboard in two and then into quarters. The man watches her, his blue eyes icy and cold.

"There's enough liars in the world," she says to him- thinking back on the many lies she tells her family, the hypocrisy in her speech- she pierces him with a serious look, "There's no need for any more."

Then she turns her back on the obviously not blind and deaf man and saunters away. The streets get narrower, the houses less frequent and the shops less common. The roads become more countrified and the sidewalk seeps into little more than cobblestones and dirt tracks. She wonders whether she's lost. She wonders whether she cares.

Finally, when she'd almost given up hope, she steps inside the anti-muggle charm and into the bubble encasing the splendour of the Manor. She treks forwards her feet sore with blisters and red and achy. Thank Godric. The door is leaning perilously on its hinges, the entrance parlour is smudged with dust and some sort of battle. She tiptoes inside, nervous and on edge. Her throat feels as dry as sawdust and her head throbs, the headache half-heartedly reminding her of her immense need for aspirin. Her palms are sweaty and a cold sweat breaks out across her brow. The sound of voices float from a door off to the side and she creeps forwards, anxious to hear what's going on. She hears the sound of Draco's voice, dark and strained, but she can't make out what he's saying. She inches closer. She hears the sound of Hermione and many emotions rush at the hot headed Weasley. Jealousy spikes, sharp and insuppressible, and it stings like a sharp slap on her cheek. She'd hoped, though she knew it was a bitchy thing to do, that the curly-locked witch would be absent. That Harry had been led on yet another false lead. But no… Her she is chatting with Draco freaking Malfoy while everyone at home worries about her. Then curiosity overrides her negativity and she beings to truly think. Wait, why is she here? Why hadn't she returned to the Burrow? She presses her ear against the door and hold her breath.

"-I swear I'm going crazy. So Draco, you may have personal demons but as do I." Hermione's voice murmurs. That's strange… Ginny ponders, she sounded almost affectionate… She leans in, trying to catch anymore words exchanged. Where's Harry? Why can't I hear him? Her heartbeat stutters at the thought of something bad happening to him. Mustering her strength and resolution she reaches for the handle. The ornate handle is cold against her freckled skin. Here goes nothing…

She opens the door. The first thing she notices is Harry, stretched out and unconscious, spread out on the rug. Her heart jumps to her throat. Worry and fear battle for prominence in her pretty little head. She turns slightly, tilts her head to the left a couple inches, her jaw flaps open in astonishment. She has to swallow back the shocked gasp. Picture this:

Hermione wrapped around Draco like a wreath. His hands encircling her waist as she rakes her fingers across his dark blonde hair. Their tongues battle for dominance. Hermione lets out a dreamy sigh and Ginny's face pales when she hears Draco's husky growl. Hermione shivers against him and for a moment Ginny has the oddest thought that this was predestined. That the golden lion and the Slytherin prince were meant to be smooching in the lounge of the Malfoy aristocrats. She shakes her fiery hair, glancing back down onto her fallen saviour, burning with anger on his behalf. Hopelessly she muses on how complicated and messy and blegh this would become. Her rare epiphany of the future is interrupted by a throaty moan from one of the oblivious pair and her anger and surprise barrel back at her, headbutting her full force. The oblivious couple are literally making out in front of her and freaking Harry Potter and by Godric it was pissing her off. In a fashion that would've made any one of her brothers proud, she declares very loudly and crossly;

"What the fuck!?"