Chapter 1

There was blood on her hands, so much blood. No matter how much she tried to wipe it off onto the black of her robes, they always came back even more red. She ran down the hall, which seemed to stretch on forever, frantic to find someone to help her, yet terrified that someone-anyone-would come out of one of the connecting hallways and see what she'd done.

Her footsteps echoed in the hall, bouncing off the high ceilings and echoing on, pounding in her ears as much as her heart was. On and on she ran, finally finding voice enough to call out for help. She pounded on the doors, leaving more red smeared on the dark wood and along the stone walls.

"Please! Please someone help me! I didn't mean it! Please!"

When she came to a staircase leading down, she stopped, chest heaving, hands shaking. She reached to grasp the banister and pull herself down, away from the horror behind her, but a sharp sound, like the slamming of a door, stopped her.

"Can anyone help me?"

Voices from where she'd run from trickled down the hallway, almost sounding like laughter as they danced down the corridor.

Her breath came in pants now. Should she keep running? Should she turn back?

She looked down at her hands again, at the red that had seeped under her nails and was now becoming a part of her, a part of who she would always be.

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Ginny awoke with a gasp and out of habit, looked down at her hands.

They were pale, white against the white of the sheets on her bed, just as they always were when she woke. The pale light of morning, colored by the magnificent stained glass of her window, was just beginning to peek through the normally grey March morning. Blue and green jewels of light danced on the scuffed hardwood floor and Ginny focused on the little triangles of light and tried to slow her heart to normal.

"Ginny?"

Her roommate knocked on the bedroom door and Ginny realized that she must have cried out in her sleep. It was not a common occurrence, but occasionally one of her dreams would be enough to elicit a cry from the darkness that would send Marie skittering down the hallway to Ginny's door.

"Je vais bien, Marie," said Ginny.

"D'Accord."

Soft footfalls retreated back to her own side of the flat. There would be questioning glances over breakfast, raised eyebrows and a gentler touch than normal, but Ginny had conditioned poor Marie to not expect much in the way of explanations about her nocturnal visions.

Ginny swung her feet out of the bed and brushed her toes along the cold floorboards. She arched her back, stretching, and ran her hands over her long hair, a haphazard plait barely holding together after thrashing in bed during the dream.

The jewels of light from her window crept closer and closer to her feet and Ginny watched, mesmerized. She'd loved this flat from the moment she and Marie had found it. And even though the real gem of a bedroom-twice the size as Ginny's and facing the narrow strip of park-was on the other side of the building, the moment Ginny had seen this window, lit with the morning light, Ginny had known this was the place. Even if it wasn't in a magical part of town, it felt magical to her.

Marie thought she was crazy when Ginny claimed the room for herself, but had gladly taken up position in the better room with few questions.

And Ginny loved the cramped, oddly shaped little room that looked out over the busy street where an impromptu Saturday market would often materialize. Ginny didn't mind the hustle and bustle, or even the noise from the cars that would pass. There were hundreds of things to see when she opened her windows wide on a sunny morning, looking past the jewels of glass to the jewels of France beyond the window frame.

In a small way, the room with it's sloped ceiling and dormer window reminded her of the nooks and crannies at the Burrow.

A faint longing swept through her and Ginny, rather than push it away, swam in it for a long minute. She hadn't been back in years, not since the Christmas when she was fourteen. Almost seven years now.

And she'd been living in France for more than ten years. It seemed like a strange sort of dream, like she'd woken in someone else's life and was still not sure if she would ever wake up, or if this was who and what she was now.

With a sigh, she brushed the past away from her mind, tucking it away in the little memory box that she kept hidden away in her mind. Sometimes memories were brilliant, wonderful things, and other times they just brought more hurt.

"Time to get up and moving," she told herself. "Busy day ahead of you, girl, no time to waste frolicking in the past."

These little talks were nothing new; Ginny had grown used to reasoning with herself.

She skipped on tiptoes to the little bathroom off her room, hissing when she found the little hexagon black and white tiles were even colder than the hardwood had been. She flicked her wand at the bathtub, making the water run just a bit too hot.

Another wand flick at the wireless that sat on the ledge near the sink and music filled the room, the hypnotizing sound of a swanky accordion and rich alto voice enticing Ginny to sway. Maybe it was cliche that she still listened to this music, but Ginny found herself drawn into how French it all felt, even after all these years.

She'd gifted an album of her favorites to her mother a few years ago and received a hesitant "thank you, dear, it's lovely" in return. Likely, her mother had never played it on her magical phonograph.

She hummed along to the familiar strains as the bathtub filled, brushing her hair out. A quick glance in the mirror showed the same thing as always-pale skin, sprinkle of freckles that had faded over the years, and always the shock of glowing ginger hair.

"Stop lollygagging, girly, or you'll be late." The magical clock called out from the bedroom and Ginny dropped her pajamas to the floor, dipping her toe into the water and sucking in a breath because it was always too hot. A quick adjustment to the temperature and she stepped fully in. There was something luxurious and carefree about taking a bath instead of a shower, and the old clawfoot tub had drawn Ginny in. She twisted her hair up into a knot high on her head and secured it with her wand, shoving the 10 ½ inch yew through the mess.

She soaked for two whole songs, singing along under her breath and revelling in the stolen moment. She'd pay for it later, but it seemed a little precious opulence to take her time.

When the clock called out "You're frightfully late!" she splashed water on her face-no time to wash her long hair today-and used her toes to pull the chain for the drain plug. As the water gurgled out, Ginny sang over the top of it, pulling on her clothing. A few tricky spells held her hair in place as she straightened her uniform and gave one last glance in the mirror.

"Beautiful, as always, dearie."

She couldn't help but think that the mirror sounded an awful lot like her mother. With a wistful smile, Ginny hurried from the room, gathering odds and ends into her large handbag and snatching her rain jacket off the back of the bedroom door. It was garishly red and clashed horribly with her hair, but Ginny didn't care. It'd felt necessary to purchase when she'd seen it on display in a little boutique last year. And it matched the shiny red Welly's with white polka dots that Ginny had loved-a gift from Charlie, who had said it was a gag, but Ginny had sworn she put a million miles on them over the past few years.

Marie was curled up in a dining room chair, a pink fluffy robe hiding most of her as she sipped at a steaming cup of coffee. Ginny sniffed at the air, her stomach growling at the scent of warm bread and chocolate. Marie worked at a little bakery just down the street and was always whipping out beautiful little creations of butter and flour that threatened to add inches to Ginny's waistline.

"You spoil me!" Ginny huffed. She tried to look stern, but Marie wasn't buying it. The little smirk that peeked out over her coffee cup was enough to set Ginny laughing.

"Take one with you," Marie said in her heavily accented English. The girls spoke a mish-mash of French and English around the flat, having become so comfortable with both that neither remembered when they'd invented their own little way of communicating.

"I'm taking two." Ginny snatched two beautifully round pain au chocolat off the plate and took a sip of the coffee that Marie had waiting at Ginny's usual spot. A spoon lazily twirled a generous helping of sugar into the cup.

"You work tonight?"

"Yeah," Ginny said through a mouthful of warm, melty bread. "Late."

"I will not wait up."

Ginny took one last sip, wincing as the sweet coffee burned the tip of her tongue. "You are evil," she said with a wink. She shoved her feet into the boots that waited by the door.

Marie just laughed again and shrugged her shoulder. "I try my best."

Outside the door, Madam Beaulieu's cat was waiting. It gave a long meow and wound around Ginny's red rubber boots, tail held regaly high.

"Bonjour, mon minou." The cat paused as Ginny gave it a little scratch behind the ears, and then went on about it's business, whatever that might be. It was always around, a black and grey striped little thing that was forever getting into mischief in some way or another. Madam Beaulieu was always calling up for one of the girls to rescue Lafayette from some high place he'd gotten himself stuck in.

She skipped down the stairs, listening for Madam Beaulieu's wireless, which played horribly loud at all times of the day. Some sort of soap opera was being broadcast through the walls of her landlady's flat and Ginny smiled as Reginald and Helene exchanged passionate and heated words with each other.

"Same old storyline," Ginny muttered to herself.

Outside it was still sunny and Ginny peered up at the blue, knowing it would not last. It was March, and prone to afternoon rain and a chill that would wrap the city by evening. But, for now, Ginny was happy to see the robin's egg sky.

"Bonjour, Mademoiselle!"

Several people along the road called out to Ginny as she peddled her yellow bicycle along toward work. She gave them all waves and let the charmed pedals lift her legs as she steered the bike. Her father would probably scold her for charming it, but Ginny couldn't help herself. There were days when she needed to get from one end of the city to another and Apparition was terribly inconvenient in France. SHe had her license, but finding the accepted Apparition points was not always easy nor timely when one was trying to balance two jobs. Plus, Ginny enjoyed the rides.

She turned toward the river, breathing deeply the scents of Paris waking-rich coffee, baking bread, car exhaust, and so much more. The bike picked up speed, it's charms obscuring her as she pretended to peddle onward. At a stop for the train, Ginny waited patiently balancing on her bike, and finished off the final pastry that Marie had made. A drip of chocolate slipped down onto her chin and Ginny laughed as the train pulled into the small station. She cleaned herself up and glanced up, surprised to catch a flash of someone watching her as the train began to move forward again.

The person had dark hair and a pale face. Ginny thought she'd seen eyeglasses, too, but decided that it was her imagination. But for the briefest moment, she could have sworn it was Harry Potter-much older now than the last time she'd seen him-in that window.

"Silly girl," she said as she settled onto her bike once more and peddled over the tracks. The train was chugging down the track, gaining speed as it headed through Paris and out into the French countryside. "There's no way Harry Potter is here in France. And there's no way he'd even recognize you, anyway."

She looked nothing like she had when she was eleven years old. It was likely not even Harry, anyway. Loads of people had dark hair and wore glasses.

"It's just the nightmare," Ginny assured herself as she moved down the streets toward her first job of the day. "It's got you all spooked. But it's time to find a little nerve, Ginny-girl. You've got a long day ahead of you. No need to have ghosts along for the ride."

The pep-talk seemed to work and Ginny concentrated on steering the bike toward the offices of Vauqueline and Deniau Voyages, where she worked as a Magical Travel Guide. There was a little shed behind the back of the storefront where she could park her bike. Monsieur Deniau had charmed the entire area to prevent thefts, since the agency stored their signs and various other possessions back there occasionally. He'd generously offered the spot to Ginny for leaving her precious bicycle when she'd begun working for the two old men who were too old to lead their tours any longer.

"Bonjour, Ginny!" Monsieur Vauqueline greeted her from his desk, where he sat perusing the magical morning newspaper. Ginny glanced at the headlines, but decided she wasn't interested enough in finding out more about (headline) to even ask.

"Bonjour, Monsieur." She hung up her slicker and hung her bag on the hook provided.

"Two tours lined up today," her boss informed her. "One to the Muggle buildings with Magical histories, and one to the catacombs."

Ginny shuddered at the thought of descending down into the belly of Paris. It was a popular tour, though, and she'd done it more than she liked to think about. The cold, dank tunnels always reminded her of the Chamber…

"Bien, Monsieur." She set about charming the coffee pot, even though her boss had been into the office for hours now. He always claimed that Ginny made better coffee than he did, and allowed her to wait on him. She might have squawked, but he was a harmless old man who reminded her of her Grandfather Weasley when she'd been young, so she allowed him to boss her around far more than anyone else got away with.

"You spoil an old man," he said with a wink when she delivered his first cup. As always, he sipped at it, smacked his lips, sipped once more, then hummed in satisfaction. "Best get on with your work, Ginny."

She nearly rolled her eyes at his predictability, but sighed instead and set about getting the office ready for the day. Monsieur Deniau was a late riser and never made an appearance until after her morning tour, so she didn't bother to prepare any coffee for him. He never drank it anyway. He was nearly ninety, but still full of energy and life. He might have led the tours-he was a veritable treasure trove of information about Magical Paris-but he was too prone to flights of fancy and often led the tourists off their planned paths to unknown and exotic locations. Vauqueline had had to deal with a few irate parents when their children would vanish for days at a time, off on one of Deniau's excursions. For the sake of the partnership, it was decided that Ginny and Louis, Vauqueline's grandson, would lead the guided tours unless someone particularly adventurous inquired.

The early tour was a group of elderly American ladies who were on some sort of wild holiday without their spouses or children. They chatted all through Ginny's tour of Nicholas Flamel's home, and the site of the 1927 Circus Arcanus, and even raised their voices to talk over Ginny's explanation of Lisette de Lapin trial for witchcraft in 1422. Ginny would have been horribly annoyed, but the five ladies were just so darned funny, gossiping along about the things they'd seen, and hoped to see, on their magical tour of Europe.

In the end, they were most excited by Ginny's stories of the building of the Eiffel Tower and how it never would have been accomplished without magical help, and how it was charmed to twinkle for a few minutes each hour-a side effect of the French government asking for magical help to light the iconic structure. The ladies promised to watch when Ginny told them too, but declined her offer of another tour-a broom ride right up to the top of the tower to see it up close and personal in the dark.

When she finally made her way back to the office, after refusing to join the ladies for drinks, Ginny remembered that she had the catacombs tour coming up. Dread filled her as the visions from her latest nightmare came rushing back.

Louis was in the office, having just gotten out of class. He was perched behind their shared desk, a mountain of books hiding his face. Ginny purposely knocked one over, just to see him adjust his glasses and glare at her through them.

"Take my 2 pm tour for me?" she asked, prepared to beg, if necessary.

Louis' eyebrow rose and she took a moment to admire just how good looking he was, in a horribly bookish sort of way. She was reminded of a mixture of Hermione Granger and Neville Longbottom. Louis might be good looking, but he was horribly shy with girls, especially, and completely socially awkward. However, he made a great tour guide because he knew almost as much about Magical France as his grandfather and Monsieur Deniau.

"Catacombs?"

Ginny grimaced. "You know how much I hate them. Please? I'll take...two of the next flying ones they've booked you on."

Louis contemplated that. He hated to fly and was horribly awkward on those tours because he was always worried he would fall off.

"Three."

"Deal."

She leaned down and pressed a kiss to his cheek, making the seventeen-year-old blush spectacularly. When the tour arrived, Ginny went out of her way to make sure that Louis got off alright, and then even spent a few minutes organizing the books-Louis' job-before saying her goodbye to Monsieur Daniau and peddling back toward her flat and the small magical cafe where she often picked up extra shifts just to make ends meet. She'd prefer to work exclusively for the touring agency, but the flat was so expensive, and Ginny had a bad habit of shopping that needed the extra funds waiting tables could add to her bank account. She arrived just before the dinner rush and dove into the fray, helping seat diners and take their orders, ignoring the few pinches she got on the backside when wizards at the bar got a little too frisky. Only once she'd been forced to escort someone to the sidewalk and the entire place had cheered her on as she leveled a spectacular bat bogey hex at the handsy wizard. He'd never returned again.

The night was busy and Ginny'd forgotten to even take a moment to eat, so she was ravenous when she returned home. Marie was out and the flat was dark and silent. Even little Lafayette had found another place to be when Ginny turned the key in her door.

"Welcome home, Ginny," she sighed as she kicked her boots off and hung up her rain slicker. It never had rained, even though it had threatened all day.

"Maybe tomorrow will be just as good.

She grabbed the last pain au chocolat that Marie had left on the table and curled up on the sofa, wrapping around a multi-colored afghan-a flat warming gift from her mother-and dozed off to sleep.

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Author's Note: Hello. Thank you for reading. I had so much fun writing my first story and I appreciate the kind words of everyone in the reviews. The main idea behind Pub Nights kept sticking in my head and I wanted to explore it and try to write my first longer story. Some things may seem familiar, if you read Pub Nights, but some things will be changed, too. Please let me know what you think of the chapter.