Of Cabbages and Kings - Part 1

Author's Note: Well, this is my little piece of weirdness for the week. It's potentially part of a new series (I wrote it, having got bored temporarily of The Long and Winding Road). It's strange, so take it all with a pinch of salt. Please review, and tell me whether I should continue it or dump it, into the dark recesses of abandoned fanfics… Thanks for reading. Talia xx

Ginny irritatedly brushed her hair out of her eyes. As a little girl, of course, she had worn nothing but two fat frizzy plaits, that were tied with blue satin ribbon and swung around her rosy cheeks. Now, aged twenty-four, she had a sleek bob, cut just below the nape of her neck with feathered fronds bobbing across her forehead. The fiery red had been tamed by a good hair-dresser, and dulled to burnished copper, highlighted with touches of golden blonde. The freckles were still there, but nearly concealed under her make-up. Her body was as slender as it ever had been, just taller, with a slight trace of rounded hips and small breasts, under the grey Chanel suit. It was a beautiful suit, pearlish in colour, with a long jacket that came to her mid-thighs, and a matching skirt that skimmed her knees. In such a job, naturally she had to look smart, and her large pay-packet more than covered such extravagances.

Ginny worked in PR, organising functions and send-offs for companies with more money than sense. In truth, being practically at the top of the career ladder already, all her job amounted to was making a phone call here and there, drinking endless cups of coffee, and occasionally dealing with unfortunate situations of 'letting people go' from the company. Ginny worked in a high-rise office block in the City, and frequently went to premieres, celebratory parties and of course her own creations. The most recent had been a great success; the opening night of Mirage, a swanky new restaurant in Knightsbridge. She recalled the night in her mind; she, in her tenth LBT, with Pied a Terre black velvet mules, and a fabulous ornate butterfly pinning back her hair. She'd bought it from Harrods; stunning, with rubies in the silver. Virginia Taylor and David McCarthy the sign had said, hanging on the new restaurant's wall. Of course, Taylor wasn't her real name, but she had been advised by several people in the past four years, who knew the game much better than she did, that Weasley simply would not go down well. It was like show-business, in a way…

Tri-wings, was the name of her company. Well, not strictly her company, of course. David had established it, and she had clawed her way up the ladder to co-own it with him. Breaking all the rules along the way. Well, whoever said she was a nice little girl, anyway? She and David weren't really going out, of course. He was just a casual shag, when she felt like it. He'd looked particularly handsome at the opening of Mirage, in black tie, naturally. That party really had been something. Their best yet, many people had said. Ginny had rubbed shoulders with a whole range of people, from AA Gill, to the latest teen Pop group sensation, no doubt entirely manufactured by Polydor.

Ginny snapped back to reality as her Nokia 8210 sang out from her desk.

"Hello, Taylor speaking," she snapped into the phone. "Ahh, yes. Yes. Of course. What was your intended expenditure bracket…?

*

Ginny tripped down the white marble steps in front of Trillington Block, where her office was housed. She walked effortlessly down the street in her black high heels (Armani), and expertly tossed her Coffee Republic cup into the nearest litter bin. She turned into King's Road, and slipped into the tiny Pret a Manger that was handily on the corner. The deli café had become her Mecca in recent years, and she couldn't resist smirking at the Burger King across the road. As usual, it was nearly empty. No self-respecting city type would be seen dead in one of those burger bars…

"Half-fat de-caf cap," she recited to the young girl behind the counter, noticing her greasy hair concealed under the red baseball cap, her huge unsightly gold earrings, unfortunately on show. "And an almond croissant," Ginny added, picking one out of the wicker baskets in front of her.

"That's four pound ninety-eight," said the girl, shaking labourious amounts of chocolate powder on the cappuccino.

"Go easy on the chocolate," muttered Ginny, handing over a crisp twenty pound note.

"Ta," said the girl. Ginny purposefully did not acknowledge the girl's hopeful eye on the tip basket, and swept over to a window seat. She sipped her cappuccino, reclining in the silver chair.

It was funny, she thought. When the war started, it was as though her entire world had been torn apart. All of her brothers, except for Ron, as he was too young at the time, had been recruited to fight. Bill had been killed, leaving his girlfriend Caroline, who was pregnant then, to survive on her own. Charlie had been killed, George had been condemned to a wheelchair for life, as he lost both his legs. Although her father had been too old to be called out, his office had been bombed by the Death Eaters, killing huge numbers of the Ministry workers. Ginny's mother had never recovered from the shock of losing two of her sons and her husband, and gave up the will to live three months later. By the time the war ended, a year later, there were so few witches and wizards left, that their entire way of living had been damaged beyond repair. The Dark Lord was still lurking, able to attack again at any time. The Ministry for Magic was in disarray. Of course, it hardly helped matters that Dumbledore had died a year before the war started, when Ginny was in the fifth year. He just slipped away in his sleep, taking with him the only wizard that Voldemort had ever truly feared. The few people who had survived, who had an importance in the Ministry, issued a statement to all the remaining witches and wizards. They were to take up new lives as Muggles. The Ministry removed each and every wand in the country, and burnt them.

It had been hard enough for Ginny, but far, far harder for her parent's generation. They couldn't contemplate the thought of living as Muggles, and many killed themselves in despair. The younger ones bought homes in the Muggle community, rid their memories of all their magical training, and started over, in hiding from the Dark Lord.

It had been hard, of course it had, particularly with both of her parents dead in such a short space of time. Very quickly Ginny lost contact with her friends from Hogwarts. People were too scared to write to each other, in the aftermath of the disaster. They knew that the Death Eaters and Voldemort were perfectly capable of striking again, and the terror took a long time to die down.

But people are very good at adapting in extreme conditions. Ginny looked back on her days at Hogwarts as though through a mist. It all seemed like a dream; despite the fact that she had grown up with it all her life. And now, six years since the war had ended, she could barely remember a single thing she had been taught. It was as though she had forgotten it all on purpose, to protect herself.

She had no idea where any of her remaining brothers were. Well, she knew in theory where Percy was, of course. The traitorous scumbag. Who would have thought it? Prefect Percy, in ally with the dark side, since he was twenty? The last person you would have thought of… Percy, a Death Eater - it still seemed ludicrous now. It still hurt more than words could express; the fact that her own brother had helped massacre half of her family.

To Ginny's surprise, she felt a solitary tear slip down her foundationed cheek, and she quickly swabbed at it with a tissue. I thought I was over it now, she thought.

Ron had been the last one she lost touch with. She could still recall that last phone-call in her memory, Ron's empty voice, and her crying silently on the end of the phone.

"I'm not going to ring you again, Gin… It's Ministry law, now. It's too dangerous, I'd be putting us both in great danger…"

The last she's heard, all of the Weasleys had been scattered right across the country. Ron had gone to live in Drumnadrochit, a small town near Inverness. He had always loved the rugged Scottish countryside. Fred was caring for George in Manchester. Caroline, the girlfriend of Bill, had bought a cottage home by the sea in Weymouth, Devon. She had had the baby, and had called her Sara. Ginny knew that it was highly unlikely that she would ever see her niece. Sara would be going on seven, now.

That was where they had all moved to initially. God knows, six years later, where they would be now. That last phone call to Ron had been about five years ago. Anything could have happened to any of them. She simply had no idea.

I hadn't been that hard, establishing herself as a Muggle. She had no qualifications, of course, OWLs were hardly accepted on a par with GCSEs. So, for about a year, she went to evening classes, to learning typing and office skills, which thankfully she excelled at. Ginny recalled that first, long year, working her fingers to the bone in a variety of dead end jobs, to scrape some money together. She had the gold that she'd inherited from her parents, of course, but that was hardly anything. The emergency funds that the Ministry had handed out to every surviving witch and wizard in their ration packet, along with instructions about how to survive as a Muggle, and some food vouchers, had been quite generous, and had paid for her evening classes. It would have been so easy to blow the lot on clothes and food, perhaps even drugs, but Ginny had gained more sense in her adolescence than most, and used it wisely.

She had lived in a Bed and Breakfast for the first few months. That had been hell. The room had been tiny; literally one bed shoved up against a wall, a chest of drawers made out of rotting wood, and a table lamp, with no table to put it on. There had been one communal bathroom for all of her floor; about fifteen people. It had been filthy, the sheets were dirty, and there were rats and cockroaches crawling everywhere. Ginny had nearly gone mad. And then, when she plucked up the courage to go to the local one night, she'd met Pan.

Pan was what could only be described as a hippie. He had long hair in dread-locks, despite the fact that he was as white as milk. It seemed that every part of him was covered with piercings. He wore clothes nicked from Camden Market; long hand knitted tops, and loose white trousers that trailed on the ground. His trademark was his rainbow scarf that he wore at all times. Ginny had fallen in love with him at first sight, and Pan had with Ginny. He lived in a squat, with three other people, two men and a woman.

Shine and Starr were both Buddhists. Ginny was pretty sure that Shine wasn't his real name, although she knew that Starr had been named that since birth, having been blessed with Generation X parents, who apparently had been constantly stoned all through Starr's childhood. Starr had always been polite to Ginny, though never friendly. Ginny had always had the sneaking suspicion that she saw Ginny as a threat. The other member of the 'household' was Martie, a lovely bloke, who was terribly shy. Ginny barely remembered him saying a word directly to her, although he always smiled off into the distance, somewhere behind her left ear. He was completely mad, but totally harmless, and was extremely popular with all who knew him.

When Pan heard that Ginny was staying in the local Bed and Breakfast hotel, he invited her to come and shack up with them, and Ginny readily agreed. Nothing could be worse than where she was staying.

Ginny lost her virginity to Pan, and had never regretted it. She really, really loved him, despite all his faults - and of those there were many. All four smoked hash, and Starr and Pan were on cocaine too. They never used heroine, whilst Ginny was staying with them, and she'd often looked back on that time, and wondered if they eventually got onto the big time. She'd seen it happen so many times with other people.

While Ginny was staying with Pan and the others, she got a secretarial job at a PR company. All those evening classes had finally paid off. It was badly paid, but a steady job, and Ginny increasingly felt trapped and revolted in the squat, as she saw the lives her colleagues led. And then, one day, she got back to the squat, and found Pan dead. He'd taken an overdose of cocaine, and snuffed it. With Pan's death, Ginny found the escape route to her next rung on the ladder. With her small salary, she had managed to save a few bob, and she moved into a flat-share, with a few other people her age.

Ginny learnt quickly at work. She soon realised some of the short-cuts you could take, and she did not have a problem with taking them. Her boss at that time, a Peter Bateman, showed an unlikely interest in her, and Ginny turned up to work, wearing increasingly short skirts. She slept with him, and got promoted the next week.

This was the way Ginny flew up the carrier ladder. Of course, it helped a great deal that she had a natural ability for the work, but it was plain to see, looking back, that she would still be floundering now, back in the bed and breakfasts and the secretarial jobs with extortionate pay, if she had not been willing to kiss a few men along the way.

And now, of course, she was sleeping with David. She didn't love him, or even like him. Of course she fancied him, what woman wouldn't? It had all paid off. She had a beautiful flat in the City (furnished entirely by Harrods), a huge wardrobe full of designer freebies, an excellent ,stable job, with all the trimmings, she had sexual fulfillment of course…

It was funny. She had thought that the Dark Lord had ruined her life forever. In fact, it gave her the start in life that most could only dream of. She did miss her brothers, though… And her old friends.

Ginny shook herself awake from her daydreaming. Her cappuccino had gone cold. Ginny spooned up the last of the almond cream from the plate, and licked the fork clean. She was just picking up her gorgeous scarlet Fiorelli coat, and getting ready to go back to work, when she noticed someone come into Pret.

He was tall, with ruffled dark hair, and an immaculately cut suit - John Roche, thought Ginny instantly. He looked very, very familiar, but Ginny couldn't place him. She picked up her handbag, and walked towards the door. The man lifted his eyes to meet hers, and Ginny saw the jolt of realisation in his face at the exact second she realised who it was.

"Harry!" she exclaimed, just as he said; "Ginny!"

To be continued…