Ginny Weasley, the calm, collected one blasted her apartment door open and stormed inside. Ginny Weasley, the loving sister, shattered a picture of her brother, Harry, and Hermione as she raced down her small hallway and into her smaller studio. Ginny Weasley, the ex-girlfriend, felt like Avra Kedavra-ing her "fiancé" into who knows when. But 'Ginevra Wellsey', the artist, sat at her stool and brought out a clean canvas. She tried to clear her mind as she sloshed paint around her new piece of art and on her dress robes. She tried to forget about the happenings of earlier that evening as she moved a brush over the paint, hardly knowing what she was doing. She tried to think of nothing, tried to focus on her work, but thoughts kept drifting one by one through her head...

God this looks awful...... Stupid paint, stupid brush, stupid canvas.... Stupid Ron.... The nerve... Dumping me in public... In front of my brother... My brother supporting him.. Like he always does... And blasted Hermione standing there and looking so... knowledgeable... Where'd the black paint get to... "We weren't meant for each other," oh don't give me that crap... next time I see him I swear I'll curse him to next Tuesday... Harry bloody Potter... I never want to hear his name again...

Ginny leaned back and looked at her project. It was a mess of paint, splattered all over the canvas. The blues and blacks running together, dark purple and red dripped on to the floor. Ginny threw her brush into a bucket and it was magically cleaned in seconds. She turned on her stool and gazed out the doorway. She didn't know what to do with herself. It felt as if hundreds of emotions were bottled inside her and begging to escape. She dragged herself away from the studio, the studio she spent most of her time. When she wasn't with Harry, that is. It looked like she would be having a lot of free time nowadays...

Ginny wandered to the kitchen and automatically reached for a mug. She lived on coffee. It was what finished her last three commissions. Ginny filled her mug and sipped on it, studying her reflection in the window that was over her sink.

"One and a half years," she muttered. to herself. "One and a half bloody years. All I wanted to do was get married!" Ginny began pacing her kitchen, growing louder and louder. "Settle down! Spend eternity with the love of my life! But no... I mean, its not as if I was fantasizing about having a home with him! He had the guts to propose! We obviously wanted the same thing!" Ginny set her mug down harder than she meant to, sloshing hot coffee down her hand. "I guess the question is," she began, addressing no one in particular," why did he give up? Everything was going great! And then... he dumped me. In public. In front of my brother! And his girlfriend! And what did they do? The sided with him! The prats sided with the bloody (bad word)!! Well, Ronald. What about 'blood is thicker than water?' Well I guess not. I guess not..." Ginny swallowed. Uninvited tears started swimming in her eyes. Her head was pounding and her whole body was exhausted. "I need to get some sleep," she muttered and slowly slumped off to bed.

Her tiny bed sat opposite her door, covers strewn across the mattress, slowly sinking onto the floor. A small window over the bed looked out on one of the quiet streets of Maidstone, dust clinging to the old glass. Ginny sighed, walking around the random sketches and bits of clothing. Upon reaching her bed, she collapsed. The old wood screeched its protests. A picture stared at her from the small bedside table. A tall man with untidy black hair was laughing, embracing a young woman with bright red hair. In her hand was a delicate pink rose. Ginny hastily grabbed the picture and threw it across the room, delighting at the sound of shattering glass when it hit the wall.

Slowly, she found her tight grip on the sheets loosening and her mind becoming peacefully blank.

-------

Morning came all too quickly. Light streamed in from the window, a natural alarm for Ginny. Yawning widely, she slowly pulled herself out of bed and threw off her dress robe which was covered in hardening black, red, and blue paints. In its place, she put on a plain blue sweater and a pair of ageing jeans. Groggily, she made her way to the kitchen.

It was a mess, like the rest of her apartment, but that did not bother Ginny. It never had. She was notoriously disorganized. Her wand lay forgotten on the stacks of yellowing letters and bills. Ginny grabbed it and flicking it, muttered "Inceptium." The white plastic coffee pot whirred into life.

Ginny didn't see the point to mornings. The day should begin around noon and end a few hours after midnight. Not that it made a difference to Ginny what hour the businessmen left their homes to go sit in the cold, impersonal buildings that were their workplace. She was the artist; everyone else's schedule revolved around hers. She would bend over backwards to help no one.

She waved her wand over to the coffee machine and it magically filled a mug with steaming drink. She sipped on her beverage and moved throughout her apartment, careful not to trip on any number of items strewn about the floor. Today, Thursday, was going to be a long day; Ginny could tell by the feeling. One piece of work she had to finish for a client, and then the day was hers. Hers to mope, sulk, pout, glower, brood, and wallow in her misery. Whooo.....

It was late afternoon when Ginny finished her painting. A study in flowers for a client who was in the business. In Ginny's opinion, she had never seen a more hideous picture in all her life, but the customer seemed delighted, and he was the one with the money. An orange vase sitting on a table full of hideous golden carnations that emitted a buzzing sound when they felt as though their water wasn't fresh enough. Ginny was relieved to get them out of the house.

Returning from the customer's home, Ginny popped into her studio before running some last minute errands. As she grabbed her bag, her eyes fell on the painting she did last night before going to bed. It was a smattering of color, confusion, depression. Chaos. Ginny liked it. She quickly put a drying spell on it (just in case), snatched it up, and apparated to the back room of Enchanting Art Work: A Gallery of Today's Most Popular and Talented Wizards and Witches

"Um... Gin? This thing got a title? Or a price?" Claudia hung the picture up on "The Wall of Genevra Wellsey" and had stepped back to look at it. Claudia worked the Gallery and was one of the only friends Ginny had. The acclaimed artist now sat back in a chair and made a face of mock thoughtfulness. "I've got it," she said, throwing her hands in the air. "I'll call it, 'My fiancé broke up with me last night and I hate his guts and never want to see him again.' Sell it for whatever price you want to. I don't care."

"Aww. I'm sorry," Claudia said over her shoulder as she continued to look at the painting.

"Yeah, I don't want to talk about it," Ginny said as Claudia shrugged. Her great compassion was one of the reasons Ginny loved her.

"A year and a half! He proposed! Do you think I was setting myself up? I mean, there was still a possibility of a breaking up, but I... I had thought we were together forever." Ginny stood. Feeling her emotions so strongly, made her uneasy. She brushed her fingers through her wild, messy hair. Had she forgotten to brush it today? She hoped nobody looking into the windows thought she was too weird.

Claudia turned around. "You wanna to talk about somethin?"

"Nah," Ginny said, swinging her homemade bag over her shoulder. "I'm heading out. Let me know if anyone buys that new painting. I want to meet them and find out why."

Ginny opened the front door, bells jingling cheerily and closed. She stepped out to Diagon Alley, into the hustle and bustle of the streets. She felt protected amidst all of the crowds. Not personal, not invading, not nosey. Everybody had a place to go, d passed Weasely's Wizarding Wheezes. She glanced in and saw George (or maybe it was Fred, since they've grown older it was even harder to tell them apart) standing by a small child holding a box of something Ginny was very sure the child's mother would not want him to have. Her brother looked up from his potential costumer and saw her. He beamed and waved extravagantly.

And now I have no choice but to visit, she thought with a wry grin. Ginny tossed her hair and walked up to her brother

The small shop was full with students staring, wide-eyed at the different pieces of merchandise while their parents looked at the store apprehensively. One of the twins stood behind a purple and gold cash register, selling something in a silver can to a boy who looked around ten. After the boy had left, Ginny walked up to the register.

"Gin!" the red haired twin said loudly, going around the counter to catch her in a tight hug.

"Hello Fred," she said when he released her.

The man smile widened. "I'm George," he corrected her, "How have things been? Still living in that dump of an apartment?"

"It isn't a dump... well... It isn't when it is clean...."

Laughing, George led her to the back room.

"Tea?"

Ginny nodded. George swished his thick oak wand at the cabinets on the opposide wall.

"So, how have you been?" He asked, while the tea made itself.

"Okay..." replied Ginny slowly, hoping he would not turn the conversation towards Har--

"Have you and mum got the wedding all planned out?"

Ginny felt her face fall. He hadn't heard. She had expected Ron to tell the entire family.

"No..." she responded, running a hand through her hair, "There isn't going to be a wedding." She tried to keep her voice light, but even she could hear the bitterness.

"Oh," George said quietly, suddenly busying himself with setting out tables at the small table in the corner of the room. "Sugar?"

Ginny shifted in the awkward silence, trying to think of a conversation topic.

"I see that you and Fred are doing well," she said as George handed her the tea.

"Yeah, sometimes it's a bugger working with your brother, but we're doing well."

More silence.

"So, have you invented anything new," Ginny asked as she sipped her tea.

"We've been experimenting with Toxic Tea..."

Ginny spit out her tea on the ground. She knew her brother would try to make her ingest some sort of joke while she was here. George laughed.

"C'mon, be a sport, Gin. It's not really toxic; only make you feel ill for a bit." Ginny smirked as she wiped her mouth.

"Yeah, just like those first tests with the skiving snackboxes. No, I haven't forgotten that and I'd rather not risk some bizarre side effect while tasting poisonous tea."

"But we've already tested it and it didn't kill Ron or Harry!"

As soon as he said this, George bit his lip. Ginny grinned wryly. "If only." She stood and grabbed her bag. Before George could say anything she continued, "I'm sorry but I have to go. So many things to do, you know. See you around. Tell Fred I send my love!" She exited out the back door and closed it slowly. She hated it when people acted sorry. The look on George's face when he said that about Harry and Ron, it was as if he was afraid that the name of her ex-fiancé would send his baby sister into tears. Ginny walked briskly down the street and snorted at her brother's foolishness. Ginny Weasley, crying over a boy. Ginny didn't cry. Ever. Not even when the love of her life ripped her heart out.