Firewhisky Kisses

Ginny could not sleep. She hugged her pillow close to her as she absently watched Hermione sleep peacefully in the bed beside her. Part of her wished she'd never joined Harry, Ron, Hermione, and the twins in eavesdropping on the Order meeting just before Christmas. They'd overheard Moody, Tonks, and Arthur talking about how they'd thought Harry might be possessed by Voldemort. Ginny knew it was impossible, but Harry had avoided them for days before she'd finally been able to explain to him why he wasn't possessed.

And she'd been plagued by dreams about Harry and Tom Riddle ever since. The mere thought of Voldemort possessing anyone had dragged up painful memories from her first year—memories she had done quite well pushing down until this week.

Her heart hurt when she thought about how Harry must have felt to hear that Voldemort might be controlling him and that he might have attacked her father the night he'd been bitten by the snake.

She didn't want to think about Harry suffering. To get right down to it, Ginny didn't want to think about Harry at all. She had her own life, interests and friends, separate from his. And she wanted to keep it that way.

Ginny buried her face in her hands and began to concentrate on her breathing. It had always helped her banish her intrusive thoughts about Tom. Inhale . . .Exhale, she told herself.

Inhale. Cedric dead. Exhale.

Inhale. Blood running down Harry's arm. Exhale.

Inhale. Harry covered in blood in the Chamber. Exhale.

Inhale. Tom Riddle laughing at her. Exhale.

With each breath, a new image flashed through her mind and pierced her heart with pain.

Oh, hell. This is not calming me down, she thought, frustrated. She kicked off her blankets and headed to the kitchen for a glass of water. Perhaps a walk would help her take her mind off of Harry and her dark memories.

Ginny was surprised to see a soft light flickering under the kitchen door. Evidently, she wasn't the only one who couldn't sleep tonight.

She slowly pushed open the door, peering into the kitchen cautiously lest she run into Kreacher. Lately he had taken to throwing frying pans at her while calling her a blood traitor at the top of his lungs.

She let out a sigh of relief when she saw Sirius sitting alone at the kitchen table, a large bottle of Ogden's Old Firewhisky in front of him. She suspected he'd just opened it because it was nearly full.

Sirius looked up at the sound of the door and raised his eyebrows at her. "You're up late," he said quietly. He took a long drink of dark amber firewhisky from a glass tumbler.

"So are you," Ginny replied, hoping to avoid the subject of what was keeping her awake. She retrieved a glass from above the kitchen sink and filled it with water. Sirius didn't seem interested in interrogating her. He was leaning on the table, looking down at his glass as if deep in thought.

Ginny wasn't sure she wanted to talk to anyone, but she certainly didn't want to go back to bed where she'd be alone with her unsettling thoughts. Sirius seemed to be too wrapped up in his own melancholy and loneliness to pry.

He drained his glass and immediately poured himself another, filling it nearly to the brim. His dark hair fell across his face, and he did not brush it away. His eyes, once hollow and sunken from years of malnourishment, had begun to show the life of a younger man at Christmas. But tonight, they had returned to their usual darkness.

"Mind if I join you?" she asked.

"Go ahead," grunted Sirius, motioning to the wooden chair across from him.