Ceremonials

A Conversation I Just Can't Have Tonight

The first time

Blood pounded in her ears as she stood before the fireplace. Fermenting rage and frustration that required an outlet.

She told Harry where she'd be and he nodded in understanding. Before Ginny could rethink her destination or check her instincts, she threw down the powder.

"Franklin House, Berkshire."

She strode confidently out of the hearth only to meet the sentinel of the house.

"Good evening, Mrs. Potter."

"Hello Crick. Library or verandah?"

"Mr. Malfoy and Mrs. Granger-Malfoy are taking tea in the library."

"Cheers."

She bounded up the main staircase and entered the library at a speed-walk, tossing a "Hey Hermione," at one armchair before coming to a stop in front of the other.

"Ginevra, what are you—?"

Ginny tugged a book out of Malfoy's hands and handed it to his wife. "Come on, we're going flying, give me your fastest broom."

He exchanged a startled look with Hermione who just nodded. Ginny turned on her heel, confident Malfoy would follow, if only to satiate his curiosity.

"I'm enrolling you in etiquette lessons for your next birthday," he drawled as he caught up with her on the stairs.

Ginny shrugged. "You can try."

An embarrassing reply for its lack of wit or playful insult. But Ginny couldn't feel anything besides the screaming frustration burning her up.

Malfoy didn't speak again until they reached the broom shed at the edge of the back lawns. He handed her the Gravity Obliterator. Perfect.

"Is there a particular reason you've barged into my home and interrupted our evening?" he asked.

Instead of answering, Ginny mounted the broom and kicked off into the air. She immediately tested the acceleration, shooting straight up and only levelling off when her eyes watered from the wind.

No way this broom prototype would pass the Ministry restrictions. She should keep it. She turned and dove, relishing the breakneck speed at which she approached the ground. Pulling up, she zipped higher once more, repeating more dives, practicing evasive maneuvers, loop-de-loops for the thrill, then put the broom through some standard paces.

Malfoy caught up with her as she got into a groove with speed laps around the estate. He was a decent flier in his own right and kept up with her easily enough. They fell into a silent race, Ginny besting him by a few broom lengths. Braking a bit, she slowed to an unhurried flight then soared higher. Coming to a stop about a hundred feet up, she inhaled the crisp, countryside air and admired her surroundings.

The air was home, in a way. You were nothing up here even if you felt like everything. That, at least, was how it always seemed to Ginny. Things became less consequential, less overwhelming, when she could take her broom to the highest heights and become a speck in the night.

Everything felt better up here. Screaming, crying, laughing, it all just dissipated into the wind if she flew fast enough. The sky swallowed it all up, without judgment or comment.

Ginny could see the distant lights of a nearby village. Removing her flask from her pocket, she toasted townspeople she couldn't see, then took a gulp. The whisky burned, though the flask's metal was cool against her lips. George had given it to her with "To Gin, for gin," etched on the front.