Disclaimer: It's not mine...

Are Death Eaters Buying You Drinks Again?

Ginny walked inside the club, keeping to the right, and swerved around waiters and dancers, searching for a place to sit. She finally found a cushioned bench, curved around a wooden table. It was perfect for four people. She motioned the others over. Harry and Ron slid into their seats obediently; Hermione coughed loudly next to her, probably to prove that there was too much smoke in here, and it was unhealthy. Ginny rolled her eyes.

“I’m going to get some drinks,” she offered, trying to talk over the loud music. Without waiting for an answer, she strutted across the dance floor. Ginny walked up to the smooth counter of the bar.

“Can I have�”” Ginny started, looking at the menu posted on the wall. She had no idea what any of these drinks were. Darn Muggles, she thought bitterly. Picking randomly was the obvious solution. “Can I have four marga�”” A loud cough close by, cut her off.

“Four ginger ales,” Hermione instructed. The bartender nodded, and began preparing their order.

“I can get drinks by myself,” Ginny complained, crossing her arms.

“Yeah, but the drinks you were going to get would have left us stripping in the middle of the dance floor,” Hermione countered.

“I didn’t know it had alcohol!” Ginny claimed innocently. Hermione raised an eyebrow and glanced at the menu. “Margaritas” were listed under the “Alcoholic Drinks” section. “Fine! I did. And it wouldn’t have left us that sloshed.”

The bartender clunked four glasses on the counter, and held out his hand expectantly. Hermione reached into her jean pocket, unfolding a couple of paper bills. Ginny heard a creak as the man next to them swiveled around on his stool. He had slippery black hair and bumpy skin. He smiled slowly, showing a gold tooth on the upper right corner of his mouth. It sent shivers up Ginny’s spine.

“Let me get that for you,” the man proposed. He dropped some papers next to the drinks.

“No, it’s all right,” Hermione declined, holding out her money to the bartender.

“I got it, sugar,” the man insisted with a wink. He pushed the money farther down the bar, until the bartender took it.

“Um…thanks,” Ginny said nervously. She grabbed two drinks and nudged Hermione in her arm, wanting her to do the same. Together they walked back to the table.

“What a creeper,” declared Ginny, as they made their way back. Hermione shuddered.

“I think you might want to peel his eyes off your arse,” she said worriedly, glancing over her shoulder.

Ginny took a sip of her ginger ale. “At least we got free drinks.”

“So nasty perverts can picture you naked all they want, as long as they buy you free drinks?” Hermione asked sarcastically. “Merlin knows what else guys can get you to do as long as they give you something! Oh, here’s a puppy! Give me a lap dance,” she mimicked, in a sad attempt at a male voice. Ginny spun around to face her.

“Hermione, you know I wouldn’t do that.” Ginny stared at her coldly. “You’re just looking for a way to get out of having fun tonight. Let me tell you, blaming me won’t work!”

“Ginny this is not safe! We shouldn’t have come here. What if that disturbing guy was a serial killer? Or what if he was a Death Eater?” Hermione whispered furiously. Ginny ignored Hermione’s last comment and pushed past her, sliding into their booth.

“What took you so long?” Ron wondered, grabbing a ginger ale. Hermione stomped over to stand beside Ginny, looking down at her. Ginny smiled, taking the ginger ales from Hermione, and setting them on the table.

Harry looked uncertain. “Is everything alright?”

“This Death Eater bought us drinks. And Hermione thinks he has a sinister plan to murder us,” Ginny kidded, coolly. Harry’s drink slipped out of his hand, and smashed onto the table. He jumped up, whipping out his wand. Ron spluttered, spraying ginger ale everywhere.

“Where is he?” Harry whispered, deadly serious.

“Relax, Harry! Ginny was just twisting my words, to make a little joke. Now, put your wand away!” Hermione explained hurriedly.

“You were joking about Death Eaters?” Harry accused, disgust evident on his face. Ginny blushed with shame. She felt like a puppy that was just caught chewing on her owner’s shoe. Ginny was sure, if she had a tail, it would be between her legs.

Harry put his wand back into his pocket, and sat down. This time Ginny didn’t have to move around to make sure she wasn’t touching him. Harry made sure of that himself.

“Well you should have seen Hermione! This bloke buys us drinks, and she’s scared he’s going to murder us!” Ginny described defensively. She hated when Harry was disappointed with her.

Hermione sat down opposite Ginny. “For all we know, he could have poisoned our drinks!”

Ron pushed his glass away from him and wiped his mouth with the back of his sleeve.

“We were standing right there! We would have seen him slip in some arsenic,” Ginny reasoned. Hermione pursed her lips sourly.

“Okay, so I was wrong to joke about Death Eaters,” Ginny admitted, glancing hopefully at Harry from the corner of her eye, “but I still think you’re being paranoid,” she added to the brunette across from her.

“No, I’m concerned,” Hermione stated sternly.

“Don’t get in a fuss over it,” Ron intervened. “Merlin knows the more you worry, the less we have to.” Hermione scowled.

“We’re not saying you shouldn’t care, but maybe you should…” Harry paused, looking for a word.

“Lighten up,” Ginny finished for him. Hermione scowled again.

“You think it’s safe to drink this?” Ron asked her, holding up the glass of ginger ale. “It might be poisoned.” The corners of his mouth were twitching.

Hermione sighed. “Fine, I’ll be good.”

“Let’s dance!” Ginny proclaimed randomly, popping out of her seat. The table rocked back and forth as the glasses swayed dangerously. The rest of the group looked at her, taken back.

“C’mon,” she urged. Hermione stood warily, making her way to the dance floor. “You two aren’t coming?”

Harry and Ron shared a look. Ginny hoped it was an “I-really-want-to-dance” look. It wasn’t. They stayed seated, gulping down their drinks and watching the glass condensate.

“It’ll be good practice for the wedding,” Ginny coaxed. Ron shook his head at her poor effort. His gaze traveled over Ginny’s shoulder and she saw Ron’s eyes become focused on something. He slowly stood up and walked past the confused redhead. Ginny turned around to find Ron wondering towards a smiling Hermione. She was watching her brother awkwardly place his hands on Hermione’s waist when someone tapped her shoulder.

Ginny twirled around to come face to face with Harry. Apparently he decided that if Ron was dancing he had to as well. Without a word, he nodded towards the floor and began walking. Ginny tilted her head, watching him go. Her gaze slid down to his bum. Ginny quickly shut her eyes so hard she felt them start to water. After many deep breaths she joined her friends on the floor.

By the time she wandered over to them, Harry, Ron and Hermione were just a group dancing. No partners. No couples. It was just the way Ginny wanted, and needed, it. They danced like that for a while, bopping along to the beat.

“Looks like you’re having fun, Hermione,” Ginny said, grinning. Hermione returned the smile, and rolled her eyes halfway before catching herself. Ginny thought that was a big improvement, even though the only reason she stopped rolling her eyes was because Ron stepped on her toe.

Yet another tap on her shoulder caused Ginny to whip around. The first thing she saw was a man’s chest covered by a black t-shirt, with red letters spelling “I don’t know what makes you dumb, but it really works.”

“Do you want to dance?” he asked. Ginny jumped nervously, pulling her eyes up to look at the stranger. He had golden hair that curled around his ears, and squinting brown eyes. He was handsome, sure, but he wasn’t Ginny’s type. For starters, he didn’t have a scar.

“Um. Do you want to dance?” he repeated, this time louder.

“I, uh,” Ginny stammered. She turned to look behind her for some guidance. Ron turned his narrowed eyes at Ginny’s admirer.

“Be careful,” Hermione whispered warily. Ron scowled at her. Ginny turned to Harry. He stood there impassively until he felt Ginny’s eyes on him. Harry smiled, and nodded to the bloke behind her. Almost reluctantly, Ginny followed Harry’s silent suggestion.

“I’d love to dance,” she answered.

“He could be a Death Eater,” Ginny heard Ron whisper furiously, as her new dance partner led her to an empty spot by the stage. A loud rock song was being blasted by the band on the elevated platform. The music from the speakers made everything pulsate, sending vibrations through the floor. Two silver poles were on either side of the stage. Girls were flipping and spinning around, over and near them.

“I’m Nate, by the way,” he initiated, placing his hands on Ginny’s waist. Ginny flinched lightly at his touch, but smoothly covered it up with a smile. His hands were hot and sweaty. She hated that. Harry was always pleasantly warm. You shouldn’t compare him to Harry. It’s not fair, Ginny reasoned, trying to banish him from her mind.

“Nate,” she tried out the name in her mouth. It felt foreign. “I’m Ginny.” She laid her hands apprehensively on his shoulders. They uneasily rocked back and forth to the music.

“I like your shirt,” Ginny complemented, watching the light reflect off the shiny red letters.

“Thanks. My friend searched everywhere for it. He wasn’t sure if he should get one that said “Girls are like pianos. When they’re not upright, they’re grand.” But I don’t think that’s uh…appropriate. It’s bleeding funny, but my Mum would flip. She’s always so uptight and�”” Nate continued to babble about his Mother’s stress issues. Ginny added words of agreement when he paused, but she quickly returned to tuning him out.

Ginny let her mind wander. The band was playing an old song that she remembered hearing years ago at some Muggle place and the lyrics swam through her head. Her eyes were threatening to close. Drowsiness was pulling them down, farther and farther, until they shut peacefully.

Ginny thought she heard someone call her name. She ignored them. The only person she wanted to speak to was the one she couldn’t. But it didn’t matter what she wanted. He broke up with her. He’s going to leave her in the middle of the war. Ginny tried not to be selfish. Putting up the brave façade was hard, but he needed it. Not to mention her family required it.

She felt her left eye start to tear, and she allowed the drop to form around her eyelashes. But that was it. Ginny fluttered her eyes causing the tear to vanish. She had enough of crying for today. Ginny took a deep breath. Smoke filled her lungs, along with Nate’s cologne. Her eyes snapped open. Nate! She forgot he was right there!

“Sorry,” she murmured sheepishly, interrupting Nate’s monologue.

“What for?” he asked, baffled. Ginny realized that Nate hadn’t noticed her closed eyes. He’d been talking the whole time.

“Erm…I’m thirsty,” Ginny blurted out.

Nate chuckled. “No need to apologize for that.” He escorted her to the bar, ordered two sodas and paid for both. Maybe Ginny wouldn’t have to buy drinks at all tonight. After handing her the glass, Nate leaned against the counter and resumed his persistent small talk. This time Ginny really did try to pay attention. He seemed like an all right guy. Definitely not Prince Charming, but a welcome distraction.

Nate had a bulldog named Bubba. He had a job as a waiter in a local restaurant. He lived with his parents, but next week was moving into apartment in the city with his friend, Adam. He was looking forward to living somewhere more urban, since he’d only lived in a suburb of London for all of his life. In the middle of describing his plans to become an orthodontist (whatever that is) it struck Ginny as she stood there how completely ignorant the Muggles were of the Wizarding World crises, despite the fact that it was biting them on the nose. They didn’t know Lord Voldemort was a murderous, raving lunatic and he’d kill any of them at first glance.

Nate’s jabber stopped. It seemed that he was expecting something. So much for paying attention, thought Ginny.

“I’m sorry. What?”

“I was wondering if I could get your phone number.” Nate smiled. “Maybe we could get together sometime,” he offered.

Ginny opened and closed her mouth, unsure of what to say. “I don’t think I can. I’m going away to school tomorrow, and they…um…don’t allow visitors.”

“No phone calls either?” he asked suspiciously. Ginny wasn’t exactly sure what a “phone call” was.

“No. They’re really strict. Sorry. I had a lot of fun. Thank you.” With that, Ginny placed her drink on the bar and walked away. It wasn’t a total lie, Ginny reasoned.

Sighing, Ginny found the booth that she previously occupied with Harry, Ron and Hermione. It was empty except for the three glasses on the table. She dropped into her seat, and downed the glass in front of her. She felt a faint burn as the liquid went down her throat, and decided to solve it by gulping more ginger ale out of Hermione’s glass.

She saw a mop of red hair on the dance floor, and knew it to be her brother. Hermione’s brown curls were close to him, but there was no sign of the jet black. Ginny rubbed her throbbing temples. Sleep was calling her name, and Ginny succumbed once more to closing her eyes. Ginny’s mind was at peace for about five seconds, when an unknown voice startled her.

“Are you okay?”

“I…” Ginny started. Her vision was blurred. She blinked a couple of times and looked up at the stranger standing over her. Three women, a little older than herself, glanced at her tentatively.

“That’s our table,” one of them asserted.

“Tiff, be nice!” another scolded. “Are you all right?” The woman crouched down so she was level with Ginny.

“I’m fine,” Ginny answered, unsure. She sat up straight, her head slightly spinning. The woman pushed her long blonde hair behind her shoulder and stood up.

“Well, you’re at our table.”

Ginny looked around. This looked like her table. Then she saw the light catch something on the table next to this one. She studied it carefully and saw pieces of broken glass, three cups with a light liquid and…Harry’s jacket. Maybe this wasn’t her table. She groaned.

“I’m really sorry. I thought this was my table,” she mutterd.

“It’s okay.”

“I’m also sorry about your drinks,” Ginny apologized, motioning to the empty glasses.

“Don’t worry about it,” the blonde said, shrugging it off. Ginny stood up. She rocked hazardously, and stumbled into one of the women.

“By any chance, did that have alcohol in it?” Ginny pointed to the glasses.

“Yes. They were margaritas.”

“Oh. Well, bye, then.” How Ginny had mistook a red margarita for ginger ale? She had no idea. Hermione’s going to kill me, she thought with sigh.

Ginny meandered through the dancing crowd. She tried to find Harry, Ron, and Hermione but all of the moving couples blurred around her. Then something caught her eye. She looked up to the stage. The silver poles gleamed in the spotlight. The girls near them performed a perfectly choreographed dance. Compulsion drew Ginny to the shining stick, and she climbed the stairs to the stage.

A voice in the back of Ginny’s head told her that she shouldn’t make decisions right after she drank a Margarita. I’m not doing this because of alcohol, Ginny rationalized with the voice. I’m not sloshed. It’s just for fun. Because I want to do it.

“You’re not supposed to be up here, doll.” One woman stopped dancing and quickly stepped to the side of the stage where Ginny stood. Ginny couldn’t place her accent, it was deep but endearing, and certainly wasn’t British. She had a heavily painted face with deep creases under her eyes.

“I wanted to…uh…pole dance?” Ginny asked, unsure of what she should call the woman’s job. The woman took a deep breath, causing the glitter on her costume to catch the light and shine.

“That’s probably not a good idea,” she answered. “My boss will get mad. Sorry, hon.”

A stumpy, balding man came to the edge of the stage. He smoked a cigar with his right hand, and had full glass of an amber drink in his other hand. “I told you to dance! I want to see something shaking!” he ordered.

For a second, Ginny thought this complete stranger was talking to her. She was about to tell him that the only thing he’ll see shaking is his own stomach, but the dancer next to her cut in.

“I’m in the middle of a conversation, okay?” Her smoky voice sounded strained.

“If you want to get paid tonight, you’ll dance!” he commanded. Then in a softer, more evil, voice he added, “Normally the homeless prefer a paycheck, but you, Kay, are a special case, I guess.” With that, he stomped away to yell at a waiter.

Once he was out of earshot, Kay turned to Ginny. “You still want to dance?” There was no more endearment in her voice. Kay’s angry eyes softened when Ginny nodded. She smiled. “Have fun, doll.” Kay climbed off the stage in her knee-high boots, pulling out a cigarette on the way.

Ginny turned to the pole. She wasn’t sure how to…start. She climbed up the pole, and began spinning. Ginny twirled around it, stretching her legs outward, and then bringing them in, so they wrapped around the pole gracefully. She flipped and whirled, letting her mind and body relax. Another trance-like state overtook her. But it didn’t last long.

“Ginny!” a voice yelled. She stopped suddenly, tripping over her own feet, and landed in an odd kind of split. Someone in the audience started clapping. Ginny blushed and awkwardly stood up. People probably thought she was showing off.

The voice in the back of her head was encouraging her to get off the stage immediately. But people were cheering for her. She might as well perform. Ignoring her voice of reason, Ginny stylishly jumped off the stage. There was more applause.

“Ginny!”

Ginny cringed. She realized the voice. Just then Ron came charging through the crowd, furious.