For You
For You
Hermione walked into Wooden Lane Police Department uneasily. Behind the desk before her a young officer was writing some sort of report but he looked up and smiled pleasantly at her when she entered.
“ Can I help you, Miss?” he asked, a Scottish brogue tripping easily over his tongue. Hermione blushed, “ Yes, I’m looking for my friend, Ginny Weasley? She’s probably the one who didn’t know how to work a telephone…” Hermione’s eyes darted around the small room, noting the door to her left and the posters that littered the bulletin board about criminals and sex offenders.
“ Ah, the drunk and disorderly from last night, are you here to post her bail?” he asked looking less cheery but not discouraged as he swiveled in his chair and plucked a form from his desktop files.
“ Yes,” Hermione took the pen he offered feeling clumsy as she wrote her information out with a bright blue ballpoint. She then went about cutting a cheque for quite a number of pounds and taking the clear plastic back that held Ginny’s pocket’s contents, her purse, her wand, and her belt.
“ Interesting girl she is, gave the lads quite a show last night. I thought perhaps she was off her medication or something- we see that sometimes- but I couldn’t find any in her things, only a bunch of funny looking coins and that stick…looks almost like a magic wand,” he laughed as he swiped his ID card through the gated entrance access to the holding cells and beckoned Hermione through when it buzzed. Hermione just pressed her lips firmly together and marched silently behind him.
Most of the cells were empty, one or two held a moaning captive, Hermione wrinkled her nose and tried not to think of Ginny like that.
“ Morning Princess,” The officer rapped on the bars of the cell Hermione saw a smallish lump was curled up in with his keys. He slid his key into the lock and twisted, a guttural clanking noise filled the air as the lump shifted and spread out into a disheveled Ginny, her hair mussed about her pale face, dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes.
“ Mione?” she rubbed her eye and stood slowly as Hermione slipped into the cell, wrapping her own coat about Ginny’s skinny frame.
“ Yes, It’s all right, we’re going home now,” she smoothed the hair out of her eyes and began lugging her out and back through the department. Hermione muttered her thanks to the silently watching guard and pushed the impossibly heavy glass door open with one hip as she kept Ginny up right with both hands.
“ M’sorry,” Ginny mumbled, her eyes slits in the sunshine. Hermione didn’t say anything, how could she? This wasn’t the first time Ginny had gotten completely shit faced and wandered into Muggle London, only to be taken down by the fuzz; and Hermione knew it wouldn’t be the last. It was all Harry’s fault really, for whatever he did or didn’t do to Ginny during the reconstruction of Hogwarts, it ironically completely destroyed Ginny. Now Hermione was left to pick up the pieces, as per usual.
But, Hermione looked at Ginny, reeking of booze and half asleep on her shoulder, maybe one man’s trash was another woman’s treasure.
Hermione walked into Wooden Lane Police Department uneasily. Behind the desk before her a young officer was writing some sort of report but he looked up and smiled pleasantly at her when she entered.
“ Can I help you, Miss?” he asked, a Scottish brogue tripping easily over his tongue. Hermione blushed, “ Yes, I’m looking for my friend, Ginny Weasley? She’s probably the one who didn’t know how to work a telephone…” Hermione’s eyes darted around the small room, noting the door to her left and the posters that littered the bulletin board about criminals and sex offenders.
“ Ah, the drunk and disorderly from last night, are you here to post her bail?” he asked looking less cheery but not discouraged as he swiveled in his chair and plucked a form from his desktop files.
“ Yes,” Hermione took the pen he offered feeling clumsy as she wrote her information out with a bright blue ballpoint. She then went about cutting a cheque for quite a number of pounds and taking the clear plastic back that held Ginny’s pocket’s contents, her purse, her wand, and her belt.
“ Interesting girl she is, gave the lads quite a show last night. I thought perhaps she was off her medication or something- we see that sometimes- but I couldn’t find any in her things, only a bunch of funny looking coins and that stick…looks almost like a magic wand,” he laughed as he swiped his ID card through the gated entrance access to the holding cells and beckoned Hermione through when it buzzed. Hermione just pressed her lips firmly together and marched silently behind him.
Most of the cells were empty, one or two held a moaning captive, Hermione wrinkled her nose and tried not to think of Ginny like that.
“ Morning Princess,” The officer rapped on the bars of the cell Hermione saw a smallish lump was curled up in with his keys. He slid his key into the lock and twisted, a guttural clanking noise filled the air as the lump shifted and spread out into a disheveled Ginny, her hair mussed about her pale face, dark circles under her red-rimmed eyes.
“ Mione?” she rubbed her eye and stood slowly as Hermione slipped into the cell, wrapping her own coat about Ginny’s skinny frame.
“ Yes, It’s all right, we’re going home now,” she smoothed the hair out of her eyes and began lugging her out and back through the department. Hermione muttered her thanks to the silently watching guard and pushed the impossibly heavy glass door open with one hip as she kept Ginny up right with both hands.
“ M’sorry,” Ginny mumbled, her eyes slits in the sunshine. Hermione didn’t say anything, how could she? This wasn’t the first time Ginny had gotten completely shit faced and wandered into Muggle London, only to be taken down by the fuzz; and Hermione knew it wouldn’t be the last. It was all Harry’s fault really, for whatever he did or didn’t do to Ginny during the reconstruction of Hogwarts, it ironically completely destroyed Ginny. Now Hermione was left to pick up the pieces, as per usual.
But, Hermione looked at Ginny, reeking of booze and half asleep on her shoulder, maybe one man’s trash was another woman’s treasure.