Will You Ever Return to Me?

Interlude.

January 2003, Cincinnati, Ohio.

Ginny never felt like staying on campus of the Cincinnati Magical Academy on weekends. She felt like it even less now that there was a chance--a very good chance--of running into Harry Potter there. She didn't want that to happen. When Samuel Hund was around, when they could keep the conversation about their mutual enemy--it was fine. When they ended up alone... it was awkward. Ginny found it difficult to believe the closeness, the understanding they had once shared. Could any of it ever return?

The major problem was that not many wizards lived in Cincinnati--that was one of the reasons the school was built here. Ginny could see no reason why it would be less favored by the magical world than Boston, Salem, or San Francisco, but it remained a fact. She could, when needed, pass of as a Muggle, but she didn't really belong there. After the awkward experience of Muggle men trying to pick her up, she decided to stay among wizards as much as she could. At least there, she could hex anyone who tried anything untoward, and could honestly talked about what she did for a living.

But because Cincinnati had such as small wizarding population, you hardly ever got to meet anyone new. She wasn't like Hermione, she couldn't be happy by burying herself in books. But the choices before here were not among the best: boredom, misplacement, or Harry Potter.

She entered a small wizarding bar she was familiar with. "Good evening, Miss Weasley," the bartender said. "What'll it be tonight?"

"Nothing. I don't feel like drinking," she said.

"Going to place any bets on tonight's game?"

"You know I am not interested in Quodpot."

"Ahh... I forgot. You're a Brit."

Ginny laughed. Of course the man didn't forget, but he always tried to get her interested in a Quodpot game. The sport was supposed to have the same origins as Quidditch, but Ginny had her doubts about that. The only the thing the two had in common was that players flew on broomsticks and used balls.

"Yes, I am. Why don't you Americans play Quidditch? Just to stand out from the rest of the world?"

"We don't play Quidditch," a new voice said, "because of an unfortunate incident back in 1784."

Ginny turned. A tall young man with hair almost as long as her own stood in front of her.

"Who are you?" she asked. "And what was the unfortunate incident?"
"Why do you want to know?"
"I'm curious, and I'm bored. Are you interested in Quidditch?"

"Not really, but I know more about it than most Americans. Sort of comes with the job."

"What do you do?"

"I design, make, and test broomsticks," he said.

Ginny smiled. "That must be fun. The testing part in particular."

"Oh, it is. Especially if you suddenly realize you did something wrong in the other two parts." He pulled open his collar and showed a long thin scar running down the left side of his neck. "Anyway, a broomstick for Quidditch needs to have different characteristics than one for Quodpot--and those in turn are very different from racing brooms, traveling brooms, and performance brooms."

"Oh. I didn't know all that--I always thought they were the same, and I played Quidditch back--"

"The British broomstick manufacturers lobbied your Ministry to end classification of brooms based on purpose. So they don't advertise it, but the distinctions are there. Comets are typical racing brooms, Cleansweeps more suited for Quidditch, and the Nimbus series were always designed with long trips in mind."

"Wow," Ginny said.

"You asked about the 'incident', Miss--?"

"Weasley," she said. "Ginny Weasley."

"Pleased to meet you, Miss Weasley," he said. "I'm Raymond Wilkins. Say, you are not one of -those?"

"One of what?"

"The kind of people who make a big deal over the fact they're pureblood and--"

"No," Ginny said. "My best friend in school was Muggle-born."

"Good, 'cause so am I. When the letter came, my dad go the biggest shock of his life."

"Oh." Ginny couldn't think of anything else to say.

"So... the incident--do you still want to know about it?"

"Yes," Ginny said.

"Some Muggle wars spill out among the wizards," Raymond Wilkins began. "The so-called American Revolution wasn't one of them--for the most part, wizards ignored it. Until one day, the wizards here and in Britain suddenly found themselves under different Muggle governments.

"That immediately caused a problem. A key job of a magical government, remember, is to keep the wizarding world a secret. To have the same organization have to do the job for two Muggle governments, especially if there was a good chance they would go to war with each other, would be difficult. So... it was decided to split up, like the Muggles did.

"So they had a ceremony, the new American Minister of Magic--yes, Minister--we didn't start emulating our Muggle government until the 1900s--took his oath... and someone had a bright idea for a commemorative Quidditch game. Which they held, and which resulted in the New American Minister, his wife, and his best friend killed with a stray Bludger."

"And that's why--"

Raymond Wilkins nodded. "Every time a Quidditch game was played, someone would bring up the incident--and that certainly didn't make people feel good. It was like the new nation was doomed from the beginning. Then Quodpot was invented, and the rest is history."

Ginny shook her head. "I--why didn't anyone else explain it to me?"

"Miss Weasley, how often did you pay attention to your history classes?"

"Not much," she admitted. "But we've--"

"And you think Americans are different? I know this because I enjoy history. but most people--"

"I work at a school. I'm surrounded by teachers. Surely--"

"Perhaps they're not interested in Quidditch or Quodpot. Or perhaps you didn't let them know you were. Anyway, I am, you let me know, and I explained it. Does that entitle me to a dinner date, Miss Weasley?"

"No," Ginny said. "It doesn't. But I'm not against one, either."

Raymond laughed. "I know there isn't much to do in the wizarding part of Cincinnati. So we should go elsewhere. Dinner, a movie... or perhaps a concert is more to your liking--or"--he gave another laugh-- "a Quodpot game?"

"Shut up," Ginny said. "I still haven't said yes."

"What is it? Are you involved with--"

"No."

"Good. Neither am I."

"And that's enough for the two of us--"

"It's a start," he said.

Ginny laughed again.

"Very well. It's a date, Raymond--"

"Ray! You are--" A woman ran into the bar, screaming and brandishing her wand. "You--who are you--stay away from--"

"Not involved with anyone, huh?" Ginny said furiously.

"Tamara," Raymond said calmly. "I made it clear that it was over between us. I don't stalk you and watch who--"

"I don't see anyone! I lo--"

"Tamara!" he said. "These... antics are precisely whey we broke up."

"Bullshit! You just didn't--"

"It's over, Tamara. Let go."

"Your father won't be happy you're picking up sluts in bars."

Ginny whipped her wand out. "How dare you!" At the same time Raymond grabbed Tamara and pulled her face towards his.

"You--keep--him--out--of--this," he hissed.

"Fine," she snarled back. "Oh, and by the way"--she looked Ginny in the eyes-- "he's not that good."

Ginny aimed her wand at her back, but Raymond pushed it down. "Let her go," he said. "You wouldn't believe what it's been like. I almost understand people who stay in relationships long after there's any happiness in them. Bartender! A shot of Jack Daniels!"

"I'll have one too," Ginny said.

"Two shots! Do you have any exes I should know about?"

"I'm a widow," she said.

"But--"

"But what?" I'm young? These things happen--we had a war in our country. And I'd rather not talk about it."

"I'm sorry."

"You didn't know. It... wasn't what you'd call a happy marriage. I even changed my name back. So no. I do have to work with one of my other exes," she said after a pause, "but he is not likely to bother you this way." And if he does, I'll give him a piece of my mind, she thought. If Harry can get engaged to someone else, he has no right to get jealous if I date. He keeps saying there's nothing between us. Fine. So there isn't.

"Huh?" she asked, not having heard Raymond's last question.

"I asked what you did," he said. "Are you--"

"I'm fine. The drink must be getting to me. I'm a nurse at the school. My ex is a part-time Defense teacher."

"I can't believe Mrs. Patrick was just... killed like that," he said quietly. "I went there, you know. Graduated two years ago. Mrs. Patrick was my favorite teacher."

"A lot of people say that. I wish I knew her. But then, if it wasn't for that attack, neither me nor my ex would be working there. Principal Wilson had to hire us, since no one else would apply. People are afraid."

"Can you blame them?"

"Not really, but... the school isn't the only target. The riots--"

"You think people think rationally about this? They don't. Besides, there were no riots in Cincinnati."

"Why do you think that was?"

"We're not important enough?" Raymond suggested.

Ginny chuckled. "Possible. I need to get back, I have to go to work tomorrow. But... it's a date. Next Saturday?"

"Sure thing, Miss Weasley." He kissed her hand. "Be careful around your ex."

"Be careful around yours--you seem to need that more than I do."

"True that. I'll see you next Saturday, Miss Weasley. Meet here?"

"Why not? Good-bye, Raymond. And please, call me Ginny." With that, she Disapparated.

That night, Ginny felt better than she had ever since she heard the name Hund.