The Road To Nowhere

Author´s Note: I work in a coffee shop as evidenced by this chapter. I know way more than any human should know about coffee. And I hate milk. How is that for funny? The inspiration for this chapter comes from a scene in `Black Hawk Down,´ my favorite part where EwanMcGregor´s character anthologizes a French Press, my favorite method of coffee preparation, actually. (I know, I know I´m sad and pathetic. You can laugh just don´t point. It´s rude, you know.)

Chapter Four

All in the Grind

"It´s all in the grind, Sizemore.

It can´t be too coarse, can´t be too fine.

This, my friend, is an exact science."

Ewan McGregor (Grimes),

Black Hawk Down

Ginny couldn´t understand it. She´d been working in the quaint little coffee shop for a week. She loved the location. It was picturesque. Across from a beautiful park, she could see adorable little French children with names like Marie Laure and Jean Louis sail their equally adorable toy yachts across the pond.

What she despised were the customers.

So she didn´t know all of the regulars and their drink orders by heart. That was no reason to get snippy. And nearly everyone had gotten snippy with her today. She was at the end of her patience. The worst one had just left, she noted with great relief, an old crusty American woman who ordered "the usual". After five minutes of prying out of her what "the usual" was supposed to be she served her what she had considered to be her best cappuccino she´d made since she´d taken the job there. The lady nearly splashed the scalding coffee in her face as she needlessly slammed the cup onto the counter and demanded to speak to her manager in appalling French.

One question, how was she supposed to guess that the lady wanted an extra dry, decaf double if the only words that had come reluctantly to her lips were, "the usual Cappuccino"? She´d been hired on as a waitress and barista, not a bloody mind reader.

"Note to self", she muttered under her breath as the minutes ticked slowly by on the clock, "find less annoying job".

She looked up and smiled as Sophie came crashing through the front door.

"So sorry. Late. Virginie.Not mad at me, I `ope?" Sophie asked in broken English, she appeared frazzled. Ginny didn´t even have the heart to play mad. Sophie was another good part of the job. If you didn´t count Bill, she would amount to all of the friends that Ginny had made in her first week in Paris. The other med students were boring and stuffy. She had no desire to know any of them better although she suspected that one nerdy German was trying to catch her eye in class. Ugh! She brushed the horrid thought to the back of her mind. She didn´t fancy any German techie-geek whispering softly across a candlelit table, "I luff yoo." The thought was almost too funny.

" `E `asn´t come een yet, `as `e?" Sophie asked brushing a stray wisp of sandy blond hair out of her face. She was a pretty French girl. They were all pretty, and graceful, and blond. She felt like the ugly stepsister surrounded by Cinderellas.

"Has who come in yet?" Ginny asked scrunching her nose in confusion.

" Ze blond," she answered, giving Ginny a look like she was supposed to know the blond in question.

"Sophie, there are lots of blonds," Ginny said.

"Oh, you would notice zees one. `E is very gorgeous. Pain in zeass and slightly rude, orders a latte," Sophie was becoming very spirited in her description. So she had a crush on a rude, latte drinking blond. Not bad, she could do worse it seemed. Her current one left a lot to be desired in Ginny´s opinion.

"I haven´t served anyone by that description today, Sophie. Better luck on your shift, I hope." Ginny untied her apron and headed into the back to get her bags. She would be late for class, again.

"Bye, Sophie," she called, grabbing her half-finished drink from behind the register and a croissant from the counter and made for the door quickly, lest she be sucked back in to work a double. Armand, sweet man but a Nazi when it came to getting all he could out of his employees. Ginny had learned in that one tiny week she´d been there that the answer "no" was her best friend.

"Bye, Virginie," Sophie called from behind the counter. Ginny looked back and waved. Not a good move. She´d run straight into someone, spilling her coffee all over both of them.

"Oh damn it! I´m so sorry, sir," Ginny began to apologize as she was surveying her clothes, passable. Anyway, she wouldn´t have the chance to change before class.

"It´s all right. Luckily you managed to spill more on yourself than me. Oh hell!" He stopped and then continued in a more agitated tone, "What are you doing here?"

Ginny´s eyes shot immediately up from her sodden blouse to an unpleasant scowl.

Draco Malfoy.

For some reason she had the uncharacteristic thought that it was a pity she didn´t manage to spill more of her drink on him instead of herself. She wasn´t usually this inclined to wish evil things upon people. He just brought it out in her, she reasoned.

"I work here," Ginny answered furrowing her brow and standing up straight bringing her to her full, five feet four inches. Not very intimidating, this she knew, but she had to try.

"No, you don´t" he insisted.

She could hardly suppress a smile. Never had her presence agitated someone so much. She was enjoying it. Class could wait.

"Of course I do," she answered looking into the shop where Sophie was frantically gesturing to her, pointing at Draco. So this was her gorgeous latte drinking blond. Now she could understand the rude bit. He was the dictionary definition of the word.

"No, this is my coffee shop. There have never been any Weasleyshere. I am sure of it. I´ve been coming here every summer for years." He was becoming very annoyed. If he would insist that she didn´t work there than she would leave him with his pathetic illusion. She wouldn´t quit for his sake though. Now she was determined to stay, just because it would irritate Draco Malfoy. She loved her job.

She was not leaving. If he didn´t like it he would have to find a new coffee shop. A latte was after all, just a latte.

"I could have you fired in a second´s time. You are not a problem," he said standing menacingly over her.

She smiled calmly. Let´s have some fun, shall we. The idea of it was too tempting to resist. "You don´t intimidate me, Mr. Malfoy. I know your secret." She shrugged and walked to the street where she checked traffic.

"What the hell is that supposed to mean, Weasley?" he shouted across the sidewalk where she had her back turned to him as if he wasn´t even there. Traffic cleared and she started across the street and to the park beyond.

"It means you talk in your sleep." She smiled to herself. It was really too easy to get him going, "Have a lovely day," she looked over her shoulder and called. He was staring in disbelief at her retreating form. If he weren´t such a pain in the ass, she would have to admit to Sophie that he really was cute in a child-having-a-tantrum sort of way.

She laughed at the sight of him, mouth open, standing there. She tossed her croissant to the pigeons that loitered around the park bench. She had to get to class, enough fun for one day.

***

Hermione did what came naturally to her. She buried herself in books: books on history, charms, Transfiguration. It didn´t matter, the more boring the better. That was how she forgot the terrible things she´d seen.

Under the pretense of getting ahead of her May deadline on her seventh year thesis for History of Magic, she could drown the recent past, the mental pictures of Ginny, wrists slashed, desperate to end her life. The Burrow had always been a sort of haven for her, she´d realized. Nothing terrible or frightening could possibly happen there, she felt safer here than anyplace else. But it seemed that even this crooked and tumbledown house she´d fallen in love with the moment she´d seen it wasn´t exempt from its share of troubles.

Who would have guessed it was Ginny, though. She was always ebullient, bright, adored by her family. Times were indeed tough when such a child, for she was still just a child, found that death was the easiest way out.

She daily saw the guilt that Ron carried around. Her assurances that it was nothing to do with him had done little to help the situation. He´d even snapped at her and told her that it was none of her business. Of course it was her business. She was part of this family. They´d accepted her with open arms. Their trials were her trials, for she loved every one of them. It had hurt her to hear Ron say that. She´d always considered him to be the biggest part of her life and yet he wouldn´t let her in, wouldn´t let her help him when he was hurting so. And he was hurting, Hermione saw it every time she looked at him and it hurt her too.

She shook her head. She wouldn´t give up on him. She couldn´t.

Picking up her quill, she began jotting notes down as she flipped through an old manuscript regarding the founders of Hogwarts. She´d had no idea how sordid the lives of these people had been.

She stopped and stared at the page in front of her. "Individual accounts of these founding four have been allegedly written by their own hand documenting the true events of the school´s founding and the subsequent rift that occurred in their beliefs that led to the famous battle at Loch Muriadoch. To this date, these so called first hand accounts have not been recovered. Several fabrications do exist and are housed in the British Museum, Wizard History Division where they have been scrutinized and studied for centuries. It is highly debated that such first hand reports have ever existed."

This seemed curious to Hermione. Being a thorough researcher as she was, she made a note in the margin, "British Museum, fab. First hand rept." She would check these out later. If they weren´t entirely legit, they wouldn´t be housed in the Museum. They had to have some shred of credibility.

She sighed and continued. Tedious work, yes, but time consuming. Still it was better than being left with one´s own thoughts to torture them.

***

"You can´t make this right, Peter. People have died because of you. Can you bring them back?" Sirius continued incredulously, "Can you bring James and Lily back, and Remus? You can´t undo what you´ve done."

Peter got up from his chair and headed to the shuttered window, opening it a crack. It was damned hot in there.

"Why Florence?" Sirius began a new thought. One that had been nagging at him since he´d received Peter´s letter three days ago.

"I was already in the area," Peter answered dismissively. Sirius made a mental note to find out what was in the area that would interest or give him reason to come all the way down here. Perhaps he was on an errand for his master. Sirius would find out. If there was one thing he was good at it was detective work.

He was about to prod his jittery companion for more details, after all he had wanted to make things right. But a sudden motion from Peter made Sirius eye him suspiciously. He quickly shut the blinds and shuttered the window again and became exceedingly nervous. Sirius watched him as he withdrew a piece of paper from his pocket and scribbled a line or two on it. Sirius got to his feet and just managed, "No. Peter wait," before Peter produced his wand and Apparated from the hotel room.

Sirius swore loudly and then went to the table where he picked up the scrap of paper that read "I´ll be in touch and I will make things right."

Sirius swore again before crumpling the paper into a furious little ball and threw it against the thin wall of the hotel room.

***

It was always the same dream, different on every occasion but the same in feeling and with the same result. Ginny found herself in a forest, dark and misty. She could scarcely see two feet in front of her. A sense of unease was growing in her. She´d been here before.

Her eyes widened and her heart raced furiously as she heard a twig snap just ahead of her, signifying that she was not alone in the dense and chilly wood.

She approached cautiously and pressed herself to a nearby yew, peeking around its berth to get a better glimpse of the two forms in the clearing. She recognized both men immediately.

Her breath caught unconsciously in her chest as she listened.

Through the fog she discerned the tall and slim figure of a man in his late thirties, she guessed. He was elegantly dressed in a black cloak, gray sweater and black leather boots. He had dark hair to match. Ginny watched the cloaked man produce a wand from which came a blue light at the command, "Lumos."

Washing the surrounding area in a blue glow, the light made Ginny back away for fear that she might be noticed. She stepped on a twig, which cracked loudly. She halted and shut her eyes tight. They were sure to have heard that.

They hadn´t though.

Ginny opened her eyes.

"Have you got it?" the dark cloaked man asked in a smooth but impatient voice. His eyes glinted with longing and deep admiration as the second man nodded and produced a small, shallow dish. Ginny could just make out the amber hued eyes as they fell on the dish. She´d seen those eyes nearly every night for the last five years.

They were Tom´s eyes and they never stopped watching her.

The man he was talking to was Wormtail. Ginny recognized him from when she was held in Azkaban. It was the same nervous, twitchy man.

Despite her conscious effort to remain rooted to the spot and undetected, her feet moved forward until she was standing merely inches from Wormtail. She held her breath. Surely she was visible to Tom. She was facing him, right behind Wormtail who held out the article that he´d been waiting there for. But he looked right past her. He hadn´t seen her though she was in plain view. She didn´t exist. She was merely and onlooker to this horrible scene.

She took advantage of it even though she wanted nothing more than to be safe at home, in the Burrow. Her common sense was screaming out to her,get a good look at that basin. It must be important if he is so pleased to see it. She leaned over Wormtail´s shoulder and surveyed the shallow golden cup. There were runes etched along the lip in a continuous band. Ginny cursed to herself. If only she knew how to read them. Maybe she could remember what they looked like and then draw them for Hermione.

No, she thought a second later, Hermione would ask questions and then Ginny would have to explain everything. It would sound like crazy talk from a crazy girl who tries to off herself every now and again.

"You look well, Master," Ginny heard Wormtail simper as he handed the stunning cup over.

Tom smiled.

"Yes, thank you. Say, that reminds me, how is my precious Miss Weasley? Adjusting to life in Paris?"

"We´ve located her easily enough. Everyone leaves a trail when they´re unaware that they´re being followed," Wormtail answered.

"There will be nothing else, Wormtail. Thank you."

Tom immediately transformed into the scaly, snake-like, dreadful figure of Voldermort and then vanished moments later.

Ginny bolted into an upright position and screamed. He couldn´t know where she was. Her heart rate slowed as she found herself in the increasingly familiar room she´d been sleeping in for nearly a week. Every night found her in this distraught position. She trembled and hugged her arms around her. It was a dream she reminded herself. It was not helping. Another night wasted. How was she going to make it through class in the morning on less than two hours´ sleep?

"Ginny?" she heard Bill call from the other side of her door. She placed her head on her knees and swore softly. She´d screamed again and woken Bill. He must be getting tired of all of this.

"Come in," she answered wearily.

Bill entered the dark room and found her sitting on her bed banging her head on her knees lightly. She looked up and apologized sheepishly.

"Want me to make us some tea?" he asked with and understanding smile.

Ginny nodded her head gratefully.

***

That afternoon found Ginny, zombie-like and shadowed under her eyes trying to work through a line of customers as her energy was fast leaving her. Fifteen minutes to go, she reminded herself. Fifteen minutes left on her shift and then she would go home and crash until tomorrow morning. Never mind that it was only three in the afternoon. She felt like she could sleep longer than that easily.

As the end of her line left with a croissant and a tea, she folded her arms, groaned and let her lead fall with a thud on the counter.

"Where is Sophie?" she asked a little too loudly. She never expected that someone would answer her. She was alone in the shop. Or at least she thought she was.

"I don´t know where Sophie is but you look like hell."

Her head shot up from its resting place on the counter so fast that Ginny had to close her eyes and pause from the dizziness. When she´d refocused she was met with the amused sneer of Draco Malfoy.

"Oh," she said, using as much distain as she could muster under the circumstances, "can´t we banter some other time. I really don´t have the energy today. What are you having?"

"Nothing if you´re making it. You´d probably spit in it just for fun," he said. He looked serious. Ginny just shook her head. Of course she wouldn´t. The thought hadn´t even occurred to her. "Party too hard last night? Those circles don´t do a thing for you."

Ginny didn´t even reply. To conserve as much energy as possible to drag her ass home, she simply raised her middle finger in the universal sign for "sod off".

"Okay, so I can expect no worth while conversation today. I get the point. One question, though," he hesitated making sure he had her attention.

"What´s that?" Ginny replied in a bored tone, laying her head back on the counter. Rude or not, she would doze regardless of what he wanted to ask her.

"It was in the infirmary, wasn´t it?" he asked.

"What was in the infirmary?" Ginny replied. Her voice was muffled through her arms as she cushioned her head and closed her eyes.

"You said I talked in my sleep. It was in the infirmary, right? It was you that looked after me." Draco continued slowly.

How offensive, Ginny thought. He was talking to her as if she was slow.

She was tired, not daft.

"Your point? I´m off in five," she said standing up and stretching, removing her apron.

"I want to know what it is I said."

"Oh," Ginny said, "I don´t remember," anything to end this conversation quicker.

"What a load of--," Draco began. Ginny cut him off. Throwing her apron behind the counter she shouted over her shoulder, "Language, Mr. Malfoy," as she headed into the back room for her bag. She was unsurprised to find him waiting for her to return. Persistent.

Sophie rushed in nearly knocking her over as she hurried past muttering an apology in French.

"It was nothing, really. I was just pushing your buttons. You´re mean, do you know that?" She stopped and turned as he followed behind her. He stopped just before slamming into her. She was grateful that he had fast reflexes. Quidditch probably, she thought.

"Of course," he answered with a shrug.

Ginny fought a smile. No smiling around Draco Malfoy. His conceitedness was not charming. Not in the least.

"Where are you headed?" He asked, smiling. She crumbled. Note to self: work on coldhearted bitch, a bit sloppy.

"Home, actually." She smiled back.

"Would you like company?"

How cute. Don´t fall for it.

"Sure. You can drag me to my door if I fall asleep on the way."

Damn it! You are weak, Virginia Weasley! One charming smile and you go soft.

He smiled again. Ginny wished he would stop. She was more comfortable around Malfoy the bullying prat. This was new. She didn´t know how to react.

Curiosity nagged at the back of her mind as they walked down the street. They´d talked mostly about her; med school, the coffee shop. But she desperately wanted to know why he frequented her coffee shop in Muggle Paris.

"Forgive me if this is a rude question at all, but," she hesitated.

"Go on. I love rude questions," Draco reassured her with a smile.

"What are you doing here?"

"Where? You mean what am I doing right here, this very moment? Why I am walking down a street on a fine afternoon--," he began sarcastically.

Ginny laughed and shook her head. "Don´t be an idiot. I meant MuggleParis. Don´t you prefer segregation and all that?" She hadn´t meant to sound as if she were judging him, she almost regretted saying it. It was very impertinent of her.

If he was offended, he did a very good job of hiding it. "I´m visiting my grandmother for the summer. She has a house in Paris and is actually of mixed blood herself." He said this as if he anticipated Ginny´s surprise. She was indeed very surprised. She would never have guessed. In the next second, she scolded herself for jumping to conclusions about him. She´d never been one to believe all of the stories Ron had told her regarding him. She always believed in the benefit of the doubt and all of that. Draco definitely deserved that. Look at what she´d discovered through mere conversation with him. He was actually not such a horrid person, really.

"Well, this is me," Ginny said, stifling a yawn and pointing to a green door of an apartment building on Rue de la Huchette. "Thanks for the company." She mentally berated herself. Not too nice, Ginny. He is still Draco Malfoy, after all.

"It was a pleasure. Get some sleep, why don´t you. You look like the waking dead." He smiled slyly.

"See, proof that Malfoy is and will always bea wanker," Ron´s voice sounded in her head. Ginny pushed the thought away. He was very polite about it. She did really look like hell.

He wasn´t a wanker at all.

"So what was it that I said? Aren´t you going to tell me? I was agreeable and everything. Do you know how hard it is for me to be agreeable? I want to know what this secret is." She could barely hold in a laugh as she unlocked the door. He looked pathetically up at her as she went inside. Before shutting the door she offered, "Its your secret after all. You should know what it is."

"Yes, but I have many. Which one do you know?" he was growing frustrated. She knew his act would not last forever. He would never change.

"Have a lovely afternoon, Draco," Ginny smiled and closed the door behind her. She just couldn´t resist setting him off. It was the best fun she´d ever had.

He would never change, but then again, Ginny didn´t want him to. He was far more fun when he was indignant and rude.