Redbeargrl's Cave

The cheap Muggle whiskey burned like flaming barbed wire going down her throat, but it was what she wanted right now, what she needed. She could have afforded better of course, but she wanted to remember the pain of the cheap stuff she used to drink so many years ago. The bar was dark and comfortable like an oak lined womb and the whiskey was the life giving blood that kept her alive. After living for seven years in France she had developed a taste for wine, but tonight she drank whiskey so that she could forget, or was it so that she could remember? She wasn’t sure any more.


She sat at the bar nursing her second drink and trying to look inconspicuous. Perhaps she should go over to one of the dark booths along the walls, but she reckoned that they were too far from the bar for her liking tonight. She had no idea why she had returned to London now, after all of these years, but something had compelled her. It was probably the dreams; the dreams of her.

She had stopped by St. Mungo’s of course, to see him. Despite the Healers claims, Harry hadn’t changed any. He looked at her with those sunken vacant green eyes and asked if she knew him. She said no, she was just passing through the ward to see a relative. It was a lie of course. After the War almost nobody had any relatives left.

She had visited Diagon Alley to see the reconstruction and was surprised by the number of shops still boarded up or moved out. Considering the last time she was there she shouldn’t have been too surprised; it was still mostly a smoking pit then. The War had taken its horrible toll on more than just the participants. She had walked through the Alley trying to, and trying not to, remember the days she had spent here with her. The happy times when they had still both been at Hogwarts together. The times before the war and her fears had torn them apart. It was then that she had gone looking for this particular bar. The pain in her gut was too much to bear without the mind numbing effect of the booze to help. Why had she come back anyway?

As the bartender poured her a third drink she lit another cigarette from the stub of another still smoldering in the ashtray, ignoring the No Smoking signs on the walls. Everybody ignored them now anyway. She had to laugh at herself. There had been a time in her life when she would have rather died that break the Rules. She studied her reflection in the mirror behind the bar and grimaced. Her long brown hair with its streaks of grey was pulled back into a tight bun on the back of her neck and most of her face was obscured by the heavy dark glasses she still wore despite the low light level inside the bar. Her face was puffy from the years of drinking and there were dark circles under her deep brown eyes. Coming to this bar was a mistake she thought as she pulled her gaze from the mirror. This had been their place a lifetime ago. Back when the four of them went out to party on weekends before the war killed one of them and reduced another to a vegetable. And her, she thought, to a cowardly drunk. She reckoned the only good thing was that it all happened before any of them had walked down the wedding aisle. But they had been so close to that when it all fell apart.

Two more drinks gave her the resolve to go and visit Ron’s grave. She owed him that much she thought. She tried to remember loving him but the memories were too far buried under the years of drinking, the countless faceless lovers and the intervening years of living in a foreign country. That was the last time she saw her she remembered. They had stood together at the gravesite, arms wrapped around each other in their grief with tears running down their faces in the rain. They stood there for hours after everybody else had left, trying to come to grips with Ron’s death and Harry’s condition.

That was one memory she couldn’t get rid of no matter how much she drank. It was then that she had told her that she loved her and always had. She remembered the sharp sting of the slap that Ginny had given her before she ran off crying, into the gloom and pouring rain. She saw herself chasing after her in the muddy graveyard only to find her slim body curled up in the mud behind a headstone sobbing and screaming her name to the uncaring winds.

No, it would take more than strong drink to make her forget that night. The hours they spent together huddled in the rain while she held her tightly, stroking the younger girl’s flaming hair and trying to apologize for her insensitivity before finding out that she felt the same. She couldn’t forget that first kiss or the night they spent together in her bed making love and promising that they would always be together. It was after Ginny had left her apartment the next morning that she packed her bags and ran. Why she had run she really didn’t know. She had tried to rationalize it a thousand times but she always came up with the same stupid answer. She ran because of her fear that Ginny would come to her senses and leave her. She ran because she was afraid of losing the only person that she had ever truly and completely loved.

How the mighty have fallen, she thought as she sipped her whisky. She remembered the final battle with Voldemort when she and Ron and Ginny had fought side by side to keep the Death Eaters away from Harry as he battled the Dark Lord. She had not been a coward on that night. But now, she didn’t know what to think any more. She had run away to southern France as much for distance as trying to find a place that was as much unlike London as she could. She found employment with an old eccentric Wizard who wanted his huge library cataloged and had paid her lavishly to do it.

And then there were the nights when she couldn’t stand to be alone and she went out to find a warm body to comfort her. She didn’t care much what they looked like as long as they had red hair and fair skin. Male and female both were fair game to her but she preferred the women to the men. With a woman it was easier to pretend that she was with the one she still loved so deeply.

She had followed Ginny’s meteoric career as the Seeker for the Holyhead Harpies with interest; rejoicing in her victories and grieving at her losses. She read about her drunken brawls with the other teams and her numerous suspensions for being too rough on opposing players. Ginny had earned the distinction of being the only player in Quidditch history to have been red-carded in six consecutive games for excessive violence. Her crowning glory was being chosen to play for England on the National Team for the Quidditch World Cup. It was after this final victory that she had read about Ginny’s retirement from the game. She wondered what Ginny would do now with the rest of her life after Quidditch and continued to scan the papers for any mention of her. All she ever found were reports of more brawling and her drunken parties that attracted the most beautiful and famous people in the Wizarding world due to their lavish excesses.

She found that the whisky was doing its job and she felt the comforting numbness settle in around her. She signaled for a refill when she noticed the quiet bar beginning to fill up with noisy patrons. She did her best to ignore the distraction and reached for her pack of cigarettes only to find it empty. She cursed under her breath and opened her bag to find the fresh pack that she knew was in there. She found it and opened it with practiced ease as she noticed that it was getting extremely crowded at the bar. People jostled her on either side as they ordered and reached over and around her for their drinks. Some of the kinder ones even offered apologies as they rubbed up against her.

She looked on the bar for her lighter but somebody had evidently walked off with it and she cursed a little louder. She sat there with the unlit fag hanging from her mouth as she searched in her bag for a match or another lighter when a slim bare arm reached around her with a blazing lighter.

“Get that for ya Dearie?” asked a sultry female voice from behind her.

Hermione nodded and leaned forward to light her cigarette but the jostling crowd at the bar kept moving the light out of her reach. She reached out and held on to the slim hand, steadying it, as she deeply inhaled. She saw the tattoos on the woman’s hand and paused for a second to admire them.

“Like those huh?” asked the same voice. “I’ve got a lot more if you’re interested. And some of them are in very interesting places.”

Hermione froze in her chair still holding the woman’s hand in her own. On the back of her hand she saw two initials tattooed there. HG they read, although they looked more like they had been carved into the skin than tattooed.

“Old lover,” said the same voice but this time it had a hard edge to it. “At least I thought she was. Bitch bailed out on me years ago. May I buy you a drink Honey? You kind of remind me of her from the back here.”

Hermione felt panic welling up through the numbness of the booze. It can’t be, she thought. She tried to see the face behind her in the mirror and gasped when she saw the petite form with the flaming red hair.

She summoned up any and all remaining courage before she answered the question. “Sure you can buy me a drink but you have to answer one question first. And answer honestly. Deal?”

“Don’t worry Sweetie, I’m not married if that’s what you want to know. And yes, I like women if that is what you were going to ask.”

“No,” said Hermione in a low voice. “My question is this. The woman, who hurt you, the one you have carved into the back of your hand. How do you feel about her now?”

She felt the woman yank her hand from her grasp and pick up a drink on the bar. “Sorry baby, you just asked the wrong question. Forget I asked about the drink okay?”

Hermione pulled her dark glasses off and swung around to stare at Ginny straight in the eye. “Please Gin. Answer me. I have to know!” Hermione suddenly knew why she had returned to London.

The sound of the falling glass from Ginny’s hand crashing on the floor seemed louder than a canon shot in the noisy bar. In an instant the bar became deathly quiet.

Hermione never saw the punch coming but she felt it connect flush on her jaw. She dropped to the floor, dazed and in pain. Her stomach rebelled and she felt herself retching up all of the liquor she had drunk that night. There was a buzzing in her ears, her jaw hurt terribly and she found that she couldn’t focus her eyes. But through all of this she could hear Ginny screaming. “You fucking Bitch! You broke my fucking heart!”

Hermione’s world began to spin crazily but just before she passed out she felt a strong pair of tiny hands lift her effortlessly from the floor. She started to feel the squeezing sensation of Apparition but then the blackness closed in around her and she felt nothing more.