She is in a dusty back room, pressed against a stranger whose face she can't remember. She thinks his name might be Jack, but it doesn't seem to matter. She whispers in his ear that she loves him forever, that she can't live without him.
She considers the lie detachedly as Jack, or was it John, unbuttons her dress. She remembers for just a moment that she once whispered the same words in someone else's ear, and it occurs to her that she really meant it then.
For a half a second, she even allows herself to wonder what she is doing here, with this one in a long line of strangers. Before the can put the thought from her head, she finds herself remembering that she was in love, once, with the man who is probably waiting for her even now. She decides she must have loved him, for a time, or she never would have married him.
He is sitting in the living room, waiting for her, when she wanders into their shared apartment as if by accident. "Where were you, Ginny?" he asks, and she remembers far too late that she was supposed to meet him somewhere today, though she can't recall quite where or why.
"I was out looking for a job," she replies. It used to bother her how he always accepted the excuse at any time of day or night. Now, though, she simply waits for the inevitable question, "find anything?"
The question never comes, and she feels a slight pang at the loss of this, the last ritual binding them together.
He turns back to the newspaper with a blank expression and she walks softly towards the bedroom door. She suddenly remembers why he wanted to see her today, and she turns back toward him.
"Happy Anniversary, Harry," she whispers. He doesn't look up.