A/N I'm not sure if this is going to be a story or a one-shot. I'm thinking it'll be a one-shot until I finish my other story, then I'll come back to this. Just with this little idea bouncing around my head, I just had to get it out.

She was tired of it all, tired of all the requirements, the social appearances, the scheduled smiles, the scheduled kisses, the photo shoots, the looking perfect. But she stayed because she loved him, because they were soul mates, destined for each other for all eternity, the two lovers against the world, against all odds. He was the knight in shining armour, the one that swept in, rescued her from the palace (or chamber) of the dark prince, carried her off in style. He was the one that saved the world over and over and over again, the one that she was supposed to stay faithful and true to.

But then she saw him again, the man who could sweep her off her feet with one smile, the one who could make her say Harry who? with one kiss, the one whom she would be willing to throw away her career for. He was everything her fiancé wasn't, he had a dark past and managed to get out of trouble with his wit and charm and money. He cared about riches, and didn't give a damn about what other people thought of him. He didn't mix with the underlings, and never save the world unless there was something in it for him. His loyalty went to the highest bidder, and his morals were non-existent.

She was torn, between perfect Ginny, and Ginny who couldn't give a damn about what everyone else thought. Her mother and Father would be supportive; they loved her, no matter whom she was shagging. Ron would be upset; it was his best friend, after all, that she was planning on leaving. Fred and George would offer to castrate Harry, they weren't really that picky, as long as they got to use the strange new scissors that they had just enchanted and would cut through anything. Bill and Fleur would stand behind her; they were too much in love to do anything else. Percy would kill her; he'd hate what she was doing for the Weasely's public-relations wise, leaving the saviour of the world and all. Charlie wouldn't mind, he never liked Harry anyway.

The rest of the world wouldn't understand. Why would she give up the man of every women's dream? The one that could sail in and save her again and again from whatever danger stood in her way? The one that could always support her, the one that doted on her and loved her and showered her with affection.

Of course, they always forgot when he left her, when he wanted her to wait in the shadows for his return, wait while he did whatever he pleased, and then got upset when she didn't. Some called it love, others knew it was idiocy. That's when he had come in, allowing her to do whatever she wanted, wherever she wanted, and however she wanted. He was her ticket to sanity, her ticket to not caring about what was right. He never did anything that could potentially be too sticky to climb out of, that was why he stayed out of the political rubbish; he had the bad-boy flair and the bad-boy background, but always stayed short of being truly evil. He was excitement, an escape that she truly needed.

But then Harry had come back, and she had gone back to him, and he didn't seem to mind, just gave her a sort of smirk when she told him, and said, 'How long do you think that's going to last, little vixen?'

She hated him for being right, at the moment. It wasn't fair that he got to be the one that was right, while she had to crawl back, the one that made the mistake. If he even wanted her back, he was shagging whomever he wanted, at the moment.

Seeing him in the restaurant changed her mind. Her one-night stand, his whisper of, 'do you really want to spend the rest of your life with him, doing this whenever the monotony gets too much? You're not a cheater, little vixen.' He had thought she was asleep, he'd never admit to being that deep while she was awake, but she had heard him alright. And like always, he influenced her decisions.

He always knew what she wanted, before she was ready to admit that she wanted them herself. He knew her goals, and in his own little way, cared. Harry always said he did, but she knew he'd push her aside before she could outshine them. Harry liked being the leader in the relationship. The one that was always in charge, the one that everything relied upon. Sure he was the saviour of the Wizarding wold, so she let himn get away with it, let him get away with telling her to leave the room when he was discussing something, allowed him to tell her she wouldn't understand, let him tell her that he was right, she was wrong. But why? She was Ginny Weasely, and she never used to back down about anything. Now she let Harry tell her what to do, just because he was Harry. She had made him so mad he had punched a wall once, something that scared her so much that she had almost left then. But then he saw the fear and apologised, and acted so loving and so sweet she overlooked it. He'd never gotten that mad again, so it never gave her any good reasons to leave. It was always things that she came up with, things that bothered her, making her feel selfish and childish for getting mad over them. He loved her, didn't he?

But then she had enough. With him back, giving her the power to make choices back, showing her that she didn't need someone to tell her what to do, she made up her mind.

The next week, when Harry was at work being an Auror, she took the day off. She looked around her house, the quaint two bedroom affair, with its picture window and flowerboxes. It was everything she dreamed about when she got married, save the little red-haired kids running around. She looked at the furniture that they'd picked out together, the pictures she'd hung up, the flowers she planted. She smiled at it all, and packed her trunk. First she put in all of her clothes, her jewellery, and her shoes. Took her books, her personal knickknacks, her belongings. Her photos. She took her special chocolate fondue pot, her bottle of Baileys, her beside lamp. Her caldron. Her potion table, with the entire set-up. Her chess board and pieces. The dog's things, food, treats, toys, bed. Her Quaffle. Her broom. Sent the owl ahead. Put the owl's things in the trunk. She put a leash around the dog, stuck her wand in her cloak, shrunk her chair in the living room and put it in the trunk, and closed it. Left a note. Pulled the trunk. Into the street, leading the dog, and stuck out her wand arm. Grinned at the conductor, told him she was visiting a friend. Gave the address to Zambini manor.

She knocked, even though she knew he was expecting her.

'Fancy seeing you here, Weaselette. Glad you changed your mind, I'd hate to call you Potlette. Make you sound like a chamber pot, or a marijuana plant or something.' The tan, irresistible man grinned as he nodded to the house-elves to take her things.

She was given a magnificent suite, with a room for the dog, and views of the lake.

Once she was settled, sipping tea with Blaise in the den, watching the flickering fire, he asked her.

'Why here, Weaselette? Why not right to him?'

'Would he want me to come directly back?'

'No, but he'd sure as hell not like it that you chose to stay here.'

'You're my friend, Blaise. He's not.'

'He's more.'

'Is he?'

'He's everything you wanted, Weaselette. The opposite of your disgustingly boring life.'

'Maybe. But he still wouldn't want me showing up at his doorstep, demanding a room with enough space for Jack here.' She used the toe of her dragon-skin boots, boots from him, to nudge the sleeping black Newfoundlander dog, the large monster that it was.

'I'd think he'd be pretty tolerant.'

'Because he'd get to shag me whenever he wanted.'

'How's Potter going to take it?'

'I left a note.'

'Care to share?'

'No.'

Harry,

I'm sorry. I know you're going to walk in, and look around. Notice that my chair's gone, you never liked it anyway, clashed with the décor. And it came from your worst enemy, when he and I went shopping in a flea market once. It was green, and you hate green. Reminds you of Slytherin. Ever looked at your eye-colour, before? It's green.

Then you're going to notice that I'm not at the stove, cooking dinner, smiling and giving you a kiss. You notice that the picture of my family on the mantle is gone, the pictures of my friends are gone. The pictures of me are gone. You'll go up to our, now your, room, and notice that none of my clothes are there. Hedwig's alone in her cage. You'll call for Jack, and he's not going to answer. You never like him either. Once again, you didn't like him, because I got it from another Slytherin. One that you were convinced I had a relationship with, even though we didn't. We were, and still are, only friends. You also didn't like the mess he made, but you liked the publicity stunt he created. Aww, look there goes Harry Potter and his wonderful adorable dog!

Now, you want reasons, once you realised that I've left you. Well, I don't have a good once, except I'm bored. I really like you Harry, you're still my hero. But I don't want a hero anymore. I don't want anyone protecting me. I want to be allowed to be me, and do whatever I bloody well feel like. I don't need someone telling me that I don't understand, or trying to get me to hide in the shadows whenever real work needs to be done. That's why I'm gone.

Oh, and Tuesday night, when I went to visit Luna? I didn't. I never go there, I stopped off at a café to grab a cup of coffee first. Then I met him again. And we slept together. And I realised, I like him a hell of a lot better than you. No offence. He's your opposite Harry, everything that you stand against, he's for.

I'm not coming back, Harry, so don't even try to make me. I returned once, Harry, I'm not going to do it again.

Here's your ring. I absolutely hate rubies, did you know that? They're too red. They remind me of blood. And they clash with my hair. Too much damn red.

Ginevra Weasley

'Come on, I'm your best mate on good days, and when I'm not, I'm shagging your best mate. And I'm your lover's best friend.'

'I told him I was bored, and needed a change. And I sent back the ring.'

'Why'd you do that?'

'I hate rubies.'

'Oh. I notice you're wearing the present that he gave you a million years ago.'

She touched the emerald choker. 'Yaah. I am.'

'I think you'd best go visit him.'

'I will.'

'Today.'

'It's late.'

'Tonight.'

'You know how that's going to turn out.'

'It's the right thing to do. He'd want you to. Hell, I think you want to, too.''Fine.'

She went, eventually, at eight, a bottle of champagne as a peace offering.

'Hello Weaselette. Does your fiancé know you're here?'

'I sent back the ring.'

'How'd you manage that? I was under the impression that you live in the same house as he does.'

'I moved in with Luna and Blaise.'

'You mean with Blaise. Luna's in Africa.'

'But when she comes back she'll live with Blaise.'

'Point take, m'dear. So you want to come in and celebrate?'

They did, and after several glasses, he wanted answers.

'Why?'

'Do I have to have a reason?'

'Yes.'

'I remembered what you said. It hit a nerve.'

'So you left him because it was the moral thing to do?'

'I was bored.'

'That's a good reason. Can't let a silly thing like commitment get in the way of you having fun.'

'I thought you would like it.'

'I do.'

There was a brief silence, before he continued. 'But I don't want you to feel like you have to do anything now.'

'I don't.'

'But you want to.'

'But I don't have to. I don't have to do anything anymore.'

They kissed then.

In the morning, she turned and looked at the sleeping blonde beside her. Who would have thought, that she, perfect Ginny Weasely, would have left Harry Potter, the boy-turned-man-who-lived, for Draco Malfoy, the unconfirmed former Death Eater, billionaire, business man extrodinare?