They say eyes are the window to the soul. So what happens when you look into the windows of the one love, and all you see is a selfish, arrogant scene? You leave them, that's what you do. And so it was one night when Ginny looked into Harry's eyes, leaning down for their normal goodnight kiss.
Now, to be fair to the lass, it wasn't only this moment that set Ginny off. In fact, it was a string of incidents, stemming from the fact that Harry wanted a tame housewife, and Ginny wanted a life. She'd long tired of holding screaming matches over the smallest things, and not being able to wear anything nice without him deeming it too "racy". But this incident was the tip of the iceberg that finally broke the surface, and the following morning, Harry awoke to an empty bed, a much shrunken closet, and a hastily scribbled note.
Harry,
You know I've never been much good at wording things. And this is one hell of a statement to put into words. You're a hero, but not mine. I'm deeply sorry. In time, you'll find your princess. Whoever she is, she's one lucky girl.
Sincerely,
Ginny
And funnily, what hurt his heart most was the "sincerely." They'd always made a game of signing their letters with corny sayings like " Awaiting your return," and "Your faithfully beloved." "Sincerely"? It was the single word, so polite, so devoid of warmth, that left a hole in his heart, And so he sat, head in hands, on the edge of the sofa, not crying, not angry, not even regretful. Just confused. Why?
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Many miles away, in the heart of a bustling wizard city, Draco heard the sound of a suitcase being lugged up the stairs, and finally halting. He frowned. This was his neighbor's third tenant this month, and judging by the last two, he'd be having a few sleepless nights. He heard a female voice indistinctly, then a loud clank indicating keys being dropped, and finally, heard the lock turn, and the door shut. The corridor returned to its usual stifling silence, and he sat back, hands locked behind his head. He stared out at the starry sky from his window, idly identifying Polaris and, then, grinning, Draco itself.
Now, if it had been any other neighbor next door to the arrival, they would've listened cautiously to the door shut, counted to thirty, and then come over and introduced themselves. Draco was no other neighbor. He was perfectly happy to sit here, alone as he always seemed to be these days. In fact, he rarely left his room at anymore. The fame that came with being a part of Voldemort's reign was not exactly a pleasure, and with his aristocratic features, even these foreigners recognized his face. They jeered, they hurried their children away. Immediately after the final battle, even with the pardon of the might Potter boy, Draco had been the recipient of quite a few curses, and even a few wandless brawls. His nose still retained a slightly leftward tilt, gained from a well-aimed punch.
Still, he supposed it was better than the fate many of his comrades. Crabbe and Goyle were sitting in Azkaban, and his own parents were long dead, both killed in the aftermath by citizens who didn't quite appreciate what the Malfoy's role in the Dark Lord's reign had been. His fate? Well, that filthy Potter had done one noble thing in his life and put in a few words for him at the Ministry, and in a society revolving
around the idiot, that was as good as gold. Disgusting, wasn't it?
He lay down on the sofa, and remained absolutely still, making no sound except for his steady breath. The sounds from next door came through clearly once again, now that his brain was not whirring quite so hard. The sound of wings flapping, a long stream of curses in what seemed to be several languages, several that even he didn't recognize. Impressed, he sat up to listen closer. The sound of something being hurled against the wall? Hm, feisty. He wondered what she looked like. Maybe she was a blond? He'd just have to go and find out, wouldn't he? He started to get off the couch, then sat back down. "Tomorrow," he muttered to himself, "tomorrow."
_____________________________________________________________________________________
Ginny sat, staring numbly at the shards on the floor. How had he found her so fast? She'd barely been in her new apartment for twenty minutes when the owl had pecked at her window. Of course, it wasn't just any owl. It was Hedwig II, named and purchased by a boy so in love with his owl he would have no other. She swooped in as Ginny opened the window reluctantly, more out of compassion for the bird than out of interest in the letter. And in fact, it wasn't even a letter. It was a bloody package. She sighed. If the Boy Who Lived was anything, he was stubborn. She opened it, reading the letter first.
My Love Ginny,
I don't want a princess. I don't want to move on. All I want is you. Come back and we'll fix this, together.
Love, Harry
And oh, the prat. In the package was no doubt the corniest thing he could've thought to send her. It was a snow globe that they'd once purchased while on a trip in the Swiss Alps. The artist who had made the abomination had had a whole collection, each of a couple with different colored hair waving, snuggled close together and bundled up in snow gear. At the time, as love will do to sensible people, they'd immediately purchased the knickknack, and had even proudly displayed it on their shelf at home.
Now, she stared down at the snow globe with pure disgust, or at least, at what was left of it. After looking at it for barely half a minute, she'd hurled it against the wall. It had left a sizeable dent, both in the wall and in her anger. Throwing things was always the best solution, wasn't it? She watched as the liquid that had been inside pooled around the glass shards, and in the center, the two figurines, once locked together in eternal embrace, had been torn apart by the force, and lay a fair distance apart, the man with the black hair facing the red-haired woman, and she facing away. She found the symbolism in all of this quite unnerving, but nonetheless left it there for the night, and went to sleep instead. The last thing she needed in her dreams was Harry Potter, and his stupid snow globes.