A/N: Hello guys, this chapters been done for a few days now and I just wanted to take some time into writing up the first-third before introducing this story, incase I lost my inspiration. However, since I didn't, I'm able to put up this brand new story that I started- So here it is…Enjoy :D
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Prologue
London, May 2nd, 1810
Mr. Harry James Potter had reached a decision. Now all he had to do was find a way to tell his fiancée.
For most of the day, he had trotted up and down the old bank in hopeless pursuit for a bit of courage, a bit of luck. Of course, rather than coming upon that, his continuous ponderings of his settlement only added to his dismay. The thought of ruining his relationship with the love of his life, and at the pinnacle of their association as well, made him want to dunk his head underwater and never come up. In lesser words, he was extremely, profoundly terror-stricken.
" 'm not suggesting that I would let you within two hundred feet of my sister, but I must admit that she is not high maintenance. I don't see what you're so anxious about. Most men wouldn't mind as long as her virtue was instilled. All of your worrying will have been over nothing." Several hours later, Harry sat in the heavily curtained back of a parlor with his good friend and colleague, Mr. Ronald Weasley.
"There's the root of the trouble. I don't want to just marry her and be done with it…," Harry paused and searched for the right words, "I'm in love with her, Ron. I want to savor her, to woo her; to satisfy her dreams. You are well acquainted with the complexities of the female mind, of course. It leaves no room for error. Even the slightest blunder could make way to a pool of doubts. Her happiness is the key; I just…have not a simple clue of where to begin looking." He breathed a long sigh and wearily helped himself to a piece of treacle tart.
After a moment of uncomprehending silence, Ron quietly replied with a sickened look, "Good Lord man, you are positively whipped."
Harry's boyish, young face rose up in petrified outrage, "I am not!"
"This is bloody brilliant, my sister's got you by the ball sack and strung you up like one of her horses." His comrade continued, determined to tease him into a stupor.
Harry regained his composure, and with an impish smile he said, "I assure you, I have not forgotten last summer when you doused Miss. Brown with more affection then I could ever give your sister in a life time. I had remembered, and correct me if I'm wrong; you had bowed down to her every command… like a pitiable bitch."
"Care to rephrase that, Potter? Even with these ales holding me down, I can still aim fairly well for that blundering bush of yours." He voiced with whimsical displeasure.
Harry gave out a soft laugh at that, "Oh keep your shirt on. Besides, I'm meeting with your sister at half past ten and this face must stay in its proper form, as ruggedly handsome as it is." Harry stroked his chin in an arrogant manner and laughed joyously whilst his friend hung his head out the window and pretended to gag.
They both continued to laugh and drink. It renewed Harry's efforts to marrying into Miss Weasley's family. He adored her and adored her family very much so. He owed them dearly for taking care of him and being the only legitimate family he ever had. And he was, indeed, in love with Miss Weasley, or so he kept reminding himself. There was always a hint of anxiety that played out in his mind at the thought of their wedding; it being theirs, of course, not the immateriality of the wedding itself.
Miss Weasley was spectacular, truly extraordinary; a marvel still to be discovered and yet even in his love for her there was a complicated feeling of -how could he describe it?-… error on the wind. He was in awe by the splendor that she walked so easily and –he confessed- if he could devote his life to pleasuring hers, he would give all the money he'd ever had, have, or will ever be able to come into possession of. But more than once, and this is where his hesitation had stemmed, he had found her in close quarters to more than a handful of her pompous, secret admirers. Of course, she had promptly put his mind at peace and clearly explained that she held no interest in them. Nevertheless, for all his easygoing manner, there was always that lack of confidence that reared its ugly head whenever he saw her with another man.
Time flew as Ron joked about the most conventional of subjects, and by and by the corners of ten and fifteen pressed tightly on the grandfather clock. Harry had bid adieu to his good friend, squared his shoulders, and marched out of the parlor like a man ready for battle. Before stepping out the door, he dropped a galleon onto the bar counter and said his farewells to the plump bartender.
Calling for his carriage, he slowly made his way in the direction of the Theatre Royal. And on his lonely ride through the streets, he clutched the black velvet box in his coat pocket. In it contained the ring that at one time belonged to his mother, and he would use it to propose to Miss Weasley.
An uneasy reticence had once again encroached upon him, clouding him with grief. He had wanted to marry for love, as his mother and father had done, and surely his grandparents before them. He wondered concernedly if he was making the right decision. Was it too soon for the young Miss. Weasley? Had he been too hasty in his mission to have her all to himself?
Why were woman so bloody complicated, he sadly whined, if they would just bound over their senseless games and speak what they truly feel then perhaps all the world would be at peace, and he wouldn't have this torrid, wrenching feeling in his gut that would surely place him on the path of attaining an early death.
Quickly he shook his head of it. There was no time to have second thoughts now.
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The theater was filled to the brim, as always, with the arrogant, overbearing aristocrats of society seated left and right, and the rare two or three pairs of middle class families seated at the far back. He shook his head and muttered a belittling remark under his breath. He had tried to stay hidden in the shadows but as he strolled down the entryway towards his sky box, the audience, upon a glimpse of merely his decrepit locks had diverted their gaze and inspected him with an up-tucked, quizzical brow. The appearance of London's notoriously renowned Boy-Who-Lived and entrenched bachelor had the audience gleaming with curiosity as to the reason why he would arrive near the finale of the play rather than its commencement.
He sat comfortably, cloaked in darkness and at once the lingering stares were pulled back to the action onstage. The players did not notice the rise and fall of conversation, too in depth with the tragedy that they were acting out. The play had resumed in scene three, taking place at the churchyard where Juliet was entombed.
Harry dotingly eyed the woman onstage, clothed in a flowing gown the color of jade crystals which blended well with her fiery red mane and set off her rosy complexion. She lied placidly on the leaden tablet with a peaceful expression on her face, as if in a deep sleep. The natural grace she held in her art enthralled him completely, as it did everyone else. She had made a name for herself; Ginny did, even if at first she had humbly requested his influence to give her career the boost it needed.
The man playing Romeo tipped over the flask of his deathly potion and with one foul swoop of his lines, he fell forwards onto Ginny. Harry's face turned sour as the young lad's face landed surreptitiously between his fiancée's breasts. Soon after the shameless prick had fallen and Friar Lawrence and Balthasar got their two bits in, Ginny had slowly opened her sparkling, beguiling baby-blues and sat up. Fortunately for his sanity, her sitting up had flipped the little snot off her, and Harry was delighted at hearing the resonant thump of his head on the firm cherry wood boards.
Ginny peered around and abruptly her face widened in shock at seeing her lover, as per the role of her character. She immediately turned around and spoke to the man playing Friar Lawrence; in which he would state that her husband was dead and that they must flee the tomb at once. She adamantly rejected and fell to her knees in tearful sob next to Romeo whilst the Friar had fled the scene,
"What's here? a cup, closed in my true love's hand?
Poison, I see, hath been his timeless end:
O churl! drunk all, and left no friendly drop
To help me after? I will kiss thy lips;
Haply some poison yet doth hang on them,
To make die with a restorative."
Harry watched indignantly as his fiancée pressed her lips brazenly onto the bastard's own coarse set. He twitched in frustration when the kiss lasted more than a few seconds and dotted them off with the timepiece he carried in his pocket.
Finally, after a good-well two minutes of his life, they had broken apart. And Ginny leaned over Romeo in despair, an expression of grief clouding her pretty face. She gently stroked the cleft of the pillock's chin and followed downwards to his neck. Still with a sour look to his face, Harry controlled his killing instincts. He willed himself not to take action of the prodding insult to his masculinity that lay right in front of him. While in his subconscious mind, a horde of images of the wonderful things he would be able to do if he could get his hands on that bastard had him, at least, vaguely pleased.
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The play had approached a most appreciative end and everyone had bowed for their curtain call. As the congregation filed out the doors and the applauses stopped, Harry headed sneakily backstage to surprise his darling fiancée. As he strolled through the crowded hallway, many heads nodded in his direction as well as many comments of gratitude.
Upon reaching her door, he lifted his fist to knock. Tapping at the door three times, there was no answer.
"Miss Weasley?" He called uncertainly. With a cocked eyebrow, he slowly turned the knob and strolled into her room. The area was empty, but she had been here before. He would know. Her boudoir was open and lay bare for all to see. Her brushes and combs were messily spread around the vanity, and her kohl pens, face creams, and powders were all unfastened, sitting there for anyone to take. This was very mysterious considering that on rare occasion would she ever let him touch her things. Now out of nowhere she had disappeared without a note, not even bothering to cover her accoutrements.
He stepped out and went in search for her.
"Did you enjoy the show, Mr. Potter?" A cheerful voice assaulted him. Harry turned back, as to not be rude, and came face to face with a smiling man. He was aged to be in his 60's, with kindly eyes and a rather plump stomach.
"Yes, quite. It was marvelous as always." Harry politely nodded with a small grin before proceeding to cut to the chase, "Have you seen Miss Weasley?"
"Ah, Miss Weasley, I had seen her walk out into the back alleys for a smoke."
"I see. Well, then I shall be going along to fetch her, I must ask her something. Good day."
"Good day, Milord. And might I say that this is a terribly good day for a wedding." The man grinned, a wizened look in his eyes that made the wrinkles on his forehead slightly crease.
Harry peered back at the man, truly curious as to how he would have guessed.
The man eyed him with an amused glint and replied, "I'm an old man… I speak from my own observations."
And that seemed the answer too it all. "Thank you, sir." Harry gave him a true smile and left hurriedly to the back of the building. His strides were long and energetic. In his heart, the thing that he could not identify before, that had blocked him from ever reaching the cusp of his love for Ginny had been knocked away, crashed down, plundered on, and he could feel it. Love was giving him the energy that he had never possessed and his mind was completely made up, he had to have her.
Harry took a deep breath, squared his shoulders, and opened the archway that leaded into the alleys.
"Ginny, I've been meaning-," As quick as the words came rushing out of his mouth, it was cut off by the scene he had stumbled into.
Red lipstick was smudged cruelly about her face. Her hair was messily pulled back to show her innocent breasts, heaving up and down from the desperation of her lovemaking. She rutted wildly against the dirty, rotten walls of the alley, gasping and reaching out for something that was not there. Her beautiful legs wrapped tighter around her stranger as she arched herself up to embrace him further. The man was tanner than him with brown hair and ropy muscles. He was in between her thighs, pounding relentlessly, tearing into the virtue that should've been his. That was his.
In that instance the air became slightly chilled and the atmosphere filled with electricity. The world had frozen, the clock pointing stock still at exactly half past ten. Nothing moved anymore, anywhere. Not a body, not a bird, not a soul; and for a split second there was only silence.
A shutter of a camera recorded the stillness of this thin slice of time. And a long time later, the picture would be finally developed and he would have realized that this was the moment it began.
The clock ticked. Everything moved again.
"Oh shite!" She cried. Harry felt her eyes on him but he could not stare back, would not. Instead, he looked to the opening ahead of them and saw a little man holding his camera as if it was worth his life. When the cameraman saw that he had been spotted, he tucked his equipment quickly back into his bag and dashed away in the opposite direction, taking the evidence of this vicious scandal with him to be developed. And by tomorrow morning it would be on the front page of the Daily Prophet, Harry thought with dread.
He stood frozenly at the door, still too shocked to move or answer.
"Harry…" His name was softly spoken but he could not comprehend it. After the second or third try, a hand grasped onto his arm.
"Harry!" He peered up at Ginny. Her face was inches away from him and her grip was desperate. "Harry, I'm sorry! I'm so sorry! I-I didn't mean it!"
Ginny held his gaze with extreme fear, fear of the loss of the pedestal in which he had given her. Feeling as if she was falling off the edge of the precipice as seconds passed by without her answering him, she tried a different strategy, "It was not my fault!"
"Than who's fault is it?" Harry spat back at her, embarrassment driving him into a rage.
"I-," She searched cautiously for the answer but was swiftly cut off.
"No, Ginny! No more lying, no more scheming and pretending! For one goddamn bloody moment in your life, tell me the truth!"
"I love you!" She cried, now holding his arm with both of her hands. "I love you so much, Harry! Please forgive me!"
Harry clenched his jaw and strained to speak calmly, "Is this what you call loving me? You betrayed me, Ginny, to another man, and he has his seed in your belly! Do you have any idea what this means? You may have his bastard child in your womb!"
She nestled herself deeper into his arms, and he rapidly gripped her shoulders and pushed her away until she was at arms length. "Listen to me! I loved you-!"
Oh, how his heart ached as he stared at the tears dripping down her rosy cheeks. Each one, a perfectly formed glass spear and its tips were dipped in poison so that it would plunge easily into his heart without restraint.
"-So much. And yet I was not enough, was I?"
She didn't respond.
"I'm sorry, Miss Weasley." His tone had softened a bit, "But I am no longer worthy of your affections."
"No…no," Ginny pleaded with him, "My darling, you will always be worthy. Always…" She paused and gently took his face into her hands, "I have done you wrong, and I know that now. And it was a mistake, a complete mistake which had afflicted our strong affections for one another, and I ask you to forgive me. Please, my love. Forgive me and all will be well."
"Do you truly think that we would come back to what we once were if I were to accept?" He said spitefully, "Your actions have made it perfectly clear that our relationship, I can see now, was only based on the mutual indulgence of distrust and bitterness. I knew all along that you had been hiding secrets from me, and now my suspicions have been confirmed." He inhaled and finished it, "This is it, Miss Weasley. Good night."
He pulled her hands to her side and left.
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