Author Note: Harry Potter and all related characters, plots, settings, and references belong to JK Rowling. No money is being made from this story.
Madness
Compensate.
That's what a good girl should do. Compensate for the terrible feelings inside by painting a smile on your face. Compensate for the way he looks at her by refusing to acknowledge them both.
Never let him see you cry, because if he sees the way you ache for him, he'll know. And if he knows, you're done with. He'll stare at you with those bright green eyes and you'll melt and go along with whatever he wants.
Damn you anyway, Harry Potter. Damn you to Hell for what you do to me.
Damn me for letting you.
Who knew that emerald eyes could smoulder? Who knew that black, messy, wild hair was unbelievably attractive? Who knew? Ginny knew. She knew since she first saw him. Maybe she didn't realize that he was the love of her life. Maybe all she realized was that he was Harry Potter, The Boy Who Lived. Maybe all she identified with was the scar on his forehead, the legend that followed him like a shadow on a moonless night. Maybe it was the strange aura of...something—awesome Magic, force, safety...
Ginny was too young to see past that, but the next year she tried harder. She saw past his scar to the black messy hair that sometimes covered it, past the wire-rimmed glasses to the emerald green eyes that burned into her soul. She saw past the legend and looked at the boy. That was amazing.
The next year Ginny watched from afar. She was afraid to look into those piercing eyes; afraid that he would see right through her. She was transparent under his gaze and nothing terrified her more than him knowing. They say that madness in a mad world is the only reasonable thing left—that became her faith. To avoid him killed a piece of her with each passing second; to acknowledge him drove a stake into her heart. So she fell to her pattern of madness and it sustained her. It sustained her while it tore her to shreds.
His fourth year, her third, brought another measure of madness. Another woman was making eyes at her Harry. Wait a moment...since when did he become her Harry. He was just Harry. Ginny heard that he asked her to the Yule Ball and felt so conflicted that the sheer confusion of it was indescribable. She could not compensate—she didn't know her own thoughts. She felt such anger that some Ravenclaw would refuse him over a previous date. Any sensible woman would have dumped the stupid prat and gone with him immediately. Hot anger welled up inside her as she considered Cho. Cho, the insensitive cow who'd actually hurt him like that. On the other hand though, she was so relieved that she was without words. Harry was still available...
At least he was; he was until she made the worst mistake of her life.
She agreed to go with Neville Longbottom and she could have killed herself for her own stupidity.
Harry had wanted to take her. He wanted to show up with her, and she couldn't because she agreed to go with Neville. Her own biting criticism came back to haunt her. Any sensible woman would have dumped the stupid prat and gone with him immediately.
Damn voices. How dare they repeat her judgement of another without asking permission?
She fell back into her pattern of madness.
His fifth year was no better. It ripped a gash deepinside her to see him hurting. Lord Voldemort was lucky, in her brothers' opinion. Fred and George often said, "Hell may have no fury like a woman scorned, but even Satan hides from an angry, red-headed female Weasley with a wand and PMS."
She looked Fred in the eye and told him "No uterus, no opinion," and slammed her door in his freckled face. He avoided her for a week.
She considered the object of her madness. Harry was like an animal to her. A creature of the wild. When an animal is frightened, it lashes out at everyone, including those trying to help. She forced herself to become cool around him, the ice to his fire; the calm to his passion. He'd never love her. Never. She was Ron's little sister. A little sister, that's all. And so she compensated. She adopted a mask that reflected her true colors but denied her feelings.
She developed a mask, and he saw right through it.
This was her reality, and it was her fatality.
Two years had passed. Two terrible years full of war and death. Harry was her faith, Harry was her hope. Harry was her life, and she was glad he didn't know it. He'd never know it. He'd die, with his beautiful wife holding his hand and whispering that she loved him without knowing that Ginny would move mountains for him. She would kill for him—she had killed for him. She had killed herself in avoiding him when his gaze was like water in the desert; bread to a starving soul. His gaze killed her. Smouldering eyes that burned into her; saw down through her to the center of her soul. His words could rake her spine and send cold shivers down her or they could fill her with such comforting warmth that she felt like she was stepping into the sun after the rain. Raindrops were tears, and tears were part of her madness.
She closed her eyes and felt the tears fall like water music. She glanced up to see him watching her. She swallowed and made for the stairs, afraid to look at him. Afraid to let him see how she loved him; afraid to let him near her. She couldn't compensate if he touched her, if he spoke to her, if, Merlin forbid, he looked at her.
He always was on the skinny side, but for someone who looked so undernourished he had quite a grip. He wasn't a Seeker for nothing; his reflexes were amazing.
"What's wrong, Ginny?" Why was his voice so compelling? Why was she rooted to the spot, unable to move when he said her name? Why didn't she run away? The fire flickered in the dark Common Room but the warmth came from his hand on her shoulder. "Ginny, you're crying. Please tell me what's wrong. Maybe…" He hesitated. "Maybe I can help."
There was a hint of panic in his voice; panic that is minuscule compared to hers. "I was just thinking, Harry." He turned her to face him, and it happened. She couldn't prevent it. There was nowhere to hide, nowhere to run to, nothing to stop him from looking down into her, down through the layers of fantasy and straight into the reality.
She watched in mixed horror and delight as his eyes widened. His other hand found its own way to her shoulder. He never took his eyes off her. Her self-made madness was shattered into dust even as it was strengthened by his touch. Her faith fell away and faded even as he renewed it with startling force. Her breath caught in her throat even as she began to gasp.
"Ginny," Her name is a breath on the wind, a single word spoken in the silence. She felt something inside her break. She refused to cry in front of him, absolutely would not allow herself that weakness, but her soul can't withstand his next words. "Let me help."
"You can't help me." She bit her lip so hard that she bled; a shining red drop reflecting the firelight that danced on the walls. Her voice was reduced to a whisper. "You can't help me."
She turned to leave again, but Harry had other ideas. Grabbing both her shoulders, she was embedded to the spot because she couldn't move at all— even if she wanted to.
"Stop." One word.
"Why would I stop, Harry? Can't you see that I'd rather be anywhere than here at the moment?" She advanced on him, her voice rising shrilly. "I don't want to be here with you!" A lie, a brazen, unadulterated, pure lie.
He blinked and dropped his arms, whispering a barely audible apology. "I'm sorry, Ginny. I..." Harry hesitated once more. "I thought you wanted to talk to someone."
"Not you!" Ginny turned to face the fire, turning away from the pain she'd just given herself, away from his piercing gaze for a moment. A moment of peace.
"I..." There was silence behind her. Ginny kept count in her head. When she reached one hundred, she turned around, expecting to see him gone.
He wasn't. He was standing there, arms crossed tightly over his chest, with his messy black hair just as messy as always and his green eyes just as smoldering as she goes insane. Her voice is a hoarse croak. "What are you doing here?"
"Waiting." One word answers were going to be the death of her some day, and he knew she hated that.
"Waiting for what, Potter?" Clever girl, Ginny. Put on the mask. Compensate. Don't let him see. Never let him see.
"You."
One word, again.
She narrowed her eyes. "Me? What?" There, that got him. No one word answer this time. In your face, you sexy man you.
Harry just arched an eyebrow and, if possible, snuggled his arms against his body tighter. "Ready?"
Ginny growled. "Ready for what? The Apocalypse? Yes! I'm ready! I'm packed! Up, up, up we all go. Party at my place. Let's get sloshed and scream 'Bugger the Immortals' at the top of our lungs. Why not? I'm ready." She couldn't believe this. He was standing there, waiting for her to...well, lose it. Exactly like she was. She gave up and sighed. "What do you want, Harry?" Victory was hers; she got him. Her mind mocked him gently. Get out of that one, darling.
"You." Harry casually leaned a hand against the couch and looked at her...waiting.
Madness in a mad world is the only reasonable thing left...
"Me? You don't want me..." Her mind was reeling. Wrong, this is wrong. The Knight is supposed to sweep the Lady off into the sunset, Ginny Weasley, and I thought we knew a long time ago that we weren't going to be that Lady. He will never love me. "Bloody hell, Harry, come off it. What do you really want?" This was so unlike him. It never even occurred to her that boys can act strangely and do such crazy things when they were in love. It never occurred to her that he was in love. He was moving towards her. Oh glory, why was he moving towards her?
"You," he repeated, standing a foot away from her and staring at her with those eyes. Merlin, those eyes.
Madness in a mad world is reasonable...
"Why?"
Madness in a mad world...
Harry grinned and placed a hand on her shoulder again, drawing her closer. Three inches. "Reasons."
Madness in the world...
"Wha-what reasons? Harry James Potter what the hell do you think you're—"
He silenced her with a kiss. She fell into his arms and kissed him back through her water-music tears.
Madness...
If this was madness...
Then they were all mad here.
The End
Copyright, Marshmellin: 2005