In the Waiting Line

Disclaimer: The Harry Potter Universe belongs to Ms. Rowling, not me.

A/N: Originally I posted this on a different site, but then removed it and changed it a bit. Please tell me what you think. Oh, and the title comes from the song In the Waiting Line, by Zero 7.

-

He lay me down on the bed, glancing around for a moment as if he believed someone was watching. I furiously shut my eyes. We were in the middle of a battle and I was hurt. My hands grasped onto the bed sheets, searching for some kind of anchor.

Moments before we had been attacked outside the common room and Harry had dragged me away into his room, out of danger. Of course that was silly because the danger was not gone, merely held up for a moment. I could pretend though, that the cries downstairs were really laughter and that Harry's lips, which were pierced in a tight line, were really smiling. I could pretend.

The taste of copper graced my tongue as the wound dripped onto my lips. I wiped it away thinking Harry had left.

"It may scar," he suddenly stated, breaking the delicate silence.

I touched my face and traced the spot just above my lip, to the end of my eye brow.

"Here," he muttered, while coming over to sit beside me on the bed. Absently, like he did this everyday, Harry ripped the white sheets and lifted his hand to wipe the cut. The sheets turned crimson red. I watched with sudden interest as he stared intently at my face, calculating each stroke with misplaced tenderness. Strangely, I wasn't unnerved.

"Thank you," I finally said, breaking the eerie calmness. It was the eye of a storm.

Harry nodded and briskly removed his hand, while glancing around the room. It was obvious that he wanted to go. I remember his elegant walk to the door. I remember the sound of the door shutting. Although, I forget sometimes, what his breath felt like on my shoulder, as he leaned down to tell me. Yes. Sometimes I forget.

-

In a pub not far from Hogsmeade, a girl sidled up to the bar. She had on a dark cloak that veiled her body. To the many strangers of the pub she was just another face, another person with their own story left untold.

"What can I getcha'?" A large bar mistress demanded, cropping her elbows onto the table. She continued to stare at Ginny, without blinking or moving an eye. It was quite discomforting and Ginny's own gaze quickly diverted downwards.

"A shot of firewhiskey."

The woman waddled away in search of the order, leaving Ginny to look around the pub. She was waiting for someone. Would he show?

The nights that he did arrive were blurred with alcohol and cold comfort. The word love was never uttered, forgotten in a world and place that they had once belonged to. They could never be like that again, so they remained perfect strangers, solely meeting at night.

"What happened that night?"

"Stop," he'd reply and grab her arms. Beating hearts and pounding kisses overruled the sound of crying and talking. She could hear the blood rushing through his ears, drowning her in desire. Why couldn't she say it? Why couldn't he mean it?

"Quite a scar you have there," the bar mistress interjected, placing the glass of whiskey onto the wobbling table. Ginny nodded and looked away. The woman left unfazed. This was her life. Unseen strangers all here for the same reason; to be left alone.

The minutes passed by. She tried to ignore the memories. All she could hear were the screaming voices, the cries of her friends. Where was she? Why didn't she help them?

Harry survived, of course. Everyone wanted to know how he had done it, how he had killed Voldemort. The grief on his face told a different story and not once did he give away the answer.

"He needs to be loved. That's the only way he'll make it through this," her mum said to the family, one week after the battle. Three years later and all he got was her scarred face and broken body.

"She will take care of him," Ron confidently replied. "Harry will be a quidditch star and Ginny will be his beautiful wife."

She laughs now at the absurd thought. Her a wife and Harry a star. He had faded away into the night, a mere smudge in the sky. She was the dust left behind.

"What happened to me?"

Dumbledore stared at her with a doubtful look. He blamed her for making Harry a shadow.

"You were attacked by Lestrange that night. You fell unconscious for the rest of the battle and we found you three days later in Harry's dormitory. He was found with Voldemort in the Chamber of Secrets. He won't speak. He asks for you."

"I can't."

Dumbledore glanced away, hiding his anger. What was it with this man, that made it all the more heartbreaking?

The pub smelt like mouldy alcohol and death. It clung to her. She came here every night.

"Where do you live?" She was once asked. It took her a moment to remember and even then she was not exactly sure. The old life didn't seem so real anymore and Ginny was beginning to think it had all been some sort of twisted reality. He was her only link to the old life.

"What do they say about me?" Ginny would demand.

With a sad smile, he would turn his head and talk about something else. What do they say, she'd ask a little louder. But he didn't respond and Ginny thought that perhaps she hadn't said anything at all.

The cold counter and hard kisses were never replaced by a soft bed and tender touches. They wouldn't show their love. The days struggle and mundane repetitions were continuously erased each night.

"I saw you with another girl," she confronted Harry. That was two months ago.

They were naked on the ground beside his bed. His eyes were focussed on the tiled ceiling. Ginny briefly glanced at the picture of his parents that they had knocked over as they struggled to remove one another's clothes. The frame was cracked. She couldn't bare to look at it. What would they think if they saw him now? They would blame her for ruining him. Blame her for taking away his chance of normality.

"Who? Rachel? We were dating for a while, but it's over now."

Ginny looked at the bed and imagined them making love. He always justified his girlfriends. She hated it.

"What's wrong with you Ginny?" Hermione forcefully demanded. It was the last time she had seen her, two years after the battle. "Your parents tell me that you haven't been home for months. It's breaking their hearts. How can you do this to them? To us?"

The once trustful voice of her friend was now marred by of years unreliability and hefty mistakes.

Sometimes, Ginny would stand in front of the Burrow, listening for something. Minutes would pass by, and then she'd turn around and discard any attempt to fix the words left unsaid.

"How old are you?"

A voice whispered into her ear. It happened often as they believed her to be much older. She supposed that the scar and pale, tired look did nothing to contradict their beliefs. Sometimes, though, she could even fool herself. On a sunny day Ginny would let her hair loose. It would pool down her back like a copper flag, fluttering in the wind. How come he never saw her in the sun?

Harry always said that he preferred meeting at night.

"Twenty three," Ginny would reply in a even voice. The asker would raise their eyebrows and walk away.

She didn't know that once in a while he would come into the pub and stand in the shadows. He would stared at her cloak and long fingers that curled around the glass in her hand. It scared Harry to think of a life without Ginny. A life without her quiet words and hidden smiles.

What had he done? The thought alone made him wary and that particular night, Harry left without seeing her. A second later she turned around and stared at the empty room. He'd been there. She could sense it. She could feel him.

Ginny thought about chasing him. She didn't though, knowing he'd be back. And she'd be there there, waiting.

-

Three nights ago they'd lain on Harry's kitchen floor, completely exhausted. His hand brushed against her side. They had to be touching. The room was quiet, except for their harsh breathing and the rustling of unshed clothes. Suddenly, Harry turned his face and looked at her.

"I'm marrying Rachel," he declared in a even voice. It was the moment that Ginny realized he'd done it. Even without her leaving, he had moved on.

"Oh."

Harry continued in result of her stunned response.

"I know what you're thinking. But I do... love her and I want to have a family. She doesn't know about you," he explained. "I can't see you anymore. I can't do this to her when we're married."

Ginny nodded and sat up. She put on her bra and t-shirt and slipped into the worn pair of jeans that she hid beneath the cloak. Out of the corner of his eye, he watched her. Harry took in every inch of her body, memorising the curves and freckles.

He stood with Ginny for a moment as she prepared to leave. He wished that she'd cry and yell at him. He wished that she would curse him. The eerie calmness and serene look to her face was much harder to take.

"Goodbye," Ginny said as she opened the door and walked away. The urge to chase her kicked in and Harry had to grab onto the door handle for support. He could do this. He could let her go.

-

The pub was dark in the daytime. The windows were covered in dirt and strange curtains that at one point had been a frilly and pink, but were now ripped and black. As the memories invaded all sensibility, she didn't notice when a young man slipped into the pub and sidled up behind her. He stood inches away from her back and although her instincts were telling her to turn around, she didn't. Instead, Ginny waited. For the first time in five years, Harry walked around to the front of the table and sat down, adjacent to where she was seated. The sight was to strange for her to handle and for a moment she almost lost her cool exterior.

"This is weird," Ginny muttered and they both knew what she was talking about.

"Why did you come, Harry?"

"I'm getting married tomorrow."

"Why did you come," she repeated.

"You look beautiful."

"Harry..." she breathed. "We can't do this."

His hand stretched out as if he was about to touch her, but then recoiled. He nodded and opened his mouth to speak.

"I wanted to tell you something."

"What?"

"I love you. I always have. I'm sorry, it just... it just needed to be said before, well... you know."

"Before you get married?"

"Yes."

She nodded.

The words of poetry that Ginny had been waiting to hear now seemed somewhat uneventful. Harry watched her with a calculated look, as if he was expecting something in return. They both knew of course, that they had long ago botched all chances of a normal relationship.

As Ginny stood up to leave, Harry realized that it would most likely be the last time he'd ever see her. For an affair that had never been about formalities, the entire scenario seemed highly constrained. He wanted to kiss her and touch her, but instead watched her leave the pub as it was what the situation required. Ginny's hood was down, letting her brassy hair pool over her shoulders into a blaze of fire. Perhaps this was closure. A chapter in his life that was finished. He could move on now.

Ginny stepped across the threshold, into the light. A new feeling had spread throughout her limbs. She didn't turn around. Her pace quickened. Ginny realized, with a smile, that she was done waiting.

end.