Ginny Potter opened her brown eyes to a ceiling that was at first unfamiliar to her. A small amount of excitement opened her eyes wider Then with a faint realization she found it was the same ceiling she opened her eyes to every morning. She was still Ginny Potter, who worked at the Ministry of Magic, and she was still the wife of the nationally famous Harry Potter. A small sense of abandonment reached her as she rolled over and found the left side of the bed empty and cold; Harry's smell lingered on the imprinted pillows. Rolling out of bed took a motivation. Ginny tried to think of something she could look forward to today but nothing seem to come to mind. The corner of her eye showed her the cloudy sky and the snow seemed to that float down on Godric's Hollow.
What day was it? Ginny felt thrown off by sleeping in so late. The moving calendar above the bed showed her it was Friday. Ginny released a great sigh.
"T.G.I.F," Ginny said aloud sounding relieved. Tomorrow she wouldn't have to appear at work until the night shift. That left the day free for her and Harry to attend their appointment. The realization that the first day of the rest of her life rested on the shoulders of their personal friend and healer Hermione Weasley made Ginny feel uplifted and uneasy.
The large bedroom Harry and her slept in was to big to be any type of cozy and at this moment Ginny was feeling especially small. The bedroom felt cold as Ginny walked toward the bathroom. But it was now always that way, When Harry and Ginny were first married the bedroom had been steaming hot but now, after four and a half years of marriage only the icy cold of the early February wind was all that lingered near the bed.
It took a reasonable amount of force to look in the mirror, Ginny had always been confident but lately that confidence had been slipping away from her. The woman she saw in the mirror didn't look twenty-five at all. Ginny's fire-orange hair lay flat and lifeless as it went down her back. Her skin was pale and pinkish; her eyes were light brown but appeared cold and empty, bags forming on the lids. Ginny's lips were bright pink showing that they were chapped. A sense of hopelessness ran through her as her sunken eyes traveled over the depressed looking face. Through the open window above the shower, the icy wind blew in bringing some singsong words back to her.
I wake up in the morning.
Put on my face.
The one that's gunna get me,
Through another day.
Doesn't really matter,
How I feel inside,
This life is like a game sometimes. -Naked by Avril Lavigne.
Ginny put her head down on the sink. Her life was a mess. She was getting fat, she felt ugly, she hadn't had a real good time in ages, she was tired all the time, Her house was a mess, her job was slowly killing her piece by piece, and her husband was slowly loosing interest in her and was probably taking his needs to another woman's bed. Something had to give. She needed something to take her attention away from her stressful job and her crumbling marriage, something that would always provide warmth and happiness. Something had to give. Ginny softly rubbed her stomach and looked down at it with soft eyes. It just had to.
The song had a catchy tune; it was probably coming from on of her lively muggle neighbors who lived only a couple houses down. Ginny proceeded down the stairs of the drafty house. Ginny had done her best to make the house feel homely but all her efforts were futile for nothing could make the house feel like The Burrow. Ginny reached the cold bottom step, which startled the bare skin on her foot. She pasted the ugly looking kitchen table that Aunt Muriel had given them as a wedding present. It had orange and brown paint covered in white cheesy-looking flowers.
On the kitchen counter laid the mail. Ginny skipped through it. Bill, bill, bill, late Christmas card, bill, Ministry Notice—Then Ginny pulled out something hard and heavy. It appeared to be some sort of thin plastic box, after a moment or so Ginny recognized it as what muggles called a 'DVD'. It was some sort of recording device used to record popular cinemas and sale to people for their own personal use. She wondered why in the world someone would send her one of these but when she saw the green cover of the DVD, Ginny immediately knew who it was. This had been the muggle musical Hermione had been feverishly and franticly trying to get Ginny to watch. She kept constantly insisting it was really good. Ginny wasn't so knee, she wasn't quite sure what a muggle musical would do to easy her everyday woes.
Ginny glanced at the cover, which was of a dark green. Into The Woods it read. Starring Bernadette Peters and Joanna Gleason premiered on Broadway 1987—hmm, vaguely interesting. But however, (Ginny tossed the DVD onto the table and hurried upstairs to get ready for work.) It wasn't interesting enough to tempt her.
The snow outside covered about two inches of the street. When she was dressed warm and ready to go Ginny left her large home in Godric's Hollow and prepared for another stressful day at work. The Village seemed alive with play today; wizard and muggle children alike were playing around the Village. The lake, slightly farther than the village itself had frozen over rock solid. Children and couples alike skated freely on it. A muggle couple that seemed doomed to stand out were skating on the ice, a few people took to staring. The two teenagers appeared to be on a morning date but if there were an odder couple in the world, that was them. The teenage boy was tall and gangly though very handsome he had very dark seek hair and pale skin. The girl on the other hand seemed rather nerdy and clumsy. She had big dark red bushy hair and spectacles that reminded Ginny of Professor Trelawney, with braces on her teeth. She looked like a hot mess in Ginny's opinion. And yet they were together. The boy appeared to be teaching the girl how to skate. They seemed to be doing fine, talking little because of embarrassment and the girl only slipped once or twice.
But half way around the lake the girl took a plunge and just before she hit the ground the boy caught her. Their eyes met, and then they both looked away quickly, cheeks burning and eyes wondering. How she remembered how it used to be with her and Harry.
Ginny Apperated in front of the shabby old red telephone booth used for Ministry of Magic hours after her husband, who was no doubt already waist deep in files and complaints about the new safety enchantments that had been placed on the entire doors at the Ministry of Magic.
Ginny glanced around; no one seemed to be awake. Though it was nearly ten in the morning the streets of downtown London were indeed dull, extremely dull than the usual hustle and bustle. Paying it not much thought, and faintly thinking it had something to do with the very large block party the night before, Ginny hurried into the shabby booth. It had graffiti scratched into the shielding glass and Ginny noted the unbearable smell of weed that seemed to be coming from the corner. The three extra hours of sleep seemed to have done Ginny extremely well. She hadn't told anyone she was planning on sleeping in, except Harry who had left for work around four in the morning. Since the couple where two key components in the welfare of the ministry neither were able to sleep in for too long.
This month had been especially hectic, (when was there ever a calm month in the Potter house?) with Andromeda Tonks, coming down with an odd illness, then quickly after being hospitalized, Teddy, who was now living with Mr. and Mrs. Weasley Sr. had been subject to moods of depression, and only at the age of ten! Bill and Fleur's daughter Victoire, who was only eight, had broken her ankle playing on a broomstick with George. A two-month pregnant Hermione who had been working herself to death at St. Mungo's had to be taken in to her work for false labor. Her office as well at her House Elf Headquarters in Surrey had been shut down temporarily, while a screaming Hermione pitched a fit in the St. Mungo's Hospital bed. Ginny herself was getting a raise, while Harry was insisting to The Minister of Magic that they take new advanced safety precautions at the ministry. Also Harry had a new assistant. Ginny smirked at the thought of how they were getting along at the moment. Though there had been a lot in this hectic month Ginny knew it was just a little more than they did every month.
Doing the usual, Ginny held the phone over her head and dialed Magic. A sort of confused and delirious female voice filled the small booth.
"Welcome to the Ministry. Name and business."
Half amused half annoyed Ginny corrected her. "Its welcome to the Ministry of Magic, state your name and business."
The female voice seemed to recognize Ginny's and she hissed. "Your late, girl."
"I'm well aware of that. I would be careful if I were you, the minister listens to these channels." Ginny said simply. The female voice let out a cross between a gasp and a hiccup. She reluctantly continued on, this time making no mistakes but her voice sounded oddly unpleasant and unwelcoming. The voice began to list off things that needed to be done by Ginny and small reminders but Ginny was only half listening. The last glints of the sunlight shined through as the booth descended before they were gone completely. Ginny laid her head against the graphitized glass and thought unconsciously about what she might cook for dinner. The meat she had bought last week was still in the refrigerator and if she didn't cook it soon it would go bad. But Harry had vaguely mentioned he would be getting something after work. Ginny thought of the tall silhouette in the darkness that had distractedly kissed her goodbye early this morning, he had aimed for her cheek but missed and kissed her around her nose. If he had planned on eating alone then she could always cook the meat tomorrow.
The last word of her thought echoed off the walls of her head. Tomorrow. Tomorrow was it. Tomorrow was the day. Tomorrow was the day, that her and Harry would know, as a couple. Ginny closed her eyes and let the word roll off her lips in a whisper.
"Tomorrow,"
"What was that?" asked the female voice, who sound like an old maid.
"Nothing," fluttered Ginny as her nametag was printed out. It read Ginerva Potter, Introductory Receptionist.
As the booth descended Ginny could see the Ministry's main floor, where she worked. And as she came into view of others on the Ministry's floor a pair of deep dark brown eyes bore into her, appearing to be angry. They came from a tall black man who seemed to be waiting for her. He was in a long traveling cloak like everyone else but instead of black his was navy and read the letters under his name, Head of Department of International Magical Cooperation (D.I.M.C). Ginny took her time with getting out of the booth, which seemed to frustrate him even more.
"Your late," he said when they were face to face.
"I know," said Ginny caring less as she glanced around.
"You know?" repeated Dean Thomas looking flabbergasted as they walked toward and around the counter. "Where the hell were you?"
"Harry gave me permission to sleep in.," she said rather simply.
"Harry…?" Dean repeated looking angry. But he said nothing more on the subject of her lateness. "Speaking of your dotting husband, he sent me down here earlier to sort things out, as if I haven't anything else to do. Apparently, at around six—seven, in the morning here, this floor was a mad house. With no one managing Intro Track and everyone coming in to scream at your secretary Zeller."
"Zeller?" Ginny repeated confused. "Rose Zeller? That girl is my secondary secretary. What's she doing here, she should be down in the Courtrooms, assisting Fallon with the proceedings—."
"It got so busy up here we had to send for her." Said Dean simply.
"Where's Pritchard?"
"Graham Pritchard?" Dean shrugged. "Who knows, that boy wondered off after it got busy."
Ginny had been schooling two students on the ways of the Ministry. They were both working there on an Internship. They were both incredibly intelligent but Zeller seemed more Hermione-ish, and who often took more of her time to do everything while Pritchard often liked to lack off. Both of the youths were under Ginny's care, and they both had been assigned jobs. Pritchard was to mind the receptionist desk, while Zeller who was harder working, and more deserving, was sent to help Shane Fallon with court proceedings. Ginny thought it was interesting that Zeller seemed to get stuck doing Pritchard's job while, Pritchard was nowhere to be seen.
"Who's on the Intro Track now?" Ginny asked but she was quite sure she already knew.
"Pansy, Pansy Parkinson," Dean groaned while covering his face. "She's got nothing on you, Gin, I'll admit that much. We've been getting complaints on her all morning. As if we haven't enough complaints already."
As he said that they came to a door behind the receptionist desk. Sitting in the chair with dark hair and pale skin was a young girl. She appeared no older than twenty-two. She had her wand out and she was sorting threw files rather quickly. She looked so very tired but every time someone walked up to the desk she managed what looked like a very sincere smile.
Ginny clasped her shoulder as the person walked away, bent down and whispered in her ear. "Go home."
Rose Zeller turned her light eyes toward Ginny, an expression of fear carved into her tired face, worried if she were in trouble.
"You've done well," said Ginny reassuringly. "After a million people screaming in your face, I'm surprised you can still manage a smile."
Rose's features seemed to soften, and she began to gather her things. "Are you certain, Mrs. Potter?"
"Quite," smiled Ginny. "Spend what's left of your day resting, because tomorrow you shall be back in the courtrooms."
Rose Zeller smiled as she left and then was gone.
"That was wise," said Dean sarcastically. "Sending your best secretary home, for the rest of the day off, brilliant."
"Pritchard shall take her place," said Ginny as she withdrew her wand. "Lumos" she whispered and then she spoke into the ball of light at the tip of her wand. "Graham Pritchard, if you don't make yourself present at this moment you can forget about this internship."
Seconds later there was a faint pop and Graham Pritchard came around the desk. He as well was young, looking around the age of twenty-three. He was only two years younger than Ginny herself. He had blonde windblown hair and the pink in his face seemed to only appear on the apples of his cheeks and the tip of his long nose. He gave off a very haughty disposition and looked at Ginny rather like he was being interrupted.
"Where have you been," hissed Ginny.
"In the courtrooms, helping Fallon," he answered normally.
"You were told to stay at your post," said Ginny. Pritchard didn't seem to have an answer for this. Ginny pointed at the seat behind the desk where Rose, had moments before occupied.
"Where is Zeller?" asked Pritchard looking outraged.
"I sent her home, she looked tired after having to do your work and hers."
Pritchard didn't speak but took the seat at the desk. Ginny turned back to Dean. "Anything else I should know?"
Dean shook his head. "No just get Parkinson out of there."
Dean went to unlock the door behind the desk, but the moment he touched it he let out a violent scream, withdrew his hand and stared at the doorknob murderously. Ginny was startled at his yell but was calmed after a moment when Dean looked over his shoulder at her with death eyes.
"Damn your husband," Dean hissed as he withdrew his wand as well and inserted it within the keyhole. The door unlocked and swung open seconds later. "If he weren't so paranoid maybe we wouldn't have to use our wands every time we want to open a damn door that's been—,"
But the rest of his words were drowned in the noise, which came from the circular room they had just entered. Four fireplaces were set around the room and screaming faces surged in and out of each. The window, on the ceiling was a letter shoot for howlers that fell from the roof like red rain, each one exploding after a couple seconds with raging voices. The Shelves and shelves of muggle telephones rang off the hook and in the center of the room, seated at a desk was a very overwhelmed looking woman with a blue headset. She said every couple seconds 'welcome to the Ministry of Magic, state your name and business', and looked close to tears as she tried to answer all the ringing telephones.
"Good lord," whispered Ginny looking around at her office room as she withdrew he wand again. And with a loud whoosh all the fireplaces went out, the muggle telephones were on the hook and silent, and the roof window was closed very tightly so the howlers remained outside.
Pansy had thrown the blue headset on the ground and put her head down on the desk.
"Don't you know, that you never give permission for open service, otherwise it would be like that all the time," Ginny told the overwhelmed Pansy Parkinson. "If it were a real emergency, they would have enough sense to know to call Magical Law Enforcement offices or St. Mungo's Emergency center, not here."
Pansy stood and without a word she stocked off out of the room.
"Well," said Dean. "Here you are, do what you do best."
Ginny smiled tiredly. "I will, like always."
Dean was about to leave when he turned back. "Oh yeah, I hear tomorrow is the big day."
Ginny nodded, only half smiling now. "Yeah, it is."
"How are you two doing on that?" Dean asked with a slight tilt of his head.
"I'm spectacular, Harry is in between about it, but I figure there's no way we could come back negative," said Ginny rather brightly.
Dean moved toward the door and just before he closed it said rather ominously. "I wouldn't count your dragon eggs before they hatch."
And the door closed, leaving Ginny to her work.
For the first time in his entire career at the Ministry of Magic Harry felt overwhelmed at being the Head of Magical Law Enforcement. Hundreds of papers and talking complaints scattered the floor of his office.
Dear Mr. Potter they all began like, and then went off into a flurry about their complaint or suggestion or compliment or whatever nonsense that wore on their mind so that they felt so knee as to write a letter. Harry massaged his temples as if he had a headache. He was annoyed and frustrated beyond belief. After months of hassle on his part trying to get new safety and security measures installed he half expected his colleagues to be somewhat grateful.
Harry thought back on when he broke into the Ministry twice. Once into the Department of Mysteries and the second when he, Ron and Hermione impersonated Ministry officials. How easy it had been back then. No one was there to check on Polyjuice Potion tricks or whether their mission to the Ministry had a good reason. Back then the security was loose enough for teenagers to sneak past. That was not the Department Harry was content on running regardless of the reason. There were still people out there that were willing to do the Ministry harm if and when they got the chance. So to ensure such a thing would never happen Harry tightened up the security. Apparently no one seemed too thrilled.
Harry sat back in his chair and groaned as a howler shot itself through the crack in the window and landed on the floor amongst the talking complaints. Harry turned away from it, toward his desk. Howlers were on the regular here in his department. There was always some crazy man or some shrewd woman fussing over lack of so-on-and-so-forth. Harry leaned forward yearning for one of his wife's arousing shoulder massages she used to give him years ago and wondered distantly if she had arrived at work before he pushed the intercom button. Harry put his head down on his messy desk.
"Jeanette?" Harry groaned through his arm. Behind him something exploded and started yelling but Harry paid little attention.
"Yes?" asked his slightly startled sounding secretary as the Howler roared in the background.
"The lunch hour is at what time today?"
"Haven't I already told you four or five times today?"
"I need to hear it again for clarity."
His secretary sighed and in a dreary voice she answered. "2'o'clock sir." And with that the channel went dead.
Harry sighed as the howler's voice died out. He needed to focus on something else. This was absolutely ridiculous. Harry picked up a handful of complaint and scanned them over.
Dear Mr. Potter —
(A bunch of unnecessary nonsense about a poor man's cow and her utters. Toward the middle came the actual complaint.)
—As I went to go visit the Ministry a month or so ago, I used the Floo Powder Network that's supposed to connected to my Fireplace. But when I shouted the Ministry of Magic I got a mouth full of soot instead. What's going on? —
Mr. Potter
About a year ago— (Harry stared at that line for a long annoying moment. A year ago? He wasn't even Head of M.L.E a year ago!)
—I found myself very frustrated with the Department of Magical Law Enforcement. I called for help when a few stray muggle teenagers decided to play tipsy on my front lawn and when I called none of you came to help—
Regards
Maria Bruja
(Harry rolled his eyes)
—Potter,
Last week my aunt broke her leg. How come you guys weren't there?
Jenna Ming
Putter
When I was young I wanted to be just like you! So I was thinking, maybe if you have a non-work-day at the Ministry—
(Where the hell did this person live? In a bin? There has never been a "non-working" day at the Ministry.)
—I was thinking maybe I could come in, and you could show me one of your tricks. Like say how to make a stag patronus—
(Harry's patronus was naturally a stag, there's no way, unless they were oddly similar that they could produce a stag one and the same)
—Or maybe you could introduce me to your pretty friend Hermione Granger. She has an awful nice—
What in the hell was all this junk! People sometimes seemed to have nothing better to do than make complaints or better yet, see how his day was doing, with annoying an insensitive fan mail. Why in the world was he doing this? There were indeed more important papers to read and sign than complaints. Why was he dealing with this, where was his assistant? Harry looked around swiftly but the ash-blonde man was nowhere to be seen. Harry grunted. He was probably off doing something only Harry was allowed to do, trying to take his job no doubt. Before moving on to more important matters Harry glanced back at the complaint. Unconsciously he picked up his quill and crossed out Granger and wrote Weasley over head. All the while fighting the urge to send the letter back with a Howler screaming she was married. Harry pushed the papers aside and focused on something more important.
A few important looking papers caught his eyes that were titled
Memorandum of Upcoming Changes in the Ministry of Magic
The letter went through a series of things that would be changing that month which included Harry's Locks and a couple other important things. Harry's eyes skipped down to the end.
Each Ministry Head must sign that he/she have indeed read this memo and vow to distribute it to their department. Harry got his quill out and ready.
Head Assistants as well may sign in the Head of Department's place if for some reason the Head is unavailable.
The Minister
Harry looked down to a series of lines for a series of signatures, and then found the spot for Head of Magical Law Enforcement but to his dismay there was a signature in his place. On the line labeled for Magical Law Enforcement was signature of his assistant. Draco Malfoy it read. Harry narrowed his eyes at the signature and then looked around at the rest of the papers. All of them were signed Draco Malfoy. He tossed them aside uselessly. He felt annoyed that his new, four month old assistant was trying to do his job but at the same time relieved. It was one less thing he had to worry about, one less meeting he had to attend.
Draco Malfory had been his head assistant for nearly four and a half months now. At first, it came as an awful shock. He hadn't heard from Draco in the last nine years, not since that faithful night at Hogwarts. After that Harry became aware from the Quibbler that he, along with his family, and the few surviving Death Eaters had been tried under the Ministry courts (after it had reformed.) Narcissa and Lucius Malfoy were sentenced to live out the rest of their lives in Azkaban for plotting to over throw the Ministry. The two remaining Death Eaters (Macnair and Travers) were both sentenced to death. Draco, though quite after he fled the U.K, and then was brought back into custody, miraculously seemed to get off with a mistrial. He was convicted, but the appeal stated that Draco only did as told on threat of death to him or his parents.
Harry remembered the last time he had seen him. He was coming out of the courtrooms. Harry, half expected him to be escorted by a haughty-looking aunt or uncle that was to take him in, but Draco was escorted by no one only a large Auror that was to watch him like a hawk and place him under house arrest for three years of his adult life. He had a very blank and unreadable expression about his face. But his stormy eyes told all. His parents were being haled off by two large wizards in the opposite direction and yet, Draco didn't look their way. His eyes, which were very dark and dank, remained straight forward. And as he watched him leave the Ministry a somewhat free man, Harry got a feeling that Draco had done more growing up in that courtroom than all the seventeen years of his life.
From last he had heard over the years Draco had moved out of the U.K and was traveling in different places while studying abroad. He never stayed in one place longer than a week and were exploring things that his pureblood reputation only let graze the surface. Harry had heard many things at the Ministry of what type of 'exploring' the last Malfoy was doing. The rumor's had ranged from him slaying lions in the jungle, to getting a muggle girl pregnant. But Harry knew that Malfoy wouldn't let his newfound curiosity ruin his status, but then again, maybe he would. Draco was always known to be a little reckless.
Harry sat back and rubbed his face. He was oh so tired. He had been at work since four-thirty this morning. But it was better than being at home. At home he had no privacy, at home he was constantly questioned, at home he wasn't trusted, not with Ginny at least. Ginny had changed; she wasn't the same strong woman he had married. Over the last year things had been overtly less than perfect between them. She always complaining about her weight and the way she looked, Harry hadn't noticed a change and he voiced that to her, she seemed deeply offended by the remark and complained about it even more. She was also was a clean freak. She had become obsessed with their house being spotless. It drove Harry up the wall when she insisted on having everything just so for one person's company, which was likely one of her brothers. And most of all she never smiled anymore. Harry couldn't remember the last time he saw Ginny's loving, reassuring smile, and he missed it. She always seemed so tired. He knew that was partly because of the Ministry job she had but she didn't put forth much effort anymore, it was almost like she didn't want to be married. It was because of these tendencies that Harry spent more time at work then at home. Harry was well aware that all married couples fought. When he was around eleven or twelve he used to have a fairy tale image in his mind of how his parents were as a couple, but that image was sadly dashed when he saw how his mother used to hate him in the Pensieve.
Harry and Ginny had reached an unspoken agreement that there was only one thing that could possibly save their marriage, and they would know of that tomorrow.
Harry remembered when they were first married and how creative she was. How she would take him on moonlit walks around Godric's Hollow, or have blue rose petals scattering the floor leaving a trail that lead up to the bedroom. Those kinds of things never happened now. Harry reminisced on the days where he could tell a joke and they would both roll over laughing for hours. Nowadays she would blow up and get angry, say it was insensitive. She used to laugh; now she gets mad, Harry just wanted his friend back in this marriage.
The worst of all though was that she was untrusting. One night Harry was caught in a little white lie, which blew up and turned into probably one of the worst points in his marriage. Harry had 'told' Ginny he was working late, but in truth he was going out for drinks with some of his buddies. Ron, Dean, Neville, and his secretary's husband Everett. He didn't tell Ginny because she seemed to think a good time wasn't a real good time without her, and it was hard to explain to her otherwise. Anyway when Ginny had called Hermione later that night she had told her that Harry wasn't scheduled to work at the Ministry that day and it spiraled down from there. That had been the worst row Harry had ever had with Ginny.
Harry entered the front door, and then with much effort he came inside and closed the door as quietly as possible. The only sound was the slight snap of the door closing. But as soon as that sound was heard a light clicked on in the living room. And there, in a large squashy armchair was Ginny, looking dreadful, with a box of tissue lying in her lap.
Harry tried to think fast at first but nothing quick-witted or convincing seemed to come to mind at that moment.
"Where were you," she said in a deadly whisper. Harry felt dirty, like he had been caught, but gave the logical answer.
"At work," he said simply.
"Lies," she whispered back. It was as if she could smell the Firewhiskey on him from halfway across the room. Her eyes were red and puffy, she must have been crying for hours.
Virtually nothing could have prepared him for this. But Harry stood his round.
"It's not. I was at work, I just told you."
The look on Ginny's face was murderous, though she remained in her seat her voice was in a quivering yell.
"Stop LYING TO ME! I talked to Hermione! She told me you weren't there!"
There was really no use in getting around it now, but Harry still fought. His temper was slowly starting to surface. All he had wanted to do was take the night off. Have some time to just relax, without job stuff, without…Ginny.
Suddenly Ginny gave out a loud gasp and was on her feet. She was pointing a shaky hand toward Harry's collar. Harry looked down quickly and saw on his shirt collar was a bright red smudge. During drinking Everett thought it would be funny if he pour some of the Firewhiskey on him. From Ginny's distance it probably looked like a lipstick imprint. Oh God Harry thought.
"Who is she?" Ginny said forcefully, her eyes wide now.
"There's no one," Harry said firmly, angry at the way the situation turned out.
"Tell me, is she the one you've been shagging while you're telling me you're at work?" she asked the rhetorical question in a deranged sort of way.
"I'm not shagging anyone but you," Harry said trying to remain calm. Ginny let out a dazed and crazed sort of laugh and Harry knew why. The truth of the answer was that Harry and Ginny hadn't Made Love for nearly eight months. Harry raised his palms as a sign of surrender as he spoke. "I went out with Ron, Neville, and Everett for drinks but that's all, that's it. I'm sorry."
The apology wasn't really genuine, Harry wasn't sorry he went out and had a good time, but it didn't matter anyways, Ginny didn't seem to be listening. She seemed to be talking to herself, in a way Xenophilius Lovegood might have done. She looked absolutely crazy. Her eyes were puffy and red; her skin was pink and blotchy. Her orange hair was plastered to her forehead, a mixture of tears and sweat acting as the glue. Her pajamas were one of her old holey had-me-downs that were fading gray from Percy or George. Ginny's mouth was moving but no words were coming out, her eyes were growing wider and wider and her lips moved faster.
"Ginny," he said cautiously, she was going crazy. A thought struck Harry, or she could be putting a spell on him, but if she were he would probably feel the affects right about now, since he felt nothing he preceded toward his wife with caution. He repeated "Ginny?"
He was within a couple inches of her when he spoke again. "Ginny?"
SMACK! Out of nowhere Ginny had snapped to attention and slapped him across the face, hard. The sting in his cheek was agony, and that's when his temper came.
"What the HELL is wrong with you!" yelled Harry.
"Wrong with me?" Ginny said wildly. "What's wrong with you! How-could-you-do-this-to-me!"
She threw a punch with every word, but her feeble hits did nothing to move him, he resisted the urge to pick her up with one hand and throw her on the couch. She then went into a daze and began talking crazy.
"Ginny, shut up. You can't talk like this," Harry hissed.
Ginny rambled on about how she would tell the world everything he was.
"Ginny, SHUT UP! YOU CAN'T TALK LIKE THIS!"
Ginny had burst into tears now. He wanted to just leave and get away from her. But instead he seized her firmly by her shoulders and shook her slightly. His temper at boiling point. Harry looked her dead in her brown eyes and spoke.
"I am not shagging anyone else, I'm not," he said firmly. Ginny seemed to crumble in his grip and she tried to wiggle free, she was crying hysterically now.
"But if you are—," Ginny cried.
"I'm not."
"If you are! I—."
"I'm NOT."
"But what if you were! All these women here that fancy you—."
"Ginny, I'm not."
"But what if—!"
"OH WHAT IF! WILL ONLY A GIANT'S FOOT STOP YOUR ARGUING!" Harry roared louder than ever. He shook her hard in his hands, and when he let her go she literally melted to the floor and fell to pieces, crying worst then ever. Harry backed away slowly and disappeared upstairs.
The wounds of that fight had never truly healed fully. Harry knew he should have yelled like that. There were a lot of things he regretted and this was definitely one of them. Harry looked toward the ceiling. Now that he actually thought of it, he should have shagged someone; he had gotten all the consequences of it. The intercom button went off Jeanette's nervous voice came through.
"Ah, sir?"
"What?"
"May I request a word, in person?"
"No,"
"Its important sir,"
"If it's so important it will resolve itself. I have faith in you."
There was a loud crash from the background and Harry sighed deeply. Not a moment's peace.
Author's note: Don't be put off by the way I approach this, just go with it and trust me. It will pick up.
Disclaimer: I don't own them.