Chapter 1
Ginny sat on the end of the bed staring at her hands, wishing he would say something. Oliver paced at the bottom of the bed staring at the floor, wishing she had said nothing at all. Time had as good as stopped since she told him, and her heart was in her mouth. He was almost certain his heart had stopped beating, it felt like he had been stabbed in the chest.
"So," he stopped pacing to look her in the eye, hard. "You're getting married." She could only nod, tears forming in the corners of her eyes. "Are you pregnant? Are you sure it's his? I know I dick around a lot, but I can step up. Give me a chance, Gin, you don't have to marry him."
"Olly, I'm not pregnant." She refused to look up from the floor.
"Do you love him?" This time it was he who couldn't make eye contact.
"Do you really want to know the answer to that?" He thought about it. If she did love Potter, then it would crush him. If she didn't love Potter, then he was losing her to a loveless marriage. He couldn't decide which was worse. Well, he could.
"Of course I want to know." If she couldn't be happy with him, she deserved to be happy with Potter.
"I don't love him, Olly." She spoke so quietly that he was certain he'd misheard her. She looked up at him with tear-filled eyes and he immediately fell to his knees, taking her hands in his. "I don't love him," she balled, "But I have to marry him."
"Run away with me. We'll go to America, or somewhere that nobody knows you. We'll get a house with a white picket fence. Two dogs, three kids and a big ugly muggle car. Nobody really knows yet, right?"
"The announcement is in tomorrow's Prophet. That's why I had to see you tonight. Not to mention the fact that Harry proposed in the middle of Diagon Alley, so I imagine word's getting around pretty quickly."
"He did not?!" Oliver sounded genuinely appalled. "That's not fair. He should have known that's not fair."
"It doesn't matter where he proposed. I would have still had to say yes. His life is just once massive PR stunt now, and to be honest so is mine. What could possibly look better than The Boy Who Lived marrying his high school sweetheart?"
"If The Boy Who Lived didn't trap a woman who doesn't love him in a sham of a marriage." She knew he was starting to get angry now, really angry. Not at her, but at Harry.
"I know it's shit, but it's life. We just need to deal with it."
"We?" There was just a hint of hope in his voice, light the first light of day just before the sun begins to rise. "You mean you don't want to end it?"
"Of course I don't." She looked at him, as appalled as he had been just a few moments ago. "But I understand if you do. The fact that I'm getting married changes everything, doesn't it?" She resigned herself to the fact she had accepted long before entering his hotel room. She couldn't get married and keep him.
"No, it doesn't have to change anything." He squeezed her hand and she looked at him.
"Olly, you know that thing we swore we'd never say?" He nodded, knowing exactly what she was talking about. "I want you to know that I do."
"I love you too."
She leaned in and kissed him like never before. It was as passionate as their first kiss had been over a year ago. At first she had felt awful for kissing him when she was with Harry, but then she thought about it and saw no reason to feel bad. Her relationship with Harry was one of habit – and in all honesty, a bit of a sham. With him it was passionate, caring and exactly what she wanted.
"You know," he broke the kiss, "I wouldn't have proposed in the middle of Diagon Alley."
"You thought about proposing?" She looked at him as if he were mad, which he must have been if he was considering marriage.
"Not really. It had crossed my mind once or twice, but I hadn't ever seriously thought about it. I thought I had a good five or six years before I had to start worrying about this stuff – I mean for Merlin's sake Gin, you're only twenty."
"You sound like George. Now shut up and tell me how you'd propose." She laughed and shuffled up the bed a little, sitting up properly and crossing her legs.
"Okay," he sprawled out in front of her, legs hanging off the end of the bed and holding his head up with one hand. "I'd wait for a nice day and demand we go flying. You'd think we were just blowing off steam, hanging out, hiding from Potter – all the things we usually do. I'd make it a race, but make sure to always stay ahead of you. We'd fly to that hill we had a picnic on last September, and we'd have a picnic. After we had eaten, and laughed, and drank a bottle of wine – each – I'd then ask you to marry me." He dared to look up at her, and saw she was once again on the brink of tears – but judging by the smile that accompanied them, they were happy tears. He decided to drastically lighten the mood. "Then," he sat up. "I'd crawl over to you," he did so on the bed. "And I'd kiss you." Again, he did so. "Then I'd kiss your neck." As he kissed her neck, he pushed her down gently until she lay underneath him. "And then we'd have the hottest, dirtiest, kinkiest sex we've ever had. In fact, it would be so dirty," he kissed her neck again, "that I reckon we'd have to burn the picnic blanket. Which really would be a shame since it's my mothers, but it would be totally worth it." He winked.
"You're ridiculous," she laughed, but he didn't reply. He was too busy kissing her neck and collar bone as he unbuttoned her shirt.