Disclaimer: I ain't own nuthin'.
Ginny never had to worry about Harry. He loved her – she knew it, their loved ones knew it, but most importantly, he knew it. Even after twenty-five years of marriage, Ginny still looked forward to the night. Harry would crawl into bed, embrace her, and she'd say, "Why do you love me?"
He never failed to answer her. "You're funny, you're brave, you punch harder than any dark wizard I've ever fought..." She had smiled at that one nearly every night for twenty-five years. "You're loving, and honest, and in particular I find your feisty disposition exceedingly hot."
They'd share a laugh.
After two years of that, Ginny had become convinced that she and Harry were just destined to be. They were going to be one of those sweet, elderly couples that watched their grandchildren on weekends and indulged in leisurely strolls through the park. Like her parents, precisely, but with more bickering. If Ginny was forced to dream up one complaint about her marriage, it would be how they bickered.
Harry was hot-tempered. Ginny was hot-tempered. Instead of understanding one another, it just caused them to butt heads every time they disagreed on something.
But they always got over it, because true love conquered anything and everything. When the world was on fire, their passion would burn brighter.
So why, why in the name of Gryffindor's left buttock and Merlin's right, was Harry in bed with another man ten years his junior?
Ginny stood, frozen, in the doorway, mouth agape. Harry stared back at her, white in the face. His little... boyfriend just hid his face in shame. The seconds dragged on, feeling like long, painstaking hours. At last, feeling returned to Ginny's body, and emotion to her mind. Her face went hot with anger and betrayal, and her chest throbbed so badly she feared she would throw up.
"Ginny-" began Harry, but suddenly her legs were moving. Ginny stormed down the stairs, flung her broomstick to the side. Harry followed her, pulling on a pair of pants hastily. "Ginny, c'mon, just let me-"
"Finish up in there?" offered Ginny, her vision suddenly blurry with tears. She whirled around and faced Harry. Angrily, she rubbed the tears from her eyes. "You piece of shit. I- why? You know what, I don't want to know-" Suddenly unable to find words, Ginny finished the trek to the fireplace and grabbed a fistful of Floo powder. "The Burrow!"
Harry's aging, pale face was lost in green flames, and the next thing Ginny knew, she was stumbling out of the fireplace, into her mother's arms. She sobbed and gripped Molly's sweater, uncaring of the fact that she was getting snot all over the material. Molly just held her.
"Cheated on you? With a man half his age?" Molly's voice was high-pitched with disbelief and betrayal bested only by Ginny's.
Ginny stared into the mug her mother had given her, still full and verging on lukewarm. "Might be a bit of an exaggeration," she mumbled. "Still."
Molly pulled a chair 'round the table to sit beside her daughter. "I can't believe what I'm hearing," she sighed, rubbing Ginny between the shoulder-blades. "Why would he do such a thing? You always seemed so... Well, Harry never looked to be wanting."
Ginny was distraught. "I know! I just- What could ever drive someone to-?" Ten questions fought over control of Ginny's mouth, and none of them could win. "We have children, and plans, and... I thought we were so happy. Why did that have to end like... like that?" Ginny shuddered, remembering seeing her husband and that man so... intimate. Furthermore, she'd seen her husband so intimate with another man. Ginny frowned and picked through nearly thirty years worth of memories, looking for any sign of alternative sexuality. Come to think of it, he did used to be rather passionate about 'hating' Draco Malfoy, but that was just crazy.
Wasn't it?
"Merlin, Mum, I don't know what to do," sighed Ginny, finally taking a sip of the tea Molly had given her. It was bitter and cold. Ginny had never identified so personally with a mug of tea.
Molly frowned deeper. "Was he drunk?" she asked.
Ginny thought for a moment, and felt a seed of hope blossom. Of course. Love potion. Highly illegal – if Harry was intoxicated by that vile substance, not only would his boyfriend be put on trial for rape, but it would also be proof that he still loved her.
Of course it was love potion. What witch – or, in this case, wizard – in their right mind didn't want to get with the savior of the magical world? Ginny found herself grinning. Harry would never cheat on her. Never.
"Thanks, Mum," she said, leaning over and kissing Molly on the cheek before bolting to the fireplace. "Potter Manor!" she boomed once she was inside, and she Flooed away.
When Ginny returned, the first thing she noticed about Harry was that he was waiting for her in the sitting room. The second thing was that he looked more tired and more aged than she ever realized. He was barely older than forty, but his hair had the odd streak of gray, and there were dark shadows under his eyes. His jowls were becoming more pronounced, she noted, and his cheeks were shallow. When she entered the room fully, he looked up at her. When did that crease on his forehead form?
Do I look that old? Ginny wondered. She'd never thought about it. Usually, when she was with Harry, she felt like she was seventeen again. Newly wed, looking forward to a long and happy relationship with a fierce and willful man who loved her. Was his will wearing down? Was that it?
"Hey," she mumbled.
"Hey," he replied.
Ginny opened her mouth to speak, but Harry cut her off. "I'm sorry," he said, barely over a mumble. Harry shrugged, as if unsure what to say. "I didn't- How do I..."
Ginny's throat and heart burned to ask if it was a love potion – or at least Firewhiskey – but she found herself unable to speak. Harry sighed. "I don't know what to say, Ginny. I was... bored, I suppose." 'Bored'. It cut like a knife, and Ginny began to realize her fear once more: that Harry wasn't happy with their arrangement. "You know, we've been doing this a long time. The question you ask, how I'm supposed to answer... It just feels like, well, drudgery, you know? Do you ever feel that? Like maybe this whole thing we have is just a little tedious?"
"I liked it," managed Ginny. Her posture was rigid.
Harry's face looked gray. "Well, I did too. But everything was starting to blur together, with the kids mostly being gone now, nothing ever punctuating anything. Did you know that almost no one breaks laws worthy of Auror attention nowadays? I do almost nothing. I just go to work, chase the odd cultist here and there, come home and say the same stuff to you I've been saying for thirty years." Harry sighed. "When I met, er, that guy, I thought I could, well, do something different."
Ginny couldn't even look at him. It was almost like he was aging before her very eyes. Just looking at him made her feel like a crotchety old hag. Needless to say, she didn't like the feeling. She had to turn away. "I can't believe you," she mumbled into her hand. When she finally looked at her husband again, Harry was staring at his feet. She said again, with much more force, "I can't believe you!"
Harry couldn't respond. Ginny stormed off to the bedroom, before remembering that the bedroom was where Harry got up to his little escapade. Disgusted, she locked herself in the bathroom and fumed. She would emerge three hours later, when George came by – by the will of Molly Weasley – to make sure his little sister was alright. Through with sharing her distraught, Ginny feigned fineness. She and Harry continued to feign for years to come, and Ginny kept it up even after Harry's death.
She divulged the incident to no one, after Molly, who only divulged it to George. Ginny outlived them both. But on her deathbed, she finally dropped the act.
"Al," she breathed. Her middle child edged closer to her. He looked an awful lot like Harry, but the worst thing Ginny had ever intruded upon with Albus was wanking. And that made all the difference.
"Yeah, Mum?" he murmured, gripping her hand.
"I have a secret to tell you," whispered the old, dying woman. She could see Albus tense in anticipation. She gestured for him to come closer. She put her lips to his ear, and said in a soft, soft voice, "Fifty years ago, I walked in on your dad getting sucked off by some wanker half his age."
Those were her last words, but Albus always told everyone that they were "I always liked X Quidditch team better than Y Quidditch team. Don't tell Ron."