A/N: I've always despised the term 'the girl who waited', especially when applied to Ginny. So yup, my first foray into Hinny, after over two years of fic writing and having people ask me for it. Thanks for waiting, guys. And, yes, I do see the irony there.
Disclaimer: J.K Rowling created the boy with eyes as green as a fresh-pickled toad, while I am simply divine *Flicks hair and struts away*
She has heard the legends. She has read the stories. She has talked to people who remember it as though it were yesterday and laughed at the hairstyles in the pictures. It's a staple of her life growing up.
But it isn't until she is ten years old on a crowded train platform that Ginny Weasley sees Harry Potter for the first time. She isn't aware it's happening when it does; she just sees a boy about her age whose clothes are too big for him and his voice is too small. She wonders if he is poor like she is and is comforted by the thought until she sees his expensive owl in its new cage. While her mother helps him Ginny tries to work out what his story is, unaware that she could already recite it in her sleep.
Finding out from her brothers that he is the boy from the stories sends her reeling as her mind tries to lock down the memories before they escape her. Did he look at her? Were his trainers white or black? Could she have seen the scar? In her haste she fears the details are clouded by her imagination but one thing is now certain.
Hogwarts, the castle she has fantasized about for years, the home of legends, has one more within its walls. She is dreaming of the day she will join it.
Her first journey back from Hogwarts is not what Ginny anticipated all those years ago. Most of it has been spent hiding because the tears won't stop and everyone thinks she's enough of a nutter as it is.
Worst of all is that everyone who knows the truth seems to be over it. Her brother asked if she was fine. She told him that she was and he believed her, no questions asked. Inside she is falling apart and has no one to blame but herself.
You Know Who. She had made friends with You Know Who. Trusted him. Believed him. Been possessed by him and sent to do his biding, nearly killing several of her fellow students.
She's feeling sick again.
And he saw it all. Not just how lonely she was, but how stupid and weak as well. This hero deserves more than her, not that he would ever consider it.
She brought his demons back and it nearly killed him. From now on he will look at her and see Tom. It's who she sees in the mirror. She can't do that to him, hurt him more when he has already been through so much. She is hiding because she wouldn't wish her company on anyone at the minute, least of all his.
All this time spent being near him, occasionally even talking, has been for nothing.
She watches him grinning at Parvati and feels an almost chance slip through her fingers and tries to keep the rest of the world in focus. If she had known he would even consider her, that conversation with Neville this afternoon would have gone very differently. For a moment there she saw her path split into two very clear directions; lie and let Neville down later or this strange half-reality she is existing in now.
How is everyone able to carry on chatting and laughing while she silently drowns in the middle of them?
There was only one choice to make. She couldn't have done that to Neville. It's not his fault that she's a child too caught up in a fantasy to see the truth. What would she have done at the ball anyway? Blush until he fell in love with her? She hasn't even managed to talk to him on his own yet. What had felt like progress, real, glorious progress, now looks feeble and insignificant.
It's stupid, being upset. Being herself around him was meant to make her move on and she had told herself she had. She's lying to herself and it has never felt more hollow than in this moment.
Neville is getting them drinks or something. Truth be told, she's lost track of his movements since Michael started talking to her.
He asks if she's heard the new Weird Sisters album with a smile that tells her he has and loves it. She has and she hates it.
So she tells him so.
The choruses are too simplistic, the bagpipes uninspired and she hates how middle of the road the whole thing is. He laughs and says elitist fans are never going to be happy with change, that they can't see it as progressive. She snorts and reminds informs him that getting progressively shit isn't progress.
Ginny sips her drink as he hastens to defend his favourite band with no real malice and she basks in how easy this is. How nice this is. She is herself, she is flirting and it's almost like she can really do this.
It's not until after the music has died down that see finds Neville in the crowd. He thanks her for waiting and she hopes the way she blushes doesn't let on that this meeting was completely accidental.
He offers to walk her back to the common room. It's a somewhat empty gesture seeing as they are both heading that way anyway, but he's stammering a little so Ginny guesses he's been waiting around for her so he could ask. His Gran probably berated him in a letter this morning about being a gentleman and, to his credit, he has been.
After she ditched him for most of the night, he is still making conversation with her, asking how her evening was, and she can't even meet his eye.
The guilt is weighing her down so much there is a serious danger that it might crush her into dust and part of wishes it would.
Tonight she was Ginny. Neville had asked about her and what she liked and didn't mention Ron, the twins or any of her brothers. This is what Hermione meant when she said to be herself. Neville noticed. She has barely wasted a thought on the fourth champion all night.
And then she noticed someone else and barely wasted a thought on her date.
They're at the Fat Lady when she decides she can't be that kind of girl, that kind of friend, and goes to apologise only to find he has beaten her to it.
What follows her baffled expression is a mumbled blend of stutters and shrugs, an anxious lament that he could have done more, could have been better, and it's only then that she's angry with him.
He stops fiddling with his cuff once she tells him, in no uncertain terms, that he is great person who was a far better date than she deserved and any girl would be lucky to have him. In fact, she's the one who is sorry and he has no right to feel sorry for himself.
It isn't surprising when she gets nothing more than a croak in return.
Somewhere in that boy, she knows is a confidant man, but she isn't the person to bring him out. She leans forward onto her toes, presses a soft kiss to his slightly parted lips and thanks him for being him before giving the Fat Lady the password with a wink.
Growing up is going to be filled with nights like tonight, where for every heart that flutters and skips there will be one that breaks, and Ginny knows she is on better side of that equation this time and that she won't always be so lucky. She's learning that good friends are hard things to find and nothing, not even the way Michael Corner smiles, is worth ruining that.
It's a shock that she never really wanted but knew was probably coming.
Sat on the bed with rumpled clothes and closed off expression is Harry Potter, Boy Who Lived. Hermione is trying to talk sense into him and Ginny is surprised he's alert enough to register any of it. It doesn't appear to be making a difference. Everyone thinks he's something special, something else, including her long ago, but he seems to believe some of it.
Her dad is in some bloody hospital ward fighting for his life and all he can think of is himself.
The stories and legends never mentioned this.
Ron had told her how sometimes Harry has dark moods and lashed out but she's never seen it up close. He isn't a normal teenager; he's a wreck. How does Ron deal with this self pity and self-righteous crap?
Ginny wants to look away because this breakdown feels like it should private and only witnessed by his friends, but she watches so she remembers. Heroes stumble and people who normally shine are just better at hiding any dents and scratches they've picked up. He isn't the perfect boy she dreamed of, not even close.
Ron looks scared of him. Hermione is trying, but she's clearly unnerved by the whole thing as well. He doesn't need this coddling rubbish. He needs a slap.
And then she gets one. Apparently he's too wrapped up in his own drama to remember that he doesn't exactly have the monopoly on being screwed over in this room.
It was the worst year of her life, it still haunts her and likely always will, but it isn't worthy of the Great Harry Potter's attention.
Well, sod him and his bloody guilt trip.
Finally she has his attention and, for the first time, it doesn't really feel like it was worth the hassle. She's seeing that he's an ordinary boy with extraordinary problems but sometimes he's just a self-absorbed arsehole.
Cho Chang. Cho Chang.
Take one pretty girl (well, pretty-ish) and add Quidditch. Apparently that's all it took to have him dribbling over himself. And, of course, she's older than him.
Boys really are predictable.
Not that Ginny cares, she's with Michael, after all. She's made a point of being happy for him and it didn't feel too forced. Well - until she sees them together.
She sees the way he is tripping over words and blushing. She wonders if that's what she looked like and hates the way Cho finds it endearing. Does this mean he loves her? Or at least thinks he does? Although Ginny still refuses to call this love. He's the knight from her fairy tales that she can't let go of. If she were in love then she would know. It'd be obvious, wouldn't it? The way everyone went on about it she couldn't possibly miss the mile wide smiles and giddy butterflies.
This can't be love because this is a numb sensation in her gut that slows time to a crawl and she tries to forget everything she has just witnessed. This can't be love because it's happening, but not to her and she is hurting.
Bludgers are a girl's best friend.
It's great that Harry is so into the captain thing that he spends more time watching the team (or is it just her? It's not like she's hoping that's the case but it would be nice) but she does wish he would watch where he was flying at least occasionally.
Still... watching him fall on his arse to avoid Ritchie's bludger is worth any potential damage. Is it really necessary for him to flap his arms around like that?
They say he's a savior but she has known for a long time that he is both more than that and nothing of the sort.
Sprawled on the Qudditch pitch is a teenage boy looking sheepish, dirt on his face, grass in his hair and humiliation in every movement. It strikes her only now that she hasn't had to force herself to see this in a long time and, now she tries to remember the hero worship, all she can see is a doofus who doesn't look sexier than when he is laughing and grubby. Wondering when she stopped seeing the scar, she puts on her best commentator voice, and reenacts his accident.
She is falling and in more ways than one.
Another night, another corridor, but it's still the same Dean and the same gnawing sensation low in her gut.
His hands are wandering a bit more than normal, but it's okay because she's pretending they belong to someone else. The rough stone of the castle wall is scraping her back but it's okay because she probably deserves it.
Something about the way her kisses are always more aggressive, while his can still be sweet and tender, says it all at this point.
He's hinting at words she can't say and it hurts because she can't bear the idea of wounding him, even now. He can't be as sure as he pretends to be. He just can't be.
Ginny knows this isn't love because she has finally realised what is. It isn't something she has, but in the meantime she does have this. She closes her eyes and holds Dean close. She is escaping and doesn't know how long it will last.
There are some moments in life that, even as they are happening, you know you will treasure them, forever comparing the dreary and mundane against them. For Ginny, smiling so much her cheeks hurt, joking about nonsense with her friends and watching her brother proudly carrying around the Quidditch Cup is one of those moments.
As someone passes her a cup of something that definitely isn't just pumpkin juice she reassess that maybe this moment could be made a little more perfect by something that really should be getting out of detention soon.
She takes a moment to bask in the atmosphere, the excitement of the morning still prickling against her skin, as she watches Hermione casually-but-not-casually-at-all touch Ron's arm as she smiles at him. He shrugs just as not-even-close-to-casually and makes a point of showing her the giant trophy in his hands. Their tongues are looser and their eyes are dancing and Ginny finally sees that they both must surely know now and nothing is going to stop them once they act.
The jumpy ball of energy that has been in her stomach all day thinks it's rather inspiring.
The portrait swings open to reveal their captain but, to her, the boy grinning like a loon is just Harry Potter and that means something different, something that is so much more, than what she felt in the platform all those years ago. A decision is made and Ginny knows she wont regret it.
He meets her eyes and she is running.
So this is it, she thinks, walking calmly back to the castle. So this is it.
The grief that surrounds her should be as stifling as the heat, but she could be walking through tundra for all she knows.
So this is it.
Every last second she has spent revising in the library over the last few months is replayed in her head. Seconds wasted. Memories lost. They could have been spent with him, because those moments were worth living and what do her exams count for now?
If it was all for another girl or because he was bored of her she could maybe reconcile, but this is like nothing she has ever experienced before. She has done nothing wrong, and neither has he, but he has a purpose. Others need him. The world needs him. She merely wants him and it doesn't matter how much.
So this is it.
All she can think is that the idiot is off on a suicide mission and she somehow loves him all the more for it. She can see the flaws scattered in his plan, but his face told her that he needs the separation. The pain was written in every line and she spends a manic few seconds developing a plan to grab him, run away where no one cares about his scar and let the sodding world burn.
They could do it if either of them were the type to back down. They could do anything, be unstoppable, formidable and glorious, as long as they're together.
Which they aren't.
So this is it.
She doesn't know what she's doing anymore but she isn't crying. She isn't.
The worst days are the ones she spends wondering what was so bad with Umbridge really.
Today is one of those days.
Detentions with Luna or Neville aren't too bad but Ginny is alone with Professor Carrow tonight and her lip still hasn't healed properly from the last time. She can't see why she's here. It was a perfectly legitimate question she had asked about whether Voldemort was a boxers or strictly a tighty whities sort of tyrant.
The mind-numbing manual labour is fine. This isn't the first evening she has spent cleaning a dungeon with nothing but a toothbrush. She could do without the lecture going on in the background though. Mostly is a blur of 'blood-traitor', 'Muggle-lover' and other incredibly witty insults, but she makes the mistake of flinching at the sound of Harry's name and soon she can't tune it out.
She's never been very good at ignoring Harry Potter stories, after all.
Instead of saving his friends and battling dragons, in these stories he's off on some kind of shagging tour of Britain, only putting his trousers on long enough to have a good laugh at her expense.
The whole thing is ludicrous - has Carrow seen Harry trying to flirt? - but something about the words stings. She went the whole summer with him at arms length (except that one time that she replays until she's sure she may have dreamt it), knowing they could be the last time she ever saw him alive, to keep the knowledge of their relationship away from Voldemort.
It took an entire fifteen of the new Hogwarts term for Alecto to start making jokes about her being dumped by a walking dead man so well done with that, Harry. Great plan, as ever.
The toothbrush snaps. Carrow points out how Potter's neck will probably end the same way.
Any other day, when memories of Umbridge are shuddered at and time is spent with the DA, Ginny would carry on with a smile, but today is not that day. Today she is sick of feeling powerless, of being downtrodden, of being left behind, of the beatings, the injustice, the fear, the hopelessness on nearly every face she sees and, most of all, of Harry bloody Potter being such a complete dick and not being right there with her.
So she opens her mouth and doesn't close it until she feels her jaw break under a boot.
She's still fighting because she has to, because she wants to and because, somewhere - please let him still be somewhere - so is he.
She's home. She keeps telling herself that, though she doubts she will feel it for a long time yet.
It's been nearly three weeks since it was supposed to have ended, but this time spent doing nothing but avoid the ghosts that follow her isn't what she had been aiming for.
It's a nice enough afternoon that finds Ginny in her room, staring at her wall. Harry hasn't asked to talk to her for a couple of days now and she can't decide how she feels about that. Angry, probably. Everything makes her angry at the minute. Harry treating her like a child, Harry pestering her, Harry giving her the space she asked for, George's drinking, Percy's forced smiles, her mother's incessant cleaning, that smudge of dirt on the wall, the bloody chickens waking her up this morning, her brother being six feet underground-
It's a nice enough afternoon that finds Ginny storming downstairs where she can hear Harry's voice and asks him for a chat for a change.
For someone so desperate to talk he is oddly silent so she heads for the garden. He follows eventually, stumbling out of the house by the sounds of things.
The thing she's realised is that if she waits for Harry to put his thoughts through his filters and nerves until they are recognisable words then she'll be waiting for the rest of her life and Ginny Weasley doesn't wait. So, this one afternoon, this wonderfully nondescript afternoon, she decides that this ends now. Even with her back to him she can hear his brain trying to piece together what is happening and floundering.
She already knows what he wants to say, she just wonders if he does yet.
"You wanted to talk. I'm listening. Talk."
"Ginny, I - I..."
"Have a stuttering issue?"
"I love you."
"I know that. I want to know what you're going to do about it."
Oh, how she loves the way his jaw goes slack when he forgets his mouth is open. It's tempting to smile, but she stands her ground, waiting for him to finally, finally, just act.
"I'm so sorry about the battle and - and the past week and-"
For the love of Merlin's-
And then Ginny is kissing him because she's never been very good at waiting.
Thanks for reading!