The first time I fell in love with Harry Potter, I was eleven years old. It was more of a crush than love, but it felt real at the time. He was the first famous person I'd ever met, and he was best friends with my brother. Plus, he had bright green eyes that made my heart throb every time he looked my way.
The second time I fell in love with Harry Potter, I was fifteen. My crush on him had diminished by then, but it had never truly faded. When we kissed during the post-match celebrations, it was like a dream come true. I, Ginny Weasley, finally had everything I had ever dreamed of. We got married five years later and since then, we've been the poster couple for the wizarding world.
That's the official story anyway.
I fell out of love with Harry Potter on 15 August 2002. There wasn't any catalyst for the event. We both had steady jobs, and I was pregnant with our first child. I barely had any morning sickness and now that I was in my second trimester, I should have been awash with happy hormones. It should have been a perfect time for us, but one morning, I sat up in bed and realised that something was very wrong.
It didn't dawn on me slowly. Instead, it hit me like a Bludger in the face. I sat there and stared at the blank wall in front of me for almost half an hour while Harry snored happily next to me.
Then, I just shrugged, got up out of bed and began to go about my normal daily activities. After all, what could I do? Of course, I could have left him, but what person leaves their husband or wife over a random early morning feeling? I certainly wasn't going to abandon two years of marriage over something like that. It was probably just lingering resentment over the fact he forgot my birthday, I decided. The feeling was probably going to go away. All I needed was to forget about it.
Unfortunately, the feeling didn't go away.
In fact, it intensified. The following week at work, I found myself spilling my discontent to one of my co-workers while we were polishing our brooms. "I never see him nowadays," I explained as I poured more polish on the rag. "And he doesn't seem to do anything at home."
She chuckled and waved her left hand at me. The obvious lack of a ring jumped out at me. "That's why I left my husband, honey," she told me. "They're all like that. Even the famous ones. Especially the famous ones."
Dimly, I remembered that she used to be married to a famous Quidditch player. "I'm not going to leave Harry," I protested. "We just need to talk."
She gave me a slightly patronising smile and patted my shoulder. "Of course."
I should have known better. Over the course of the next month, I tried bringing it up many, many times. Pre-sex, after sex, after dinner, before dinner, in the morning, at night... none of it worked. Harry either laughed it off and or chalked it up to PMS. I spluttered at him and tried to explain that PMS didn't happen during pregnancy, but then he just claimed it was pregnancy stuff.
Really! Sometimes my husband reminded me of my brother Ron. How Hermione coped with him, I would never know! Every time we go over to their house, I see lists upon lists pinned everywhere. Somehow, I doubt Ron follows any of them.
"Am I being ridiculous?" I asked Hermione over scones one morning. My hand was curved protectively over my stomach as I nibbled on a scone.
She bit her lip. "Have you tried talking to him?"
I laughed. Typical Hermione answer. "Of course." I then explained to her how many times I'd tried talking to him and how it just didn't work. Harry was like a brick wall. Completely unreceptive. "But I guess the problem is that I don't really know what's wrong," I explained, waving my hands about. A smudge of jam landed on the floor but I ignored it. "It's like I'm bored, but that's not it. Something's wrong, but I don't know what."
"Seven year itch," Hermione said with a knowledgeable nod.
I stared at her. "We've only been married for two."
She shrugged. "You've always been precocious." Her lips twitched. "Also, you've known Harry for so long. You two have a history."
She made that sound like a bad thing. I'd always liked the fact that we had a history. It was comforting. I'd known him ever since I was eleven. He was always a constant in my life, and even before I knew him, I'd known about him. "So what're you saying?"
"Maybe you need some time to yourself?" Hermione suggested.
"I'm six months pregnant," I exclaimed. "You're suggesting I just pick up and go to Vegas."
Hermione shook her head, laughing. "Nothing like that. Just a week to yourself. Without work. Take a holiday. When's the last time you went anywhere without Harry?"
I opened my mouth to respond, but she beat me to it.
"Not including Quidditch matches."
I frowned. "Before the war," I finally said in a small voice.
"There you go," Hermione told me. "If I spent that much time with Ron, he'd drive me bonkers."
"He'd drive anybody bonkers," I told her.
Hermione's words stuck with me. Maybe all I needed was a holiday. The idea appealed to me so much. Lying on a beach in the sun for a week or more. Having somebody bring me drinks (non-alcoholic, of course). Being away from work. And yes, I have to admit, the idea of being away from Harry was appealing too.
But, of course, Harry didn't see it that way. "You want to have a holiday without me?" he spluttered.
"I need some time alone," I tried to explain, but it just didn't seem to come out right.
His eyes narrowed. "Is this some sort of way of telling me you want to leave me?"
"No!" I exclaimed. "Don't be stupid. I just... want some me time."
Harry snorted.
"I was talking to Hermione..."
"You were telling Hermione about our problems?"
"Well you wouldn't talk to me about them," I said sulkily as I pulled a few random dresses out of the cupboard and shoved them in a bag. I was going to take the first Portkey to a warm and sunny place and get myself lost there. I might have been six months pregnant but I could still have fun.
Harry gave me a cold look.
"I'll be back in a week," I said. I didn't look up at him as I squeezed past him in the doorway. My heart pounded as I walked towards the front door. I almost expected him to grab my arm to stop me, but he didn't.
Instead, I stepped outside into the street and continued my way to the Hogsmeade where I remembered a nice Portkey shop.
I didn't end up enjoying my holiday as much as I thought I would. The first few days were fun. Sun, beaches, random Muggles. I made a few acquaintances and ate a scary amount of ice-cream. But I kept on thinking about Harry. I thought I'd be mad at him, mad about the fight we had before I left, but instead, I just missed him. I remembered all the good things about our relationship, the way he'd wrap his arms around me when we were on the sofa, the flowers he'd buy me, the truly awful cake he tried to bake me one year when he actually remembered my birthday.
I bit my lip.
Had I been over-reacting? My marriage might not have been exciting, but it wasn't that dull either. It was comfortable, like a pair of old jeans. No, that wasn't it. That made my marriage sound boring. It was like a dish that I loved and would never outgrow.
It was then I decided to cut my holiday short and go home.
When I got home, I hesitated at the doorstep. I had left in such a hurry. I didn't know if Harry was still mad at me. I didn't know if he took the fact I was leaving as a sign of the end of our relationship. For all I knew, he was entertaining some mistress in the house right now. I was about to walk away, when the door opened.
Harry looked out at me. His eyes were still the same bright green and his hair was a shocking mess. It was definitely my husband, who seemed to be looking at me with a sheepish smile. "I didn't expect you back so soon."
I flew into his arms. "Oh Harry," I murmured into his neck. "I've missed you so much."
He chuckled awkwardly and patted my back. It was then I remembered that I was still heavily pregnant and that I really needed to pee. Damn baby, I thought. Spoiling moments like this!
"Be back. Need toilet," I told him.
Harry just laughed and tweaked my nose. It was like the first few weeks of our marriage all over again. I looked at him and knew that everything was going to be all right. I then hurried off to the loo.
I'm not saying there weren't still problems in my marriage. Harry was still a bit of an idiot at times. He still tended to forget my birthday, but he made up for it by bringing me flowers every week. He still didn't like talking about issues, but then again, I realised that I didn't much like talking about them either. We had problems just like every other couple. We had rough patches, but they weren't going to beat us. Of course, the fact that Harry had cleaned the entire house while I was away didn't hurt.
The third time I fell in love with Harry Potter, I was twenty-one. We'd been married for just almost three years, and we were about to have a child together. There had been a rough patch, but we were over it and I was positive that we were going to spend the rest of our lives together, living happily ever after.
And you know what? I was right.