The Burrow isn't inviting right now, not when I know his presence is everywhere. In the kitchen, in the living room, in the dining quarters, hell, even in my own room. His scent lingers in every crevice and crack in the dry, peeling walls, and it isn't fair. It isn't bloody fair. It isn't fair how he can saunter in like he owns the place, like he just belongs in the sea of fiery red. I pull at my own auburn mass, contemplating how to deal with him everywhere Iturn. It isn't fair, it isn't fair...
But how can he be so damn oblivious to everything? If I only knew what is going through that brilliant, clever mind, but I can't. I can't know what he's thinking, what he's feeling, what he dreams of. He hasn't talked to me since the Battle of Hogwarts, but why? Why would he not talk to me, interact with me, simply look at me when I need him now at the most? Does he think ignoring me will solve something? Because it sure as hell won't. Granted, I'm not making a huge effort to reconcile with the raven-haired wonder, but what am I supposed to do? Make a fool of myself? Pour myself at his feet? I'm Ginevra Molly Weasley, and I have my dignity.
Most of it.
I look up toward the dark night sky. It's funny how the stars are careless, just shining every night like they're supposed to. If only life were that easy. If only I had a routine schedule to stick to like the stars to, one set in stone. All they have to do is appear at night like a source of hope for everyone. I don't understand what's so symbolic and hopeful about huge balls of light that will eventually disappear. Maybe analyzing them so closely in Astronomy makes me sick of them. Or maybe I feel like there's no hope left anywhere. Not in stars, not in my family, and certainly not in him.
Yet, despite my lack of hope, I still find myself reaching for a star. I find my freckled hand in front of my face, desperately grasping at the still summer air as if a star will suddenly come down to Earth just for me. Like it will suddenly fill me with emotion again. I have carefully constructed myself recently, making myself just a shell. I still look like poor defenseless Ginny on the outside, but on the inside, there's nothing. Nothing but a hunger. A hunger for him. And I hate myself for it.
Yes, I still want him. Yes, I want him to put his lips to mine, to take my long hair into his calloused hands, to make me feel something. I still have this distorted version of reality playing in my head, but this "reality" was quite inviting. In my reality, he's there for me. He is putting his lips to mine, he is taking my hair by the fistfuls, he is sparking something within me. This reality is my guilty pleasure, the only thing keeping me sane. But it's not just this twisted world keeping me alive. It's the memories we shared. The things replaying in my head that actually happened, whether in Hogwarts or in the Burrow.
I sit down in the tall, dry grass and wrap my knees to my chest, rocking back and forth tenaciously. Was he leading me on the whole time? Was I his outlet, just like how my fantasy world is mine? It would certainly make sense. Hermione and Ron were there for him, but only in platonic forms. They couldn't offer him genuine love. Was he only keeping me around to offer the type of love he craved? And now that Voldemort's gone, he doesn't need me anymore?
"Ginny."
Wrong person to be consoling me right now.
I don't move, don't do anything. The starvation in me is burning at the mere sound of his voice. It was consuming me, trying to force me to turn to those emerald eyes. I grab the long wheat frantically, trying to grab the last bits of my sanity. Then again, I'm not really sane at this point. I'm trying not to cry, trying not to show weakness in front of the enemy. Trying not to fraternize with the true villain in this scenario. My efforts of not crying have caused me to pant.
"Ginny?"
It's then, when I can clearly hear the hesitation in his voice, that I know I must look like a complete wreck. My hair is stick up in random places from pulling it, I'm thrashing on the ground, I'm panting like a hippogriff, and I'm only wearing a bathrobe and Quidditch pajamas. I take a couple of deep breaths and attempt to flatten my hair down. I sit on my knees and fold my hands in my lap.
"Have you been okay?" he asks. That's when I really lose it. I stand up and turn on him, waving my arms frantically.
"You would know if you'd actually been talking to me these past three weeks!" I screech out. "What is it Potter, huh? Still relishing in your fame and glory from killing Voldemort? Don't have time for the insignificant people anymore, right? I get it, I really do. I'm not important! Whatever! Screw you!" At this point, I'm looking him straight in his eyes, pointing at him accusingly. He's looking at me in alarm, like I've never let my emotions get the better of me.
What I said earlier was wrong. Right now, I can feel, but only one emotion: anger.
"Ginny, there's a reason I haven't been talking to you recently," he tries to explain, disregarding my last comment. He puts his arms up defensively like I'm about to attack. I look at him expectantly, waiting for him to continue. He takes a deep breath. "I figured you needed space."
A look of disbelief flashes across my face, I can tell. Space? I needed him with me, not away from me!
He must be able to tell I'm not buying it, so he keeps talking. "You've seen a lot of death lately. Some more personal than others. And when you saw me kill Voldemort, I thought you thought I had succumbed to his level, or that I was some ruthless, heartless person-"
"I believed you were more heartless when you ignored me!" I interrupt. "And you didn't even technically kill Voldemort! It's not like you used the Killing Curse on him! It was his own curse that backfired on himself, Harry! I can't believe, I can't fathom the possibility that you think I needed space! I needed your support!"
Harry takes a step towards me, his voice raising. "Can you blame me? If you were in my position, you would understand that I thought you were angry with me! All of those deaths were because of me, Gin."
Once again, I scoff. "Are you seriously that dense? Not everyone was fighting because of you, Harry! People lost family members way before you came along! People wanted to avenge the dead way before you knew who Voldemort even was!"
Harry has a pained expression etched on his face. "Then what were you fighting for, huh?"
"In case you've forgotten, I was possessed when I was eleven. Eleven! You know how traumatizing that was for me, Harry? Do you know how much I wanted to see Voldemort's dead body laying on the ground? Why do I feel like I have to keep reminding you that you're not the only one Voldemort's affected?"
"I know that, Ginny! In case you've forgotten, my parents are dead!"
"And so is my brother!"
A silence falls over us after I shout that at him. It's the first time anybody in my family has talked about it. I wipe hastily at the tears that have somehow fallen on my pale cheeks during the argument. I look away from Harry's accusing and pained face. I'm sure my face is a mirror of his expression. My hands are shaking, and I fold them in front of me again. The silence is like a blanket over us. In the distance I can hear frogs and crickets happily going along with their lives. Lucky them.
There's a new sound now. The sound of feet puncturing the grass, but the footsteps aren't coming towards me. They're going in the direction of the Burrow. I avert my eyes towards Harry's retreating figure. His body is rigid and tense, his hands balled in fists. I watch him sulk away until he's in the Burrow completely.
I acquire a familiar feeling in the bridge of my freckled nose and fall to the ground, angrily wiping the tears he caused. I'm not sure what will happen after this, but as I'm sobbing on the muddy ground, I look up into the sky again. Millions of stars are littered in the sky, millions of people receive hope from the tiny orbs of light. But not me. Not tonight.
I fell asleep in the grass, my distorted reality drifting me off to black.
- - - - - x - - - - -
A/N: So, I don't know where this came from. I was listening to Fiona Apple's "Paper Bag," and then I just kinda typed this up. Do you think it's worth pursuing? Let me know with a review, because I'm kinda on the fence about it. I know what I want to do with it if I get enough positive feedback (: So make sure to leave a review!
Reviews make Ginny and Harry make up! 3
Love, Grace