Title: To the Victor
Author: lingering_nomad
Pairing: Harry/Ginny
Disclaimer: The characters used herein are the property of JK Rowling, Warner Bros, various publication houses etc. I stake no claim on them by using them in this story. This is written purely for recreational purposes. No money is being made and no harm is intended.
Rating: PG-13
Word Count: 959
Warnings: Some Harrytastic angst, depression, EWE.
Summary: Harry may have won the War, but the battle is far from over.
A/N: Just a little something I had to get off my chest.
~TO THE VICTOR~
Harry had known his wife would be displeased with him as he came staggering into their living room at quarter passed one in the morning. It was when he saw the fitted black dress robes, the elegant upsweep of her fiery hair and what would've been artfully applied makeup some hours ago, that he realised the true offence of his untimely arrival: their wedding anniversary. One year to the day.
She'd made reservations. At some fancy Wizarding place in Paris that had taken a favour from the Delacours to secure. A portkey had been specially arranged. He was supposed to have picked it up from the Department of Magical Transportation before leaving work that afternoon.
"I'm sorry," he rasped, the hollow scrape that was his own voice sounding foreign to his ears.
"'I'm sorry?'" Ginny repeated, her expression blank with incredulity for all of a second before rage sharpened her pixyish features. "I'm sorry?!" she hissed, her voice rising to a shriek near the end. "You put me through hell and all you have to say is 'I'm sorry'?!"
She launched into a diatribe then. About ruined dinners and going to bed alone; photos in The Prophet and what people were saying when they thought she couldn't hear. She shouted a threat involving Charlie and giant reptiles and unpleasant things being inflicted on Harry's genitalia, her robes swishing about her legs as she started to pace, gesturing vehemently all the while. She stalked back to him after a few laps, jabbing an index finger into his chest in a way that reminded sharply of her mother – the only one he himself had ever known – each stab punctuating another ultimatum he would be expected to meet if he had any interest in staying married to her.
Expression blank, he watched the tantrum through the haze of alcohol and the hollowness the liquor had failed to fill, listening to his wife as she threatened to leave him.
And felt nothing.
If Ginny left, he would lose everything. Half of all he owned, yes, but more than that, he would lose all of what had ever truly mattered to him: a family. If Ginny walked out, she would take the Weasleys with her. He would forfeit his friendship with Ron and Hermione's along with it.
And he felt nothing at the thought.
Deep down, a small spark of fear ignited at the utter apathy he was feeling, yet it wasn't enough to galvanise him into doing something – anything – to prevent the collapse of all he held dear. It seemed like so much effort right then, just to delay the inevitable, and he simply didn't have the strength to pretend that it was anything else.
It was almost poetic, really. He'd given everything during the War to ensure that Wizards and Muggles alike would be able to enjoy the life he was supposed to be sharing with Ginny, and yet, it was that very conflict that had shaped him into a man incapable of claiming what he had fought so hard to preserve: a soldier in peace time; the Boy Who Lived on a pedestal of corpses.
"Are you even listening to me?!" Ginny shrieked, almost right up in his face.
Harry stared at her, watched the swirl of emotion in her eyes, and all he could muster was a smidgeon of puzzlement that she could feel so much for him. He didn't deserve her, but then, what else was new?
He sighed wearily; reached up to run a hand through his messy hair. "I'm so tired, Gin," he said at last, voice hoarse. He saw her eyes widen; the tremble of her lower lip as tears welled upon her pale lashes. She knew he was referring to more than the physical result of a long day.
"Tired... of me?" she ventured then, her voice smaller than he'd ever heard it.
Harry stared down at her, wishing he could refute the question. "I'm sorry, Ginny," he said again, watching numbly as pain contorted her features. He felt her magic pulse against his own, expanding with the ache of her breaking heart and then she'd spun 'round, heels clacking as she stalked to the foyer of their house, a small pop sounding as she Dissapparated. To the Burrow no doubt.
Harry clenched his eyes shut, leaning a shoulder upon the wall as the world swayed around him, his legs suddenly reluctant to carry his weight.
The truth of it was that he loved her; loved them all. More than he loved anything.
But sometimes, love just wasn't enough.
~FIN~
End A/N: So I had to do some reading on PTSD for a course I took last semester and this pretty much grew from there. I get why the books ended the way they did and if that works for you... well, then fab to be you I guess. Personally though, I don't think it's very realistic, so this is my take on what would've happened if these characters were living in the "Real World."
That said, I hate hopeless endings, so there will be more. Just watch this space. (Or my DW journal rather, 'cause there's gonna be porn XD).