Ginny stumbled into the house she and Harry shared. It was late – she hoped he was sleeping. She didn't feel up to lying to him; didn't even feel up to facing him when she felt so heartbroken, so confused. She crept quietly through the hall and into the living room. She'd rather sleep there than have to feel his adoring arm wrapping around her waist, pulling her close as though she were his – his everything.
"That's quite the necklace," came a quiet voice from the couch. She jumped.
"Harry! You startled me," she admonished. Recovering quickly she glanced down at the subject of his inquiry, trying carefully to hide her near overwhelming desire to take it off and fling it across the room. "You like it? I only just bought it this evening. I-"
She froze as he held up the evening Prophet. There she was, tears streaming down her face, as Blaise walked out on her. She didn't need to read the article to realise that their argument had finally drawn attention to their relationship. On its final day, of course, because that was just the way of the world, wasn't it?
Harry didn't bother to hide the hurt he was feeling – her silence clearly confirming the information. "I'm- I'm going to stay with Ron for a few days," he choked out, "Then, well… We'll see…"
Her heart was shattering, she was sure. "Harry, please-"
"Just save it, Ginny." His voice was firm. And then he was gone, too.
She dropped into the spot that he'd previously occupied and sobbed her heart out, trying desperately to figure out when things had gone so wrong.
She searched her memory for a time when she'd felt like they were meant to be; for a time when she'd known she was in love with him, known they were perfect. She knew there'd been one. At Hogwarts, perhaps? She laughed harshly. A school girl obsession.
She thought back to stolen kisses in darkened halls. The thrill of finally kissing him; finally being with him; finally being chosen by him. There was some small comfort in that; she'd always cared for him.
"But what happened?" she asked the empty room bitterly.
The war. His 'death'. The renewal of their relationship. And then… The fateful proposal. Looking back now she couldn't believe he'd asked her. Not then. Maybe not ever. Idiot, she thought furiously, Couldn't he see we weren't ready! "Why didn't anyone tell us?" The rage bubbled up inside of her, but their words came slowly back to her.
"Gin, I know you care for him, but… after everything that's happened… What I mean to say is, don't you think this is a bit… fast?" Her mother. Hesitant. Concerned.
"Ginny, I was talking to Harry, and he seems so certain about this, but are you? I'm not sure the two of you are really ready for this – even without the way the war has changed us all. Don't you think you should-" She'd cut her off then. No time for Hermione's nosiness.
You don't love him though – isn't that what marriage is supposed to be about? Her own mind. Quickly silenced. Carefully ignored.
"So stupid," she whispered. The dream - the beautiful Forever painted in her mind – had quickly crashed down around her. Instead of a fairy tale, life as Ginny Potter was much the same as life as Ginny Weasley had been. This isn't what I wanted, she'd thought at the time, This isn't what I signed up for.
But surely she'd tried to fix things, right? She must have made a point of sparking that romance she'd wanted so badly. She strained her mind, had she really never said a thing about it? Had she really just let it go? Had she really put so little effort into this?
Her world was crashing. Always in her mind, it had been Harry's fault. Always in her mind, their marriage had fallen apart because he didn't fulfill his role – didn't do what he was supposed to do.
He was never neglectful, no, not at all. He was just always Harry. She'd expected him to change – to become the suave Romeo she'd always pictured in connection with the idea of marriage. But somehow, it was really all his deficient fault. He never sent her flowers. He never bought her chocolates. He never took her to balls or to galas or to romantic dinners out. He never sent her sweet lines of prose or of poetry, intimating to her his undying love.
Instead he bought her tickets to watch Quidditch. He took her to dinner at the Leaky Cauldron with their mutual friends. He invited her to play Chaser with him and her brothers. He sent her reminders that he would be home a little late that night.
She found herself smiling sadly. Had she never noticed that these things were sweet – even a little romantic – in their own right? Of course not. She'd been bitter. She'd felt betrayed.
Blaise's words came rushing back to her. "Maybe it's time to realise they're not his problems – they're yours."
"How utterly foolish," she sobbed into the sofa cushion. "What an awful brat I've been."
She realised with sudden clarity that it was not that he hadn't deserved her, but that she quite hadn't deserved him.
As her tears flowed down her cheeks, she relived all the moments she should have cherished as they had been happening. She relished every memory she had of his telling her he loved her.