A BEAUTIFUL, TERRIBLE THING

CHAPTER TWO

Ginny's POV

It felt like only moment since my eyes had finally drifted shut when I was jolted awake by the sound of Harry's wand beeping.

It was four am.

God, I felt like shit. My head hurt, my eyes hurt, and my mouth felt like it was full of cotton wool. It was like having the worst hangover ever, times ten. And, believe me, I've had some hellish hangovers in my time.

Harry, who didn't appear to have slept at all, snapped out of his daze and fumbled to turn off the alarm. "Sorry," he croaked as he finally succeeded. He cleared his throat to explain, "Coffee run."

He got up and hour before he had to to get coffee? I knew he liked to have an espresso to wake him up, but I didn't know he liked it that much.

"I know you can't live without your Pumpkin Caramel Latte."

He got up at four am for me? He was the one who made sure there was a Latte waiting for me in the canteen every morning? And, dammit, I started crying again.

He said nothing; he pulled me into his chest and held me, just like he had all night.

"Why?" I rasped. I knew he was a good friend, and the quintessential English gentleman, but there was no one I knew – even Michael – that would get up a full hour earlier than they had to simply to get me my coffee. No one was nice enough, or, I guess, crazy enough, to do it willingly, and the only time I was dumb enough to recruit an assistant to do it, she quit after only a week.

"It makes you happy," he explained, shrugging, as if getting up at four am to buy a friend coffee was the most normal thing in the world.

I coughed a couple of times in a mostly-useless attempt to clear my throat a little; I needed water, because my throat was as dry as the Sahara. I resorted to whispering, "What about the mornings when I have to be in hours before you?"

Harry shrugged. "There's not many of those, but I get you your coffee, then take a nap if I'm tired."

"You're crazy," I whispered, but he just shrugged again, a strange look crossing his face.

"Maybe I am," he agreed, and my heart nearly broke all over again at the private sadness in his eyes. Me and Harry were best friends, and we talked about everything, even things that I would never have told Michael, but there were things, like the look I had just seen, that I knew better than to mention. I knew the difference between "personal" and "private", and these looks, these emotions, were private. Harry would tell me when, or if, he wanted to.

Harry's POV

I wasn't expecting the reaction I got; I'll admit that I had dreamed about Ginny doing something like that a million times – though, obviously, under much better circumstances – but I never though it would ever actually happen. Ginny, the gorgeous, tiny red-head, the love of my life, crawled onto my lap and buried her face in my chest. Sure, she was soaking my shirt, but I wouldn't have it any other way; you couldn't pay me enough to make me move. Ginny was curled up on my lap, and she could stay there for as long as she wanted to. Forever, if she so desired. I wanted to comfort her, and to let her know, yet again, that I would do anything for her; I wrapped my arms around her and whispered, "I'll do whatever it takes." And I meant it. There was nothing—absolutely nothing—that I wouldn't do for her, under any circumstances, for any reason. As I said before, what Ginny wanted, Ginny got, without question, hesitation, or discussion.

I held her all night; no force on earth could have convinced me to let go. I didn't have anything to say, so I said nothing. It was probably better that way; I doubted condolences or false promises and cliché'd lines would comfort her. She needed me here, and I would stay until she forced me to leave. If it was the last thing I did, I would make her see that. I would prove to her that I wouldn't ever betray her, leave her, break her the way he had.

And by owl post? Honestly? I couldn't believe he hadn't thought Ginny worth at least a face-to-face break-up. If he was going to be so cowardly as to do it without visiting, he should have actually spoken to her, not sent some poor owl to deliver it in writing. I allowed my mouth to twist up into a cruel smile as I thought of the way I could get him back. He was deeply superstitious; I would have to do next-to-nothing to make him lose sleep for a couple months.

I knew when Ginny had eventually succumbed to sleep; her breathing evened out a little, and her body relaxed. Well, everything but her hand: her had was gripping the front of my shirt like it was the last thing on earth.

That worried me. Was she doing that because she needed to know I was there? Or because she thought I would leave? I ran my hand through her hair. "I would never leave, love," I whispered, softly. I knew she couldn't hear me, but I felt better saying it, anyway.

I spent the night thinking, day dreaming. Not really about anything in particular, but always about Ginny – anything and everything about Ginny.

I was still reeling from the shock of the news. As much I had selfishly wished they would break up, I had never entertained the idea as I real possibility. Ginny and Michael – there, I said his name – had been together for nearly three years, and had known each other since she was eleven. In everyone's mind – everyone except Michael, it seemed – it was thought that a proposal was on the horizon. No one had envisioned a break-up.

Slowly, an obnoxious beeping noise broke into my conscious, pulling me out of my thoughts and back to the present.

It was four am.

Shit. I looked down at Ginny worriedly, and, dammit, she was awake. Aw, crap. She could have gotten another three-quarters of an hour of sleep. "Sorry," I croaked, fumbling for my wand and desperately trying to shut the damn alarm off. I could see Ginny staring at me curiously, so I cleared my throat to explain. "Coffee run," I told her. There was no need to hide anything; it was time to lay my cards on the table. "I know you can't live without your Pumpkin Caramel Latte."

And that was met by another entirely unexpected reaction from Ginny, though this one was less desirable, and far more confusing.

She burst into tears.

I said nothing, pulling her into my arms and holding her close. Since I was at a loss as to what to say, this was all I could do.

"Why?" she rasped. Her throat sounded as bad as mine felt, and I made a mental note to get her some water from her mini-fridge the minute I got up.

"It makes you happy," I explained, shrugging, as if getting up at four am to buy a friend coffee was the most normal thing in the world.

She coughed a couple of times, making me flinch. It sounded painful; I hoped she wasn't getting ill. "What about the mornings when I have to be in hours before you?" she whispered, her eyebrows pulling together in concern.

I shrugged again, hoping to appear off-hand about the whole thing. "There's not many of those, but I get you your coffee, then take a nap if I'm tired."

"You're crazy," she whispered, with a small smile.

"Maybe I am," I agreed, my heart aching. I was crazy to think such a perfect angel would ever love me. I was crazy to think we could ever be together.

But that wasn't going to stop me from trying.

Ginny's POV

I declined Harry's offer for an early breakfast at the Leaky Cauldron. I had enough shit to deal with right now, without having to deal with psychotic fangirls and insufferable Prophet reporters at four-thirty in the morning. Harry seemed to agree with my reasoning because, not five minutes after he left, he was back.

I tried desperately to stem the tears that had taken over of me in his absence, but it was no use.

"Ginny? Honey, are you okay? Shh, I'm here. Breathe," came Harry's panicked voice. He rushed over to scoop me up into his arms. "Honey, what happened?" he asked, worriedly, pulling me into his chest as he sank down onto the sofa. I situated myself comfortably on his lap and relaxed against him.

I shook my head. I was just upset and overemotional, that was all; there was no reason for the tears except that he had left. I was just being stupid. "I'm... f-fine," I stuttered out. "R-really, just g-give me a, a m-minute." Harry seemed to understand; he held me close and pressed a soft kiss to the top of my head, warming me from head to toe.

"Whatever it takes," he reminded me.

We didn't move until a knock on the door startled me; Harry seemed to have been expecting it. "It's okay, honey. It's just Romilda with our coffee. It's amazing what people will do for fifty galleons."

I stared at him in utter shock. "Fifty galleons?" I mean, yeah, we were both filthy rich, but fifty galleons just to send someone else to get coffee that you could easily either get yourself or live without?

He shrugged. "As well as the cost of coffee for us, her, and Lavender; I even sent Shaklebolt over."

"Besides, you need a Pumpkin Caramel Latte and, after last night, I could do with something to wake me up, too."

"Why, though? You could have got it yourself."

"I didn't want to leave you," he said, simply.

And, for some reason, I understood what he was saying. I didn't want him to leave me, either. We were better together, on the pitch and off. Sure, we were good separately, but together... together we kicked ass. I smiled; it felt weird to do it, and the still-fresh tear in my heart ached in protest, but for once in my life, something finally felt right. "I didn't want you to leave me, either," I admitted.

Harry's POV

I knew I had to go to the Cauldron, but I didn't want to leave Ginny. I wracked my brain for any way to do this without leaving her side; the only option was for her to join me. I knew she wouldn't, but I had to offer.

"Ginny, honey, do you want to come with me?"

She shook her head, as I knew she would. "It's four am and I just had the night from hell. I can't deal with fans right now, much less the reporters."

I had to agree with her. "Are you sure you'll be okay on your own?" She wouldn't be, but, again, I felt the need to ask.

Ginny just slid off of my lap and curled up on the sofa. "I'll live," was her unconvincing answer.

Standing up and walking out of her trailer was akin to pulling myself up a rock face with nothing but my bare hands. There was no way I was going all the way to the Cauldron, even if I apparated.

I pulled out my wand and called my assistant, Romilda. I wasn't stupid enough to try calling Lavender this early on her "late" day; she'd quit on the spot.

"What?" Romilda groaned, sleepily.

"Romilda?" I said, tersely. Why was she not awake yet? She had to be here in less than an hour, and Godric knows she took double that just to get ready.

"Oh, Harry, hello," she greeted me, in what I think was supposed to be a seductive tone. It sounded like a dying cat, but that might have just been bad signal. 'Reception. Wand reception,' I heard Ginny say in my head; I was so used to her Americanizing me that when I mentally corrected myself, I could hear her voice. I was pathetic.

"Romilda, I need you to stop by the Leaky Cauldron on your way in; I need a Pumpkin Caramel Latte and an espresso."

"The Leaky isn't on the way, Harry. It's a twenty minute detour."

I didn't have the time or the patience to argue or bargain with her. "Fifty galleons, plus whatever the coffee costs. I'll pay for whatever you want for yourself, and whatever Ginny's assistant wants, and I'll send Shaklebolt to accompany you." Thank Godric that he was staying in the same hotel as her.

Romilda sighed. "What size?"

Thank Godric. "Biggest you can get. I'll see you at Ginny's trailer in three-quarters of an hour." And there was my internal Ginny, again: 'Forty-five minutes,' she corrected.

I hung up, and hurriedly called my bodyguard. "Shacklebolt, can you take Romilda to the Leaky, and then to the pitch," I rushed out.

Kingsley knew better than to ask questions; he knew he's be getting a huge tip for this. "Sure thing, son," he said. "I'll be waiting for her out front in ten. Catch you later."

"Catch you later."

I was in Ginny's trailer before I even had my wand back in my pocket.

I didn't knock.

Ginny was curled up on the sofa, sobbing and shaking. Had something else happened? This was worse than it had been at any point last night.

"Ginny? Honey, are you okay? Shh, I'm here. Breathe," I said, panicking. I rushed over to scoop her up into my arms. "Honey, what happened?" I asked, pulling her as close to me as I could, and settling us both onto the sofa. Ginny shuffled a little bit, then leaned into my chest, shaking her head.

"I'm... f-fine," she eventually stuttered out. "R-really, just g-give me a, a m-minute." I didn't believe a single word, but I let it go; the last thing I wanted to do was to argue with her. I held her close and pressed a soft kiss to the top of her head, consequences be damned. Whether she loved me or not was irrelevant at this point. I was in love with her, and not even divine intervention was going to change my mind.

"Whatever it takes," I reminded her, meaning every word.

She relaxed in my arms and let me hold her until a knock on the door startled her.

"It's okay, honey. It's just Romilda with our coffee. It's amazing what people will do for fifty galleons."

I looked down to see her staring at me in utter shock. "Fifty galleons?"

Was it that hard to believe? I didn't know exactly how much I had in Gringotts, but I knew it was well into the millions. What's fifty galleons to make her happy, anyway? I shrugged. "As well as the cost of coffee for us, her, Lavender, and Kingsley." I didn't tell her about the money I now owed said bodyguard; he hated Romilda, and would want compensating handsomely.

She glared at me, her hazel eyes lighting with a dangerous flame. I rolled my eyes at her, fighting a smile. I'd never admit it, but I kind of loved it when she did that. It was just so her.

"Besides, you need a Pumpkin Caramel Latte, and, after last night, I could do with something to wake me up, too," I explained, in an attempt to rationalize what she clearly saw as an outrageous expense.

"Why, though? You could have got it yourself," she persisted.

But I knew I couldn't have. I couldn't have left her. "I didn't want to leave you," I admitted, before I could stop myself.

But she didn't look mad. She looked thoughtful, like a light bulb had just lit in her brain. She looked... happy? Hopeful? And then she did the one thing that made my day. My month. My year.

She smiled.

I made her smile.

"I didn't want you to leave me, either," she admitted.

When we turned up at training together – twenty minutes late and looking less than bright-eyed and bushy-tailed – a few eyebrows were raised, but no one said a word. I conjured two green teas and a cream cheese bagel for Ginny, handing it to her wordlessly as Oliver glared at us over the heads of the other players.

"Well," he said, sharply, "now that we're all here, we can begin."

Ginny flushed as red as her hair, hating the attention that was drawn to her for the second time in as many minutes. "Sorry," she muttered, tears threatening to spill over again. Oliver's expression softened slightly, and he turned to face the diagram behind him.

"We have an important match coming up, guys. We need to be prepared!" The diagram sprang to life, and the next three hours were consumed with discussions of formations, tactics, and fouls. Ginny was hardly paying attention, and as we broke for lunch, Oliver approached us.

"Weasley," he called, and Ginny lifted her head slowly. I could tell he wanted to talk to her alone, but I was reluctant to leave. "Go see Madam Granger. Immediately." Behind his brusque manner hid a very real concern for his players, especially Ginny. As the youngest player,Oliver often babied the girl, despite being well aware she could handle herself.