Third Year

Since when did you get so tall? It's like over the summer someone permanently affixed stilts to your legs or something. I have to tilt my head so far back to even try to see into your eyes. Dark, shaggy hair grazes your eyebrows in a hairstyle that sort-of echoes your godfather's. I never would have imagined your hair to have a slight curl to it, but that is exactly what it is doing at the base of your neck. You look pretty good for someone who has haphazardously left what promised to be a well-played Quidditch World Cup but then turned into mayhem as a wizarding riot took place and the Dark Mark floated about. Your eyes are as green as always but they're hauntingly beautiful today, and ghosts of questions asked but not yet answered linger in your troubled irises.

Mum is smothering everybody who was at the match. She's a blubbering mess, crying about her nagging last words to the twins and whatnot. You look pretty uncomfortable, and once she has stopped her tears, you reassure her with a gentle peck on the cheek and say to everybody that you're headed to Ron's room. My brother and Hermione follow dutifully. When you pass me, you say, "Hi, Ginny" in a hollow, quiet voice and that's it.

Two simple, impersonal words are all you have to say to me. You could have died from what Mum has to say about the whole situation, but no, you just want to tell me hello.

Godric, I hate how I obviously care more about you than you seem to care about me.

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Dumbledore announces something called a Triwizard Tournament during the Start-of-Term feast. It's to be held at Hogwarts this year, and two other magical schools that I have never heard of are to be participating and living on-campus with us. One is called Durmstrang; the other, Beauxbatons.

No wizard or witch under seventeen years is allowed to participate. Already, Fred and George are whispering excitedly under their breath as they plot a way to bypass the age limit rule. I see you eavesdropping in on their conversation and the interested gleam in your eye. My stomach flip-flops anxiously as I study you contemplating whether you should attempt to enter your name into the competition despite the fact that you are under-age.

Harry James Potter, if you dare take one step near that Goblet of Fire, I swear to Merlin that I will go all Molly Weasley on you and the aftermath will not be pretty at all.

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Silence. Complete and utter silence. Everybody eyes the Goblet of Fire in nervous anticipation as we all wait to hear the nominees of this year's Triwizard Tournament:

Viktor Krum, the Seeker from Durmstrang. Fleur Delacour, some popularity queen at Beauxbatons. Cedric Diggory, a Hufflepuff from Hogwarts who is rumoured to have vampire heritage and the ability to sparkle in the sunlight.

The fourth wizard in the Triwizard Tournament is you.

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This is completely ridiculous. You're already Harry Potter; surely you do not need nor want the repute of being some hot commodity that broke the rules to enter the Tournament. Seriously, Gryffindor is taking this entirely out of context. Throwing a party celebrating your nomination last week was a bit too much, don't you think?

I know Hermione agrees with me. It is all she and I have discussed and complained about since you were chosen. And Ron is not very pleased, either. Sure, you've got your little posse of the simpering airheads like Lavender Brown and the Patil twins, and Fred and George are impressed by your little stunt as well as Dean, Seamus, and Neville. But Hermione is thoroughly disgusted with your reckless decision to enter yourself into the competition, and Ron has a green jealousy streak that leprechauns would envy. And you don't speak to me much anymore, so you really cannot come over to me to vent or anything.

It is quite obvious that you are hurting to talk to somebody. I know this because lately you've been seeking me out. It's nice to know I'm a last resort to you these days. Really boosts my self-esteem, Mr Potter.

You catch my eye right now over dinner and open your mouth as if you're about to say something. But then you see that I am surrounded by people who could really care less about your sudden increase in popularity. Green eyes darken in uncertainty, and although you sit down at the same table as me, it is as if you are worlds away.

Hermione leans over and whispers in my ear: "Should I fix this rift between Ron and Harry?"

I push my peas, fish, and chips around on my plate. I am rather surprised and pleased the Hogwarts house elves cooked such a stereotypical British meal for tonight's dinner. Fish and chips are my comfort food, and right now I could use all the comfort available. "Maybe," I say indecisively. "Why don't you let them work it out for now? See how they fare in a day or two." I chance a look over at you and see your dejected, lonely face even though you are surrounded by a sea of admirers.

"Alright," Hermione agrees slowly. "But I feel like such an awful friend for letting the tension between them grow."

Guilt and empathy and regret all colour my voice when I respond: "At some point Harry has to learn and figure out who exactly he wants in his life." It sounds horrible for me to say such a terrible thing, and that is how I rationalise to myself why you stopped talking to me as much as you used to.

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I bump into you in the corridor on my way to Potions. I am already late by Snape's book and am in a shitty mood because of Ron who is acting like a sodding bastard all because of you.

"Sorry—" you begin to say but I am in no mood for pansy-ass remarks that you do not mean.

"Watch it!" I snarl even though our little run-in is entirely my fault.

Immediately you are on the defensive. "No, you watch it," is your clever response. A scowl creeps its way onto your face and your eyebrows bunch together in confusion as to why you are angry at me. But you are irritated nonetheless and I can see your male ego start to make its presence be known.

"Oh, so now you want to talk to me!" I snipe loudly. Our little interaction is quickly gaining nosey on-lookers and a small crowd is gathering around us.

"What's that supposed to mean?" you fire back.

"Puh-lease," I say with a roll of my eyes. "Like you don't know." Godric, why do you have to be so complicated and dense?

"No, Ginny," you tell me. "I really don't know." And then you do something completely irrational and get all up in my personal space.

Um, excuse me? Instinctively, I push you away and draw my wand with it pointed straight at you. Slowly, you take a step back and eye me warily as if I am an unpredictable hippogriff who could attack at any moment. Which is completely true in all honesty, but you don't need to know that.

Green eyes lock onto mine but they are obscured behind a glass frame that reflects an image I expect to see and not the true portrayal. Somebody who I do not recognise starts to speak with your voice. "Ginny," the stranger says slowly and reaches out a hesitant arm towards me. I flinch away and keep my wand trained on you—the stranger—whoever you are. "Ginny, what's gotten into you?"

It's like a jolt of pure electricity to my mind. Suddenly I am reminded of my surroundings and the many little gossips that cannot wait to run back to their Houses with a story full of lies about my tense run-in with you. I recoil back and hastily stow my wand, not wanting to give them anymore ammunition or incentive to lie their little hearts out. "Never mind. You've made it clear that I am nothing to you, Harry. If we were actually friends, you would have asked that question a long time ago. I see that I was wrong about you all along." I hoist my bag up on one shoulder and make to dash towards Snape's cold dungeons.

"Bye, Harry."

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I am a horrible liar. Mum always tells me this. She says my ears turn brick red and that my nose twitches. Then she smacks me upside the head with her sweeping broom and tells me to never lie to her face again. I think I get broom-smacked at least two times a month whenever I am home for the holidays. She might have to think up a new method to make me stop lying but I doubt it will work. I'm a true Weasley through-and-through; once a trouble-maker, always a troublemaker. She can thank Fred and George for that little motto.

But I digress. I don't think I have ever lied to you before. That must be the reason why you didn't know to look for those specific telltale signs when I was ranting to you in the corridor earlier. I am pretty sure the tips of my ears were bright red and my nose was twitching like crazy when I formally broke off our friendship today.

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I thought I knew what love was. I see it all the time in my parents' relationship in the way Dad always kisses Mum on the cheek when he comes home from work and the way Mum constantly worries about him whenever something is going wrong at the Ministry. I hear about it all the time from Dumbledore whenever he makes his little hippie speeches about how love is the answer to defeating You-Know-Who. I feel it in my heart whenever I think about my family and how I would rather die than let any of them get hurt, physically or emotionally. I dreamt about it when I was younger, little fairytales of magic and first kisses and a happily ever after. I imagined a tall, dashing Prince Charming who I hoped someday would take me away and save the day.

But then I met you.

And then I learned that love is not perfect and happy. Love is awful and painful and crying into a pillow at night. Love is being ignored and awkward and whispered conversations in a hospital bed. Love is trying to catch your eye in the school corridors and laughing at your jokes even though they are dreadful. Love is hating how you are so reckless and your need to play hero all the time. Love is wanting to tell you all this but standing back in the shadows as I watch you stumble over yourself trying to talk to Cho Chang.

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"Ginny, will you go to Yule Ball with me?"

I pause for a moment and then accept with small grin. He's not who I want to take me, but Neville is sweet and something in his deep brown eyes has me saying he's not all bad like his reputation. I can't hear one single word the gossipers in Gryffindor say when I respond affably, "Sure, I'd love to."

Neville smiles back, understanding that we are going as friends. He then resumes practising his waltzing in the Gryffindor Common Room. He is actually quite good at ballroom dancing.

I watch my date for a while and think about you, the person who I wish had asked me. Suddenly Hermione joins me on your sofa in the Common Room by the fireplace. She lets out a little squeal of excitement and tells me how Viktor Krum asked her to the Yule Ball. Her smile dims a little when she reflects on how disappointed she is that Ron hasn't asked her yet and now it is too late. I console her and am appropriately squeal-y and giggle-y with her. I have an idea of how disheartened she is because it is the exact same way I feel about you. Hermione comforts me back. Together, we are happy, free, confused, and lonely at the same time. It's a little miserable and magical in the best way.

I just really wish you were the one who asked me to the Yule Ball, though.

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"Hey, Gin, you got a moment?"

Did I hear you right? You actually want to talk to me after all these months of silence between us? "Er, yeah." I tuck an unruly strand of ginger hair behind my ear and say, "What's up?"

We're standing at the entrance of the Great Hall. You managed to catch me before I left to go to the Library for some Transfiguration homework which can surely wait since you are undoubtedly more important than a McGonagall essay. However, you don't answer my question promptly since your eyes are trained on Cho Chang's retreating back - more specifically, her ass - as she leaves the Great Hall for Ravenclaw Tower.

Immediately I grow annoyed and my heart breaks seeing you still mooning after her. "Never mind," I say as I turn to rummage around in my bookbag. "I've got to get started on some Transfig homework—"

"Ginny," you plead and direct my attention back to your face. "Please." And then you run a hand through your hair and say no more.

Hermione has mentioned that you were stressed with all of your schoolwork and the Tournament and figuring out the mystery of what Snape is up to, and I feel kind of guilty for adding on friendship problems to your hectic life but Harry, if you want us to stay friends you're going to have to keep up with your side of the relationship.

"Please what?" I snap.

You wince and scuff the ground with your trainers. "I miss you," you say softly. "I miss being friends."

My heart breaks even more with that admission because I never wanted to be 'just friends' with you. But I dismiss the pain and make myself feel slightly victorious that you have finally come to realise that you need me in your life.

"Yeah, well, you win some and you lose some," I say shortly.

"I never wanted to lose you."

I shrug. "Tough luck." And then I start walking away.

"Ginny, can you cut out the sarcasm and just talk to me?"

I hesitate. A second passes. And then another. No one has been that blunt with me lately. It's kind of refreshing, although rude.

"I've already said everything I needed to say to you," I toss over my shoulder.

"Doubt it," you reply honestly.

"Whatever. It doesn't matter anymore, does it?" I resume my way up the staircase.

"Of course it matters," you tell me. "Your thoughts have always mattered to me."

I want to believe you, I truly do, but as sincere as you seem, I don't really think you are. It's more like you are terrified that everything that once came easily to you - the fame, friends, magic, me fancying you - well, now that it's all steadily slipping out of your hands, you don't know what to do. Your eyes are wide and frantic as you try to preserve things and change them back to the way they were. But life isn't easy, Harry. This past year, I've grown up loads and realised that you cannot always get everything you want in life. And you can try as hard as you can, but some things you have to work for and cannot expect to just land in your lap.

That's not to say I want to walk out of your life. Merlin, no. But I hate being in the friend-zone with you because I want so much more. So, as much as it pains me to do so, I take a deep breath and continue climbing the stairs.

"Ginny?" you question uncertainly.

My name sounds so perfect coming from your mouth. The temptation to stop and just run back into your waiting arms is overwhelming, but I force myself to walk away.

"I'm sorry, Harry. I really have to go." I reach the top of the steps, square my shoulders, and then turn the corner. The entire time, I do not chance a look back at you.

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"Harry misses you, Gin," Ron tells me at dinner. I was surprised when he sat down next to me instead of over by you, but I understand my brother's choice of sitting by me now that I know he's trying to patch up our friendship.

I knit my eyebrows together and bite my lip, unsure of I am going to regret my next couple of words. "Yeah, well, I miss him too."

"So then make up with him or whatever," Ron says in a duh voice before shovelling in a tremendous amount of food into the gaping chasm he calls a mouth.

"It's not that simple," I reason, but I know my dense brother will not understand. Hermione is always reiterating the fact that Ron has the emotional range of a teaspoon to me.

Ron shrugs. "Yeah, it really is, Ginny."

I huff. Of course he thinks so now that everything is good and right between their little bromance again. I cast a wistful look down at the bench where you and Hermione are sitting. Hermione is lecturing about the rights of House Elves, and I can practically see her words float in through one of your ears and out of the other. A hint of a smile alights upon my face once I catch sight of your bored expression and glazed eyes. The scene is so typical of you two, but for some reason, I cannot make myself get up out of my seat so I can go over to talk to you and rescue you from Hermione's little tirade.

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"Harry misses you, Gin," Hermione tells me on our way to the Library. She's here to help me with my Charms homework, but it seems that she is also trying to play peacemaker between you and me.

I huff. "Yeah, I know. Ron already told me that."

"And?"

"And what?"

"Aren't you going to do anything about it?"

I drop my bookbag forcefully down on one of the study tables which earns me a glare from Madam Pince. I mouth something that looks like an apology and then go to browse the bookshelves for a dusty old book about the history of the Summoning Charm. Hermione appropriately interprets my deliberate silence as a 'no'.

But if Hermione Granger is anything, she sure is damn persistent. "Ginny, come on. You're being irrational." She has been trailing me as I've been perusing the bookshelves, but now she leans in closer and drops her voice to a whisper. "Look. I know Harry is more than a friend to you. And after a while he'll realise that you are so much better than Cho. And I know I told you to that you should consider other guys romantically until Harry pulls his head out of his ass, but when I said that I didn't mean you two should stop being friends. If anything, you two should be closer friends so he'll come to his senses and notice that you are not his 'sister' but a girl he can be romantically involved with."

"Hermione," I say. "You're wasting your breath. If he wanted to be my friend so badly, he would've done something to keep our friendship intact instead of pushing me away all the time."

Hermione's eyes brighten with understanding. "Is that it? All you want is for Harry to make the first move?"

"What? No!" I shake my head vehemently. "I never said that. Hermione, please stop interfering. I know you mean well, but you and Ron are not helping at all. Just...stop."

"If that's what you want," Hermione says uncertainly. "But you know Harry. You have to spell these sorts of things out to him. He's not very perceptive about social cues."

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"Here, let me help you with that." All of the sudden the tall stack of books that I am carrying out of the Library have been removed out of my hands and I can see again.

"Oh, thank you!" I gush appreciatively. A smile of gratitude lights upon my face. That is, until I see who is helping me.

Dark messy hair and trademark glasses. Check. Lightningbolt-shaped scar on forehead. Check. Hero complex. Check. Hi, Superman.

"You know, I am perfectly capable of carrying books myself," I say rather coldly and make to snatch all the books about the history of the Summoning Charm. Who knew that there is so much dull information about one single Charm?

"I know," you tell me simply but keep a firm hold on the books. "Where to? Gryffindor Common Room?"

"Yes," I say grudgingly and scowl as I follow you back to Gryffindor Tower. A suspicious thought suddenly enters my mind as I reply the conversation I had with Hermione in the Library. "Wait a minute. Did Hermione set you up to this?"

Your back is to me so I can't see your face, but I hear the hurt in your voice that you try to mask with a careful neutrality. "Nobody put me up to this. I was just on my way to the Kitchens when I saw you."

I bite my lip after I say: "The Kitchens are in the opposite direction, Harry."

Silence greets my words. Alright-y then.

You stop outside of the Fat Lady's portrait. The tall stack of books do not come up past your chin, so you look at me and start a conversation.

"I miss you, Ginny."

I sigh. Not this again. "I know, Harry," I say in a tired voice. "Ron and Hermione have kept me informed about that particular sentiment."

"I mean it, you know."

"I know."

It's quiet again. I am looking anywhere but at your face. There is this really awkward tension between us and I am not sure if I like it.

Finally, you break the silence. "Could you, perhaps, tell me what I did wrong? I want to fix this...I hate not being friends with you, Ginny."

I sigh. "You can't fix it, Harry."

"Why not?"

"Because...because-" Because you love Cho Chang and not me.

"Because why?"

"Because you can't!" Godric, that sounds so juvenile. I turn to the Fat Lady's portrait and whisper the password to her before I flee into the Gryffindor Common Room.

"Ginny?" you call out as you follow me inside. "Ginny, I just want to understand."

I collapse onto your couch in front of the fireplace and cover my face with my hands. There is a dull thunk on the wooden floorboards as my mountain of library books hit the ground, and then the over-plush crimson-and-gold sofa cushions sink down as you sit beside me. Hesitantly, a pair of arms encircles me and brings me close to you in a much-needed hug. We hug a tad bit longer than 'friends' should - but wait, I forgot that we aren't friends. I refuse to let the tears fall because there is no way in Merlin's name that I'll ever let you see me look weak but my vision has gone rather blurry.

After a few more moments, you let me go and settle back onto your side of the sofa but there is a trace of reluctance in your actions. I try not to read too much into your body signals but for a brief moment I let myself fantasize about what it would be like if just maybe you cared about me as much as I care about you.

"Ginny," you say in a soft voice. There's another emotion hidden in the sound of my name coming from your lips, but for the life of me I cannot decipher your feelings from the single word you spoke.

I whisper back: "I miss you." I half-hope you do not hear me.

"I'm right here," you respond. You make to move closer to me but then think better of it.

I squeeze my eyes shut. I might as well stop creating so much drama and tell you exactly what I think and how I feel. Gathering all the Gryffindor courage I have, I say: "But you haven't always been 'here', Harry. It seems like you are continuously off to compete in the Tournament or flirt with Cho Chang-" You open your mouth indignantly at that last comment, but I give you an infamous Molly Weasley glare and immediately you shut your mouth. "-or you're focused on Quidditch and classwork and writing essays for professors or fighting He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named or, well, anything but spending time with the people who actually care about you!"

"What do you think I am doing right now?" you protest weakly but you fall silent once more as I direct another Molly Weasley glare at your remark.

"That's all fine and dandy, Harry, and I'm not saying I do not appreciate your uninvited company right now but Merlin, would it kill you to make an effort to take a breather from all this Harry Potter fame crap and relax or something with your true friends and not those simpering bimbos who just want to be associated with you?"

You frown. "Are you insulting me or asking me a question?"

"Bloody hell, Harry!" I explode, my eyes popping open so I can glower at you. "Godric, can you please forget about your bloody pride for two seconds! It's not all about your ego or whatnot!"

The frown deepens into a scowl. "Look, do you think I asked for all this? Dear Merlin, Ginny, Voldemort chose me! I could give a rat's ass about the fame or whatever the hell you want to call it! You out of all people should know I prefer to be out of the spotlight, or did it escape your mind when I was dodging the press all of Second Year to be in the Infirmary with you? And I didn't enter myself into the Tournament. I didn't sign myself up for all these Tasks. So for Godric's sake, Ginny, don't be blaming all of this on me!"

"Fine!" I shoot back. "It's not all your fault, I will admit that. But the least you could do is own up to some of it and then try to change it!"

"Change what?" you ask, playing dumb but the challenging look in your eyes lets me know that you have a crystal clear idea of what I want you to change.

I gnash my teeth together and stare angrily into the blazing flames in the fireplace. I hate you, I hate your attitude towards me, I hate how you've come to depend on me and think that I'll be here for you no matter what (which is true but you are not supposed to exploit the fact), and I especially hate how you let your ego and the attention you get from the people who don't really care about you overshadow the trust and friendship of your friends who had your back before your fame blew up into epic proportions. All of that is what I want you to change, you stubborn little git.

I let a few tense moments pass before I say in a low, neutral voice, "Do you even want to be friends, Harry?"

You turn towards me incredulously. "Of course I want that! If you hadn't noticed, I am trying to become friends with you again!"

"Well, your attempt is bloody horrible," I tell you bluntly.

You cringe and accept my insult with good humour. Then you look at me, your eyes open and inviting behind your glasses. "I'm sorry," you finally apologise.

The sceptical bitch inside of me makes me say, "For?"

"For not being a better friend towards you. For letting the fame and attention go to my head. For being a cocky little shit. For not keeping up with our midnight talks. For not making you one of my top priorities."

"I don't want to be a 'priority'," I inform you. "I want to be Ginny."

A small smile blossoms on your face. "Alright, Gin."

You already know this, but I'll say it out loud anyways. "You're forgiven, Harry."

The smile flourishes under my acceptance of your apology. You scoot over on the sofa cushions so we are closer. Then you lean in with a conspiratorial glint in your eye and whisper, "So do you think Dumbledore has a thing for Professor McGonagall?"

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We have been talking for hours now, but to me it feels like mere minutes. I am so glad that we've rekindled our friendship. I hadn't realised just how much I really missed you. The fire in the hearth is still blazing strongly, and my pile of Charms books have remained forgotten on the floor.

"Hey, I've got to run and start preparing for the Third Task. Wanna go down to the Quidditch pitch later and just fly?" you suggest.

"Yeah, sure," I agree, liking the idea of flying just because with you.

Then you leave because you've got places to be without me. I'm okay with that now that we are friends and talking to each other again. As I watch you leave the portrait hole, though, a small thought flickers in my mind. I always forget to tell you 'I love you' and that I have loved you from the very first day.

Be safe. I hope you win this whole Triwizard Tournament thing.