Thanks for all the follows and favorites, readers. :) They made my day. I was planning to publish this chapter a long time ago, but the internet was not working. Sorry for the inconvenience. Anyhow, this is the new chapter, so have fun.


Chapter # 7


Ginny winced as another wizard pushed past her in a hurry, seemingly unaware of the person he had practically thrown to the ground – not that she was really sprawled ungracefully on the cold stone. She brushed her shoulders, the dust invisible; she squared them after, ready to face the music.

She was at The Ministry of Magic, on her way to the Aurors' department, to talk to Harry about, well, them. Of course, she understood that this was not the best place for such conversation, but it was so hard to find Harry anywhere, even at the Grimmauld place. Where he spent his nights – after free from training – nobody knew, and they were content with embracing ignorance, including herself. (She had prodded Ron about the mystery countless times though, but he denied any knowledge.)

It seemed that time loved to fly by when it knew it was needed the most. There the door to the office was, just across from her, standing, as if it wanted to welcome her. Yes, she had butterflies in her belly – and not from the thought that she was going to meet Harry, like the past – and she could not for the life of her foresee what was to come next. Oh, why could not the seconds drag on as if they were minutes, and minutes hours?

She neared the door, the sound of her steps – and it was queer, since the noise around had dissolved them – imprinting themselves in her mind. She knew she would never forget what she was to encounter in her life; she just knew it.

Her hand was raised, her fingers just above the handle, gently applying pressure. She did not know what came over her later, but the next thing she knew, she had banged the door open, the door's violent meet with the wall producing a great noise. Two pairs of surprised eyes looked up at her. She looked around, saw two empty desks (one of them which Harry occupied usually) in the room, and at not finding Harry anywhere, she approached one of the owners of the eyes, asking, "Where is Mr Potter, if you please?" The man pointed towards a half open door inside the room, flashing a smile at her. She nodded her appreciation for his help. The room was for visitors. Who could be visiting him now?

When she neared the door, she heard some hushed voices, catching some of the words uttered.

"… I know, and I'm not sorry …"

"– Yet you should know that you two have disappointed me!"

"… Our choice …"

"But why?!"

"Because … safer as friends. Our constant … destroyed …"

Silence, then:

"Sorry … I was being …"

"– Fine."

Again the voices quietened.

"How are you …?"

Ginny neared the door. She knew it was Harry and Hermione, arguing about her break up with Ron. She knew Harry did not desire any rift in "the Golden Trio", their infamous representation; yet he also wanted to support them wholly in their decisions. She moved to open it but what she heard next made her stop in her tracks.

"I don't know what to do," Hermione said – her voice now clear to Ginny's ear, thanks to the close distance. "What will they say when I will give them their memories back? Or what if they never remember me, Harry? How …" Her voice cracked. "How will I cope, then, knowing they are there, but so far away? And if they remember me, will they understand why I did this to them? Why I replaced their memories? To help you and to finish this war; and mostly to keep them from harm?" Then Ginny heard a hitched intake of breath, and she could imagine a fresh trail of tears down Hermione's cheeks. She wanted to go inside, comfort her close friend; but her curiosity to know what they were talking about simply made her stand like a statue. "They're my parents, and I don't know how to face them. I don't even know if I'll ever find them in Australia. They were spotted there, you know."

Ginny did not undergo a shock at this unclothed secret, as she expected. It was just mild astonishment, nothing more. She had anticipated the "loyalty" Ron spoke of had much sacrifices to testify to it, and the proof had just entered her ears. And she could not help but let her heart swell for Hermione, who was so much better a friend, an accomplice, a partner than anyone could ever be to Harry (that was the only reason of Hermione's action that she cared about). And she tried to grasp – to accept – that her support, though valued, was overshadowed by another's. But, yes, a pang reverberated in the deepest chambers of her heart, throwing itself violently against everything, protesting, weeping, and expressing something else that it had stopped to unveil vulnerably since ages. Oh, did she feel helpless about herself (but she sought not to let it brand her its prey for a longer time). Why was she feeling this way? She knew well enough, or otherwise – and she believed the latter. She wanted to be the possessor of such devotion for Harry, to Harry, and she had dreamed this dream when she first modeled him her hero. (Or did she wish this after forming a relationship she instilled her pride and promises in?)

"You can do it," she heard Harry say, and his voice became distant suddenly, for her thoughts became louder. "I believe in you. And I will help you; I owe you so much."

"You don't," Hermione squeaked in anger. "You don't owe me anything, how many times do I have to tell you, you thick-headed boy!"

A faint smile came on Ginny's face.

And she frowned when she felt a hole in her back, as if someone was staring intently at her. She looked behind, and caught the man who helped her. She faked a smile, realizing she must look utterly ridiculous standing there, ready to enter the connected room, yet consumed by hesitation. She took a deep breath, knocked the door, and readied herself for permission.

"Come in," Harry said, breaking the silence that was caused by her interference.

She stepped inside. Harry's eyes widened at seeing her, but he tried to cover his surprise (which must have been pleasant, she expected, since she did not visit him often). "Hey, you two," she greeted, her tone laced with awkwardness. (She felt she was getting the pieces together properly, because now she hoped she had found the reason for Hermione's dull aura. Was she going through so much? The war had stolen them from so many things.)

Hermione did not look back for a few seconds, wiping her face furiously with her hands. When she turned towards her, she grinned from ear to ear, and hugged her briefly. "What brings you here, Gin?"

She just smiled in response, feeling self-conscious (and the emotion turned out to be – for herself – quite undefinable, like she had felt it much once, but had forgotten it for a long, long time).

"Er, I just wanted to talk to Harry, if he doesn't mind, of course!" she added hastily. Of course caring if Harry minded her presence or not was the last thing on her mind, but she had to show that she still cared for his wishes, and understood them (in front of others). She gave a tight smile, feeling uneasy for she had been passing grimaces to others the whole day. (She would not be surprised if she had forgotten how to smile.)

"Then I think I will leave you to it. I should be going myself now, I have some things to do." Hermione was just walking out when Harry called her. "Yes?" she asked, adjusting her handbag on her shoulder.

Harry scratched the nape of his neck. "If anything else is troubling you, you can tell me now."

Hermione looked at him for an unnecessarily long time, and then she shook her head, beaming. "It is all right, honestly, Harry. And, besides, I would not want to bully you with my problems."

He nodded slowly. Then he stood up, and embraced her. And at that moment, Ginny felt once more a third wheel. Harry, who practically ran from showing affection, had initiated the hug, unlike before. Wow, she thought, something must be really wrong. And there was this spark of jealousy she could not control, and there was envy accompanying it, as well. She had to suppress these emotions; yet her mind began replaying the moments she had with Harry, and how his reluctance, albeit little, would affect her; though the moment he would give in, she would forget everything.

To keep away from this negative emotional territory, she averted her eyes from her friends. Now, she had one more point in her head: Harry was comfortable with being open with Hermione, more than he was with her, Ginny.

This time, without any denial, she embraced the fact that the first woman whose priorities were crucial to him was the one in his embrace.

And she recognized her own place in his eyes. She was not unimportant. No. She saw how much he cared for her wellbeing, her opinions, ideas, thoughts when she talked to him about how they were drifting away from each other day by day, and how she could not handle to wait for him to find his place and then think about their relationship. And how she could not see him fooling himself in thinking that Hermione was just a best friend, just a sister, when she could be so much more. (She added this part without thinking it through, without actually contemplating the idea of sharing it with him before. She plainly blurted out with it. And she prayed that she would not regret it later.) His eyes widened when he heard that, and he started to say something as defense, but she never let him, saving his efforts.

And she also told him (more like told herself), "I think there is no love between us anymore. And no understanding, tolerance, patience. We are like strangers, if we try to be lovers." (She had repeated the words Hermione had told her, and their weight was wearing her down at this moment.)

Yes, things would be better now, if she stepped away, rather than watch the show wordlessly, play along, hope against hope stupidly, when there were options to save her dignity by doing things that were inevitable herself.

And the message was clear, was it not?

Yet she opted to explain more: "We are better off as friends."

And unshed tears broke like a dam, and Harry tried to reach out, trying to control his shock, and, like a good boy, help her. But she ran away from him the second time in that month, into the nonchalant crowd, out the suffocating Ministry, into the fresh air, then into a tube to apparate near the Burrow, in the wide expanse of land which was alone, and would surely give her company better than others. She desired silent company (not her mother's hopeful words, because hope was not there; not Ron's encouraging words and "You were brave," or "You did the right thing"; not George's jokes to cheer up her mood, because that would be lying to herself about her sorrow). She cried a river under a lone tree, which would have cried with her, if it had eyes.

She felt a pang. And that was – what was it again? The confusing knot of her emotions made her burst into sobs of frustration all over again. But when she thought about it, there would be no frustration of waiting for Harry, and he would finally learn that he could fall in love with Hermione since the coast was clear, and he would thank Ginny later on, and Ron, as well, and Ginny would learn (and she had started to learn, in fact) that she could let go of Harry, and think of him as a person than her dream.

And her sobs died to sniffles.

Yes, maybe she did the right thing.


I think it was rushed, this chapter. But I didn't know what else to do with it. Sorry. But please tell me where I should better this chapter, if you can, and I will. Do review, and stay tuned. Thanks for reading.

God bless.