Ginny glanced up as Harry entered their bedroom, still clothed in the dress robes from the night before, and she wondered where he had been all night. A phantom tendril of jealousy and suspicion flared in her center before she reminded herself that she had spent the night literally wrapped around another man who was most certainly not her husband and had only snuck back into her home a mere three hours earlier. She watched Harry with interest as she patted her hair dry with a towel - he looked hungover, sure. But the gauntness and exhaustion that usually accompanied the morning after a night of heavy drinking was absent. Harry had color in his cheeks and he looked… Ginny frowned - happy?
Harry glanced up, finally noticing her, and jumped. "Oh. I didn't expect you to be-"
"It's 10:45 on a Sunday morning. Where else would I be?" Ginny snapped before turning back to her reflection in the vanity at which she sat. From her mirror, Ginny watched Harry begin to shed last night's clothing. "And where were you all night?" Harry shot a glance at her reflection before rolling his eyes and turning to dig through his bureau for clean clothing.
"That's sweet, Gin. The role of the concerned and jealous wife. I like it - brings back fond memories for me," he muttered, sarcastically. "And how was Dean last night? Did you happen to say hello to him for me?" Harry pulled his shirt over his head and threw it on to their bed. Ginny glared at him.
"Oh, grow up-"
"No, I'm serious. You two looked very cozy together before you snuck off to do God knows what in a broom closet. That's very high class by the way, Gin. Even for you."
"Go to hell," she snarled and Harry laughed darkly.
"After you, baby," he said and cross their room into the adjoining bathroom, leaving the door ajar. Ginny heard the sink turn on. Ginny took a moment to calm herself - rhythmically breathing through her nose - before she said -
"We start therapy tomorrow," she called over the noise of the running water. Harry quickly appeared at the door, staring at her in shock, toothbrush in hand and foam in his mouth.
"You've got to be kidding me," he said dryly.
"We agreed-"
"Fuck, Ginny. It's over between us. Why the hell are we dragging this out? I don't want to go to therapy. I don't want to talk about how I've hurt you and how I'm a shitty husband and how I fucked up five million times. I'm tired of the bullshit," he said, wiping his mouth clean with the back of his hand.
"You need therapy," she muttered and began to pull her hairbrush through her damp hair.
"Oh, fuck off, okay? You need to stop fucking other guys behind my back. How about that?" Harry snarled and returned to the bathroom, slamming the door behind him.
