Ginny sank into a chair at the kitchen table, burying her face in her hands in aggravation as she heard the front door slam. She sat like this for a moment, breathing heavily and pressing her palms deep into the sockets of her eyes. Every morning was like this now. She'd sit there so full of rage that she was shaking and so unable to move that she would begin to think she was paralyzed. It wasn't until recently that she began to blame these fits of rage on Harry. He'd start arguments over things so trivial, that it was beginning to drive her mad.
Ginny sat up finally, straightening her shoulders and averting her gaze to the small clock on a muggle device called a microwave Harry had convinced her to purchase. It was seven thirty, and she had only half an hour to get ready for work now. A thick blanket of silence covered the flat that Ginny shared with Harry. They had decided to move to London after the war had finished, in hopes to create a new life and settle down. Though, Ginny believed this to be a distant dream now. The flat itself was tidy and would give the common visitor the impression that the couple put great effort into keeping it in immaculate condition. In all reality, it was because the two were never home. Ginny was often at the flat Hermione shared with Ron after work, and it was not uncommon that Ginny wasn't aware of Harry's whereabouts.
She stood up and tightened her pink silk bathrobe around herself that Harry had given her one Valentines day. All was quiet as she made her way into the bedroom, except for the small rap of rain against the roof and windows. The bed was made up on the side that Harry slept, and the scent of his cologne lingered in the room. She heaved a great sigh as she began to dig through the drawer that held her work clothes. She lazily put them on, looking out of the small window next to their bed. The early morning mist coated it like a silken sheet, revealing the iron grey sky in a blurry haze.
The artificial lighting in the bathroom did not compliment Ginny's fair complexion in anyway. It made her skin look sallow, and the dark circles under her eyes look like bags. Exhaustion was etched prominently in the corners of her eyes, giving her fine lines that no woman in their late 20's should have and would be downright embarrassed of. Though, it was something that did not phase Ginny. She felt as if it were proof of the troubles that Harry had put her through, and proved that it wasn't something her mind had made up.
There was no point in eating that morning, due to her rage completely consuming her. She wasted no time getting to the ministry, though she doubted she would get any work done. She'd see Harry there who also worked at the ministry, most likely flirting with other female aurors and paying little no attention to her at all. Ginny was accustomed to this now. She had never dreamed that marriage with The-Boy-Who-Lived would be anything short of a fairy tale. In fact, she often got lost in the reminiscence of when the two first started dating at the beginning of fifth year. She had had her eye on Harry for so long, and the moment he had showed even the slightest bit of romantic interest in her she felt as if she had won the Triwizard Tournament. Looking back on it now made her simply laugh at how blinding the feeling of new love could be. She often found herself almost regretting marrying Harry, thinking that if she had married Dean Thomas she would have a normal life now. The one she had always dreamed of since she was a little girl.
Though, she felt as if lives like that no longer existed. She found herself questioning how her parents had been married for so long with so many children and were still happily married. Ginny couldn't picture a life like that with Harry, as much as the two talked about it. It seemed as if he had never grown up after the war. She had always thought that the relief of He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named finally being defeated would change Harry, and make him at ease with life. Though it had the opposite effect. Harry was restless now and she found him often making remarks to her about his purpose in life. It saddened her greatly, and was often the only thing that made these fits of rage melt away like ice cream on a hot summers day.
There were times that Ginny would bring these things up to Harry. This only resulted into a shouting match, and Harry leaving to stay at somewhere unknown for the night. He wouldn't talk to her for days after these arguments happened, and Ginny often felt he pretended that he were not married. Most woman probably would have left him by now. Ginny felt as if this were not an option. As much as she laughed about their dream of settling down together, deep down inside she still clung to it as if it were the only part of herself she had left. She still had hope for it and refused to let Harry go. 'We've lasted this long' she'd think to herself after her fits of rage died down. She saw no reason to stop, and honestly believed that she'd be lost if her and Harry had ever separated. Though not once did she ever admit this out loud. Not even to Hermione, during their late night talks about their husbands over a cheap bottle of muggle wine.
And here Ginny was, stepping out of the green flames from one of the many fireplaces of the ministry and making her way across the dark marble floors to deliver a document to the department of Care Of Magical Creatures. She passed Kingsley Shacklebot on the way down, who smiled briefly at her with sad eyes. On the rare occasion that she did see Kingsley she developed an incomprehensible feeling of nostalgia. Not only did it remind her of her days at Hogwarts and The Order of The Phoenix, but reminded her painfully of the war and all the deaths that came with it. A bitter reminded that she had lost her own brother and a handful of close friends.
She tried her hardest to put this behind her. For Harry's sake, for her own sake. She felt if it helped her stay in her own mind without completely losing it. It made the visits with George more bearable during Holidays, when she could hear Fred's laugh within his own even when it sounded forced. It made it so she was able to be there for her mother, who had to watch one of her sons live with an incurable emptiness within him for the rest of his life. It made it all as bearable as it could be without being completely numb.
So now she sat at her desk, going through paperwork and reports of civilians claiming Voldemort had risen for the second time. His name was spoken freely now, as no one seemed to fear him any more. It was all over and it was as if the entire land of magic folk could finally breathe again. The only thing that they feared now was not being able to move on from the death of their loved ones as they were all left with nothing but bitter memories of murders and dark times.