A/N: Thank you reviewers for taking the time to drop a line, it is always encouraging and much appreciated! This is the 3rd chapter of 4, stay tuned... I'll answer comments then!

III.

To this day, Ginny doesn't remember much of what she did that September and October.

There must have been Quidditch matches, and the evidence was there in the match histories and scores on her permanent record. Unlike most of her other games though, Ginny couldn't remember any details at all. Supposedly Ginny outscored every other second-stringer one week, at the cost of a sprained wrist even magic couldn't cure instantaneously; another week she received a one-match ban for flying to collide, i.e. nearly ramming the Ballycastle Bats' Keeper off his broom because he openly gloated after she missed a penalty throw. And not just the games – her memory of the period was rather blank. (At times terrifyingly blank, for someone who had been through what she had been through.)

On the 16th of September, Hermione celebrated her birthday, a quiet lunch party held in the Grangers' cosy suburban home in Highgate. Ginny showed up late in her mud-spattered Quidditch flying jacket, pleading extra practice; ate a slice of chocolate fudge cake, pecked Hermione on the cheek, and disappeared. Ron was furious. Apparently, Harry had dropped by earlier that morning, drank Hermione's health, picked at a lamb chop, and then vanished, pleading extra Auror duty – which Ron, of course, knew he had volunteered for.

So he's avoiding me too, thought Ginny. A tangled ball of emotions erupted inside her – she felt angry, frustrated, oddly pleased, a little sad.

"And he's a right strop at work too," added Ron. "So you two sort yourselves out, and stop taking it out on the rest of us, yeah?"

"Oh so it's my fault is it, that he's decided I'm not good enough for him?" flared Ginny. "Why's he so bothered anyway, he can go shack up with Cho bloody Chang and that'll make it alllll better…!"

Ron looked at her with pitying disgust. "You forget I was there at Pixie Dust too, Ginny? We really did just happen to bump into Cho, and Harry caught up with her a bit, that's all. And Cho's seeing someone else, anyway."

"I should've known you'd side with your best mate over your own sister!"

"Only when my sister is being utterly unreasonable!"

She didn't say a word to Ron for weeks after that.

Hermione wasn't Ron, though, despite them being practically glued together at the hips (and lips) these days.

She listened to Ginny rant about Harry for three hours in a Kensington cafe over tea and eclairs (to hell with the training diet). Ginny poured everything out – Harry's inability to match her schedule, Harry's obsession with his Auror investigations, his unwillingness to share his life with her, the fact that he no longer cared as deeply for her Quidditch as she did, all those words between them that came out wrong, the slow but steady parting of ways, the sense that he didn't know her any more – and that she didn't know him, either. And that it was Harry who had taken the first step towards opening up options elsewhere, looking up an old flame.

Oh God, that hurt so much saying out loud.

But she did feel better after letting it all out. And it did help her make up her mind. "Look, we gave it a good go, and that's that," said Ginny. "We thought we were good together. We were wrong. Time for me to move on, as well." And that's not a new road for me to walk, she thought.

Hermione was most sympathetic, especially about the Auror stuff. She went through much the same with Ron, of course, though somehow they'dworked things out.

"Maybe you two need a little time apart," mused Hermione.

"You must be joking!" exclaimed Ginny incredulously. "Too much time apart was the problem!"

"I mean to think things over, and come back to the relationship with fresh eyes."

It didn't escape Ginny that the other member of the famous Trio would of course want them both back together, and that would certainly colour what she had to say. Hermione's sentimental like that, she thought. I'm not.

"You're both going through a really difficult time," Hermione said. "It's not your fault your work schedule's the way it is. But that's not really the problem here, is it?"

"Isn't it?"

"Not at all," said Hermione. "You've been through worse. No, I think you're both finding it hard to adapt to the changes in your lives. You had different expectations about work commitments, and about how much time you could spend together. You're entering a new phase in your life with different challenges popping up nearly every day. You're changing, becoming a different person, growing, trying to find new footing on constantly-shifting ground." Hermione gave Ginny a kind smile. "And so is Harry."

"Well," said Ginny doubtfully. "But…"

"Being with Harry's not just about who you are today, or him either," Hermione went on. "It's also about how you'll grow together, what kind of future you're both working towards, what you'll both become. And how you'll face these challenges to your relationship every day. Because something new and unexpected will always come up."

"But you could say that about just any two people," argued Ginny. "There's only so far you can change. You have to be compatible, and I thought we were, but it looks like we aren't, after all. That's all it was. And then it all fell apart."

Hermione looked like she was going to say something else, then thought better of it. "Well… are you going to talk to him? Try to work things out?" asked Hermione, her expression a tangle of concern and anxiety.

"He made it clear he's calling it off," said Ginny.

"Words said in the middle of a flaming row…"

"We're too busy," she said obstinately. "And he's changed, as you said. He goes out to dance-clubs with Tutshill fans, that's his thing now apparently." Deep inside, Ginny knew she didn't really believe that, but she didn't want to admit it right now.

"He spends nearly all his time at Auror Headquarters," said Hermione, looking down at her teacup. "Even sleeps there half the nights every week. Ron's really worried."

"That's always been the problem with him. Seems like he's doing what he's always wanted to, now," said Ginny. She suppressed an urge to ask about Harry's health – she assumed he was doing fine. In any case, Cho would be happy to step in where Ginny was supposed to be and look after him, she was sure.

Well fine. Harry could live his own life, and she would live hers. Harry wasn't her everything after all. She could take care of herself! She could have a fine time without him!

So Ginny threw herself into her Quidditch, went drinking with her team-mates, and had fun catching up with all the Harpies gossip she hadn't had the chance to listen to, when she was always slipping off with Harry. She ate massive meals, of Mum's cooking and in pubs with her team-mates and in cafes with Hermione, and convinced herself she enjoyed them. She did the rounds of her brothers' houses and dropped by Andromeda's to play with Teddy – though she checked first to make sure Harry wasn't there.

And whenever she was in a pensive mood, she went on long broom flys when she felt the need to get away and think. Long, aimless flights in a straight line from the Burrow to whichever point of the compass she fancied, enjoying the sunshine warm on her skin, or battling through driving rain just for the sheer challenge of doing it.

All by herself.

No-one else to fly quietly alongside her.

She swore she wouldn't. She made herself extra busy so she wouldn't. But somehow, sometimes, on occasion – that is, every five minutes that she wasn't talking to anyone – her thoughts unwillingly drifted back to Harry.

Ginny had no illusions about Harry. He was not her Hero. He was not the Chosen One (he despised that name). Harry had his faults – that is, faults that she had a major problem with, like his reckless selflessness, his close-mouthedness, his single-minded obsessions, his tendency to leave people out of the picture if he felt like it, even the unpredictable way he could unthinkingly splurge a boatload of gold at times and be an infuriating penny-pinching slob at other times.

But… he made everything better.

Harry was someone she could show off her Quidditch to, with whom she could celebrate the wins and mourn the losses, without feeling either envied or pitied. He was someone who made eating and drinking and reading and watching the world go by more wonderful just by being there with her. He was someone who would never despise her for her own faults. He was someone with whom Ginny could share her life with, someone she could trust to love her, care for her, come what may, till the end of all things.

But you can say that about more than just one person in the world, can't you?

Harry was just another guy. She had once told herself to forget him, and tried other boys – Michael Corner, Dean Thomas; she'd even considered dotty, kind, unassuming Neville Longbottom – and who knows? In her future there could be someone else for her. Someone more suited to her needs.

Right?

Luna was, well, Luna.

"European beavers mate for life, and I think Crumple-Horned Snorkacks too," said Luna, when Ginny asked her opinion. "An obscure manuscript I'm almost sure was authored by Snorri Sturluson says pair-bonded Snorkacks can dispute over most anything, and even fight like rival male Snorkacks typically do, but they always end up together again, even if they spend years apart from each other."

"Snorkacks aren't…" real, began Ginny, but she finished "…human, Luna."

"No, but imagine how much we could learn if we could communicate with animals!" said Luna excitedly. She waved her wand in great loopy arcs to make her point; the watering cans she was charming to irrigate the Lovegoods' vegetable patch began dancing in mid-air. "I always think, Daddy and I are so much better now that we talk things out, imagine what we could learn from the bees and dragons and Wrackspurts. I explain to Daddy when I'm on my period and will be grumpy, and Daddy tells me he's afraid of losing me like he lost Mum. That way I can reassure him, and he doesn't do silly things like betray friends to the Ministry again."

Luna turned back to watering, which Ginny was thankful for; she didn't think she could look Luna in the eye right now.

"You're angry he won't talk to you about himself," said Luna over her shoulder. "But you do tell Harry about how you feel too, don't you?"

I did, thought Ginny, as she flew back to the Burrow. Didn't I?

Demelza was blunt in the way former dorm-mates and sister Chasers could be, in the way family couldn't.

"You and Harry spent more time shagging anyway," she observed. "Can't say I didn't see it coming."

"We talked!" protested Ginny, but only automatically; her heart wasn't in it. Not anymore.

"What about? Not just Quidditch and catching naughty wizards, surely? What about everything in your heart, everything you bottle up? Not just the big things – what about the little things he does that makes you happy, and the little things he does that piss you off?" Demelza tossed Ginny the Quaffle, and she fumbled the catch. She, Ginny, who was on the Harpies' Second Seven, and who was supposed to be helping Dem with extra training to come up from the Reserves, so they could both be on the Team together.

Did we talk about all that? But Harry knew when I wanted more of him, and when I wanted him to give me space, didn't he? He's always known what I wanted before I even said it… hasn't he?

"You can't let all that sort of thing add up. Yeah, I've seen you do that thing where you almost seem to read each others' minds," continued Demelza, easily catching the ball as Ginny threw it back. "But you shouldn't rely on that. And then you can get complacent, and not talk things out as much as you should about the things that bother you. And those things change too. What used to bother you doesn't, and what didn't use to, does. Life moves on, doesn't it? Things change – he'll change, you'llchange – and when they do, you need to re-establish yourselves." Demelza stopped throwing the Quaffle and hovered there in mid-air with the ball perched thoughtfully on her lap. "You going to patch things up, or move straight on?"

Yeah. Blunt.

"Bit early to talk about moving on, isn't it?" said Ginny. She said this with more hope than certainty.

Demelza shrugged. "Well, you always did jump headlong in and out of these things fast," she said.

Ginny looked askance at this observation; Demelza had famously found her boyfriend in second year, and the two had stayed together until now. Fast by her standards, didn't mean anything…

"I mean, when you dumped Michael, there was Dean, and after Dean came Harry in what was it, two weeks? Of course, Harry's the one you stayed with the longest, but that doesn't have to mean anything, does it?" Demelza threw the Quaffle, and Ginny didn't even pretend to try catching, letting it plummet to the ground. "Who've you got your eye on now? You've plenty of time to look around now, I guess."

No-one. There isn't anyone who can hold a candle to what I felt for Harry. He was always different, truly. "I, uh, I'm done in for today, Dem. Thanks for listening." Ginny flew off in the direction of the changing-rooms.

Behind her, Demelza swooped down to pick up the Quaffle, muttering to herself: "If that don't do it, my name isn't 'Robins'."

The days grew shorter, and the close of the year loomed.

It's the 31st of October, thought Ginny, as she Flooed back to the Burrow after a long day of practice, showered, ate. What's he doing now? He'll be sad. But in his private, quiet, shuttered-up way. He'd hate the spectacle this day has become. He'll push everyone away, insist he's fine, make a brave, brave show of it. But deep down, he'd want someone close, someone special, to be there for him, to pull his head onto her chest and stroke his head and kiss him gently and tell him it's alright to miss people he never knew, miss what could have been.

If not for the break-up, she would have been that one. She should have been that one.

But did she deserve to be that one, anymore?

Hermione's and Luna's and Demelza's opinions put a different slant on things. After hearing them out, Ginny had found herself going back and re-examining the past year, the good times and the bad, the happy days and the squabbles, the little tiny annoyances that grew and grew until it had become too much for them to bear. Was she as blameless in all of it as she had once thought? Were all their differences irreconcilable?

No, and no.

They had fought so much over what seemed like the most inconsequential matter of seeing each other, but ironically, Ginny somehow found herself with too much free time now and no appealing way to fill it up. Her downtime was now not just Harry-free, it was… generally empty. As with everything else she did. She slept, but woke up feeling unrested. She ate, but mechanically – even her treat cravings died down. She trained and played Quidditch, and did quite well, but knew the tiniest edge had been taken off the top of her performance.

In any case, Ginny felt worn out more than invigorated by the mere thought of going around seeing people and doing stuff. (It had never been that way with him – every minute together had been treasured.) She spent a lot of her time moping around the house, until Hermione came by to drag her out into the rare November sunshine, interrupting a Sunday morning lie-in.

"How long has it been since you went shopping?" demanded Hermione.

"Don't wanna go," mumbled Ginny into her pillow. She tried to burrow deeper into the bedclothes, and sort of shrink into her messy unmade hair, operating on the logic adopted by many animals that if she couldn't see Hermione, she wouldn't herself be seen.

"Come on, I desperately need some new blouses, and you've an eye for what looks good," said Hermione, literally hauling Ginny up by the arm. "Ron's coming with, but he's hopeless."

Well, maybe she could be charitable. After all, this was Hermione on a shopping spree. Merlin knew what fashion atrocities she could end up committing. "Alright. Just to save you from ending up with chartreuse dungarees or something."

Hermione had the best of intentions, and Ron as well. They treated the day like any other day, kept their talk as normal as possible. But, well, that was half the problem. As they strolled down Oxford Street, mingling with the Muggle crowds popping in and out of H&M and Zara and Mango, Ron and Hermione were their normal selves – that is, young and in love and all over each other. The sight of her brother and her dear friend walking arm in arm, talking in low happy whispers, flirting (Hermione Granger acting coquettish was a sight to behold) made Ginny… not resentful, nor wistful, truly.

Merely sad.

After helping Hermione pick out a few things, Ginny mumbled some excuse about looking for a cup of coffee, and went mooching along down the pavement, hands stuffed in her pockets. It was a balmy day, and London's parks and public spaces were full of people, and it seemed to her as if every one of them, everywhere she turned, was a happy young couple, reminding her of what she had lost.

Because that was it, wasn't it? She had lost Harry, totally and completely. The past two months had made that quite clear to her – it was over, they were done, he did not want to see her even amongst the other Weasleys if he could help it. He had been a beautiful, wonderful part of her life; piling on joy to the happy times, lending a comforting shoulder to the sad, a steadfast support and stalwart shield when she needed, to the best ability of his dear selfless heart… and now he was gone, when he didn't have to be.

He was there, within reach, and yet out of. That stung the most.

And why? Because she had been jealous. She had been impetuous. She had wanted to win the fight, instead of wanting to be right. Sure, there were problems, niggling nuisances that had fired up her infamous temper, but had they really been 'absolutely-nots' worth smashing everything up for? They could have worked things out, slowly, carefully, considerately. Then they wouldn't be here.

At the end of the day, if Ginny was honest with herself, the question was: would she take it all back, if she could? And if she never saw him again, if they went their separate ways, if she found someone else – would she feel diminished by the fact? That was really the final question.

Yes, and yes.

That was the thought that echoed in Ginny's head, over and over, as she walked the cheerful streets filled with courting couples, watching the echoes of the life and love she had once had, and barely even noticed let alone cared that the tears were flowing steadily.