Prologue
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Ginny Potter (a previous 'Weasley') glanced around the room and grimaced. Sighing, she sat down haphazardly (with a flop) on the large cinnamon colored love seat, and pulled a small corduroy pillow into her lap.
She had every reason to be happy. Every fucking reason. Finally, five years after graduation, she'd achieved in grasping all she'd ever wished for. Harry. Luck was in her favor, and it was immediately apparent that chance was her friend.
Somewhere along the lines of six years ago, Hermione, Harry, and Ron, had finished seventh year at Hogwarts. Leaving with high honors, and multiple job offers, the trio was forced, however reluctantly, to grow up.
For Ron, this sudden break was difficult, yet sturdily inevitable. He'd long expected it. And, in maturity (well, half way mature), had long wished for a chance to work close to home. Wish granted. Taking up a job at the family shop, he'd forever be close, and his friend's would always know exactly where to find him. It was an ideal situation.
But, being separated was much harder for Hermione and Harry. Once out of school, they followed Ron's example, and both took out flat's in the heart of wizard London. Diagon Alley became home.
Having been asked, no begged, to join London's professional Quidditch team: Harry had embraced the opportunity, and promptly accepted.
Hermione had decided to peruse further knowledge in the muggle world, and began attending a prestigious university - while, of course, diligently maintaining her spell study.
In the middle of all this, intense, unresolved feelings between Harry and Hermione of them kept them constantly seeking each other out. It would go from late night dinners, to early breakfasts, to long lunches, to afternoon walks. Both of them too foolish enough never to cross the line. A number of close calls in the height of tension only added to the frustration. But the words were never spoken.
Month after month later, fed up and tired of waiting, Hermione delivered Harry an ultimatum...by way of owl. He could follow her to Ireland, or forget anything beyond the points of friendship between them.
The mistake made? Using Ron's owl to transport her note. Harry had not received the message until his time was up. She was already gone.
Two months of no contact followed. Two months of worry, and questions. When Harry finally heard word of her - it was wrenching. Upon arrival in Ireland, she'd stumbled her way to finding Oliver Wood. It was the whirlwind courtship of consolidating hearts, and it resulted in a shot gun wedding. Hermione was out of bounds, off limits. Taken. Taken by a friend.
Still desperate to see his addiction, Harry took the next train out, and found her in Dublin. Once together, it was a bought of hugs and cheek kissing. But nothing more. Sorry eyes explained the misfortune, and, with clutched hands, they left it alone. Having always had a good relationship with Oliver, Harry wished them the best, knowing Oliver would take good care. Also keeping mind that Oliver wasn't right for her. Everyone knew it. And this left baited, battered hope.
A bit scorned, Harry turned to an open pair of arms. Ginny's pale, freckled arms were ready to provide empathy, and he saw no other route that could lead to a quenched thirst. He'd long been aware of her feelings towards him, but, until then, she was of no consequence.
Harry needed to be loved. Ginny was prepared to give herself to him completely. Harry needed to cry. Ginny had two shoulders. Harry needed to have a companion. Ginny was free. And THAT was the bottom line: Ginny was always there. And that's what Harry needed. Assurance. Ginny would never leave him.
Taking this into head, Harry made a decision. Ginny would be Mrs. Potter. She immediately accept. The Weasley's were thrilled, and the wedding plans were set.
Hermione and Oliver had been asked to be members of the wedding party. They had whole-heartily agreed and brought nothing but good tidings and gifts. Expectantly, for Hermione, it was an outward appearance that everyone expected. Hurt by Harry's impending matrimony, she often found herself in fits of rage and tears. Hating herself. Because, she was, after all, the master of her own doing.
In was during this time that Harry and Ginny learned of the Mr. and Mrs. Wood's plans to move back to London.
Secret eyes between Harry and Hermione always loomed. Even during the ceremony, they shoot wanting stares at each other, and took every opportunity they could to be alone. Sitting together at rehearsal dinners, gorging themselves on cake samples (even being sick together afterwards), going for midnight walks and taking as they used to, late night, at Hogwarts, in the Gryffindor common room.
There was a considerable amount of talk by suspicious strangers about the relationship between Harry and Hermione. But none taken too seriously. To the outside world they were merely a pair of good chums. Childhood school mates.
That had been four years ago.
More presently, nothing had changed.
Ginny had always felt like the default prize. (Perhaps Olive understood this sentiment, too?) And it was true, she was. Actually she'd worked quite hard to get there. Spending plenty of time grooming herself to be attractive enough to smolder. Altering her appearance to fit what she imagine Harry would find scintillating.
Ginny's dark auburn hair was rare, falling freely to her shoulders. She had a voluptuous figure that would take any normal man to his knee's in an instant. Her chest was large, her waist was small, her hips were electric. But it didn't matter. Gorgeous as she was, it would never add up.
Ginny ground her teeth together and clenched her fist as she thought of Hermione. Hermione with wild golden brown locks of hair...chocolate eyes...with those teeth, those teeth she'd had fixed into a perfect array of a smile...small rounded hips, legs that were long and tanned into an ideal set.
It was this that Ginny would never add up to.
++++++++
Ginny Potter (a previous 'Weasley') glanced around the room and grimaced. Sighing, she sat down haphazardly (with a flop) on the large cinnamon colored love seat, and pulled a small corduroy pillow into her lap.
She had every reason to be happy. Every fucking reason. Finally, five years after graduation, she'd achieved in grasping all she'd ever wished for. Harry. Luck was in her favor, and it was immediately apparent that chance was her friend.
Somewhere along the lines of six years ago, Hermione, Harry, and Ron, had finished seventh year at Hogwarts. Leaving with high honors, and multiple job offers, the trio was forced, however reluctantly, to grow up.
For Ron, this sudden break was difficult, yet sturdily inevitable. He'd long expected it. And, in maturity (well, half way mature), had long wished for a chance to work close to home. Wish granted. Taking up a job at the family shop, he'd forever be close, and his friend's would always know exactly where to find him. It was an ideal situation.
But, being separated was much harder for Hermione and Harry. Once out of school, they followed Ron's example, and both took out flat's in the heart of wizard London. Diagon Alley became home.
Having been asked, no begged, to join London's professional Quidditch team: Harry had embraced the opportunity, and promptly accepted.
Hermione had decided to peruse further knowledge in the muggle world, and began attending a prestigious university - while, of course, diligently maintaining her spell study.
In the middle of all this, intense, unresolved feelings between Harry and Hermione of them kept them constantly seeking each other out. It would go from late night dinners, to early breakfasts, to long lunches, to afternoon walks. Both of them too foolish enough never to cross the line. A number of close calls in the height of tension only added to the frustration. But the words were never spoken.
Month after month later, fed up and tired of waiting, Hermione delivered Harry an ultimatum...by way of owl. He could follow her to Ireland, or forget anything beyond the points of friendship between them.
The mistake made? Using Ron's owl to transport her note. Harry had not received the message until his time was up. She was already gone.
Two months of no contact followed. Two months of worry, and questions. When Harry finally heard word of her - it was wrenching. Upon arrival in Ireland, she'd stumbled her way to finding Oliver Wood. It was the whirlwind courtship of consolidating hearts, and it resulted in a shot gun wedding. Hermione was out of bounds, off limits. Taken. Taken by a friend.
Still desperate to see his addiction, Harry took the next train out, and found her in Dublin. Once together, it was a bought of hugs and cheek kissing. But nothing more. Sorry eyes explained the misfortune, and, with clutched hands, they left it alone. Having always had a good relationship with Oliver, Harry wished them the best, knowing Oliver would take good care. Also keeping mind that Oliver wasn't right for her. Everyone knew it. And this left baited, battered hope.
A bit scorned, Harry turned to an open pair of arms. Ginny's pale, freckled arms were ready to provide empathy, and he saw no other route that could lead to a quenched thirst. He'd long been aware of her feelings towards him, but, until then, she was of no consequence.
Harry needed to be loved. Ginny was prepared to give herself to him completely. Harry needed to cry. Ginny had two shoulders. Harry needed to have a companion. Ginny was free. And THAT was the bottom line: Ginny was always there. And that's what Harry needed. Assurance. Ginny would never leave him.
Taking this into head, Harry made a decision. Ginny would be Mrs. Potter. She immediately accept. The Weasley's were thrilled, and the wedding plans were set.
Hermione and Oliver had been asked to be members of the wedding party. They had whole-heartily agreed and brought nothing but good tidings and gifts. Expectantly, for Hermione, it was an outward appearance that everyone expected. Hurt by Harry's impending matrimony, she often found herself in fits of rage and tears. Hating herself. Because, she was, after all, the master of her own doing.
In was during this time that Harry and Ginny learned of the Mr. and Mrs. Wood's plans to move back to London.
Secret eyes between Harry and Hermione always loomed. Even during the ceremony, they shoot wanting stares at each other, and took every opportunity they could to be alone. Sitting together at rehearsal dinners, gorging themselves on cake samples (even being sick together afterwards), going for midnight walks and taking as they used to, late night, at Hogwarts, in the Gryffindor common room.
There was a considerable amount of talk by suspicious strangers about the relationship between Harry and Hermione. But none taken too seriously. To the outside world they were merely a pair of good chums. Childhood school mates.
That had been four years ago.
More presently, nothing had changed.
Ginny had always felt like the default prize. (Perhaps Olive understood this sentiment, too?) And it was true, she was. Actually she'd worked quite hard to get there. Spending plenty of time grooming herself to be attractive enough to smolder. Altering her appearance to fit what she imagine Harry would find scintillating.
Ginny's dark auburn hair was rare, falling freely to her shoulders. She had a voluptuous figure that would take any normal man to his knee's in an instant. Her chest was large, her waist was small, her hips were electric. But it didn't matter. Gorgeous as she was, it would never add up.
Ginny ground her teeth together and clenched her fist as she thought of Hermione. Hermione with wild golden brown locks of hair...chocolate eyes...with those teeth, those teeth she'd had fixed into a perfect array of a smile...small rounded hips, legs that were long and tanned into an ideal set.
It was this that Ginny would never add up to.