Chapter Nine: Correspondence
A few days later Harry sat on his bed, poring over the books Ginny had given him. He turned to the tenth chapter in "Tantric Sex" and scanned the chapter title. His eyes went wide.
"The Art of.Cunnilingus." Harry gulped. THAT was something he'd definitely never done. He'd heard about it, of course. Supposedly it was one of those things that drove women mad and made them want to shag a man silly. He turned the page and began to read, his eyes like saucers.
"The clitoris is the most unique sexual organ on the human body. Unlike the ovaries, testicles, penis and vagina, it contributes neither function nor assistance in the reproductive process. It does not produce cells which create new life. Its sole function appears to be that of providing sexual pleasure."
Harry swallowed and shifted, his jeans pinching him again. He felt a rush of jealousy. Lucky birds, he thought, to have an organ that didn't do a damn thing except get them off.
Yeah, well, women get pregnant and have painful childbirths and have periods and cramps and what, said another voice, so it's probably a fair trade-off.
He read on.
"The stimulation of the clitoris produces a powerful orgasm in the female. Indeed, it is believed that a certain percentage of women can ONLY achieve orgasm through clitoral stimulation. It is not always easy to achieve clitoral stimulation through intercourse alone."
Harry stopped reading. He hadn't realized this. Then again, he hadn't realized a lot of things about girls' bodies.
"Oral stimulation of the clitoris," Harry read, shifting again on his bed, "is among the most intimate acts in the repertoire of erotic foreplay. Unfortunately there are many who believe cunnilingus to be dirty or unpleasant; others claim to be 'turned off' by the natural scent and/or taste of a woman's sexual organs. But if this is at all a fair statement, then it can also be fairly stated that many women report to be 'turned off' by the natural scent and taste of the man's sexual organs and fluids. This is not surprising, considering modern society's demands for regular bathing and the wearing of various scents and perfumes to cover up human odors. While this practice might have lead to more pleasant commutes on public transportation, it is also perhaps at least partially responsible for dulling the senses to the delights of natural sexual aroma and taste. Oral stimulation brings intense pleasure to the recipients, which can and usually does, in turn, provide pleasure to the giver."
Harry read all this again. He had to admit, the idea of 'stimulating' a girl with his mouth had seemed a bit, well, off-putting. But then again, that whole area of a girl's body was incredibly mysterious; everything was tucked away and hidden. As Harry read the passage a third time he realized, with a kind of disappointment and embarrassment, that he hadn't ever really SEEN any of these hidden parts of a girl.
"No wonder I don't know what the bloody hell I'm doing," he muttered.
He turned the page, and gasped. Lo and behold, there was a rather detailed line drawing of those mysterious girl parts. His eyes widened even more.
"Wow," he whispered, studying everything intently. It all seemed very complicated to him, but it looked quite pretty. Rather like--like a flower. He wondered if Ginny looked anything like this, and he felt a rather powerful throbbing between his legs.
"HARRY!"
The bedroom door burst open and Ron flew in. Harry slammed the book shut and shoved it under his pillow, but Ron didn't seem to notice.
"Dammit, Ron, KNOCK, would you?"
"Sorry," said Ron quickly, "but you'll never believe this! Ginny's playing in the World Cup for Britain!"
Harry blushed and bit his lip--not three seconds ago he was thinking very naughty thoughts about Ron's little sister. To hear Ron mention her made him feel just a bit awkward and even a little ashamed.
"Well," said Ron impatiently. "Aren't you going to say something? About a member of my family playing in the bloody WORLD CUP!?"
"That's brilliant!" said Harry brightly, finally registering fully what Ron was saying. "But--wait. Her team was eliminated from--"
"Not her team, you dolt," said Ron, pacing excitedly about the room. "Just Ginny! See, what happened was one of Britain's Chasers got this really weird illness where he was all dizzy and he couldn't control his bowels and what--"
"Uh, skip that, would you?" said Harry, screwing up his face in disgust.
"Right," said Ron, and he sat down on Harry's desk chair, then stood up again. "Anyway, so apparently these scouts were at Ginny's match last weekend and they saw her flying and they were all impressed, and when that Chaser got sick they decided to ask her to play."
"Wow," said Harry, impressed. "But, uh, don't they have alternates and stuff for the British national team? Why not use one of them?"
"None of them can do a Wronski Feint," said Ron proudly. "But that's beside the point. Ginny was on the short list for the national team, didn't you know? But she missed the cut--just barely. Of course she was better than the bloke who got the spot but you know Quidditch--still that stupid sexist attitude about girls playing--"
"Ginny was in contention for the national team?" Harry asked, awed.
"What, didn't she tell you?"
"No," said Harry. "I wonder why."
"Well, she was pretty cut up about not making it," said Ron. "I had to drag it out of her. I didn't even know she'd tried out. Maybe she didn't want to hash over it with everyone."
"I'm her friend," said Harry, feeling just a bit stung. "She could have told me."
"Well, now you know," said Ron. "And she's on the team! And if she plays well they just might keep her on. Probably as an alternate at first, but, alternates wind up playing all the time in the regular season. Anyway, we have tickets to the match; it's next Saturday."
"No way," said Harry, standing up. "Enough for--"
"All of us, yeah," said Ron. "Even better seats than the last time we went. So you're coming, aren't you?"
"Bloody hell, YEAH," said Harry, grinning. "Wow, Ginny playing on the national team, that's amazing. Your sister, she's--something else."
Ron folded his arms and raised his eyebrows. "You say that like it's some big surprise or something."
Harry reddened. "No," he said quickly. "I mean, she's just--not the same girl I remember when we were twelve. You know, always putting her elbow in the butter dish and not talking to me and what."
"Uh huh," said Ron, his eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"Nothing," said Ron. "You've just spent a bit of time with her lately, that's all."
"So?" said Harry, a challenge in his voice. "We're friends. Good friends. Anyway, you're always doing stuff with Hermione. I'm supposed to just hang out by myself, am I, while you two are off doing--whatever it is you're doing?"
"No," said Ron, sounding a bit defensive. "And I don't spend every waking minute with Hermione."
"Not quite," said Harry. "Look, Ginny and me are just good friends, all right. Nothing else."
"Whatever you say, mate," said Ron, grinning. "Now, are you going to quit reading those dirty books and come out and have breakfast with me or what?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We're just friends, Harry thought again, as he returned to his room later that day to look over some long-neglected papers from work.
And they were. Ginny was a great friend. She was entirely different from other girls. Perhaps it was because she was an athlete--she didn't seem to care if she broke her nails or her hair got a little messy. She was just completely un-self-conscious. Or maybe it was because she was honest and totally unaffected. Ginny didn't lie; she didn't let him off easy, she never told him what he wanted to hear. But she was compassionate, too. Warm. Friendly. A great listener.
Harry found himself ignoring his stack of work papers and picking up a photograph from his desk. It was the only photo of Ginny he had, and it was the two of them, together, on the day of her graduation from Hogwarts. She had a radiant smile on her freckled face and was waving at the camera; then she leaned over and pecked Harry on the cheek. Harry saw that in the photo, he was grinning from ear to ear. At least, when he wasn't gazing at her and the way her hair caught the sunlight. He watched the photo again, watched as they repeated their antics over and over again, and felt a wonderful warmth spread through his chest. He was lucky, he thought, to have a friend like Ginny. It wasn't often that a bloke and a girl had what they had.
He set the photo down and opened his desk drawer and pulled from it Ginny's letters from her final year; she had written him about twice a month. The letters were mostly mundane and full of rather girlish gossip, but Harry hadn't minded. In fact, he really enjoyed reading her letters. She had a wicked sense of humor and every letter she sent made him laugh, in particular the ones that disparaged Professor Snape or complained about her N.E.W.Ts. He found one that she had sent toward the beginning of the term last September.
Dear Harry,
You'll never believe this, but I've been made Quidditch captain!!!
McGonagall told me tonight after dinner. I nearly passed out. I mean,
talk about filling big shoes--yours, of course. Try-outs are this Friday
and let me tell you I'm bloody nervous. I mean, I'm excited and all
but I don't really know if I have the right personality to be a captain. I do
have a bit of a temper--"
"No kidding," Harry murmured, smiling.
"--and I tend to be a bit impatient with people. I was always impressed
by how naturally it came to you. You know, being a leader. Maybe you
could give me a few pointers, if you're not too busy with your Auror
stuff anyway.
Ron tells me it's going well, but of course he bitches constantly about all
the little tests and analyses you two have to go through. He keeps trying
to convince me I should join up but I highly doubt it. McGonagall's
steering me toward playing Quidditch professionally, though she says
it might be tough because the pro teams are only slowly letting girls
get into it. Honestly, here it is the twentieth century and my favorite
sport in the world is acting like some old boys' club. Oh well.
In any case I hope you're doing well and enjoying living in London with
my big brother. Be warned, he's a right pig. And not just when it comes
to eating. If you're able to keep your flat clean for more than a day with
him living there I'll be bloody impressed.
Take care!
Love, Ginny
He smiled again and flipped through the rest of the letters, nearly all of which were bright and funny, then put them back into his desk. He wasn't sure why he'd never gotten rid of them. Maybe because they were such a comfort to him. His first year of Auror training HAD been very tough. Ginny's letters were a source of strength, he realized, that got him through his more difficult weeks.
He glanced at the photograph of them again. She was so pretty, he thought. Why hadn't he noticed it before? His mind drifted to their last "training session," and he felt his neck get hot and his crotch tingle.
"Work, work, work," he muttered, shutting his desk drawer. He really needed to focus. He pulled a piece of parchment from the stack on his desk and began to read it, and within a minute was bored out of his mind. The paperwork part of his job had never been fun.
A soft hooting and rustling at his open window brought his eyes up.
"Hey, Hedwig," he said, standing up and crossing to the window. She fluttered and landed on his forearm, a parcel in her beak.
"What's this?" Harry asked softly. He pulled the parcel from her beak, and she fluttered over to her cage.
There were two items. The first was a postcard from Cho. He felt his stomach begin to dance nervously as he looked at the photograph on it.
It was Cho herself, wearing a very skimpy red bikini and sitting by a huge swimming pool. She was wearing sunglasses, her black hair was wet and shiny and hung over her shoulder, and her hand was in the air, as though waving at him, but the photograph itself was still. A Muggle photo.
"Wow," he muttered, feeling another stirring in his trousers. He turned the postcard over and read.
Hi, Harry!
I know I said I wouldn't have a chance to write again before I came to
London but on my day off I went to this really great hotel in Cairo and I
was sitting by the pool and this photographer was going round taking
photos for postcards. I just bought this new bikini--isn't it CUTE?-- and
I thought, why not? It'll give you something to think about until I get
there.
Hope all is well. Can't WAIT to see you!
Love, Cho
Harry propped the postcard up on his desk next to the photograph of him and Ginny, then turned his attention to the letter still unopened in his hand.
He turned it over to see the return post, but there was only an address, one that was unfamiliar to him. Curious, he broke the wax seal on the letter and opened the parchment and started to read. He felt his stomach drop.
Dear Harry,
I'm sure it comes as a bit of a surprise to hear from me. I hadn't intended
on writing to you at all after what happened between us, but seeing you
last weekend changed my mind.
My intention in writing to you is not to hurt you. Lord knows I've done
more than enough of that.
"Damn straight," Harry muttered, feeling a lump form in his throat.
I just wanted a chance to explain myself. To explain why things had to be
the way they turned out to be.
Please understand, my leaving you had NOTHING to do with you. I
loved you. A little part of me still loves you and always will.
Harry snorted derisively, but his anger couldn't compete with the ache that now filled his chest.
I left you because I was a coward. Because I loved you too much, and I
was afraid of what that meant for me. We were so young and I was so
caught up in you that I started to drown. I was losing myself. I had to
step back.
But beyond this was my fear of losing you. Knowing that HE was after
you and that he wouldn't stop until you were dead. I had nightmares for
weeks after what happened that night at that house. The night you almost
died. And I couldn't do anything to help you. Not one damn thing. I
realized I was going to have to sit back and let you face him, because
that was your destiny. It was eating me alive inside. I couldn't face it. I lost
so many people I loved, Harry. How could I stand to lose you, too?
So I ran away. To this day I regret not telling you why I did. You probably
think I dumped you because of how awkwardly things went for us that
day in the cave, in France.
Harry closed his eyes very tightly and swallowed.
But I didn't. I loved that day, and everything about it. I hate knowing that
I caused you so much pain. And for whatever it's worth, please
understand that I never dumped you for Terry Boot. Terry was a close
friend of mine since we were very little; I turned to him because he was
the only person who could have possibly understood what I was feeling.
Whatever the rumours were, I NEVER slept with him. Not once. I never
even entertained the idea. I let you think I was with Terry because it was
easier, ironically, for you to believe that I was some sort of heartless tart
rather than a stupid coward.
I hadn't expected to tell you any of this but seeing you last weekend
brought up so many feelings and questions that I realized I could not
move on completely with my life until you knew why things happened the
way they did. Why I did what I did. I hope in time you will come to
understand.
My only wish for you now is to find the same happiness that I have
found. You deserve it more than anyone I know. You are a truly special
person, Harry, and I'll always remember what we had together as one of
the most
precious times in my life. I hope in time you can do the same.
All the best,
Susan
Harry read the letter a second time, his throat working, his eyes burning. He hadn't felt this raw, this horrible, since the day Susan had told him it was over between them. Part of him didn't want to believe a word of what she wrote, but Susan had always been, at heart, an honest person. Some small part of him couldn't help but pity her for having felt it necessary to lie, and uphold that lie, after so very long.
He knew on some logical level that her letter ought to have made him feel better. She hadn't, after all, dumped him because he was a lousy lover. She hadn't tossed him overboard and jumped into bed with Terry Boot. She really had loved him, Harry, after all.
But somehow this only made him feel worse. She had dumped him because she was too afraid to stick with him. Because she couldn't handle what it might mean to lose him. He remembered how he had pushed his own friends away, so many times, when they had tried to help him. How they had refused to budge, how they had jumped into danger with him and fought by his side, even when he wanted only to lock them all in a room and do it all by himself. He had never realized at the time that he might be hurting his friends by pushing them away. But now, knowing that Susan had done the same to him, he knew. It was the worst, most empty, most awful thing he'd ever known. It was like losing Sirius all over again, multiplied by a hundred.
A hot rush of anger came over him and he crumpled Susan's letter in his fist and slammed it into the wastepaper basket.
"Bugger!" he growled, suddenly furious. Who did she think she was, writing to him now? He was OVER her, didn't she understand? He'd spent the past two years getting over her. It wasn't fair, her writing to him and stirring old feelings up again. Bad enough that he'd had to see her in the company of Draco Bloody Malfoy. Bad enough to know she was actually HAPPY with that prat. But she had the nerve to disturb his, Harry's peace by writing some blubbery confessional to him about how sorry she was to have hurt him? Did she even understand that she'd just stabbed him in the heart yet again?
Harry ran a hand through his hair and wiped at his eyes.
"Work," he said out loud, picking up the parchment he'd abandoned when Hedwig had returned. His eyes strayed to the postcard with Cho's photo on it, then to the photo of himself and Ginny. Ginny was leaning over and pecking him on the cheek once again. Harry watched as he put an arm around her and mussed her hair. He felt the constricting pain in his chest ease somewhat.
A few days later Harry sat on his bed, poring over the books Ginny had given him. He turned to the tenth chapter in "Tantric Sex" and scanned the chapter title. His eyes went wide.
"The Art of.Cunnilingus." Harry gulped. THAT was something he'd definitely never done. He'd heard about it, of course. Supposedly it was one of those things that drove women mad and made them want to shag a man silly. He turned the page and began to read, his eyes like saucers.
"The clitoris is the most unique sexual organ on the human body. Unlike the ovaries, testicles, penis and vagina, it contributes neither function nor assistance in the reproductive process. It does not produce cells which create new life. Its sole function appears to be that of providing sexual pleasure."
Harry swallowed and shifted, his jeans pinching him again. He felt a rush of jealousy. Lucky birds, he thought, to have an organ that didn't do a damn thing except get them off.
Yeah, well, women get pregnant and have painful childbirths and have periods and cramps and what, said another voice, so it's probably a fair trade-off.
He read on.
"The stimulation of the clitoris produces a powerful orgasm in the female. Indeed, it is believed that a certain percentage of women can ONLY achieve orgasm through clitoral stimulation. It is not always easy to achieve clitoral stimulation through intercourse alone."
Harry stopped reading. He hadn't realized this. Then again, he hadn't realized a lot of things about girls' bodies.
"Oral stimulation of the clitoris," Harry read, shifting again on his bed, "is among the most intimate acts in the repertoire of erotic foreplay. Unfortunately there are many who believe cunnilingus to be dirty or unpleasant; others claim to be 'turned off' by the natural scent and/or taste of a woman's sexual organs. But if this is at all a fair statement, then it can also be fairly stated that many women report to be 'turned off' by the natural scent and taste of the man's sexual organs and fluids. This is not surprising, considering modern society's demands for regular bathing and the wearing of various scents and perfumes to cover up human odors. While this practice might have lead to more pleasant commutes on public transportation, it is also perhaps at least partially responsible for dulling the senses to the delights of natural sexual aroma and taste. Oral stimulation brings intense pleasure to the recipients, which can and usually does, in turn, provide pleasure to the giver."
Harry read all this again. He had to admit, the idea of 'stimulating' a girl with his mouth had seemed a bit, well, off-putting. But then again, that whole area of a girl's body was incredibly mysterious; everything was tucked away and hidden. As Harry read the passage a third time he realized, with a kind of disappointment and embarrassment, that he hadn't ever really SEEN any of these hidden parts of a girl.
"No wonder I don't know what the bloody hell I'm doing," he muttered.
He turned the page, and gasped. Lo and behold, there was a rather detailed line drawing of those mysterious girl parts. His eyes widened even more.
"Wow," he whispered, studying everything intently. It all seemed very complicated to him, but it looked quite pretty. Rather like--like a flower. He wondered if Ginny looked anything like this, and he felt a rather powerful throbbing between his legs.
"HARRY!"
The bedroom door burst open and Ron flew in. Harry slammed the book shut and shoved it under his pillow, but Ron didn't seem to notice.
"Dammit, Ron, KNOCK, would you?"
"Sorry," said Ron quickly, "but you'll never believe this! Ginny's playing in the World Cup for Britain!"
Harry blushed and bit his lip--not three seconds ago he was thinking very naughty thoughts about Ron's little sister. To hear Ron mention her made him feel just a bit awkward and even a little ashamed.
"Well," said Ron impatiently. "Aren't you going to say something? About a member of my family playing in the bloody WORLD CUP!?"
"That's brilliant!" said Harry brightly, finally registering fully what Ron was saying. "But--wait. Her team was eliminated from--"
"Not her team, you dolt," said Ron, pacing excitedly about the room. "Just Ginny! See, what happened was one of Britain's Chasers got this really weird illness where he was all dizzy and he couldn't control his bowels and what--"
"Uh, skip that, would you?" said Harry, screwing up his face in disgust.
"Right," said Ron, and he sat down on Harry's desk chair, then stood up again. "Anyway, so apparently these scouts were at Ginny's match last weekend and they saw her flying and they were all impressed, and when that Chaser got sick they decided to ask her to play."
"Wow," said Harry, impressed. "But, uh, don't they have alternates and stuff for the British national team? Why not use one of them?"
"None of them can do a Wronski Feint," said Ron proudly. "But that's beside the point. Ginny was on the short list for the national team, didn't you know? But she missed the cut--just barely. Of course she was better than the bloke who got the spot but you know Quidditch--still that stupid sexist attitude about girls playing--"
"Ginny was in contention for the national team?" Harry asked, awed.
"What, didn't she tell you?"
"No," said Harry. "I wonder why."
"Well, she was pretty cut up about not making it," said Ron. "I had to drag it out of her. I didn't even know she'd tried out. Maybe she didn't want to hash over it with everyone."
"I'm her friend," said Harry, feeling just a bit stung. "She could have told me."
"Well, now you know," said Ron. "And she's on the team! And if she plays well they just might keep her on. Probably as an alternate at first, but, alternates wind up playing all the time in the regular season. Anyway, we have tickets to the match; it's next Saturday."
"No way," said Harry, standing up. "Enough for--"
"All of us, yeah," said Ron. "Even better seats than the last time we went. So you're coming, aren't you?"
"Bloody hell, YEAH," said Harry, grinning. "Wow, Ginny playing on the national team, that's amazing. Your sister, she's--something else."
Ron folded his arms and raised his eyebrows. "You say that like it's some big surprise or something."
Harry reddened. "No," he said quickly. "I mean, she's just--not the same girl I remember when we were twelve. You know, always putting her elbow in the butter dish and not talking to me and what."
"Uh huh," said Ron, his eyes narrowed.
"What?"
"Nothing," said Ron. "You've just spent a bit of time with her lately, that's all."
"So?" said Harry, a challenge in his voice. "We're friends. Good friends. Anyway, you're always doing stuff with Hermione. I'm supposed to just hang out by myself, am I, while you two are off doing--whatever it is you're doing?"
"No," said Ron, sounding a bit defensive. "And I don't spend every waking minute with Hermione."
"Not quite," said Harry. "Look, Ginny and me are just good friends, all right. Nothing else."
"Whatever you say, mate," said Ron, grinning. "Now, are you going to quit reading those dirty books and come out and have breakfast with me or what?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
We're just friends, Harry thought again, as he returned to his room later that day to look over some long-neglected papers from work.
And they were. Ginny was a great friend. She was entirely different from other girls. Perhaps it was because she was an athlete--she didn't seem to care if she broke her nails or her hair got a little messy. She was just completely un-self-conscious. Or maybe it was because she was honest and totally unaffected. Ginny didn't lie; she didn't let him off easy, she never told him what he wanted to hear. But she was compassionate, too. Warm. Friendly. A great listener.
Harry found himself ignoring his stack of work papers and picking up a photograph from his desk. It was the only photo of Ginny he had, and it was the two of them, together, on the day of her graduation from Hogwarts. She had a radiant smile on her freckled face and was waving at the camera; then she leaned over and pecked Harry on the cheek. Harry saw that in the photo, he was grinning from ear to ear. At least, when he wasn't gazing at her and the way her hair caught the sunlight. He watched the photo again, watched as they repeated their antics over and over again, and felt a wonderful warmth spread through his chest. He was lucky, he thought, to have a friend like Ginny. It wasn't often that a bloke and a girl had what they had.
He set the photo down and opened his desk drawer and pulled from it Ginny's letters from her final year; she had written him about twice a month. The letters were mostly mundane and full of rather girlish gossip, but Harry hadn't minded. In fact, he really enjoyed reading her letters. She had a wicked sense of humor and every letter she sent made him laugh, in particular the ones that disparaged Professor Snape or complained about her N.E.W.Ts. He found one that she had sent toward the beginning of the term last September.
Dear Harry,
You'll never believe this, but I've been made Quidditch captain!!!
McGonagall told me tonight after dinner. I nearly passed out. I mean,
talk about filling big shoes--yours, of course. Try-outs are this Friday
and let me tell you I'm bloody nervous. I mean, I'm excited and all
but I don't really know if I have the right personality to be a captain. I do
have a bit of a temper--"
"No kidding," Harry murmured, smiling.
"--and I tend to be a bit impatient with people. I was always impressed
by how naturally it came to you. You know, being a leader. Maybe you
could give me a few pointers, if you're not too busy with your Auror
stuff anyway.
Ron tells me it's going well, but of course he bitches constantly about all
the little tests and analyses you two have to go through. He keeps trying
to convince me I should join up but I highly doubt it. McGonagall's
steering me toward playing Quidditch professionally, though she says
it might be tough because the pro teams are only slowly letting girls
get into it. Honestly, here it is the twentieth century and my favorite
sport in the world is acting like some old boys' club. Oh well.
In any case I hope you're doing well and enjoying living in London with
my big brother. Be warned, he's a right pig. And not just when it comes
to eating. If you're able to keep your flat clean for more than a day with
him living there I'll be bloody impressed.
Take care!
Love, Ginny
He smiled again and flipped through the rest of the letters, nearly all of which were bright and funny, then put them back into his desk. He wasn't sure why he'd never gotten rid of them. Maybe because they were such a comfort to him. His first year of Auror training HAD been very tough. Ginny's letters were a source of strength, he realized, that got him through his more difficult weeks.
He glanced at the photograph of them again. She was so pretty, he thought. Why hadn't he noticed it before? His mind drifted to their last "training session," and he felt his neck get hot and his crotch tingle.
"Work, work, work," he muttered, shutting his desk drawer. He really needed to focus. He pulled a piece of parchment from the stack on his desk and began to read it, and within a minute was bored out of his mind. The paperwork part of his job had never been fun.
A soft hooting and rustling at his open window brought his eyes up.
"Hey, Hedwig," he said, standing up and crossing to the window. She fluttered and landed on his forearm, a parcel in her beak.
"What's this?" Harry asked softly. He pulled the parcel from her beak, and she fluttered over to her cage.
There were two items. The first was a postcard from Cho. He felt his stomach begin to dance nervously as he looked at the photograph on it.
It was Cho herself, wearing a very skimpy red bikini and sitting by a huge swimming pool. She was wearing sunglasses, her black hair was wet and shiny and hung over her shoulder, and her hand was in the air, as though waving at him, but the photograph itself was still. A Muggle photo.
"Wow," he muttered, feeling another stirring in his trousers. He turned the postcard over and read.
Hi, Harry!
I know I said I wouldn't have a chance to write again before I came to
London but on my day off I went to this really great hotel in Cairo and I
was sitting by the pool and this photographer was going round taking
photos for postcards. I just bought this new bikini--isn't it CUTE?-- and
I thought, why not? It'll give you something to think about until I get
there.
Hope all is well. Can't WAIT to see you!
Love, Cho
Harry propped the postcard up on his desk next to the photograph of him and Ginny, then turned his attention to the letter still unopened in his hand.
He turned it over to see the return post, but there was only an address, one that was unfamiliar to him. Curious, he broke the wax seal on the letter and opened the parchment and started to read. He felt his stomach drop.
Dear Harry,
I'm sure it comes as a bit of a surprise to hear from me. I hadn't intended
on writing to you at all after what happened between us, but seeing you
last weekend changed my mind.
My intention in writing to you is not to hurt you. Lord knows I've done
more than enough of that.
"Damn straight," Harry muttered, feeling a lump form in his throat.
I just wanted a chance to explain myself. To explain why things had to be
the way they turned out to be.
Please understand, my leaving you had NOTHING to do with you. I
loved you. A little part of me still loves you and always will.
Harry snorted derisively, but his anger couldn't compete with the ache that now filled his chest.
I left you because I was a coward. Because I loved you too much, and I
was afraid of what that meant for me. We were so young and I was so
caught up in you that I started to drown. I was losing myself. I had to
step back.
But beyond this was my fear of losing you. Knowing that HE was after
you and that he wouldn't stop until you were dead. I had nightmares for
weeks after what happened that night at that house. The night you almost
died. And I couldn't do anything to help you. Not one damn thing. I
realized I was going to have to sit back and let you face him, because
that was your destiny. It was eating me alive inside. I couldn't face it. I lost
so many people I loved, Harry. How could I stand to lose you, too?
So I ran away. To this day I regret not telling you why I did. You probably
think I dumped you because of how awkwardly things went for us that
day in the cave, in France.
Harry closed his eyes very tightly and swallowed.
But I didn't. I loved that day, and everything about it. I hate knowing that
I caused you so much pain. And for whatever it's worth, please
understand that I never dumped you for Terry Boot. Terry was a close
friend of mine since we were very little; I turned to him because he was
the only person who could have possibly understood what I was feeling.
Whatever the rumours were, I NEVER slept with him. Not once. I never
even entertained the idea. I let you think I was with Terry because it was
easier, ironically, for you to believe that I was some sort of heartless tart
rather than a stupid coward.
I hadn't expected to tell you any of this but seeing you last weekend
brought up so many feelings and questions that I realized I could not
move on completely with my life until you knew why things happened the
way they did. Why I did what I did. I hope in time you will come to
understand.
My only wish for you now is to find the same happiness that I have
found. You deserve it more than anyone I know. You are a truly special
person, Harry, and I'll always remember what we had together as one of
the most
precious times in my life. I hope in time you can do the same.
All the best,
Susan
Harry read the letter a second time, his throat working, his eyes burning. He hadn't felt this raw, this horrible, since the day Susan had told him it was over between them. Part of him didn't want to believe a word of what she wrote, but Susan had always been, at heart, an honest person. Some small part of him couldn't help but pity her for having felt it necessary to lie, and uphold that lie, after so very long.
He knew on some logical level that her letter ought to have made him feel better. She hadn't, after all, dumped him because he was a lousy lover. She hadn't tossed him overboard and jumped into bed with Terry Boot. She really had loved him, Harry, after all.
But somehow this only made him feel worse. She had dumped him because she was too afraid to stick with him. Because she couldn't handle what it might mean to lose him. He remembered how he had pushed his own friends away, so many times, when they had tried to help him. How they had refused to budge, how they had jumped into danger with him and fought by his side, even when he wanted only to lock them all in a room and do it all by himself. He had never realized at the time that he might be hurting his friends by pushing them away. But now, knowing that Susan had done the same to him, he knew. It was the worst, most empty, most awful thing he'd ever known. It was like losing Sirius all over again, multiplied by a hundred.
A hot rush of anger came over him and he crumpled Susan's letter in his fist and slammed it into the wastepaper basket.
"Bugger!" he growled, suddenly furious. Who did she think she was, writing to him now? He was OVER her, didn't she understand? He'd spent the past two years getting over her. It wasn't fair, her writing to him and stirring old feelings up again. Bad enough that he'd had to see her in the company of Draco Bloody Malfoy. Bad enough to know she was actually HAPPY with that prat. But she had the nerve to disturb his, Harry's peace by writing some blubbery confessional to him about how sorry she was to have hurt him? Did she even understand that she'd just stabbed him in the heart yet again?
Harry ran a hand through his hair and wiped at his eyes.
"Work," he said out loud, picking up the parchment he'd abandoned when Hedwig had returned. His eyes strayed to the postcard with Cho's photo on it, then to the photo of himself and Ginny. Ginny was leaning over and pecking him on the cheek once again. Harry watched as he put an arm around her and mussed her hair. He felt the constricting pain in his chest ease somewhat.
