Author's Note: A challenge I wrote for a, God forbid, Harry/Ginny friend of mine who also loves Ron/Hermione and detests Draco with a fiery passion. Unnecessarily anti-Draco (for Kaity's benefit) and horribly fluffy at the end—read at your own risk.

Pursuit of Happiness
Christelle

"So, Harry," said Ron, sitting down beside him. "What's happening, mate? Danced with anyone yet, have you?"

The grounds surrounding Malfoy Manor had been decorated for the occasion, and Harry watched as Ron fished a bit of soggy gold streamer out of his champagne glass.

Harry took a slow draught from his own glass and set it down on the bench. The long tables had been largely deserted in favor of the dance floor almost an hour ago, but Harry hadn't budged.

Ron continued. "Come on, Harry," he said. "There're loads of pretty girls here. Look, there's Parvati Patil from school. Go on, ask her for a dance."

Harry shook his head. "I don't feel like dancing," he said nonchalantly. It wasn't quite the truth; there was, in fact, someone present with whom he'd die to be dancing, but he pushed the thought aside. He took another drink. Was it possible, he wondered, to get horribly pissed on champagne?

Ron shrugged. "All right, then," he said, clearly bewildered. Hermione bounced over as they watched.

"All right, Harry?" she asked. Her hair was curled and her dress was low, and Harry rolled his eyes heavenward as Ron shifted uncomfortably.

"Sure," Harry answered, and she grinned at him.

"I'm glad," she said. Turning to Ron, "Come on, Ron," she said. "Let's dance!"

And, pulling him to his feet, she dragged him away, waving goodbye to Harry.

He sighed and swirled the remaining champagne around and around in the glass. When he'd been informed of the celebration, he hadn't thought it would be this bad.

His gaze fell back to the dancing couples, searching for a head of red curls. There—and there he was, the blonde ferrety jackass.

He realized he shouldn't hate Malfoy so much anymore—the former Slytherin had, after all, been the cause of the capture of hundreds of Death Eaters, thereby saving Light lives. Still, it was Draco Malfoy, first-class jagoff and five-time winner of Witch Weekly's Most Intimidating Sneer Award.

And he was dating Ginny. But that, Harry told himself, wasn't important.

He watched them dancing—but it wasn't dancing, nothing that lewd could be called as such; Malfoy's hands were everywhere, moving, touching—Harry looked away, nauseated.

And he knew they'd been intimate, and that made it so much worse. He could see it in her eyes and in the way they looked at each other.

He concentrated on the side of the Manor, not trusting himself to regard Draco and Ginny with anything but cold fury. The stone was green with moss. If he squinted and tilted his head to the left, he could see interesting designs.

Ten minutes later, he was still staring at the wall.

Ten minutes after that, he felt a tap on his shoulder.

"Hi," said Ginny brightly, moving her skirt so she could sit.

Harry groaned internally. "Hey," he said lightly.

"You look glum," she commented dryly. She picked up a discarded, wilted flower and fiddled with it.

"I'm fine," Harry lied. "And you? Having fun?"

"Oh, yes," Ginny replied. "But my feet hurt something terrible."

"I'm sorry," he said. Feeling compelled to ask, he added, "So how are things with Malfoy?"

"Good, they're good," she said. "I mean, he's changed a lot. He's definitely a reformed man. And he's so sweet, you know, offering to host this and everything, and he's always very sensitive to my problems...."

Harry tried to look as if he wasn't mentally sticking pins in voodoo Draco replicas in his mind. She sighed and went on.

"Sometimes, I just wish..." she began, then stopped. She inspected him. "Do you mind that I'm telling you all this? You can say 'yes.'"

"No, no," said Harry vigorously. Honestly, right when it was getting interesting. "Go on."

She pulled off a half-severed petal and cupped the bloom in her hands. "Sometimes, I just wish he wasn't so... condescending. He never tells me about his problems, he just asks about mine, and gives advice. It's good advice, mind you. It's just...."

"I know exactly how you feel," said Harry, not entirely sure that he did, but anxious to bridge the gap.

"Yes," she said, sighing again. She tucked the flower into her hair, a little sadly. "And you, Harry? If you could change one thing about someone, what would it be?"

"I—I don't know," he lied again, his mind whirling. "I don't know," he said more firmly.

She nodded, and pushed herself to her feet. "Well, I think I'm going to get something to drink. Want to come?"

"No thanks, Gin, I think I'll just... stay here," he answered, his fingertips white with the pressure he was exerting on the table.

"Okay," she said, smiling at him. "Thanks for talking to me."

And she was gone.

Harry sat there a while longer, his thoughts confused and incomprehensive. He gave up trying to make sense of his feelings, and he watched the sky darken as the sun set. When the first star peeked through the clouds, he realized that what he really wanted to do was go home, and that if anyone missed him he frankly didn't care.

He rose to his feet and scanned the floor for Ron and Hermione. They were on the edge, just visible among Padma Patil and Seamus Finnigan, Katie Bell and Oliver Wood, and Dean Thomas and Lavender Brown.

He made his way over to them and tapped Ron on the shoulder. The red-haired man craned his head around.

"I'm going home," said Harry over the music, and he walked away before Ron could reply.

He Apparated back to his flat and heaved a sigh, and, dropping his jacket on the floor, he collapsed on the bed fully clothed, casting the room into darkness with a word.

He closed his eyes, but her visage still haunted him. Her voice echoed in his head. If you could change one thing about someone, what would it be?

If you could change one thing about someone—one thing about someone—about someone—what would it be? Would it be?

He turned over on his side as he heard his own voice give the reply he'd longed to give her—

--I'd change how you feel about me, Gin.

His first conscious feeling the following morning was of the warmth of the sun on his closed eyelids. The second was a hunch that he was going to have a really unpleasant morning. He dismissed it as the result of feeling sorry for himself, and forced himself to get up, open his eyes, dress, and start the day.

By noon, he was convinced to trust any future hunches he might have. He'd burned his omelet, spilled scalding coffee all down his shirt, tripped over his discarded jacket, and nearly splinched himself trying to Apparate.

He decided it was safest to walk to lunch.

Upon arriving at the Burrow, he realized he'd forgotten to turn off the bedroom lights. He contemplated going back, decided against it, and opened the newly repaired front door.

"Oh, hello, Harry!" trilled Mrs. Weasley, bustling around, as she was wont to do. "You've beaten Ron and Hermione here, they're late. And I don't know if Draco's coming. But Ginny's upstairs if you care to hang out with someone under the age of thirty-five."

Harry grinned at her, despite his sour mood. "Smells lovely, Mrs. Weasley," he said, mounting the stairs.

He found Ginny in her room, sitting on her bed, flipping through some old magazines. She looked up when he tapped on the open door, and smiled at him.

"Hey, Harry," she said in greeting. "Come on in."

He sat down next to her. "What's up?" he said.

"Not much," she answered. "Not much at all. In fact, I've been dreadfully bored all day."

"Really?" he said, puzzled. "Where's Malfoy?"

She looked back at Witch Weekly and pointed to the page. Harry read the headline of the article over her shoulder—"Five Ways You Know He's Cheating On You."

He turned back to her, alarmed.

"Yeah," she said, nodding. "He's gone off with Parvati Patil. I should have known. So obvious. That's always the way, isn't it?"

He put a hand on her shoulder, torn up inside for her; half of him was glad, half angry enough to tear Malfoy's throat out.

"Gin," he began, not sure what to say.

"It's okay," she said. "We didn't have much, at any rate. It wasn't as though I expected a serious relationship."

They sat in silence for a while, and then Ginny continued. "So I guess I wasted a wish, wishing he wouldn't be so condescending. Do you suppose it's possible to rescind wishes?"

"I don't see why not," Harry said.

"Good," said Ginny. She looked dreamily out of the window. "I wonder what I'll do with it, now that I have a wish again." She turned back to him. "And you? Have you decided what to do with yours?"

He couldn't speak. His throat tied itself into knots in agony. He wanted to tell her, yearned to tell her, but he was having trouble getting the message from his brain to his vocal chords.

But she must have read the answer in his eyes (he'd always known they were too damned emotional) because the next thing he knew she'd taken his face in her hands and was kissing him like he'd never been kissed before, and it wasn't long before he was kissing her back, and the world went on around them but he couldn't feel it turning.

I changed my mind, Gin, he thought. I wouldn't change this for the world. I'd wish we could just stay this way forever.