Chapter 4
It had only been about half an hour since Hermione had left Ginny to her own devices, and in that time, Ginny had only been able to finish the contents of her second bottle of fire-whiskey – a couple of times a week Hermione tried to hide their alcohol (knowing full well that, being drunk, Ginny wouldn't be able to think clearly about just going out to get more) in an attempt to dissuade Ginny from drinking. She had been searching for around fifteen minutes, all over the apartment (which was now scattered with things that may have gotten in the way of her frantic alcohol search), when she finally found the rest of the fire-whiskey transfigured into the magazine rack in the bathroom. She must have been tired, it's been that before, Ginny mused, before stumbling back into the sitting room in order to sit on the couch and stare into the empty fireplace, before selecting a bottle, and ripping its cap off.
Just as she took a swig, Harry apparated right in front of her, startling Ginny so badly that she inadvertently spat out all the fire-whiskey she had just drunk onto a very surprised Harry. They both started talking at once.
"Sorry for scaring you! I-"
"Oh sorry, Harry, I didn't expect anyone to-"
"-just dropped in to pick something up...."
"-be coming by this time of day-"
"What are you doing drinking at four-thirty in the afternoon?"
"-and... what?" Ginny suddenly realized that she was half drunk, in front of Harry, the man she went to all lengths to impress every week when they met on Thursdays, and he might have just discovered the one secret she never wanted him to find out.
"What are you doing drinking at four-thirty in the afternoon?" Harry repeated. As Ginny sputtered to try to find an answer, her alcohol-addled mind still clear enough to want to impress the man she loved, Harry looked around the small apartment. He quickly noticed the two empty bottles of fire-whiskey on the floor, and a full twelve pack (minus the one Ginny spat all over him) sitting on the floor adjacent to the couch. What took fewer observation skills to notice was that the apartment was an absolute wreck. Clothes, tables, chairs, and glass remnants of assorted objects once decorating their house were strewn all over the floor. It also reeked of alcohol – though, Harry thought, that might just be due to the fact that I'm standing right next to a large quantity of fire-whiskey.
Ginny noticed him looking around the apartment and cringed inwardly, before she tried to figure out what to do. The drunken part of her mind taking precedence, she decided that she didn't have to answer his question if she didn't want to, and walked to the kitchen to sit at the table, facing Harry, who was still standing in the sitting room waiting for an answer. After around five minutes of waiting, Harry walked over to the table and sat in the chair next to Ginny, and quietly asked "What's bothering you, Gin? There's obviously something wrong, otherwise you wouldn't be drinking at this time of day."
After her heart slowed down from the shock that he was sitting so close to her, she quickly became annoyed by his attitude, and sat staring at Harry for another minute or so. Her eyes, which had been sad just a minute ago, immediately closed, leaving no sign of anything she was feeling, except bitterness. "Since when have you ever really cared how I feel, Harry? Really, we meet every week, but we usually talk about your feelings, or about incoven- incosen- things that don't matter." Abruptly, Ginny stood up and pushed her chair onto the floor, and strode quickly out of the kitchen.
Harry, unperturbed, followed her out of the kitchen and into the sitting room. "Bollocks, Gin, we must talk about you at some times, we've met every week for a year and a half now, and we've known each other since the beginning of school. But seriously, what's the matter? What's wrong?" Harry stopped, he was facing Ginny's back. He could see her tense up as Ginny slowly turned around. Harry, expecting her to be tired of fighting and to just confess everything, was surprised to see so much anger etched in every premature line on her face.
"You want to know what's wrong with me, Harry? Do you really want to know?" Ginny said, malevolently, striding right up to him, so she could glare right into his frightened, green eyes. Harry could smell the alcohol on her breath, and see the fire, mimicking her hair, in her burning eyes. "What's wrong is that for, oh, nine years or so I've been in love with a man who doesn't love me back. A man who was once a boy who I thought might have loved me too… until he discovered how much fun f------ other girls was, and forgot all about me, and the possibility of anything we might have had. Did you ever stop to think, Harry–" Ginny spat out his name with such vehemence and disgust that it made its owner recoil in shock. "– about how I felt when you would go on and on at the Burrow about your latest encounter with some girl who let you f--- her in a bathroom, a ferris wheel, and any other vulgar place you happened to be, on the first date? Or how desperately I might have wanted to be that girl? Not on the first date, maybe, and probably not on a ferris wheel... but that's beside the point!!
"You caved in, Harry, after you defeated Voldemort. We left school, and you were a completely different person. Nothing could get through to you. You stopped telling me anything about your life – you even stopped talking to me altogether for awhile. Forgot about that, did you? I certainly couldn't. Then, a year and a half or so ago, you started to talk to me again. But mainly about your 'f--- buddies', as I call them – I knew that all the crap you said you felt about them was bullshit, I wasn't blind. No, actually, I was, because somewhere deep inside me, I thought that you might still be able to care for me. How wrong I was. About six months after that, I started hiding myself. I couldn't stand to come home to see Ron and Hermione sitting on my couch, couldn't stand to see them so in love, when the man who I loved was off f------ every f------ girl in London. Drinking makes me feel better – takes away any residual pain I might have. Don't you DARE look at me like that!!" Harry's frightened gaze had turned into pity at the mention of her drinking, which Ginny evidently did not care for in the least.
"You have no idea how much pain I've been in because of you!! To simply forget how I feel, I need at least four bottles of fire-whiskey – then I need at least two more bottles so the feeling lasts for at least two hours. Bloody, stupid ass, if you'd only had the decency to show up in about an hour, I wouldn't have to be telling you all this because I wouldn't remember any of it. F--- it. F--- you!! You know what, never mind…. Do you have any feelings left towards me or not?!"
Ginny left that last sentence open for Harry to say something while she caught her breath. Harry was too shocked to say anything. Ginny grinned sarcastically. "Oh, of course not. The boy who just had to keep living is incapable of actually loving. Figures. I can't believe I've been wasting my life on you, all my tears, all of myself... well, I won't do it anymore. Do you hear that, Harry?! I WON'T DO IT ANYMORE! I CAN'T KEEP LOVING YOU!" Harry looked as if he was about to cry, or speak, or something, but Ginny wouldn't let him get a word in edgewise. "I'm done with you, Harry. I can't keep loving you! I just can't keep feeling this way – it's killing me. You're killing me. I've taken a job as a Healer in Spain, I'm leaving tomorrow. I was hoping to just slip away, but I guess that isn't going to happen now. Oh well. I'll tell Hermione when she comes home – that is, if she stops f------ my brother long enough to show her face... and if I'm not passed out by the time she gets home." Ginny paused for breath. Harry opened his mouth, but Ginny quickly fastened her hand over his lips, preventing any recognizable sound from coming out. "I'm leaving tomorrow night, and I think it's better if we don't see each other again before then. Come to think of it, for the sake of my sanity, I think it's better if I never see you again. Ever." Ginny removed her hand from Harry's mouth, her eyes as cold as the ice that covered the ground outside, and stepped back.
"Goodbye, Harry." And she disapparated.
Harry was dumbstruck. Thinking she had gone to a bar somewhere in London, and realizing it would be impossible to try and find her, Harry, too, disapparated.
Little did Harry know that Ginny had simply apparated to the hallway behind where Harry had stood, and watched him disappear. A quiet sob escaped her lips. "Goodbye, Harry," Ginny whispered. She then went in search of the twelve-pack she had set down by the couch, planning on passing out within at most an hour, kicking aside the two empty bottles that got in her way.