Ah... The first attempt at angst. Tell me what you think, please!
This is all she ever wanted, this life. To be married to Harry, Harry Potter, the Boy-Who-Lived, the one who vanquished the Dark Lord for once and for all. She remembers when she was eleven-years-old and still all pigtailed innocence. She used to write in her diary (the cursed one, ironically), spilling out all her hopes and dreams.
Dear Tom,
All I want when I grow up is to be married to Harry Potter with a baby. We'll live in a pretty house (I don't care where) and it will be happily ever after. Harry doesn't notice me now, but maybe that's because I'm still little. One day, I'll be grown-up and beautiful and Harry will love me back. I just know it, Tom.
It's funny how things turn out, Ginny muses as she rubs her swollen belly. This is what she's always wanted, you know. She's living in a flat above Diagon Alley with Harry, he's conquered the Dark Lord, they're married and they have their first child on the way. It sounds… well it sounds just so perfect. But then why is everything so broken?
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Ginny always knew what she wanted – Harry Potter, of course.
And she was always willing to make sacrifices for that end goal, that happily ever after.
She's lost so much for him. Her innocence (oh Tom, do you really think that Harry will love me someday?), her ambitions (don't worry about it Harry; I'll quit school – I want to be there with you, fighting with you) and even her family (oh no, not Ron, not Ron… don't tell me that… oh god, Ron!).
It's all been for the best, she tells herself. Evil has been vanquished, she thinks. And everyone had to make sacrifices. Maybe I made more sacrifices than most… but that's because I got more in the end. I got Harry.
She lies awake in bed and listens as he cries out, tossing violently in his nightmares. He wakes up sometimes, wild-eyed and drenched in a sweat. He looks and smells animalistic at those moments. This is not the Harry she knew. She always looks away.
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The War's been over for almost two years now, and sometimes she feels like it never ended. Wasn't it supposed to be a world of carefree joy once Voldemort was gone?
But everyone's still on their guard, mothers still tuck their children under their arms and look over their shoulders as they walk through Diagon Alley. No one seems to just meander through the shops anymore, browsing and socializing and enjoying being outside.
Ginny applys for the receptionist job at Gringott's, and she watches people all day, rushing in and out, avoiding eye contact, speaking in terse, clipped tones. In and out, in and out… There's one man who comes in every week and has come in every week for the past two years. She's never said more than "Hello sir. Could I please have your account number?" to him. There are so many others just like him. She makes up stories about them in her head to pass the time.
He is married. He has a daughter named Marie and a son named John. They live in a yellow house with tulips in the yard. His wife is blonde, plump and affectionate. They are very, very happy.
I hope they are happy, she thinks as she clenches her first. She hopes and hopes and hopes. She hopes so hard that her fingernails puncture her palm, drawing thin lines of blood.
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Harry doesn't work. He's living off of his war veteran's pension, and besides, he's gotten loads of galleons from public appearances and such. Lately, he's stopped going to them.
She comes home every evening and opens the door to their flat. She calls out, "Hello dear, I'm home!" cheerily, tremulously. On good days, he will answer back with something, anything. Even a grunt will do. On good days, he will be sitting at the kitchen table, doing the crossword in the Daily Prophet and will smile at her when she comes in.
But the good days are rare, and she learns to numb the hurt when he doesn't respond to her. Most days, she finds him still in bed, rumpled and unshaven, staring at the wall with a kind of raw grief that just kills her inside. One time, she finds him staring at a photo of Ron, dear Ron, her lanky brother, the one who threw himself in front of his best friend without hesitation.
Hermione doesn't talk to Harry anymore, and she knows that hurts him. Hermione is the lucky one among them… she had another world to escape to. After The War, she gave up wizarding -- just broke her wand and returned to her muggle life, saying it was just easier for her to move on that way. One of the most brilliant witches of their generation, and she turned her back on magic.
Ginny tries everything she can to distract him. Funny stories from work (though there are few), the latest exploits of the twins. She finds him in one of his trances and tries to appeal to his compassionate side. Maybe, maybe there is a trace of the Harry she once knew in there. The man she married.
"I can feel the baby kicking, darling," she tries, motioning to her belly. "Don't you want to feel it? It's our child in there, Harry…"
When he gets up and walks out of the room without a word, she just closes her eyes.
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One day she comes home from work and finds him curled on the floor, sobbing. She is so big now, she cannot even lean down to comfort him. When she tries to speak to him, his answers are garbled.
"Oh Merlin, Ginny, all the people, drowning in red, all the people… oh Merlin don't you see? It's my fault… Ron, Neville, Dean… how many more? How many more? I can't stop… they're everywhere. Everywhere when I close my eyes, Gin… Gin… make it go away. Please Gin…"
His voice is hoarse and pleading. She doesn't know what to do anymore, so she helps him up, leads him to bed and gives him a strong sleeping draught. He sleeps well. Ginny doesn't.
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She hopes that he'll get better soon, that he'll stop crying out for her to make it all go away. But then the screaming fits start. The sobbing and the screaming and the retching… it's hard to bear but she endures it all. Then one day she comes home to him clutching a paring knife and sobbing on the kitchen floor, and she knows that this is it. He is dangerous to himself and to her.
She calls St. Mungo's. She's crying on the phone, but somehow the receptionist on the other end understands her and sends someone right away (Harry Potter… yes the Harry Potter… his wife says he's in trouble).
They tie him up—like a criminal, she thinks – and drag him away. Later at the hospital, when she's visiting, one of the doctors takes the time to explain everything to her.
A very severe form of post-traumatic…
…some psychosis has developed…
…still unclear on whether he'll ever be fit for society again…
Fit for society? She feels like screaming. He saved society! But what can she do? It's the whole world's professional opinion that Harry Potter has served his purpose, and now he needs to be locked up. He's a lunatic now, you see. It's just better for us all this way.
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She's pushing the baby, Ronald James Potter, in a stroller through Diagon Alley one day. Her mother has called and almost begged her to come over. You seem so lonely, Ginny. And I miss having my children around me. Humor your old mother for once and come by for a few days? If you don't want to stay, at least drop by for dinner.
Ginny says yes because she is lonely in her little flat with baby Ronnie all day. She thinks she's going crazy sometimes. So when her mother calls, she packs up a little suitcase and floos it over first. Then she goes shopping for a pie, because even in all of this, she still remembers her manners.
She pauses in front of the bookstore. She always did love rifling through the bargain bin, the leftover books that are sold at obscenely low clearance prices. She walks over and looks into the bin.
The Life of Harry James Potter…Harry Potter: A Study in Greatness…Harry Potter: A Biography…The Boy Who Defeated the Dark Lord…
Cover after glossy cover, she digs through the books just to find more of Harry underneath. Harry's life, sold for a sickle.
She looks to the display window and sees the top bestsellers – a lurid romance novel and a silly how-to-get-rich book. She watches as customers rush into the store and snatch up the bestsellers, tucking them into their bags and hurrying out again. No one stops at the bargain book bin.
Ginny picks up The Life of Harry James Potter and admires the glossy picture of a smiling Harry, aged 17, on the cover. Maybe she could buy this. Maybe she could read it and see what the world thought of her husband.
But then Ronnie cries and Ginny remembers that she must feed her baby, buy a pie, drop off a check at Gringotts, and floo to her mother's house. She tosses the book back into its bin and hurries off.
It has been two years since The War ended, and Harry Potter has been forgotten.
Click the review button, please. Also, check out my other story, "Dear Diary, The Lawn Gnomes Are Attacking Me" for a bit of lighter, less angsty reading. Thanks!