All right, children, open the cages and let your imaginations run wild with this one.
I disclaim, even though I probably shouldn't because it's obviously not my world I'm using.
Everyone knew he adored her. The way he looked at her through every meal, constantly slid his arm around her, just the way he carried himself around her. He was a blessing as far as everyone else was concerned, but to Ginny, he wasn't as great as he seemed.
Her mum loved him since it was Ginny's seventh year and Harry was off fighting a war. She never though that this new boy would take Harry's place, but deemed him worthy of protecting her youngest in Harry's wake. And, of course, whenever Mrs. Weasley saw the pair together, he treated her like a princess.
"Such a sweet boy," she would always sigh after seeing him. Arthur would always mumble "yes, you're right" or something along those lines, but he couldn't help but wonder why Ginny's eyes always seemed so glazed over.
But that wasn't important. It was war time, happiness didn't come first, first was safety, and there was no doubt in anyone's mind that he would keep her safe.
At school the couple served as a great distraction, even the portraits would talk about the two. "Always holding hands," or "never apart!" would be gleefully hissed back and forth as the pair would walk down the halls.
Even the teachers had trouble seperating the pair at times, when his hormones took over and he felt the sudden need to grab her and kiss her with more passion than his calm demeanor seemed capable of. "Oh, yes, he reminds me of myself in my younger days," Professor Flitwick was once heard telling Madame Pomfrey one day, "When Matilda and I first met, oh! Those sparks did fly! We were often scolded for almost staying out till curfew! Ah, to be young again!"
First year girls would giggle at the pair, the boys took notes. It seemed that just by being together the two had become the school's favorite celebrities.
The whole school saw the linked arms, the giggles, the smiles, and everyone was positive that the stories of late night meetings were true.
The whole school missed the bruises on the arm from a grip too tight, they missed the glazed over look, and the occaisonal, well, at first resistance that turned into acceptance that was the late night meetings.
When the pair sat giggling in the library, even Madame Pince assumed t was something lovey dovey, not what was actually happening. "Come now, give me a kiss," he would say, "In a moment, I need to finish this essay," "Now, why would a pretty girl like you ruin her face scrunching it up when thing about things like potions, and essays when you'll never need it?" he would ask, and then the two would giggle.
Ginny never wanted to giggle, she wanted to scream at him, she wanted to leave him, she wanted to grab her things and just go. But more than that want, there was the fear. The fear of being alone in a time when the man who had pocessed her when she was only eleven was battling for power. Fear of being ostracized by a school that didn't want to lose their happy couple.
The fear of him.
So she giggled, and tried to be happy with the attention she received. Tried to be okay with the way his grip would tighten around her little arm when he was getting angry, and tried not to mind the way he would talk down to her. It was to keep everyone happy, and in her mind, in a time of war, if anyone on her side was happy, everything was getting better.
But happiness mixed with sheer terror one day when Ginny realized the repricusions of her late night meetings with him. What was she supposed to do? She didn't want to marry him, she didn't even love him, in fact, she barely liked him, but she was scared, so there was no way she could leave him.
So she had to tell him. There was no choice in the matter. She used one of their late night meetings as the way to do it. Very late at night, so that even the portraits were asleep. They met in the hall filled with the moving stairs, on the third floor.
"Baby," she started, her eyes down and her voice quivering, "I'm...we're...expecting." she quietly told her hands, nervous at his reaction.
His hands slid around her shoulders as the both felt a staircase move, stopping right behind Ginny so that she need only step backwards to head down the second floor. She waited for him to react, but before he could say a thing, Mrs. Norris was heard screaming her wicked sound, his hands let her go and she tumbled down the stairs, down, down down...
He carried her to the hospital wing. It was a moving moment for Madame Pomfrey as his voice was so panicky as he tried to explain what had happened,
"The stairs! Moved! Mrs. Norris-she--"
"Go, go! Don't worry, dear, I can handle a little tumble like this, no bones seem to be broken, she'll be fine." and with that he left, giving little glances over to the cot where Ginny was lying as he did.
This was one story that never spread all over the school. Madame Pomfrey knew, it was quite easy to see after all her years as school healer. But she was also under the spell of his natrual charms so she assumed that the whole situation was an unfortunate accident.
But Ginny knew, and she couldn't hold it in anymore. She knew exactly what had happened, and she was in mourning. There was no denying to anyone that she was unhappy, now. He told everyone that she had just heard some bad news from the war front, so that everyone would not ask any questions. Bad news from the war had depressed a great many students this year.
Ginny asked him to yet another late night meeting not long after being released from the hospital wing. Back at the stairs, she waited for him, watching the portraits as they eached slept. Some snored, some hardly moved at all, resembling a muggle painting instead of a magical one.
He was late, but what else could she expect? This time, as the stood at the top of the stairs, he had his back to the stairs, and his grip wasn't nearly as tight.
And then it happened, in one swift movement, he lost his grip, not completely on accident on Ginny's part, but unexpectedly, the stairs moved so that there was no longer any stairs behind them, but a straight drop to the dungeons. And he fell, and Ginny screamed, and Mrs. Norris screeched, and the paintings awoke, and they too, screamed in pure shock.
Practicly the whole castle woke up and came running, looking, trying to figue out what happened. Professor Flitwick began comforting her, telling her it wasn't her fault as she sobbed onto Luna's shoulders, her tears of relief mistaken for grief. "That cat! That damned cat! Mrs. Norris knocked him over!" Ginny managed to choke out, making the sympathy level for her double.
McGonagall went down to see, or rather, get him, and Ginny continued to cry. Madame Pomfrey looked around in disbelief, the only one knowing that lightning had struck twice.
The next morning, there was the speech given on how it was an unfortunate accident, his parents were informed, and life slowly slipped back to normal.
Ginny continued to grieve, not for him, but for the child he took away from her. The only difference was that her eyes seemed much clearer than before; however, only her father noticed that. And she grew up, went on to live an almost normal, happy life much like the one people expected her to have.
But still, late at night, when the whole castle is asleep, the portraits stay up and whisper about the night the youngest Weasely called hereslf Mrs. Norris.
Who was he? now that's for you to decide, dear reader. I told you to use your imagination, didn't I?