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Getting Worse

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Blur.

One big giant blur.

The days following his reunion with Ginny passed in a blur.

Even his words came off blurry, his colleagues unable to comprehend most of what he said. Normally Harry Potter came off rather collected, debonair even, after the divorce, but not in the past week. Harry's distraction affected him more than he anticipated, meaning it came as a great shock when even people in other departments mentioned it to him.

"Potter, you all right?"

"You look peaky, Harry, are you sick?"

"What's got your bludgers all tight, Potter?"

"Pull it together, Potter."

A few times he contemplated just heading out early, to get some sleep in order to bring his mind out of his current funk. Another part of him wanted to just head to her flat, to take her in his arms and never let go.

Merlin, when did everything get so out of control? When did everything change from some perfect paradise into...what? His life felt more decayed and chaotic than he imagined possible.

And it was all on his own doing.

That stung the most.

Merlin, it sucked too, thinking non-stop about Ginny. Whenever he closed his eyes he saw her face, saw her crying; and standing there all pale, small, and sad in an old T-shirt he forgot to take with him.

Just leave me alone.

Her words kept ringing in his ears, telling him again and again how much she despised him.

Then again, the underlying sadness spoke more than the typical hatred toward an ex-spouse. Broken hearts often overshadow multiple symptoms of anger, but generally in the confines away from onlookers. Vulnerable and upset, she allowed him access to a side of her he figured she wouldn't share if hatred consumed her. Perhaps she didn't hate him...completely, at least.

Unable to focus, Harry left early, deciding he needed to figure out a few things before he lost his mind completely.

After picking up some dinner - take out, his customary dinner for the past seven months - he entered his too-large home, making his way directly into the kitchen. Throwing his shoulder bag of parchments from work onto the messy table, he began taking out the few boxes of chicken he grabbed near the Ministry.

"Another great meal for me," he grumbled, carrying his plate into the living room, placing it neatly over the heaps of old Daily Prophets and other rubbish. Hunching himself over, he began to eat as his eyes scanned through the Daily Prophets. He'd picked them up from the Ministry, telling the department he wanted to look through them for any signs of foul play in the past year. Considering the shady business going down in the Ministry as of late, bizarre problems causing the Auror department to grow suspicious, they gave him no trouble.

Taking the occasional bite, his fingers deftly moved over the moving pictures of the sports section, searching for any sign of his Ginny. Her articles were prominently featured throughout the course of their marriage, a must-read for both female and male quidditch lovers. Having been such a great Chaser herself, she knew several players in the professional league and often times scored interviews not normally granted. (Her private interview with Victor Krum, an old chum of Hermione's, was one of the most sold issues of Prophet history.)

Around the time of their divorce, her articles faded, a brief period where nothing with her name printed. After a few weeks, they started to appear again, though far less frequent than before. Eventually, they died off completely, about four months after the divorce.

No mention whether or not something happened, but they simply stopped printing.

As far as he could remember, Ginny never quit at anything.

Pushing the papers aside and downing the rest of his firewhiskey, he pressed himself against the soft fabric of his couch. Closing his eyes, he envisioned the flat she occupied. How different from their own apartment together.

Small and white, little life existed on the walls. In their place together, she'd decorated like crazy, putting pictures of them, friends, and family all over the place. The Weasleys existed if only through pictures. Her flat held no signs of anything, save a framed picture he saw in the corner, though he wasn't close enough to see what of.

Much of her furniture, albeit less of it, used to reside in their apartment. Several of the pieces, however, didn't mesh, particularly the kitchen table and chairs he spotted from the small living area. He figured she probably couldn't fit their original table-setting into her own place and simply bought a new one. Yet, the furniture he didn't recognize appeared second-hand and used. Harry couldn't imagine the Weasley family, particularly her brothers, to allow her to go through financial problems.

Not to mention, Ginny always made a place her own yet her new home did little to describe her boisterous personality. Plain white walls and bland tan carpet did not suit her.

Shaking his head, he rose to his feet, stripping himself of his clothing, tossing it carelessly on the floor before he threw himself on the bed, closing his eyes only to see Ginny again.

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And there she stood again, dressed in a light purple shirt and black trousers, the black souls of her shoes peaking out beneath the fabric. Her long hair was pulled back into a ponytail, curls rippling along her back, a purple flower tied at the clasp.

Harry thought she looked beautiful.

Checking the black band of her watch, she recognized the hour of noon and called back to her boss. (Well, he could only assume seeing as he was only staring at her through a window). The old gentleman walked out from the backroom and nodded at her, gesturing toward the door. Smiling and waving goodbye, she walked out the front and made her way to her favorite restaurant in Diagon Alley, Mystic Magic.

Harry decided to take a chance.

"Hello, Ginny."

The redhead stopped, turning around slowly, allowing her abject eyes to fall on him. For the first time in a long while he felt insecure, having her eyes lift up from his beige slacks to his plaid green shirt. He felt sixteen all over again.

"Hello, Harry," she greeted. "Don't you have work?"

Shaking his head, he told her, "Nah, I took the day off."

"Just decided not to head in?"

"Decided I didn't feel up to it. Don't you remember when I used to do that? Where I'd call in just so we could stay at home all day?"

At his words she looked uncomfortable and Harry immediately regretted asking. He knew better than to put more pressure on her, especially this early on in his pursuit.

She finally whispered, "I guess I forgot. Not all of us have the luxuries of just taking time off."

"I s'pose not."

Turning back around, she attempted to say goodbye, "Well, I'll see you around, Harry. I'm off to lunch."

Pushing forward in spite of his fat mouth, he asked, "Do you mind if I join you?"

Ginny stopped abruptly, an undefinable expression on her pretty face. She appeared both scared and curious at the same time, doing her best to mask any sort of emotion from betraying her. Gulping, she turned back to face him head on, her short stature forcing her to look up at him.

"You want to have lunch with me?" she asked uneasily.

"You don't want me to?"

"I'm just confused, Harry. First the wedding, then you show up at my flat, and now this?"

"Ginny, it's just lunch. A chance to talk. If you're willing, that is."

Hesitating, as she'd done the night of the wedding, she answered, "All right. I was just going to head to my usual place."

"Mystic Magic, I remember it well."

"No," she responded, shaking her head for emphasis. "I was talking about The Knut. It's an inexpensive place I sometimes grab lunch at. I generally bring my own."

"But...you love Mystic Magic," he countered, furrowing his brows.

"I can't just shell out galleons cause I feel like it. Mystic Magic is a little costly."

So much needed to be said, so much he wanted to say, but she started walking before he got the chance. Cantering a bit to catch up, he fell in stride beside her, obliging her by not pressing her on the matter. Before he knew it they were at the little hole-in-the-wall joint, Ginny giving him a meek smile as they entered.

"'ello there, Ginny. Your usual table, eh?" asked a chubby man behind a counter, smiling broadly at her.

Without waiting for her reply, he led her and Harry to the table, giving Harry a venomous glare. Deciding it best not to respond, Harry waited patiently as the two began to chat about things he didn't know. Things he gave up the right to worry about several months ago.

"Did you get a chance to finish the book?" she asked him.

"Oh yes, and you were righ'. The book definitely got scary about midway through. A bit rough on the lad, I would say."

"What did you expect? The idiot shouldn't have tried to steal a dragon."

"Yeah, well, I've got it in the back. I'll give it to you on your way out. What you have for me this week?"

"It's a new one we just got and I finished it in three days. It's called Graze of Teeth. Three guesses what it's about."

Laughing, the man replied, "As long as it's got some action then I'm all for it. So what can I get you?"

"The usual, Dennis," she answered.

"Right." Then, "And you?"

"Butterbeer and turkey sandwich?" Harry's voice even sounded cowed in his own head.

"Is that a question or a request?" the man growled.

"Dennis, he's my guest," whispered Ginny sadly. "Please be nice."

Softening his fierce gaze as he looked at her, Dennis nodded curtly before leaving the two of them in an awkward silence.

"Sorry about that," she breathed finally; "he's a bit protective of me."

"I can see that."

More awkward silence.

"So when did you change jobs? I mean, I thought you loved The Prophet."

She slouched in her chair, a sure sign of discomfort, staring in the direction of the window. "A few months ago. It didn't really work out."

"You were doing so great," noted Harry, more to himself than her.

Shrugging, she replied briskly, "Things happen. Can we not talk about it?"

Her question nearly knocked him for six, thrown out there abruptly and with a hint of aggravation. The last thing he wanted was to alienate her during their lunch, if that's what he could call it. If anything it felt like a hostile war-zone.

"I'm sorry, Gin," he said, his stomach clenching when he saw her bite the inside of her cheek. She only did that when someone said something to annoy her. Sorry bothered her? "I didn't know...I just didn't know."

"Then don't worry about it." Her voice was low; unhappy.

Sucking in a deep breath, his lungs feeling overwhelmingly constricted, he continued in his attempt to make some decent conversation with her (and to set himself up for when he broached the subject of possible reconciliation); "how is the bookstore?"

At this, she sat up straighter. "Great. I get a discount on books and a lot of the times Robert, my boss, lets me borrow books. Only the used ones, of course, since he's a very honest man."

"You read a lot?"

Nodding enthusiastically, "All the time. Hermione gave me a lot of books af—" she stopped hastily, her eyes informing him how much she didn't mean to start that word—"I uh...she gave me a lot of books once her and Ron started living together. Kind of just delved into them and lost myself in the stories. Some people take vacations and I do this."

Harry knew which word she tried to hide - after. The phrase, in turn, she didn't want him to hear - after the divorce. Hermione and Ron were her closest allies during the divorce and kept her within an arm's reach. His female best mate probably saw her suffering and decided to quell some of the anguish by giving her a new hobby. Reading fairytales, no doubt of astounding romances, came as a great escape for his little redhead.

"Read anything good lately?" he asked lamely.

"Never ask an avid reader such a question," she teased, more out of reaction than to him. "I mean, would you ask Hermione that sort of thing?"

Laughing lightly, he shook his head in response. "No, I suppose not."

Awkward silence, again.

"How is the family?" He knew it would cause her some distress, but this was a subject he couldn't ignore.

Indeed, as he anticipated, he watched her fidget in her seat, her fingers tugging on the hem of her shirt. Tugging at a purple string, she snapped it from its confines, wrapping it around her left middle and index fingers.

"Fine."

"Your family is—"

"What do you want Harry?" she cut him off, her expressive eyes finally meeting his. "What exactly do you want from me? Okay, I'll tell you, my family is doing fine. I'm the only mess. Is that what you wanted to hear?"

"Of course not."

"Then why bring it up? You saw my family at the wedding and you saw they were in perfect health. Everyone is the picture of bloody perfection. What do you want from me?"

Hate.

Such hate in her voice, and her eyes, directed at him.

He broke her.

Ginny never would have spoken to him like that before. He never imagined words so spiteful coming out of her mouth.

Bluntly, he admitted, "I want a chance with you again."

There.

He finally said it.

Holding his breath, he waited patiently as she turned away from him, her expression unreadable yet slowly starting to betray her thoughts. He could see the fear forming, but he couldn't tell from what. The fear certainly could stem from the possibility of him hurting her again. Her family's reaction? Her friend's?

A pink hue rose to her cheeks, flushing from her forehead to her neck. Somehow, during the contemplation period, she'd wrapped her fingers around her auburn hair, twisting her tresses between her shaking fingers.

And then she asked it.

"How many women did you have?"

Caught off guard, he foolishly responded, "What?"

"After the divorce, how many women did you sleep with?"

Oh Merlin, of all the questions she had to ask, he thought anxiously. Thinking clearly, even he would have admitted the legitimacy of the question - she had a right to know. Didn't make answering it any easier.

"I won't lie to you, Ginny...I've been with several girls." Her broken expression made him add, "None if them meant anything though. I didn't have a relationship or anything. You're the only one I've had like that. I've only ever made love to you."

And then her resolve crumbled.

A crystal tear slid down her cheek, sinking just above her pursed lips. Harry wanted to throttle himself, throw himself into dragon's lair, and jam his wand in both eyes for making her break like that.

My fault.

My fault.

MY FAULT!

Feeling it couldn't get much worse, he asked, "Were you with anyone?"

The redhead was quiet for a while before whispering, in a near inaudible voice, "No. You're the only one I've been with."

All right.

Wrong.

It CAN get worse.

"Gin—"

"Here you go, Ginny," said Dennis, dropping their plates in front of them both, ignoring Harry. Spotting her under duress, he asked, "What did this boy do to you?"

Waving a hand at him, she replied, "Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Just confirmed what I already knew."

"Please, Ginny—"

"Dennis, I think I'll take this to go. Can you wrap it up? I'll pay at the counter," she muttered, grabbing her bag and rising to her feet.

Throwing Harry a nasty glare, he picked up her plate and carried it back to the front booth, quickly scribbling down the tab.

"I have to get back to work."

"Ginny...I want to see you again. I want to...maybe tonight?"

"I have a date with John tonight," she replied curtly.

Shit, he thought.

"The bloke from the wedding?" As much as he tried, he couldn't withhold the jealousy in his voice.

Nodding, she continued, "Yes. We've gone out three times before."

"Do you like him?"

"Yes," she acknowledged, staring at her feet. "He's a charming man and he treats me well. He's patient, kind, and...he saw me when nobody else did."

No.

No, no, no.

Have I lost her already?

"I don't know why you decided to come back now, but I think it would be best if you just went back to the other girls. Let me get over you, Harry. Please, please, let me get over you."

She left.

She left to finish work and then meet John.

Getting worse...

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He'd been pacing for over forty-five minutes.

Walking up and down the length of his living room did absolutely nothing to subdue his nerves, his fears.

Was she enjoying herself?

Was she allowing him to hold her hand?

Was she staring at the man the way she used to stare at him?

A fresh new wave of nausea engulfed him. Fighting tooth and nail, he forced the bile down, the residual effects burning his throat raw. Taking off his glasses and rubbing his pale face, Harry muttered to himself, "You idiot. You bloody fool, you've lost her. You had her, she was yours, and you gave her up cause you're a daft idiot!"

And he truly felt it.

Back at school, Ginny hadn't caught his eye until sixth year. At the time, he'd thought he'd been a complete mug for not noticing her before then. The following years, she'd kept his attention like a snitch. When he'd broken off their relationship for the war, he'd thought his heart stopped beating. Getting her back had been wonderful, made him feel alive again. The same rush still made his head dizzy whenever his eyes fell on the pretty girl.

"I can't lose her again. I can't do this. I can't wait."

Harry flooed to 'Quiet Grove' in order to see his Ginny.

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"Ginny?"

"Huh?"

The redhead turned her gaze back on John, the man's frown speaking louder than any words could. He didn't appear angry or even annoyed, just a little sad and confused over her lack of attention. Well, it was a date after all.

Looking down, she apologized, "I'm sorry, John. I'm just a little distracted right now."

Nodding sympathetically, he murmured, "It's Potter, isn't it?"

Not bothering with a reply, Ginny simply averted her eyes in a different direction. She stared at the happy couples and wondered if she'd ever feel the way they did, again. And if so, with who?

"He really got to you at the wedding, didn't he?"

Shrugging, she admitted, "I've seen him a few more times, to be honest."

"Really? When?"

"He came to my house after the wedding. He didn't stay long before I asked him to leave. Then he followed me to work one day and asked to have lunch. That didn't go to well either."

"Ginny," began John, staring down at his plate, "I know we haven't talked about it and I'm not trying to rush you or anything...but in regards to being exclusive—"

"I'm not with him John," she told him, finding the courage to meet his handsome eyes. "I promise, I'm not. I don't even know what's going on with him. If anything, all he is doing is making me mad and bemused. I don't get what he wants from me."

"I think I do," he whispered, more to himself than to her; though she heard it loud and clear. She kind of liked hearing it. From which angle - either his or Harry's - she couldn't tell, which caused something in her stomach to tighten.

"Please, don't worry about it, John. I know I haven't been exactly...expressive about it, but I do like you. I want to continue seeing you."

At this, John gave her a dashing grin. "That's good, then, cause I got tickets to see the new opera starring Lavender Brown."

"Lav said those tickets have been sold out for months!"

Winking, he coyly responded, "Oh I have my ways. Just tell me you'd be willing to share the evening with me this Saturday. I've got a feeling that we could have fun."

Giving him a meek smile, she said, "I'd love that, John. It's just...those tickets are so expensive—"

"Ginny," he whispered seriously, reaching out to grab her hand, rubbing her knuckles with his thumb, "I like you. I like you a lot and I don't want just something platonic. I'm willing to wait longer, much longer if need be, but I'd really like a chance with you. You're special to me...and I know you're independent and what not, but...give me a chance to spoil you a bit."

Her eyes nearly misted at his words. It'd been a long time since she'd heard sweet things such as this, other than in her novels and fairytales. Once upon a time, Harry said those things to her in abundance, but they faded through the course of their marriage. It was a moot point, she knew, given her and Harry were over. John was here and he was a great man, worthy of someone so much more than her.

"Please say you'll join me."

Biting her lip, she entwined her hand with his. "I'd like that, John. Very much."

"Good. It's an opera so you'll have to dress...appropriately."

When he wiggled his eyebrows in a teasing manner, she burst out laughing, a good, wholesome type of laugh. Still chuckling, she responded, "You're incorrigible, Mister Oliver."

"Tonight, I don't think that's a bad thing," he quipped, just as the wait-wizard returned with their dessert.

Once dinner concluded, he insisted on seeing her home. Other than Harry, Hermione, and her family, she'd never taken anyone back to her home. As much as she claimed she didn't care, to her family at least, if being honest she'd admit her shame. Sometimes she wondered, herself, how she went from being married to the wizarding world's favorite hero and a lead columnist for the Daily Prophet to...some single chick working at a bookstore and living in a grungy flat. What if it turned him off to see? What if he realized Ginny Weasley, ex-wife of Harry Potter, was just a pathetic wench. Even though she wasn't sure about their relationship yet, having him turn her away would just be icing on the ruined cake. Furthermore, his knowledge regarding her came at a limit. Ginny kept a few secrets, things only she and her family knew. How would he react to her skeletons in the cauldron? How would any man react?

She shuddered to think.

However, John's insistence and determination made her resolve crumble and she reluctantly allowed him to walk her to her door.

Walking hand in hand along the gravel walk, he told her, "Perhaps we can have dinner before the opera. After all, I'll be in a tux and it seems like a waste—"

"Do I have a choice?"

"I didn't mean it like that. Of course...you...do..."

He saw the smirk on her face and realized she was teasing, making him sigh and scratch the back of his neck. "Aren't you a snippy little thing tonight?"

Truth be told, he really enjoyed her. It was the first time since he'd began courting her that she seemed less uptight, more of the Ginny he remembered as a fifth year Ravenclaw (her first year at Hogwarts).

"It's my charm, I guess."

Suddenly, she stopped in her tracks, making him halt with her. After staring at her for a moment, he looked in her line of view and saw none other than Harry Potter standing beside her door. Shaking her head, she walked up, John giving her hand a gentle, reassuring squeeze.

"Harry?"

Walking closer to the two, giving John an uneasy glare, he acknowledged, "You look great, Gin."

"What are you d-doing here?" she asked, mentally slapping herself for stuttering, for breaking down in front of him.

"I was hoping to talk to you. We didn't talk to long at lunch and—"

"And I was just seeing her home," interrupted John, staring at Harry with hard eyes. As she turned to face him, her sad eyes meeting his, he continued, "I had a wonderful time tonight."

"Me too." Her voice sounded small even in her own ears.

"I'll count the hours until Saturday, Miss Weasley."

Bending his head, he pressed a brief, soft kiss on her cheek. Ginny nodded, replying quietly, "I'll um...uh...I c-can't wait."

Giving Harry a brief glance, she walked past them both, entering her home and shutting the door, the click echoing between the two men. As soon as the click sounded, Harry said, "I'm sorry, mate, but—"

"I know," cut off John, "and I want you to know that you're too late. I'm sure you've finally come to your senses about what a cold, heartless bastard you were for abandoning her when she needed you most. I'm sure you've finally realized what a precious charm you had in Ginny, but I'm here to snap your deluded wand."

"Meaning?"

"Meaning Ginny Weasley deserves better than you. At this point, I like this girl so much that I don't care who makes her happy as long as she is happy. I just know that her happiness doesn't lie with you. Let her go, let her find some semblance of peace, and allow her to heal."

Harry sighed, kicking a rock with his shoe. "Whether you believe me or not, I love her. I'm not giving up on her."

Shaking his head, he warned, "For your own safety, I suggest you stay away from her."

"Is that a threat?" asked Harry, his hand tightening around his own wand.

"I'm not threatening you, I'm warning you. And know this, I'm not the one you need to worry about. Her brothers so much as catch you looking at her, they'll kill your arse."

Not offering him a chance to reply nor a parting goodbye, John Oliver turned on his heel and left Harry standing in front of Ginny's small home, his feelings mixed.

Getting worse...

And worse...

A/N: Hm, this story is just coming along. I don't know why, but something about this is consuming me. I'll be doing random things and find myself thinking about creative things to add to this. Hopefully I'll have another one up soon. Oh, and what do you guys think of John? An added character, yes, but I felt I needed an OC - I thought about this for a LONG while and nobody, from ANY year, seemed to fit just like he did.

Note - readers of A Dream Worth Keeping - I'm sorry! Flash drive is giving me problems so hopefully I can get the story file uncorrupted. If not, it looks like a re-write :(

Mistake is the work of fanfiction. The characters belong to J.K. Rowling, but the featured story is mine.