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Ruined
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Regret.
The word used to resonate over the small things, the simple things.
He used to regret a momentary lapse in control, allowing his anger to take over both himself and the situation.
He used to regret waiting until the night before to start on his five page scroll of potions homework.
He used to regret asking Hermione to help him come up with two extra pages of said potions homework.
Regret came and went, but never did it eat him alive, make him want to rip out his messy hair and throw himself into a dragon's lair. His regret over losing Ginny, of pushing her away instead of clinging to his only permanent comfort, corroded his heart to the near point of rot. Harry only had himself to blame.
After his short interlude with...her date (he literally cringed whenever he thought about it)...he spent a few minutes seriously considering knocking on her door, once again asking her to mull over the idea of a reconciliation. Thinking better of it, he turned his back on the shady flat and started walking toward the proper apparation point. Taking one last, longing look at her home, the place she laid her head at night, he apparated himself to his lonely, and oddly cold, home.
Times like this he desperately wished Sirius hadn't been lost in The Veil. Not only would he have beat him within an inch of his life for even considering divorcing the most perfect witch in the world, his soul mate, he would have provided some semblance of solace. A year ago he would have turned to his second family, the Weasleys, but no more. They no longer wanted anything to do with him, didn't even want to see his face on the covers of the many magazines around the world.
Dumbledore no doubt would have been a last resort with regard to girls, but even in this scenario, Harry probably would have found any words from his mentor helpful.
In this attempt to uncover one person he could turn to, Harry realized, with great sorrow, he had absolutely no one.
No one.
When he gave up Ginny, he gave up his family.
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Standing in front of the Burrow, his stomach felt entirely too heavy to lift, like someone dipped it in lead.
Could he really do this?
Could he really asks the mother and father of his ex-wife, the person he promised to never hurt and the person he broke beyond repair, for forgiveness?
Could he really broach the subject of the girl, their daughter, someone who lived a shadow of the life he vowed to bless upon her?
The Weasleys were not vain people, far from it, and never expected for their children to live in the lap of luxury. However, they did expect each child to experience an abundance of love, and as much as the person they pledged their lives to could give.
Ginny deserved better.
Ginny deserved FAR better than the pathetic shack she resided in and the miserable life she led.
Gulping thickly, he started walking up the pathway, ignoring the idiotic gnomes running across the grass, trying to trip him, and tried to come up with a strategy. Coming up with words to express his sorrow and remorse proved a challenge.
Knock.
Knock.
Knock...
No going back now, he thought grimly.
When the door opened, Mr. Weasley's smile instantly faded, his jovial expression changing to a somber medium. The red hair atop his head, what little he had left, was nearly all grey, the whiskers of his light beard even specked with thick grey. Wrinkles in his brows suggested constant struggle for everyone knew he knit them together whenever troubled.
Harry didn't need to guess the tribulation.
"Potter," he greeted, in the same terse voice he used at the wedding.
He might as well have told him to fuck off.
"Mister Weasley, it's good to see you."
After staring for a brief period, Arthur finally asked, "Is there something I can help you with, Harry?"
"Well uh...I was hoping to speak with you and Missus Weasley. Um...would you mind giving me a bit of your time?"
Harry sincerely expected the man's fist to make contact with his jaw at the suggestion, but it never came. Instead, the person he used to consider as his own surrogate father, took a step back and gestured Harry to the living area.
The familiar Weasley smell practically made him melt, the coziness radiating off and wrapping around Harry, a fluffy blanket of succor. And yet, a part of the house lost its homeliness. Probably knowing full well he was an unwelcomed guest.
"Molly, we have company," he called, a hint of wariness in his voice. Harry ran a finger around the collar of his shirt, suddenly feeling hot, the sweat building under his arms and around his fingers.
The bouncing step of Mrs. Weasley died upon seeing the ex-husband of her youngest child. Lifting her chin, she continued to mix the thick orange cream in the bowl nestled within the crook of her arm. Harry took a few steps back, in the hopes of being able to face them both.
"All right, Potter, what can we help you with?" asked Mr. Weasley in a monotone, shuffling from one foot to the other.
"Um, I'd like to talk to you, er, about...'bout Ginny."
"No," he said firmly, staring Harry directly in the eye.
"Sir, I—"
Mr. Weasley cut him off, growling, "Harry, I said no. You're not going to disrespect my wife and I by coming into this house, into my home, and discussing my daughter. It's not happening."
Mr. Weasley, Ron and Ginny's father, had always been one of the kindest people he'd ever had the privilege of knowing. The man in front of him, the man with a scowl on his face so deep it probably would etch permanent lines of disdain along his jaw, patently cleaved onto the notion that Harry ruined his only daughter. The Weasley Family may never have had much, galleon wise, but when it came to love, they were never short. If someone hurt one of the cubs, expect a war to break out. Unfortunately for Harry, he was in the den and papa and mama bear were ready to pounce.
"Mister Weasley, I mean absolutely no disrespect and I would never dream of coming into your home to speak ill of Ginny."
"I don't expect you to speak ill of her. I do, however, expect to hear wonderful things about my daughter."
"But then—"
"Harry, I saw you! I saw the looks you threw Ginny the night of my son's wedding. You finally realized what a jewel you had in her, what a kind and caring person she is, and you want her back, eh?"
Looking down at his feet, feeling his stomach grow heavier and heavier, he replied, "I have no excuse for my abhorrent behavior. I know I hurt Ginny more than anyone, least of all her, ever deserves. She did nothing wrong, sir."
"Then why are you here?" he hissed harshly.
"I want...I...uh, w-want—"
"I want. I want," he mimicked cruelly; "you want what?"
"I want Ginny. I want my wife back," yelled Harry hoarsely.
Chuckling bitterly, Mr. Weasley said, "She is no longer your wife. You sought to that. Now get out of my house, Potter."
Spinning on his heel, he left the room, leaving Harry in an uncomfortable, deafening silence with a somber Mrs. Weasley still whisking the orange substance. Continuing to ignore him, she walked to the door, opened it, and proceeded to wait, telling him without words that he'd overstayed his welcome (well, if one could call that a welcome). Nodding, as if answering a wordless question, he exited the house, listening as the door's squeaky hinges creaked at being shut.
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Perhaps starting out with her parents had been a bad idea.
Then again, who exactly would be the best one to start with?
Facing any of her brothers seemed like suicide, but Ginny was worth it, he knew it. The same thought kept creeping over - if only I'd known she was worth it then - but it didn't bode to dwell on something he couldn't change. He made a mistake, and he needed people to understand that. People make bodges each and every day, and in order to rectify them, necessary support needed to come out.
As he walked along Diagon Alley and spotted some old house mates, he hoped for support.
"Hey Seamus, Dean, Padma, and Pavarti. How are you?" he asked, already feeling the sweat dripping from his armpits to his wrists. "Didn't get a chance to speak with you at the wedding."
"No, you didn't," noted Dean, an unreadable expression on his face.
Harry knew the two women normally would have swooped in for hugs and kisses, whispering in his ear how much they still adored him, but no longer. Instead, they flashed him looks of utmost contempt, while trying to maintain a polite nature about them. One could feel the hostility in the air like a sticking charm.
"I haven't spoken to you all in months. How has everything been?" Harry asked, his throat unbearably dry.
Shrugging, Dean answered, "Same old, I s'pose. Going to work, coming home, and then taking care of the kid."
"How is your son?"
"Doing well. Cannot wait to go to Hogwarts."
"You must be proud," noted Harry, a twinge of sadness in his heart. With all of his thoughts zoning in on Ginny as of late, he found himself dreaming of having children with her. What would they have—no, what will they look like (I must stay positive here!)? How will they act? What house will they be sorted in? Who will they look more like, me or Gin? And as these questions ran through his head, he found himself wanting kids more and more.
Shrugging, again in a non-committed way, Dean replied, "Sure. Um, is there anything we can help you with?"
"I'm just trying to make conversation. I guess, uh, you sided with Ginny too."
Catching the hint of bitterness (though misguided about his reason for it), Padma snarled, "Don't even think about blaming Ginny for any of this. The reason we choose to not associate with you extends far beyond anything with Ginny, so don't think she told us to say this. She would never speak harshly about you, though she should."
"I wasn't implying an—" Harry tried to reason, but Padma interrupted him.
"You were trying to imply negative things about Ginny and I won't stand for it, Harry Potter, I won't. She is a fine woman, someone who deserves so much more than the quaffle she has been given, and someone who made you happy. Merlin, Harry, she made you happy! I just don't understand you."
Harry, who was angry about the entire miserable situation - not Ginny (never Ginny) - hated how his supposed friends wouldn't give him a chance to explain. He hated he brought this upon himself. More than anything, he hated himself in that moment.
"I can't explain my actions for the divorce. I have no excuse, but I know now I was wrong. I need you to understand that I—"
"Ruined her," Seamus cut him off.
Ruined?
Such a harsh, nearly malicious word, and to hear it spoken about Ginny broke his heart. To say Ginny was completely devastated, so far gone beyond repair, burned him in an unfamiliar way.
I can fix this. I know I can.
"What?" he managed to choke out.
"You ruined her, mate," he repeated, his voice calm and almost friendly.
The sky is blue.
The grass is green.
Harry Potter ruined Ginny Weasley.
How easy the words just rolled of the man's tongue, without much thought for how Harry, or perhaps even Ginny, would feel about them.
"How can you say that?"
"Cause I'm stating the facts, Harry. Ginny Potter was a beautiful, fun woman. She laughed and she encouraged others to live life the way she did. The new Ginny Weasley, however, is a broken girl who is scared. That's it, mate, she's scared. She's scared of you. She's scared of being alone. And, more than anything I think, she's scared of dying alone, cause Merlin only knows she won't let anyone gets close to her. Even John, a man with a heart of gold, can't seem to bring out the Ginny you ruined."
"Harry," continued Dean, wrapping his arm around Padma, "you chose to get rid of your wife. In so doing, you cost us a friend. Actually, you cost us two."
"Have a good evening, mate," finished Seamus, jerking his head in the direction of their destination, silently encouraging his friends and girlfriend to follow, leaving Harry, once again, alone.
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It took Harry a good ten minutes before he regained his composure, enough at least, in order to travel the short distance to Fred and George's shop, still utterly determined to have a conversation with Ginny's older brothers. Though the funny ones of the family, the pranksters who never took life too seriously, he prepared himself for the war about to break out. He only hoped, for the sake of their surprisingly organized and well-managed store, it didn't get too bloody.
The bell above the door rang out, alerting the employees and other patrons of a new potential customer. A few people looked up and whispered at the sight of famous Harry Potter in the store, but didn't dare approach him. Apparently the frown on his face spoke volumes.
Suddenly, Harry spotted a mop of red hair trekking down the stairs, order magazine in his hand.
Fred.
Whistling to himself, unconsciously lost in his own world, he walked to the front counter, briefly lifting his gaze to scan the room for any young thieves attempting to snatch a small item. Not checking the doorway, he went back to his magazine, stopping briefly to dip a quill in some ink in order to circle a possible Weasley piece they could manipulate.
Well, might as well get this over with.
Taking nine steps forward to stop in front of Fred, only the cool marble counter to separate the two of them, Harry cleared his throat. Only then did Fred's friendly eyes meet his, the brow furrowing and the friendliness dispersing to replace itself with fury and contempt.
Harry's throat felt overwhelmingly dry, making his words die before they even left his mouth. Desperately trying to find a way to speak, Harry swallowed several times. However, the moment his verbal brain came home, approaching footsteps halted him. Turning to his right, he saw George coming down the same flight of stairs his twin brother previously vacated.
Again, his words died.
Fleetingly he saw a surreptitious glance occur between the duo, their twin bond allowing them to telepathically inform the other of his intentions - or, in the case of Fred, inform the other of his approval - before George walked forward, grabbed Harry roughly by the arm, and hauled him toward the front. As soon as they reached the heavy door, George pointed to a board filled from top to bottom of pictures. Reading the sign above - Patrons Not Authorized to be in ANY Weasley Shop - Harry found his picture, dead in the center.
Taking it all in, Harry nodded slowly before George opened the door and gestured outside. The second Harry stepped out, the door slammed on his back.
Well, that went well.
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To say Harry felt defeated would have been a complete and total understatement. Harry felt crushed, his mind constantly wondering whether or not...
No, she's worth it. She's worth virtually anything.
Sighing, turning his back to the store, he began walking along the streets of Diagon Alley yet again, contemplating what he could do.
You ruined her, mate.
Ruin.
To ruin has various connotations - to damage, to decline, to destroy.
Yet, the one meaning Harry figured he fell under stabbed a hole in his heart - to seduce a woman and then abandon her. All right, perhaps she was a willing participant in their relationship, but in the end, he left her.
He did ruin her.
Fuck, what had he done?
Just as he was about to head toward the Leaky Cauldron in order to floo home, he spotted Bill and Fleur enjoying a quiet lunch for two on the veranda of the Sassy Stone. Figuring he wouldn't find a better time, he approached them slowly, hoping Bill didn't curse him upon arrival.
And he probably would have, had Fleur not placed her hand over his.
"Pleaze, Bill, letz not make a scene," she whispered hurriedly.
Giving her a quick glance, he turned his attention back to Harry standing pigeon-toed, hands in his pockets, apprehension and sadness written upon his face.
"Potter," he greeted curtly, "shouldn't you be moving along?"
"Bill, I was hoping to speak with you for a moment."
"About what? What could you possibly have to say to me? And if it has something to do with my sister then know that our conversation ends now."
Exhaling sharply through his nose, Harry responded, "I've tried to speak with your parents, your brothers, and my own friends. Can't any of you give me five seconds?"
"And I'm suppose to feel something for you cause you gave my sister four years? And then you broke her heart in a matter of days? Nah, I think I'll pass on actually giving a shit about what you have to say."
"I...it's just uh—"
"Haven't you done enough?!" barked Bill, the fang on his ear shaking with his ire. "Haven't you made her life miserable enough?!"
"It was never my intention!" yelled Harry desperately. "I never wanted to hurt her! I didn't think it would turn out the way it did. All right, I resented her. I get that it wasn't her fault, I get it now, but at the time all I felt was she trapped me into this routine. I didn't want it anymore. I know I screwed up!"
"Screwed up?! Are you serious? You think that's all this is, you screwed up, and it makes everything all right. What you did has caused lasting repercussions. I don't even know why it matters to you. You got what you wanted, didn't you, Potter?"
Harry, not sure what Bill meant by the statement, pulled a confused expression on his face.
Smirking, Bill taunted, "You thought she didn't know? You really must think little of my baby sister if you thought she was stupid enough to miss your belligerent actions."
"I don't...understand..."
"You thought she didn't see the pictures of you canoodling with different women each night, kissing them in alleys, before retiring for the night at their flats, fucking their brains out? Of course she saw it! She worked at the fucking Prophet you pillock!"
Oh Merlin, the publicity; he hadn't even thought of it.
His poor Ginny, fraught with the need to get over him, had to deal with the constant reminder of his presence.
Bill continued, "She used to see everything before they fired her arse."
Fired?
Ginny was fired?
"Just leave my sister alone. She's lost so much and now she's finally starting to get better. Why don't you let her try?"
Harry really had ruined her.
Her - his Ginny.
Ruined.
Ruined...
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When Ginny arrived at Bill and Fleur's quaint home near the seaside, the tension had not fully left her older brother. When she came through the floo, she found Fleur preparing three cups of tea, a particularly hardy brew specially for her husband. Her pretty face appeared uneasy the moment she entered and Ginny suspicions immediately flared up in apprehension.
"Is something wrong?" she asked apprehensively.
For a moment Fleur looked as if she was waiting for Bill to speak, but then, after he made no attempt to answer, she said, "Just 'ad a rough day at work. 'Ow are you, Ginny?"
"Fine," she answered quietly, her eyes focused on her brother's hunched shoulders. Bill's elbows graced the tables unpolitely, his glazed eyes zoned in on the cup his wife placed in front of him. When Ginny took her seat beside him, he finally managed to meet her gaze, giving her the softest look for as far as she could remember.
"What's going on?" she asked, her voice the epitome of worry. With all the craziness going on in her life, the last thing she needed was even more bad news.
He shook his head, replying, "Don't worry about it. So, what did you need to come by for? Not that I don't mind random visits from my silly sister."
Sticking her tongue out at him, she turned toward Fleur. "Actually, I came to see my sister-in-law, O' Idiot brother of mine."
"Really? What can I 'elp you with?" she asked kindly. Ginny had to admit, the months prior to the war as well the years following, Fleur really turned into a sweet woman, one who not only valued her family but watched over them like a mother hen. She found not only a friend in her but a sister too.
Ginny, a little flustered, tucked a few strands of her red hair behind her ear, her cheeks flushing with a pink hue. Bill, recognizing the glow, instantly found his heart in his stomach. If Harry had convinced her to see him again, so help him Merlin, he was going to kill the son of a b—
"I've kind of got a date this weekend," she muttered in a low voice.
Fleur, not recognizing the implication, already started clapping, smiling broadly. "'Ow wonderful! Who iz it?" she questioned excitedly.
"John," she replied, a frown on her lips, "John Oliver. He came to Ron's wedding."
Sighing with slight relief, Bill said, "I remember him. Bloke couldn't keep his eyes off you."
Biting her lip, she argued, "You're exaggerating."
"I'm not," he told her firmly.
A pregnant silence overwhelmed her for a while, her brother's eyes boring into her. Luckily, Fleur saved her, "So what did you need to zee me for?"
Clearing her throat, quite discomfited, she said, "Well, um, you see...John invited me to this opera thing and...I sort of need a dress for it. I only have brothers and...I'm not g-gonna bother Hermione on her honeymoon. I was sort of hoping I could...borrow something from you."
Bill and Fleur exchanged looks, smiles spreading on both their faces. This was a start for her. Finally, after months of wallowing and mourning over the loss of...well, the loss, Ginny was attempting to make a change; with a great guy, no less (Hermione had been singing his praises for a while now).
Taking their silence the wrong way, Ginny hastily added, "You don't have to. I'll figure out something, it's fine..."
"Oui, of courze, you can," she told her, walking around and giving her shoulders a tight squeeze.
"Actually no, I've got a better idea," said Bill, leaning forward on the table, staring at his sister. "How about you and Fleur go buy one together? Get a new dress for this special occasion?"
Shaking her head, she told him, "No, I can't afford to spend the money right now. I just want to borrow something from Fleur since...well, she always looks so glamorous. What am I saying? She would look glamorous wearing quidditch robes."
As Fleur laughed out loud, Bill stated, "You don't have to worry about the costs, though, since the dress will be on me."
"I appreciate it, Bill, I really do, but I can't take that from you," she said, her tone extremely bitter.
"Ginny, please set aside your pride—"
"It's not all about pride, Bill! Merlin, I didn't even want to accept this date because I couldn't afford the bloody ticket! He gave me all this bullshit about wanting to spoil me, and Merlin help me, I want to believe him, but..." she broke off, her eyes teary and her face growing redder each second, "Look, I'm already prepared for the time when he realizes this just isn't going to work out and I'm better off not spending the money, or in this case, yours. It's not worth it."
In that moment, Bill truly wanted to kill Harry Potter for what he'd done to his sister. Furthermore, he wanted to filet him for having the nerve to try and reenter Ginny's life. The girl already thought less of herself than Hermione thought of Rita Skeeter and it showed, affecting her in everything she did. Damn it, Ginny still had a life to live! He'd be damned if he let Harry weasel his way back into her life.
"Ginny, I want you to listen to me," he said slowly, approaching her chair, crouching down so they were eye level. "I know you think your life ended with the divorce." She opened her mouth to cut him off, but held up his hand, effectively shushing her. Once she fell silent, he continued, "You're a strong woman, Ginny, and more importantly, you're a Weasley. We Weasleys all stick together. Now I know you don't like the idea of us helping you out, you've always been independent like that, but please let me do this. John was right when he praised you since you are worth it."
Ginny didn't know what to say. Her oldest brother, one of the men in her life she knew would never abandon her, told her she was worth it. She felt Fleur touch her shoulder and looking up at the woman, she pleaded for some affirmation from someone not of true Weasley blood. She needed to know he wasn't just saying it.
"Thiz will be great, Ginny. We'll find you the most beautiful dress. John won't be able to keep hiz eyez off you."
The girl barely managed to maintain some control before she turned back to her brother, leaned forward, and wrapped her arms around his shoulders, sobbing softly into his neck.
"I want to believe him," she cried softly.
Rubbing her back in soothing circles, he urged, "Then believe him, Gin."
When Ginny left some thirty minutes later, with plans to meet up with Fleur after she got off work the following day, Bill collapsed onto his couch, his arms wrapped protectively around his wife.
One thing was for sure: he would NOT allow Harry Potter to hurt his baby sister ever again.
A/N: Thanks to everyone supporting this story. I know it was FAR too long for an update, but I had finals, then spring break, then getting used to the new quarter, and on top of that, lately I've been feeling a little burned out regarding my stories. I'm just not feeling my writing right now. However, I think I'm feeling my muse (a leprachaun I call Grady) coming back. So please stick with me and this story! The next chapter will be pretty heartbreaking - the hardest to write so far!
And someone mentioned there is an actual famous person called John Oliver - Lol, I had NO idea. I don't watch the Daily Show so I found that pretty funny.
Mistake is the work of fanfiction. The characters belong to J.K. Rowling, but the featured story is mine.