Author's Note: Yes, Brave came out in 2012 but I love Merida's hair so I *had* to compare it to Ginny's. And yeah, I quote You Thought I Would Forget a little bit in this chapter. It's a good thing I am the author of that fic ;) I also quote Half-Blood Prince. No, I'm not the author of that one.
PS: Oops. I just realised that I keep getting Lee Jordan and Dean Thomas mixed up. Yeah, um, so Fred and George aren't really besties with Dean like they are with Lee, but whatever.
Fifth Year
"HARRY!"
Suddenly I am being knocked to the ground when a bushy-haired, buck-toothed, know-it-all pushes past me in hurried excitement. I lie there, stunned. The world starts spinning even though I am lying still. Overhead, the sky is such a pretty, dizzying blue. The lush emerald-green grass feels like it's tickling my sides. From my new point of view on the ground, the blooming flowers in Mum's garden look like delicate puffs painting a vibrant show of fireworks amongst the clouds. A stray gnome from the garden that Hermione and I were supposed to be de-gnoming at the moment is nibbling on the shell of my ear. Without warning, the little bastard bites me.
"Ahh! Fuck you!" I scream and wrench my head away from the ill-mannered gnome. "Get away from me! Thou art a flesh-monger, a fool, and a coward!"
A shadow in the shape of you blocks out the sun. You pry the feisty son of a bitch off of my ear and then sternly reprimand him before flinging the gnome over the garden wall. Thank you, Superman, for saving my ear from getting gnome-rabies or whatever the fatal disease is called when a little garden statue man thing attacks a person and inflicts serious bodily harm.
"And hello to you too, Ginny," you say with a smirk at my foul language. "What was that you said? Something from Measure for Measure?"
I sit up from the grass and roll my eyes at your pretentious grin. "For your information, Shakespeare does have some good insults," I tell you primly.
Your smirk gets even bigger.
"In fact, last year I wish I had told Umbridge that she was 'as loathsome as a toad'. Very apt, don't you think?" I continue on. "That quote was probably the only thing that stood out to me in Titus Adronicus."
An odd and perplexing expression replaces your smirk as I blether on about Shakespearian snubs. "Ginny," you say, your brow furrowing in concern. "Are you alright?"
"Yes, of course. Why wouldn't I be?"
The tips of your ears glow a burning red. "Erm, well, it looked like your head took a hard tumble when Hermione bowled you over."
"It was an accident!" Hermione interjects loudly before I can ask you if there is anything the matter with you. Since when did you start caring about my health and well-being? Hermione hastens immediately to my side and helps me stand up. "I'm sorry. It's just, you know, the shock of seeing Harry here—"
"No harm, no foul," I placate her. Also, I want her to shut up before she accidentally reveals anything about my feelings towards you in her alacrity to apologise. I turn to you. "Harry, what are you doing here?"
You respond: "Wow, Gin, you sure know how to make a guy feel welcome."
In answer, I run and fiercely wrap my arms around you like Hermione did. "How's that for a welcome?" I ask.
"It's an improvement." You give me a brotherly squeeze – which is what I had expected but I wish you would stop seeing me as just Ron's little sister – and surprisingly, I am the first to let go. When we've stopped hugging and are a few steps out of each other's personal space, you take a deep breath and run a hand through your hair, messing it up even more than it had been originally. "Surprise," you tell Hermione and me with a smile that doesn't quite reach your eyes. Something horrible must have happened to you this summer to make you so unwilling to reveal what this surprise is. "I'm staying at The Burrow for the rest of the summer. Dumbledore's orders."
.
.
These last couple of summer weeks at The Burrow consists of me hiding out in my bedroom, as I try to avoid the French popularity queen and her nosey kiss-ass attitude towards Mum and me. Ever since she and Bill announced their engagement, it has been the-wedding-this and the-wedding-that or red hair will look mah-velous with this shade of gunmetal silver if it's paired with periwinkle or Molly, please try to get Ginevra to wear make-up, she has an incredible complexion and should highlight those cheekbones of hers.
Erm, correct me if I am wrong, but I am not Fleur's Barbie doll to dress up as she pleases. My name is Ginny – not Barbie – and I absolutely refuse to get sucked into this whole wedding mess. It's not even for another year, for Merlin's sake!
Nobody is pleased about Bill's and Fleur's engagement except for Bill, Charlie, and Dad. And maybe Percy, but his opinion does not really count anymore. Fred and George and Ron don't like it because it means Fleur will now be off-limits for them to gawk at and admire. Typical males. Come to think of it, maybe that is the same reason why you don't particularly approve of the engagement. Hermione, Mum, and I are displeased because we have a feeling that Fleur, with her snooty French aristocratic upbringing, will turn into a bride-zilla nightmare.
I also hate her because her voice annoys the hippogriff shit out of me. It's always 'like, oh my God' or 'you know?' or 'like, yeah' in that awful Parisian accent of hers that makes her sound like she is coughing up phlegm all the time. And truly, Fleur is, like, the epitome of a supermodel and a girly-girl. That automatically makes her an enemy of me, a Quidditch-playing tomboy. Fleur is always getting on my case about how even if I don't wear mascara I should curl my lashes and that my hair needs to be flat-ironed before my flaming, tangled locks strangle me or something. And then she goes and compares my hair to that Scottish girl's in the Disney film Brave. Er, pardon me, but even though I may not look like I just came from a photo shoot like Phlegm does, I do know what a brush is and how to use it. Thanks for the insult, though.
"Knock knock," I hear you say from outside of my bedroom door. Two short and sweet taps on the wood accompany your words, interrupting me from the argument I am having with Fleur in my mind.
"Harry!" I all but shout and leap off my bed in excitement. I rush to the door and open it. You're standing there, hands in your pocket and kind of confused as to why I am pretty much vibrating with happiness. You smile widely when you see me, and before I can stop myself, I am hugging you tightly.
"Hey, Gin," you say easily as you hug me back. "Er, not that I don't mind but what is with all this hugging lately?"
I shrug. "I dunno. I haven't seen you in forever, Harry. Don't you think that warrants me a couple of hugs before you remember that girls have cooties?"
You laugh as you recall the days when touching a girl was repulsive to your eleven-year-old mind. "Hey! Give me some credit, Ginny. I grew up with a cousin who only hung out with girls if they told yo-mama's-so-fat jokes. Although, in their case, it was true..."
"Harry!" I exclaim in a shocked voice while hiding giggles behind my hand.
"What?" you ask, blinking innocently at me. "It's true."
Snickering, I roll my eyes. "Of course it is. I don't doubt you on that." I then gesture to the inside of my bedroom. "Did you wanna come in or something?"
Mr Potter, is it just me or do I see a blush staining your cheeks? Hmm. Interesting, indeed. I bite my lip to keep the self-satisfied smile off my face. Who knew that I could elicit such a scandalous reaction from you?
"Erm," you hesitate, although your eyes dart towards my bedroom in the general direction of – where else? – my bed. The blush turns darker and you fidget in my doorway. "Er, well, I actually...erm, I came to talk to you a-about..." You stammer and stutter your way through the sentence as that beautiful blush colouring your cheeks shows no sign of disappearing anytime soon.
"About?" I prompt you gently.
"Ron'll have my head on a stick if I go into your room!" you blurt out all of the sudden.
"Oh," I blink. "Erm, yes. That sounds like him." Mentally, I curse my over-protective brother. He's one of the main reasons why I think you still view me as his little sister and not someone who is available for you to date. "We can talk out here if it suits you better."
A look of pure relief settles onto your face. "Yes. Please. That would be brilliant."
"Alright," I say. I lean up against my doorway, opposite of you, and look into your eyes expectantly. "So?"
Immediately you become flustered and nervous. You run a hand through your hair, one of your tell-tale signs that you are uncomfortable. Of what, I do not know. You still haven't told me your reason for dropping by my room today.
"I...well, I just..." your voice trails off as you search for the words to express what you're trying to tell me. Your face turns solemn and serious and I cannot help but wonder if something bad has happened. "Ginny, do you remember that you promised to listen to me whenever I needed to talk?"
"Yes," I say slowly, wondering where you are trying to get at with this.
You let out a gigantic, gusty sigh. "Alright," you say in an attempt to psyche yourself up. "Alright. Here goes."
I wait patiently for the big reveal. And I wait. And I keep waiting. But you're silent for the better part of the five minutes that have come to pass since you gave yourself that little pep talk, and you are showing no sign that you are about to speak anytime soon.
"Harry," I say softly after I cannot bear the quietness anymore. I step towards you and slowly take your glasses off so I can look clear into your eyes. "Harry, what's going on?"
Your shoulders slump and suddenly you are a little boy who looks lost and alone as he tries to fight off the monsters that haunt him in nightmares. "I don't know," you confess in all honesty, your voice breaking a little at the end. "I just don't know, anymore."
"Oh," I say and my heart shatters a little as I feel you begin to crack into pieces. It is all catching up to you now, the whole fame and superhero thing, and the pressure of trying to save the world is tearing you apart. No one could have ever saved you from this, and we all knew it was going to happen sooner rather than later. I find it all rather selfish of the world to expect miracles just from the actions of one person named Harry James Potter. We all placed you on a pedestal so you could be our saviour from the Dark Lord, and by doing so, we lay all the blame of everything that happens in the wizarding world onto your shoulders. It's not fair and we inadvertently ruined your life. For that, I am so sorry, Harry. No one deserves the responsibility we forced upon you.
I move towards you to hug you once more. "I'm scared and so afraid, Ginny," you tell me. "I don't want to admit it but I have to tell somebody."
I rub your back soothingly. "I am glad you told me," I whisper into your ear. "Is it the fear of You-Know-Who?"
"I don't fear him," you correct me firmly. "But I'd be a fool not to be freaked out by him and his constant death wish on me." You rest your chin on my shoulder and say, "He's just...become really vengeful lately, you know? And right now, I am far away from Hogwarts and Dumbledore's protection. Who's to say that Voldemort will not attack at any moment?"
We both know that I cannot guarantee you anything concerning the Dark Lord's offensive plan, but I do tell you, "I promise that I'll never let you go. When He-Who-Must-Not-Be-Named attacks, you have my word that I will be right here next to you."
.
.
Diagon Alley is crowded, but then again, it always is the few couple of weeks before fall term starts. I cannot wait to be a Fifth Year (only two more years after this one until graduation!) but the prospect of OWLs momentarily puts a damper on my excitement. However, visiting Fred and George's new shop, Weasley's Wizarding Wheezes, raises my spirits. It's awfully nice to catch up with my brothers during their grand tour of their store. The place is packed and I can tell that they are easily going to be living a comfortable life off of their newfound riches. The twins let you get free samples of whatever you want, much to Ron's dismay whom they have denied that luxury. I am completely lovestruck when I catch sight of the pet Pygmy Puffs. They are incredibly too adorable to resist buying one of them. The twins don't let me have the fluffy puff ball for free, but they do give me a half-price family discount. Ron, on the other hand, has to pay full price for anything he dares to touch.
The Pygmy Puff is adorable and cooing contentedly as I stroke its cotton candy-pink fur. A flash of movement in my peripheral vision catches my eye, and I crane my neck to catch a glimpse of whatever captured my attention. I find myself looking out the store-front window to where you, Ron, and Hermione are trying but failing to remain inconspicuous as you slip from the not-so-watchful eyes of our chaperones. A glint of platinum-blonde hair a few paces in front of you allows me to make an educated guess as to who you three are spying on.
I won't breathe a word of your latest mischief to my parents, but don't forget that we are leaving Diagon Alley at two o'clock sharp.
.
.
What the hell is the Slug Club? The name sounds positively revolting. No offense, of course. I look around the Hogwarts Express train compartment I am currently standing in. It is filled with a variety of students and a paunchy professor who looks like he's had one too many. Some students I have seen before, some I haven't, but I know the names of every single one of them because they have famous parents or connections to famous witches and wizards in the magical world. Is this some sort of social connections club? If it is, count me out. I have no desire to be networking and kissing other people's asses when I could be practising my Chaser skills out on the Quidditch Pitch or making out with Dean Thomas, my boyfriend as of eighteen minutes ago when he helped me load my trunk onto the train and then kissed me senseless. I hope Fred and George do not find out his little act of kindness because it would most likely end up with the twins punching him despite their long friendship. I rather like Dean's face.
Abruptly, you and Neville come bursting in. Your eyes widen comically when you see me here. Then they narrow and you mouth the word 'Dean?!' as if it is the vilest thing you could say. I have no idea as to how you know about my relationship with him already but I calmly mouth back 'Yes, Dean'. Instantaneously, your eyes turn thunderous and your jaw clenches.
I cannot handle this. Hastily, I stand up. All eyes swivel to focus on me. Undeterred by the unwanted attention of so many people, I bid farewell to the professor and his ridiculous Slug Club. He looks at me incredulously as if he cannot believe that someone would deliberately throw away their exclusive invitation to his privileged social organisation. Whatever.
The Slug Club is pointless and a waste of time. And there is absolutely no way I could survive their little meetings if you were there. You still see me as Ron's little sister, which is something I am not okay with. It was so obvious in your over-protective brotherly reaction when I confirmed mine and Dean's relationship that you think of me as family.
I am not your sister.
.
.
This year, you are Gryffindor's newest Quidditch Captain. Oh, we are definitely going to win the House Cup. However, tryouts are absolutely a bloody nightmare. So many simpering girls and awestruck guys have come down to the Pitch in hopes of securing a spot on the team even though most of them have never played competitive Quidditch before, let alone have flown a broom built for speed and agility rather than for leisure. And you have seemed to have your own fan club right now: the Potterheads have camped out in the stands, screaming their heads off as they cheer the most ludicrous things I have ever heard.
From what I can tell, you are completely bewildered by all of this new attention you are receiving. I heard Hermione explain to you the other night: "Oh, come on, Harry. It's not Quidditch that's popular, it's you! You've never been more interesting, and frankly, you've never been more fanciable."
Like I said, completely and absolutely absurd.
Dean, the sweetheart, braves all sorts of weather to come watch me practise and offer pointers on my flying and Chasing techniques. I think he is the Quidditch commentator for this year but I am not entirely sure of that fact. I know he's told me at least three times before. Must not be that important if I keep forgetting.
When it comes time to choosing people for the team, though, I hope you don't forget where I'll be flying and scoring goals while these other idiots try to tell one end of their broomstick from the other.
.
.
Late last night, Hermione confided to me that you've been visiting Dumbledore for secret, personal, one-on-one lessons. She's terribly worried about you, you know. She hates your new obsession with that Half-Blood Prince Potions textbook (although I think she is blinded more by jealousy than anything) and she isn't particularly fond of how it dabbles into the Dark Arts more often than not. Everybody is passing Potions this year since Snape is teaching Defence Against the Dark Arts, and according to Hermione you are not only passing Potions but you are surpassing her in the class.
I know, I'm shocked too. But from what Professor Slughorn is saying, your mum had extraordinary talent in the subject. Maybe you inherited the knack for it...?
I hope you're safe, though. Hermione said you were investigating Malfoy's suspicious behaviour. You of all people should know that the ferret is nothing but trouble. She told me of your suspicions that he was the one to give Katie Bell the cursed necklace and the mysterious disappearing acts of his. Even though I know you won't, I do hope that you would just drop the whole matter for once and forget about saving the world person by person. You won't comply with my wish, though, because you are Harry Potter and you have to rescue everyone from the Dark Lord's tyrannical rule before he annihilates you and all the 'inferior' races.
I just wish that there wasn't a fifty-percent chance that you could die in this big mess.
.
.
"Happy birthday, Ginny!" Dean proclaims and kisses me soundly on the lips as he presents me with a bouquet of something that is thankfully not picked from the Herbology greenhouses.
I accept his bouquet graciously, but I say in an awkward manner: "Erm, Dean? My birthday is in August. Not November."
Dean's face falls like a shooting star, and reflexively I close my eyes to make a wish. I wish the flowers were from you, Harry. When I open my eyes and come back to reality, Dean is looking at me funny, and I feel guilty for wishing for your affections instead of my boyfriend's.
"Oh. Er, happy un-birthday, then! Like in that Muggle book Alice in Wonderland, right?" Dean amends.
I shrug, not knowing the answer to his question. "I have no clue. Why don't we ask Harry? He would know if that's a Muggle book or not."
His face twists so fast that I wonder if Dean ate a sour lemon. "No, it's alright. It doesn't really matter, does it. I was just thinking, you know, those flowers looked pretty and that I should give them to you."
I smile courteously. "Well, thank you, Dean. They are quite lovely." The flowers he has picked are not lovely at all – they are slightly drooping and wilted, and the colours have been sun-bleached until they are almost a pale nothing. Nonetheless, I give him a peck on the cheek and he smiles contentedly as he wraps his arm around my waist.
"You should read the card, Ginevra," he tells me.
I hate being called by my proper name, but no matter how many times I rectify him, he never calls me 'Ginny'. It's a lost cause, so I don't even bother correcting him anymore. To pacify Dean, I dutifully flip open the tiny card he attached to the stems of the wildflowers.
To Ginevra. I love you. Dean.
It's the first time one of us has told the other those three magical words. It creates a funny feeling in the pit of my stomach but I squelch it and force myself to smile. "Thank you, Dean." I hope he does not notice that I did not say it back to him.
As we walk up towards the castle, though, I cannot help but wishing that the card was from you. Merlin knows how long I've waited to hear you speak those words in a romantic tense to me.
.
.
Christmas time is fast approaching, if the snowy and slushy weather has to do anything about it. Ron and Hermione are sort-of a thing now: she's out in the stands bundled up like an Eskimo to watch the Gryffindor Quidditch team – more specifically, my brother – be lectured by you about our upcoming game. We're not even doing anything exciting at the moment, yet Hermione is sitting near the Potterheads and cheering with them. I'll have to ask her to convert back to being just a regular Gryffindor spectator or to leave the stands. Those annoying Potterheads do not need any more sort of encouragement.
Dean is now on the team as a replacement for Katie Bell while she recovers at St Mungo's from her incident with the cursed necklace. He is much more understanding about my lack of free time to spend with him snogging all over the castle now that he is experiencing how strenuous you've made the training schedule.
Right now, Dean is holding my hand. It's bothering you a lot because often during your talk, your eyes stray over to our loosely clasped hands and then this unexplainable scowl settles onto your face. Finally, when I think that scowl will become permanently etched upon your face, you dismiss the team for the night.
"Ginevra," Dean whispers into my ear, his breath hot. "Curfew's not for another hour, right? C'mon, I think there's a tapestry over by Gryffindor Tower that I'd like to study with you."
I know what he is clumsily trying to imply, and all I really want to do is go to sleep. Nonetheless, though, I find myself being pulled into his arms as we head into Hogwarts to go find this tapestry to 'study'.
.
"What the fuck?!" I hear Ron exclaim.
Suddenly the tapestry is pulled away, bringing in the light of the candle-lit halls in the castle. I turn my head, breaking mine and Dean's liplock. The first thing I see is your incredulous, furious, irrationally jealous face. But the first thing I hear are my brother's seething words.
"What the bloody hell do you think you are doing?" he bellows.
I roll my eyes at Ron. "Making passionate love to my boyfriend," I say. In my peripheral vision, I see you choke on air.
Ron's face turns an unsightly purple. "GINEVRA MOLLY WEASLEY—"
"Calm the fuck down, Ron!" I yell. "Dear Godric, can't you see that we were only kissing? And that our clothes are on? Merlin, use your eyes, dipshit!"
"WELL, I DON'T WANT TO SEE—"
"I should sure hope not," I interrupt. "That would be nasty on so many levels." During the middle of this exchange, I realise that Dean has quietly slipped away out of the confrontation. It bothers me slightly that he is not man enough to face the wrath of Ron – Mum is way more intimidating and scary, by the way – but it's too late to do anything about it now.
"I don't want to see my little sister snogging in public!" Ron reiterates.
Huffing, I reply: "Duh. Why else do you think we were behind a tapestry?"
"But that was still in public—"
"Anyways, it doesn't matter if I was snogging Dean in 'public' because my love life is not your business, Ronald!" I proclaim loudly, cutting off my brother's pathetic attempt at arguing with me. "You're just jealous because you have never kissed anyone – Hermione kissed Viktor Krum and even Harry has snogged before! So don't you be raising Azkaban over here just because Dean and I were sharing an innocent, little—"
"What I saw was far from 'innocent'," you ever-so-helpfully interject.
I whirl around to face you, my mouth open in shock. For as long as I can remember, you have always sided with me in an argument. And now you're deserting me for my brother's illogical opinion? Some superhero you are, Harry, if you won't even bother to save me from the clutches of my villainous brother.
"Nobody was asking for your opinion, Harry," I spit out in a voice full of venom. I push my way out of the alcove hidden behind the tapestry and rush up the stairs towards Gryffindor Tower, tears clouding my vision.
.
.
There is so much tension between everybody. Ron is mad at me for having a boyfriend. The asshole even told Fred and George so now the twins are royally pissed at Dean. Ron is mad at Hermione for kissing Viktor Krum. Hermione is mad at Ron for dating Lavender Brown in retaliation for her snogging Krum. You're mad at me for Godric knows why. You're also mad at Dean – probably because of the tapestry incident. I'm mad at you for your completely unnecessary fan club that is distracting everybody out on the pitch during practise. I am furious at Romilda Vane for trying to drug you with a love potion inside of her gift of chocolates that instead made Ron act like an ass and piss Hermione off even more. I want revenge on the motherfucker who poisoned that bottle of mead that almost killed Ron. I want to kiss you for saving Ron's life with that Bezoar. I am sick and tired of Dean for being such a clingy boyfriend and his endeavours at trying to convert me into some helpless, weak female who needs to be saved and protected at all times. I am so happy that Ron decided to grow a pair of balls and apologise for his dipshit behaviour towards Hermione and me. Ron's mad at Cormac McLaggen, Hermione's newest love interest, who has decided to snag Ron's Keeper position on the Gryffindor Quidditch team. Lavender's mad at Ron for ignoring her (bitch, my brother is confined in a hospital bed. There's not much Won-Won can actually do to dodge your jealous, vindictive self). You, Harry, are incredibly surprised that someone chose Luna to commentate at the next Quidditch game. Afterwards, you are livid at McLaggen for cracking your skull with a Beater's bat. Lavender's even madder at my brother when he unconsciously proclaims his love to Hermione; Hermione, on the other hand, is glowing with happiness at Ron's announcement. And then Dean is mad at me for deciding to split up with him.
I cannot believe that he didn't see it coming. I tried to be nice and gentle during the break-up, but...well, you know me. I'm not exactly the Queen of Tact.
.
.
"HARRY!" I shriek, storming up to you in the middle of Quidditch practise.
You glance at me warily from where you are standing in the middle of the Pitch, a bit of fear shining in your eyes. "Oh, shit," you mumble.
"'Oh, shit' is right!" I scream. "What's this that I hear you attacked Malfoy in the bathroom and now you're serving detention with Snape when you fully know well that we have a match this Saturday night?"
"Erm..."
I smack you across the face with my broomstick handle. "You fucking dumbass! Are you trying to remove Gryffindor out of the running for the House Cup?"
"Of course not!" you shout back, clutching your reddened cheek that has a clear imprint of my broom handle. "I'm not-"
"I know you weren't thinking!" I interrupt, not giving a shit as to what you were going to say. "Dammit, Harry! How the bloody hell do you expect us to win without a Seeker or a Captain? Against Ravenclaw, no less. They're going to murder us, Harry, and all because of your stupid, rash judgment and need to instigate a fight with-"
"Now, you listen to me, Ginny!" you interject loudly. Our Quidditch team has surrounded us, their eyes wide at the argument we're having. You point a finger in my face and say: "I'm still your Captain, and I expect you to treat me with respect. That slap wasn't by any means pleasant or nice but I don't blame you for hitting me. But I will not tolerate you berating me and treating me like you're superior or-"
"I'll treat you with respect once you've earned it, Harry," I say curtly. "Until then, you are damn inferior as the rest of us."
Your eyes narrow in anger. We glare at each other for a few, heated moments. "Fine," you say in a clipped voice. "So be it." You turn to the rest of the team and give them their instructions for practise. Once you are done addressing them, you turn to me and say tiredly: "You are benched for today's practise, Ginny."
"What?" I splutter incredulously.
"You heard me," you say in a voice that brooks no argument. "And then on Saturday, I expect you to take over my position as Seeker. You know how Cho flies and her strategies. I'm counting on your animosity with her to fuel your competitive streak and kicking ass so we win for the House Cup. You will not disappoint me."
I hate being ordered around but something inside of me tells me to hold my tongue for once. "Alright," I say brusquely. You know how well I detest the orders you have just given me but I'll carry them out for the sake of the team. "I hope you realise that if you had minded your own fucking business, Harry, I would not hate you right now."
.
Apparently I've been named the temporary team Captain for tonight's game ever since the team realised that you and I are pretty much equals as evident from our verbal fight the other day. I know Quidditch inside and out and Gryffindor is holding our own against Ravenclaw, but it is glaringly obvious that I am not as good of a captain as you are when I fuck up some of the plays and Ravenclaw scores a couple of goals on us. I know some of my teammates are wishing the calls were from you when I see them itching to argue with me on the flying routines I call out to them. However, I must be doing something right, because it's the red-and-gold that takes the trophy home tonight.
.
.
"Quid agis?" I hear you ask the Fat Lady outside the portrait hole.
"Shh!" I hiss to all the Gryffindors. Silence befalls upon the room as we wait with bated breath for your entrance. Someone hiccups, their breath stinking of firewhiskey – no one confessed as to who smuggled in the alcohol so we all blamed Fred and George (who weren't even enrolled at Hogwarts anymore) for the supply of drinks – and all of us clamoured to shush the person.
You stumble in through the portrait hole, a look of shocked happiness on your face as you take in the party going on all around you. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Ron races towards you with the silver House Cup in his hands.
"We won!" he exclaims unnecessarily. "Four hundred and fifty to a hundred and forty! We won!"
"Congratulations!" you grin, but your eyes are skating over Ron's excited face and searching the room for something...or someone. When your eyes meet mine, your smile becomes sincere. You make your way to me, not caring that everyone's eyes are on you. "You did it, Gin," you whisper. "You won the game for us." And then to everyone's surprise – including me – you lean down and snog me senseless.
I don't hesitate to participate. After I get over the split-second shock that you are the one who started the kiss, I wrap my arms around your neck enthusiastically and stand on my tiptoes. It's completely magical, the way your lips fit perfectly against mine. You are so close that I can feel your heartbeat sync with mine. When you nip at my top lip, I'm confused at first but then your tongue pushes gently yet insistently into my mouth. Oh my Godric, Harry, you taste like heaven. I don't think I ever want to stop.
You are not a mind reader, however, and pull away all too soon. Your breath is ragged and inconsistent. "Erm," you say embarrassedly. "I hope you didn't mind that."
I raise my eyebrows and smile at you. "Just as long as you don't mind that I made your ex-girlfriend cry."
"I'd take your happiness over Cho's any day," you respond and tug me to you so we can begin to kiss again.
I commit that promise to my memory before I let myself enjoy the feeling of being in your arms and being kissed until my brain can no longer process anything but the sound of your voice and how your lips feel on mine.
You pull away again and peer into my eyes anxiously. "You'll be my girlfriend, right?"
"Depends on if you ask," I tease.
"Be my girlfriend." It isn't a question.
I giggle and kiss your face. "No."
The look of shock you are wearing is priceless. You quickly recover and kiss me back. "Be my girlfriend."
"No."
"Ginny," you plead. "I love you. Please be my girlfriend."
"I've loved you since the very first day," I respond. "That line isn't gonna work on me."
Then you do the unthinkable and get down on one knee.
"Harry!" I admonish. "Are you...proposing to me?"
You wink and take one of my hands in yours. "Ginny, will you do me the immense honour and be my..." The entire Gryffindor Tower waits in awe for your next word. "...girlfriend?" A few people boo and laugh while some others – like Dean and Ron – are fiercely glad that you did not make a marriage proposal to me.
"Well, since you so kindly asked," I drawl out, laughing at your antics. You really did have me scared for a moment, Mr Potter. "Of course. I do. 'Til death do us apart."
And that's how you and me became engaged as boyfriend and girlfriend. And, depending on who is interpreting the story, fiancé and fiancée.
.
.
Nothing really changes now that we're a couple. Hermione even tells me it feels like we've been a couple for so much longer than the four days that we have been together. The gossip around school is frivolous but particularly vicious since the Potterheads now have to compete with me for your affections. I win hands down, of course. Romilda Vane is the worst, though. You'd think people had better things to gossip about...three Dementor attacks in a week, and all she does is ask if it's true you've got a hippogriff tattooed across your chest. I tell her it's a little lower, below your belly button if you know what I mean, and she turned bright red and spluttered outrageously at me. Ha, take that, Romilda Vane.
You open your mind up to me more, and often we take little strolls along the lakeshore so we can take a break from the pressure of Hogwarts and just be with each other. You tell me more about your fears and your suspicions and you thoughts and dreams. I learn that you talk in your sleep and that you love to say my name in the same sentence as 'I love you'.
I love you, too, Harry. Forever and always.
.
.
One day, you and Dumbledore disappear from school grounds. Professor McGonagall and Hermione tell me not to worry, but after weeks of spending so much time with you, your absence is acutely noticeable.
When Death Eaters start infiltrating Hogwarts, I think it is safe to say that maybe we should worry.
There are bright lights and cackling voices emanating from the Astronomy Tower. All of the sudden, there's a blinding flash of green and then somebody is falling spread-eagled out of the edifice. I pause and squint from the window where I am at so I can identify who it is. I hope it's not you. I don't think it is – this person is (I mean was because that was definitely a Killing Curse that was performed on them) tall and elderly looking and there's this long-ass beard that is a trademark to only one person I know of...
No. It can't be. I jerk away from the window so I cannot see the revered, infallible, great Headmaster of Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry fall to his death. It cuts me to the core that Professor Dumbledore, the greatest wizard I have ever known, is...is...
"Ginny!" Hermione shouts. "It's going to be like the battle at the Department of Mysteries. You ready?"
I smile grimly. "As ready as I'll ever be."
.
.
"HARRY!" I scream as soon as I catch sight of your familiar untidy black hair. Your green eyes are wild and stricken with grief. My heart aches for you but now is not the time for kisses that make everything better.
"Gin...," you breathe out in relief and stumble into my waiting arms. "Ginny."
You smell like sweat, tears, and the outside. "C'mon," I say and guide you in the direction of the infirmary. I have no idea if you are injured but I figure that seeing Madam Pomfrey would be the best route to finding out how many are injured and the outcome of the battle.
"He...he g-got...that fucking coward got away!" you mutter in frustration.
"Who?" I inquire. "You-Know-Who?"
"I wish," you say bitterly. "If only it was him." You shake your head vigorously. "That damn son of a bitch," you curse. "Fucking Snape out of all people."
I almost stop in surprise. "A professor killed Professor Dumbledore?"
You flinch at the reminder of Professor Dumbledore's death. "Where are we going?" you ask, quickly changing the subject.
"The infirmary."
"I'm not hurt."
I bite my lip. "I know. But my brother was."
Your eyes widen in sympathy and guilt for thinking only about yourself. "Which one?"
I open the doors leading into the infirmary. All of my family is crowded around one bed where William Arthur Weasley is lying, his eyes closed and his skin coloured with death. "Bill," I whisper.
You squeeze me reassuringly as Madam Pomfrey approaches. She fusses over you for a bit and then turns to inform me that Bill is very much alive since Fenrir Greyback bit him when he wasn't a full werewolf. She then goes over to Bill's bedside and tries to medically calm Mum down with a potion.
You, me, and Dad exchange a glance. We know that Bill's injury will be the first of many. The Second Wizarding War has just begun.
.
.
Professor Dumbledore's funeral is a sad, beautiful, and tragic love affair. The rain is misting, making it seem as if the skies are crying alongside all of the attendees standing here as we wait to pay our last respects to Professor Dumbledore. He is encased in a magnificent white marble tomb, his wand in his forever-stilled hands.
"Ginny," you whisper, your voice cracking a little at the end of my name. "We can't be together."
I turn towards you with tears in my eyes from watching Professor Dumbledore say goodbye to the last breath of fresh air he'll ever take before a wizard magically seals his tomb. "What?"
You hug me tightly in your arms and kiss the top of my head over and over. "Please don't think that I do not love you because I do. I love you so much, Ginny, and this is why I have to do this." I feel your Adam's apple bob in your throat as you try to rein in your emotions. "Voldemort kills everyone he thinks I am close to. I can't – Ginny, I cannot let him know that you mean the world to me. If the next funeral I am attending is yours..."
"Shh," I tell you, my voice sad since we both know that I will accept whatever decision you come to make about our relationship. "I never gave up on you when we were younger, Superman. And now, I trust you again to save the world and me once more."
You pull away and search my eyes. "I have to leave for a very long time," you murmur apologetically. "I won't be returning to Hogwarts next year. But I'll do everything in my power to return back to you."
"Not Cho," I demand firmly.
"Not Cho," you agree.
We stare at each other, trying to memorise each other's face to store in our minds for when things start to become tough. And even though it hurts me so much – I mean, I just got you! – I understand why you have to break things off with me.
"Harry. It's fine. I'll be fine." I stand on my tiptoes and kiss you softly. "Kick some Death Eater ass for me, alright?"
Then I have to forcibly look away from those mesmerising green eyes of yours because all my strength will crumble away if I see those shimmering tears drop down your face. I want to tell you that I've loved you from the very first day I saw you but I know that will only make it so much harder to end our relationship. So instead, I mouth I love you because my heart will permanently break in two if I say those three words aloud to you for the last time.
From the answering squeeze on the palm of my hand, I know that you heard me loud and clear.