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Author: Bella Story: A Real Superiority of Mind Rating: Teens Setting: Pre-DH Status: Completed Reviews: 12 Words: 34,428
A/N: Thank Buddha for awesome betas – I would be nothing without Daily Prophet Reporting! The sound of Ron and Hermione Flooing away greeted Ginny's ears. Harry sat down next to her. She stared down into the water of the toilet bowl, her entire being sensing Harry's nearness. Tears rose to her eyes. Oh, God. "Ginny? Are you okay?" Ginny's composure broke at his sympathetic tone. "No, I'm not okay!" she sobbed. "Why are you always hovering around me? Why can't I ever get away from you?" she asked, looking at him in tear-streaked misery. She found that she now needed to vomit words instead of liquor. "Why can't you just leave me and my resolve alone? My boyfriend chucked me tonight because of you! Apparently I can't stop thinking of you, and I don't know how to stop not being able to stop thinking of you and it's driving me mad!" "Ginny," Harry said, sitting down next to her, his tone the essence of warmth and compassion. She stared at him. "He chucked me," she said despairingly. "He's a bastard," Harry said grimly. She didn't know how it happened. One minute she was closely embracing the cold porcelain toilet and the next she was plastered to Harry's warm, Weasley-sweatered, vomit-splattered frame and sobbing into his beautiful neck. As she calmed down, Harry pulled back and pushed her vomit-streaked hair back from her sweaty forehead. "C'mon, Ginny, let's get in the shower." Her heart stopped for a moment – let's get in the shower? – before she realized, of course, he meant her alone. She watched from her position on the bathroom floor as he turned the water on and let it heat up. After completing this task he stared down at her, hands on his narrow hips, and (she couldn't help but noticing) his arm muscles pushing against the too-snug fabric of his rolled-up sleeves. "Can you – I mean, are you…?" Ginny smiled crookedly and hauled herself to her feet. The world spun for a minute; Harry hurried to steady her and she grabbed the wall for support. "All right?" he asked. She closed her eyes briefly and the dizziness faded. She wiped her face on her arm. "Yes, I'm fine. And I can undress myself, I think," she said wryly. He wasn't quick enough to hide his disappointment and she looked away, flushing. Good Lord. They stood awkwardly for a moment, a mere two inches between their chests, before Ginny coughed and said, "Well, I guess I'll be getting in…." Harry was rather red around the ears. He rubbed the back of his neck. "Oh, yeah, of course. I'll just – I'll be outside…." "Right," Ginny said, turning her face away to hide her blush as he hurried to the door, flung it open, and disappeared, closing it firmly behind him. Ginny stood for a moment, staring at the door, before she roused herself. She sighed as she peeled her disgusting black shirt from her body, pushed her jeans (also splattered with vomit) off, and removed her underclothes. She sighed once again when she was in the shower, feeling the hot water beat down on her skin. It was several minutes (in which she was convinced the Sobering Solution actually kicked in) before she was knocking her head against the wall. Had she really told him that? That she couldn't stop thinking of him? Had she really hugged him? What in the world had she been thinking? And now they were going to spend the night together. He had to check her breathing, for Merlin's sake. No, that was definitely not going to work. After her shower she hurried to her bedroom and clothed herself in the most concealing pajamas she could find. She was about to get into bed and lock the door before her conscience kicked in – she had to say something to him. She padded down the hallway, past the bathroom and to the kitchen. Harry was seated at the table with a mug of steaming chocolate and the Evening Prophet. "Are you vomit-free?" he asked with a teasing grin. Ginny forced a smile. "Yep," she said. "And I'm off to bed. My breathing's good, I'm sober, everything's wonderful – you can definitely go home." "No." "No? I beg your pardon," she said indignantly. "Okay, you can have it," he said with a casual smile. "I'm not leaving you, though." "Oh, for Merlin's sake, you're not actually going to believe that rubbish of Hermione's, are you? I can breathe, my pulse is fine, I'm going to bed, and you should go home." "Ginny Weasley, didn't your mother tell you to always obey the Healer when you were little?" Harry asked, shaking his finger at her reprovingly. His eyes were sparkling. The fact that he was in such a good mood made hers even worse, but she wasn't about to ask him why he was so cheerful. It probably had something to do with her confession. Ginny threw up her hands in exasperation. "Fine! Obey the Healer. Do whatever you like. But you're sleeping on the couch and I'm sleeping in the bed and that's that." Harry stretched his arms above his head, calling Ginny's attention to his clothing, and grinned at her in an infuriatingly cocky manner. "Fine. But it'll be hard for me to come in and check your pulse if I'm in the other room." "I'm sure you'll figure out some way to get by," Ginny said nastily. "And the laundry's in that closet there. You're not sleeping on my couch in that sweater." "Of course not," he said as he slid off the stool. He pulled his stained sweater away from his chest and made a face before, right in front of Ginny's very eyes, he pulled it over his head. All she could do was stare. The boy had certainly done some growing up since she last laid eyes on his naked chest four years ago, when they were together at Hogwarts. There was a bit more hair, for a start, and somewhere along the line he had begun eating regularly and that was now evident in the solid, hard muscle lining his torso. He caught her staring and smiled, blushing faintly. "Sorry, Ginny. Forgot myself for a moment." It was calculated. Ginny narrowed her eyes. "It's fine," she said, her voice several octaves higher than – and entirely unlike – her normal one. She cleared her throat, feeling the waves of heat spreading all over her body as she crossed her arms tightly across her chest. "I'll just get a quick shower. Night, then," he said, passing as closely by her as he could on his way past. "Night," Ginny mumbled, turning to stare (automatically) at his bum as he left. Her mouth went dry and she turned quickly to the table, taking an enormous gulp of his chocolate and wishing there was some Firewhisky available. Damn. She heard the creaking of the tap as he turned the water on and the whooshing sound it made through the old pipes. She imagined him standing under the shower, stark naked, running his hands over his body – SHUT UP, BRAIN! She finished the chocolate and hurried to her bedroom. This was going to be a long night. It didn't end up being one, however. Ginny was surprised at how quickly she fell asleep. She later thought it probably had something to do with the alcohol, but the next thing she remembered after putting her head down on her pillow was waking up the next morning. She stretched languorously, gloriously comfortable in her tousled blankets, feeling something warm and heavy pressed against her back. She paused. Something firm grasping her around the middle. Wait a moment. Something that felt awfully like… She looked down at the arm wrapped around her and froze. She wasn't alone. Ginny moved out of the bed faster than lightning. Her movement woke Harry, who squinted at her and reached for his glasses. He didn't have a shirt on. Oh, God. Oh, God. Had they- Oh, damn. "Morning," he said with a smile that was entirely too intimate for her taste. "We didn't sleep together, did we?" Ginny asked, horrified. Harry raised an eyebrow. "Depends on your definition of 'sleep together'." She glared at him and he sighed, backing down. "We slept together, but that was it." "So – just sleeping. Nothing else." "As far as I know." Ginny put her hands on her hips. "You were supposed to stay on the couch," she said accusingly. "Oh, no, don't try to turn this around," Harry said, putting his hands up as he sat up. The sheet slid further down his naked torso. Ginny kept her eyes away from him determinedly. "You pulled me into bed with you last night." Ginny stared at him, outraged. "I did not!" she said, even though faint echoes of a memory were tugging at her brain. Harry started laughing. "Yes, you did. I came in to check your breathing and you wouldn't let go of me." Ginny's cheeks were burning. Bloody hell. Stupid subconscious. "You shouldn't have taken advantage of me in my drugged state." Harry's laughter faded away and he looked at her with bright eyes. "I'll take you anyway I can get you, Ginny." Her heart stopped. She couldn't breathe. She looked away. Why did he have to be so – so…so…Harry? "Ginny," he said pleadingly. "Stop fighting me. I'm sorry. I'm willing to tell you I'm sorry for the rest of my life. Every day. Just – please-" "Thank you for staying with me," Ginny interrupted. The walls were dangerously close to collapsing. Her resolve was almost out the window. But no – she couldn't. She wouldn't. She kept her arms wrapped around her and her face turned away from him as he sighed and got out of bed. She saw his feet as he approached her. "Ginny," he said softly. "Please leave," she whispered, her entire body tense. "Is that really what you want?" "Yes," she said quietly, tightly. "Please just – just go." He waited for a moment, sighed again, and left. She found his clean Weasley sweater in her laundry closet later on and stared at it for an indeterminable amount of time. ~*~*~*~* Hermione was ten seconds away from putting her head down on her kitchen table and crying when Harry Flooed into her flat. "Mum – yes, I know," Hermione said into her mobile phone when Harry appeared in her fireplace. "Yes, I won't forget the fitting, I promise. I have it written down right in front of me." "Hermione, it's the last one-" her mother's voice said through the phone. "Yes, I know it's the last one. I won't forget, Mum. But look, Harry's here, I've got to go." Her mother tutted impatiently. "What does he need? Is it really important? Hermione, we have to talk about what to replace the crab cakes with-" "MUM! I have to go, I'm sorry, I'll call you soon." Hermione pushed the "End" button on her phone and dropped it onto the table with a groan. "Bloody hell, I just hung up on my mum," she said to herself. She was really starting to crack. She bit off her right pinky fingernail and focused on Harry. "Sorry, Harry, come in." He entered the kitchen, looking distracted, and stared at her appearance. Hermione knew she looked like death. Her hair was in a tangled mess, she was wearing sweats, her leg was bouncing uncontrollably, and she couldn't seem to get at the right angle to bite her fingernail off. "Hermione, are you all right?" he asked. "Fine," she said, waving her free hand dismissively. "I'm just wonderful. The wedding's going to be perfect, it doesn't matter that I have stomach ulcers over the whole thing." Harry sat down across from her and he just looked so sympathetic that she couldn't help it – she started to talk. "I'm fine. I can't think of anything but the wedding, but I'm fine. My mother's driving me mad. Molly's driving me mad. Ginny's not around, she's too busy with practice and being manipulated by my mother." Hermione felt hysterics building. "Ron's busy with work and he doesn't understand why I'm so distracted all the time, even though he should, because I'm pulling my hair out for our wedding and he hasn't lifted a finger to help me." Tears started falling. "I just – I don't understand why it has to be so stressful! Why am I the only person who isn't excited about this wedding when I should be the most excited of anyone?" Harry put his arms around her awkwardly and she sobbed unrestrainedly into his chest while he patted her back in what he thought was a soothing manner. "It's all right, Hermione," he kept repeating. "Everything'll be all right." When she quieted she pulled away from him and took the handkerchief he'd conjured. She was silent for several moments, her deepest and darkest thought begging to be heard, as she mopped at her face. She glanced at him; he looked so sympathetic, and he was her best friend, her brother, and if she couldn't tell him, who could she tell? "I'm making the right decision, aren't I?" she blurted. Harry looked shocked. "What d'you-" "I mean, of course, I know I should be marrying Ron. Who else would I marry? But I mean – does it make sense to get married so young? I mean – without testing the waters first? Is it sensible for me to be marrying the only man I've ever (sorry, Harry) done it with? Does that make sense?" She looked at him with wild eyes. He seemed knocked off-balance by her words, but she didn't care. She needed him to tell her she was doing the right thing. And when his immediate affirmation didn't come, she panicked. "Oh, God, I'm making a huge mistake, aren't I?" she asked. "I shouldn't – I'm only twenty-one and I'm getting married, for heaven's sake. I'm too young. This is mad." "No – Hermione, stop for minute. You said it yourself, who else would you be marrying? You love Ron. Marriage'll make it so that he's yours and you're his forever. No messy complications. You belong to each other." Hermione was only half-listening to his words. "Yeah," she said distractedly, suddenly not wanting to discuss the matter further. She realized for the first time that it was a bit odd that he was at her flat instead of Ron's flat or his own house, since he had moved back into it. "Why are you here?" she asked. "Well, I came for advice from you, but I'm perfectly happy to give it, too." The old, sane Hermione might have apologized for her outburst. But the current, mad Hermione didn't want to. "What's the trouble?" she asked, even though she knew. "Ginny, right?" Harry exhaled. "How'd you know?" he asked wryly. He absently picked at a glob of hardened wax on the table. "She still hasn't come round." "Well, she hated you for four years, what d'you expect?" Hermione said bluntly. Harry winced at her words, but she continued on. "You left her, and her pride won't let her just jump back into your arms." She sighed impatiently. "Don't worry, Harry, she's in love with you, she just has to realize it for herself." "So you don't think I should try to talk to her more? Because I – er – tried to this morning, and it didn't really work." He glanced up at her and then returned his focus to the wax. "Definitely give her some space," Hermione said. "That's all she needs. Just like I need a shower." Harry stopped picking at the wax and looked at her. "Hermione, are you sure you're okay?" "Yes, I'm fine," she said briskly. Maybe if she said it enough she would start to believe it. ~*~*~*~* A Bludger whizzed past Ginny's ear and her shaky grip on the Quaffle loosened. It dropped from her hands and was immediately snatched up by one of the Appleby Arrows' Chasers, who was off like a shot in the opposite direction before she could even turn around. She growled in frustration – not again – and tore off after him. She was too late. The crowd roared its approval when the Chaser scored. He pumped his fist into the air and did a celebratory flip. Ginny looked away, humiliation and disgust burning through her. "C'mon, Ginny, let's do this!" Amanda Tolybert yelled, and Ginny nodded, getting into formation. The Harpies were losing and had been for the entire game, consistently staying twenty to thirty points behind the Arrows, whom they had beaten easily the past few years. Ginny blamed herself for most of their predicament. She was playing like crap and couldn't seem to shake it. Her aim was off and she was unsure and nervous as hell. Nervous! She never got nervous. Well, granted, she had only played one match professionally before, but still! That had been a year ago and she had scored more in that game then she had in this one. "Tolybert with the Quaffle. She reverse-passes to Pernicia Newell who drops down to Ginny Weasley. Weasley with the Quaffle – she approaches – she aims – and – oh, saved by Keeper Ricky MacPherson!" MacPherson, who had had a crush on her at Hogwarts, smiled at her apologetically after he caught her shot. "Better luck next time, Ginny," he said as he threw the ball to one of his teammates. Ginny glared at him and was motioning to the referee when suddenly the entire stadium sucked in a collective gasp. Ginny whirled around just in time to see the Arrows' Seeker rise up out of a steep dive, her fist above her head. The crowd erupted into noise and it was over, three hundred and seventy points to one hundred and ninety, only forty of which Ginny had scored. She flew down to the ground and dismounted. The physios and coaches immediately surrounded the players and hustled them into the locker rooms. None of the Harpies said anything as they changed out of their sweaty robes and got into their regular clothes. "Team meeting," the Chaser coordinator, Beth Rhinehart, said to Ginny as she passed by her. "In the front of the locker room." Ginny nodded and gathered her things together. She gave her dirty robes to one of the trainers and headed up to the front of the locker room where the rest of the players were congregating. The captain, Gwenog Jones, was standing before them all. "Good game, all," she said when everyone had quieted. "Not our best, certainly, but it'll pass. We've just got to be a bit more focused, all right? Chasers, I know it's different without Ariel up there to yell at everyone, but that's no excuse to slack off. Right, for next game, we're going to switch it up a bit with Gabrielle filling Ariel's spot instead of Ginny. We'll start practice with everyone that way on Thursday. Have a good day off and I'll see you then." The girls broke into chatter and Ginny, after a moment, got up and followed everyone out of the locker room. Her mind was slightly numb; all she could think about was how awfully she had played. And now they were replacing her. Of course. She was rubbish, after all. Total rubbish. She shouldn't even be a professional Quidditch player. She wasn't good enough. Why had she ever thought she could do this? Why hadn't she done something sensible, something worthwhile, like Healing? She Apparated to her flat without stopping to sign autographs for the fans like she usually did and, once she was there, she switched on her mobile phone – it had almost become a habit. She had a voicemail from Jane about their decision to switch from crab cakes to lamb chops at the reception and then, curiously enough, a voicemail from Hermione. "Ginny, hi, it's Hermione. I know this is strange, me calling you, but you're at the match right now and I really need to talk to someone. I just – please ring me. I mean, please come see me. Or something. I need to talk to someone. All right, I hope the game went well. Bye." Hermione sounded distinctly odd. Ginny knew Hermione needed her – she hadn't seen her since that disastrous, drunken Sunday night – but right now, all she wanted to do was get into the bath and soak until she was a Shrivelfig and then get into bed and perhaps have a nice cry and go to sleep. And eat a lot of chocolate. Ginny switched her mobile off and headed towards the bathroom. ~*~*~*~* "Healer Granger, you have a visitor." Hermione looked up from the report she was filing and furrowed her brow at the mediwitch. "I'm sorry?" The mediwitch swallowed audibly. It was probably because Hermione's hair was out of control. And she didn't care. "You have a visitor. I led him to your office." Hermione dropped the quill she was holding and screwed on the inkpot. She handed the report to the witch and nodded absently. "File this under Eight-Wart Syndrome, please. Infectious Diseases." "Yes, Healer Granger," she said, bobbing her head as she scurried away. Hermione was utterly confused. Who would be here to see her now? Not her parents; Harry was at the Ministry; Ginny was at practice…. Ron was at work – or maybe not? Maybe he was surprising her? Maybe he finally realized how stressed she'd been and was going to spirit her away for a few days before the wedding next week? She quickened her step and made an effort to smooth her hair down. A small smile even came to her lips as she thought of it. How sweet of him – perhaps he had even brought her flowers? Well, the flowers turned out to be right, but the man holding them wasn't Ron. "Hermo-ninny," Viktor Krum said with the smile that he bestowed on few. Hermione got over her surprise reasonably well and she embraced her old friend. "Viktor! What are you doing here? The wedding's not for a week!" "I vas here for other friends and thought to visit you," he explained. "Vas that not pleasink to you?" "Oh, no – no, it's very pleasing to me," Hermione said hurriedly. She smiled at him. "Thank you so much for the flowers." "Many congratulations on your vedding to Veasley," Krum said with an incline of his head. "Thank you," Hermione said, although her smile was a bit strained. Viktor noticed and frowned. "You are not happy vith Veasley?" He had taken to calling Ron "Weasley" ever since Ron's unprovoked attack on him at Fleur's wedding before their seventh year. "Oh, no, no, I'm very happy with Weas – Ron, I'm just a little stressed is all." Viktor nodded understandingly. "Vell, I vas hopink to take you out for lunch." Hermione frowned. "I'm so sorry, Viktor, I can't today." He looked crestfallen. "What about Monday?" she said quickly. "I'm free for lunch on Monday." Viktor nodded. "Yes, Monday is good. Shall I get you here?" Hermione smiled. "No, that's all right. I can meet you somewhere – Ginny lives over a great restaurant in Diagon Alley." Viktor agreed and she told him where the restaurant was. "I'll see you around noon, then." "Yes, that vould be good. I haff something important to discuss vith you." Hermione nodded. "I would love to discuss whatever it is, Viktor. I'll see you on Monday." "Yes, Monday. Goodbye, Hermo-ninny." Hermione smiled. "Goodbye, Viktor." He left her office and she continued to smile. He certainly hadn't changed at all in the seven years she'd known him. He was still straight-to-the-point Viktor. She wished it had been Ron, but at least now she had something to look forward to – a chance to catch up with an old friend over lunch. ~*~*~*~* The Weasley Family Dinner the following Sunday night was a much larger affair than usual. It encompassed many in-laws, including the newest set (the Grangers); friends; and even more family than normal. Children were running around, babies were screaming, adults were laughing, and Ginny was sulking. "Oh, Ginny, do stop being so dramatic, you'll ruin the party," Molly scolded. Ginny, who had her head in her hands, moved her eyes to look at her mother. "Mum, it's impossible to ruin a Weasley party. Too many people." "Well, you look like someone's dying," Molly said. "Get up and be useful. Put the beans on the table." Ginny heaved a sigh and stood up from the kitchen table. She grabbed the pot of beans and made her way through the Burrow and out into the beautiful crisp fall evening. A large magical fire had been conjured in the middle of the garden and was giving off just enough heat to make it pleasant outside. In fact, everything was perfect – well, everything except the bride, that is. Hermione was wearing an expression similar to Ginny's as she smoothed out a serviette on a place setting at the empty table. "Hey," Ginny said, putting the pot down and facing Hermione. Hermione didn't say anything. Ginny nudged her. "Hey," she repeated. "Hi," Hermione said, glancing up to look at her and then back down to her task. "What's the matter, Hermione? You're getting married in a week." Hermione laughed bitterly. "You don't know what I would give for it to be this time in seven days – after the week of hell." "Everything'll be fine," Ginny said in what she hoped was a soothing manner. "Really. Don't worry about a thing. I only have practice on Tuesday and Thursday and the rest of the time I'm yours. Wedding all the time." "Can we just – can we not talk about the wedding?" Hermione snapped. Ginny's eyebrows rose to her hairline. Hermione noticed and sighed. "I'm sorry," she said. "I'm just – I just don't want to talk about it. Tell me something else?" "Okay," Ginny said slowly. She suddenly felt a stab of guilt for not contacting Hermione the other day when she'd rung her. She really was upset about something. "Um… Well, Bryan ditched me. That's why I got drunk the other night." Hermione looked at her sympathetically. "I'm sorry, Ginny." Ginny shrugged. "Well, you know. Whatever." "Did he say why?" Hermione asked tentatively, recalling Bryan's bitter referral to Harry. Ginny began reflexively straightening silverware. "Oh, you know. Apparently he, along with the rest of the world, thinks I'm still hung up on Harry bloody Potter." "Well, aren't you?" Hermione asked. Ginny snorted, staring at Hermione, astounded by her bluntness. "No," she said, even though she didn't even quite believe herself. Hermione sighed. "Ginny, when are you going to-" "We're not discussing this," Ginny said irritably. "You don't want to talk about the wedding, I don't want to talk about Harry." There was a short, angry pause. Then Hermione said, "Fine. How's work?" "We can't talk about that either." "Then I guess we don't have anything to talk about." "I guess not." Another pause. "I'm having lunch with Viktor tomorrow." Ginny glanced at Hermione sharply. The other girl kept her face turned towards the table. "You are?" "Yeah. He stopped by the hospital on Friday. He said he had something important to discuss." "He's probably going to confess his undying love for you and try to force you to elope with him." Hermione pretended to be outraged. "Ginny!" she said, and both of them giggled. "You didn't tell Ron though, did you?" Hermione's smile faded. "No," she said, glancing at Ginny and then looking back down. "Is that bad?" "Are you kidding? Do you want Viktor to still be alive to see your wedding?" "So you don't think it's like I'm – you know… hiding something from him?" Ginny shrugged. "He's your fiancé, not your owner. You can do whatever you like." Hermione nodded. "Good point," she said, although her tone was doubtful. "Where is my wonderfully temperate brother, anyway?" Ginny asked, turning around and scanning the large number of guests present. Hermione shrugged. "How should I know? It isn't as though we've spent much time together recently." She gave the serviette she was smoothing a particularly fierce tug. "You haven't?" Hermione didn't answer. The family sat down to dinner some time later. Afterwards, Ginny and Tonks volunteered to help bring the dishes in. Ginny was slowly going mad; she couldn't sit there under Harry's burning gaze for a moment longer. "So how's everything been, Ginny?" Tonks asked conversationally as they floated dishes to the kitchen. "Still with that Bryan fellow?" Ginny worked to keep her tone neutral. "No, I'm not. We ended it. Mutually." Tonks glanced at her from beneath her hot pink hair. "He chucked you, didn't he?" "How did you know?" "You've got that tone. I recognize it well, it was my signature back in school." "You were chucked a lot?" Ginny asked as they entered the house, carefully moving their dishes through the door. "All the bloody time, the bastards. I think it was because my personality's too forceful. Took a werewolf to tame me," Tonks said with a wink, right before she stumbled over a chair and nearly fell. She managed to steady herself and keep her dishes afloat with minimal difficulty. Ginny was reflecting on what she had said. "So is that what it is, then? Deciding to be with someone forever, I mean. Like being tamed?" Tonks paused for a moment, thoughtful, as she navigated her dishes into the kitchen. "Yeah, I suppose you could think of it that way. More like a – an agreement, though. You lay out everything that's wrong with you, he lays out everything that's wrong with him, and you say, 'All right, I can accept that,' and move on together." Their dishes landed on the counter with assorted bangs and thumps. Tonks started the water and began the wash-up; Ginny grabbed a towel and waited for the first dish. "It's as simple as that?" "Now, I never said it was simple," Tonks said, directing the bowl and watching as it was thoroughly washed. She moved it to Ginny who took it and began drying. "It's bloody hard, actually. There are some things about people that are hard for you to accept. But if you love someone enough, you do it. You press on through no matter what. I'm a Metamorphmagus and bloody awkward; Remus is a werewolf and quiet as a mouse. But I love him – Merlin only knows why – and despite our differences, I couldn't be with anyone else." Ginny frowned, feeling like she was on the edge of an epiphany. "So… you honestly think Remus is the one for you? No one else? Just him?" Tonks nodded. "Yeah, I do. When I think of growing old with someone, the only person I can picture is him. Having children with him and then grandchildren and going to weddings and making a family – I only want to do it with him. For the rest of my life. No one else." Something was burning inside Ginny. Uncomfortable visions that she had cherished since she was a silly ten-year-old and had just seen the famous Harry Potter for the first time were surfacing. Years of imagining them married with young children and then older children and then grandchildren had made her imagination on the subject very fertile, and she suddenly realized something: She had never once thought of what her and Bryan's children would look like. She had never imagined marrying Jon, or Alfred, or any of the blokes she had gone out with over the years. It had always been…Harry. Oh, buggering bollocks. "Ginny? Are you all right?" "Um," Ginny said intelligibly, and noticing that she had a stack of wet dishes waiting for her attention, dried them quickly, her mind whirling. What did this mean? Did it mean that she was destined to pine after Harry for the rest of her life? Make herself an idiot (like at bloody Christmas of '99) over him until she died? Except, well, one thing: She didn't actually have to make an idiot of herself over him or pine for him because, well, he said he loved her. And while she didn't know if she believed him now, she could give him a chance to prove it, couldn't she? Maybe she'd been (oh, Merlin, this was hard to admit, even to herself) wrong? Of course, she'd been right to be angry with him, but since he had come back and promised to beg her pardon for the rest of his life, shouldn't she at least give him a chance to do so? Maybe it was time (as Hermione had said) to swallow her pride and let him back in? "…don't know how Hermione's standing all the stress," Tonks was saying as she washed her last dish. "I would've eloped by now if it were me." "What? Oh, yes, eloped," Ginny said, feeling slightly dazed. Tonks sighed. "Yeah. Oh, well. Ready to go back out?" Ginny nodded dumbly and followed Tonks through the Burrow and back outside. Ginny stood still for a moment, watching as her friend made her way to Remus, who was talking to Harry beside the fire. Remus's face lit when he saw Tonks and he reached for her hand when she sat down beside him. It started to get late. Ginny bade a distracted goodbye to people when they decided to go, until finally it was just her, her parents, and Bill and Fleur and their family. "Ginny!" Ginny started when Fleur called to her. "Ginny, get Charlie, please, he is too close to ze fire." Ginny focused on her small nephew and scooped him up into her arms. He squealed in protest at being taken away from the entrancing fire, but when he saw who held him he grinned. "Gin-Gin." Ginny smiled delightedly, settling him on her hip. "Yes, darling, that's right! What a smart boy you are!" "Thank you, Ginny, he gets away from me so easily," Fleur said when she approached, reaching over to take him. "Don't you, mon petit chou-chou?" She spoke in a baby-voice to her husband and her children. Ginny thought it was rather nauseating. Fleur turned her critical gaze onto her sister-in-law. "You look ill, Ginny. Is something ze matter?" Fleur was always good at confidence boosters. Ginny shook her head. "No, I'm fine," she said, avoiding her penetrating blue gaze. "You 'ave broken it off with zat Bryan man?" Fleur asked appraisingly. Ginny looked at her. "Who told you?" she asked. "No one," Fleur said dismissively. "I can just tell. He left you, yes?" Ginny rolled her eyes to the sky. "How does everyone know that?" "Well, it is not from personal experience, but I saw it 'appen enough wiz my friends," Fleur said blithely. "It is all for ze best, Ginny. He is not ze one for you." "I don't even have to ask who 'ze one' for me is, do I?" Ginny asked sarcastically. Fleur looked at her steadily. "Zat is up to you, I suppose," she said after a moment's pensive silence. "But it is not good for you to play zese games, Ginny. We 'ave a saying in French: Il ne faut pas chercher midi à quatorze heures. Zat is to say – do not make zese things, zese matters of ze heart, so complicated. You love him, he loves you – zat should be enough. If you let your fierté; – your pride – get in the way, you will never be happy." It was thus that Ginny's unnaturally beautiful and rather vain sister-in-law cut straight to the heart of the issue and made Ginny feel extremely foolish for dragging it out for so long. It was pretty clear, wasn't it? Who was she trying to kid? She was hung up over Harry bloody Potter and probably would be for the rest of her life. But what could she do? Should she just go up to him, tell him she was sorry for being such a proud git, and tell him she'd like to have lots of sex and babies with him? Yes. That was it. That was the only way to do it. She felt courage surge through her veins, adrenaline and excitement setting her heart pumping. "Thank you, Fleur," she said. She didn't listen to Fleur's reply as she turned on the spot, visualized the square in London on which Grimmauld Place was located, and Disapparated.
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