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Author: RSS Story: A Less-Than-Perfect Love Rating: Teens Setting: Post-DH Status: Completed Reviews: 1 Words: 232,639
October 23th, 1998 Dear Fleur, Thank you for lovely box of biscuits! Hermione and I just about devoured them all while revising in the common room during our free period. How is it fair that my brother gets wonderful biscuits like yours all the time? It was very kind of you to think of me. Congrats to you and Bill! What news! It will be exciting to finally become an Auntie, and of course I’ll be the one teaching him to fly. Have you felt well? Mum can’t stop talking about you in her letters. She’s thrilled she’ll get to be a Gran. What do you call a Gran in French? School is great, although the work load is very difficult. Tomorrow is my first Quidditch match as Captain so I’ve been on the pitch a lot! Harry is well. Thank you for asking. We just had our special time together in Hogsmeade yesterday and it was good to see him. Your next question is a bit complicated. To answer, yes, we are together as a couple but no, it’s not exactly what you would call serious. Harry is odd and makes me loony at times because he is so closed off about everything that happened to him last year, and everything he is or isn’t feeling about me, which is making getting closer with him very challenging. It’s all well, I’m happy to be with him and share his company. Sorry I’m rambling, Fleur! I didn’t mean to bother you with too many of these thoughts, they’re just on my mind recently and I was on the subject… I hope Bill is well, please give him a hug for me! Thanks again for the biscuits, Fleur, and hope you feel well! - Ginny ** “Hey, mate. You looked sharp in that duel last night. You’re really perfecting your jinxes!” Ron stretched and yawned then slumped himself down on the bench across from Harry. Harry groaned and reached to pick up his coffee cup with his sore arm. “I’ve never had to do more press-ups in my life.” “Great job, though. You nearly split him apart. I still find it incredibly awesome that your exams are open by invitation. You’re giving George grand ideas for new products to complete his Dark Arts line.” Harry laughed, yet his arms and chest hurt so much that laughing felt painful. “Coffee, Ron?” “Where are you off to? You’re all dressed already.” “Out. Want to come? Think I’ll take the Tube again.” “Scary, if you ask me.” Ron made a face and took a sip from his mug. “Maybe I’ll come by and hang around if it’s not too late.” Harry sipped his coffee and thought back to a few Sundays past where he was literally run out of the shop and had to leave out the back again. Ron was right, any time he was seen in the Wizarding public, it never ended well. What was he supposed to do though, become a hermit? Go into hiding? Ron stood up and began making himself breakfast. “Maybe we can meet somewhere in the city for dinner,” Harry suggested. He wouldn’t mind going out, just he and Ron and George, later on. Soon, Harry was headed towards the Tube station. It was nearly Halloween. Autumn had set into the city, bringing windy and chilly weather with it. The wind on his face felt sharp as he headed for Charing Cross station. Even though Harry could Apparate to just about anywhere in the city, more often, he would take the Tube. He liked it. The dark tunnels, the dank smell, the stale overhead voice on the line. The way people minded their own business and went about their normal lives to and from work, or museums, or wherever they were going. The last place Harry had wanted to be, after spending all summer in the countryside, was in London, but that was before he had moved here permanently. Harry soon found that he appreciated the elusiveness of the big city, the blending into crowds, the sights and sounds and smells. There was so much he could potentially do around the city and so much distraction: so many different kinds of foods, and places to visit, and people to look at. More than that, he loved the complete and utter normalcy of boarding a train. Going somewhere and then back again. Out here, nobody recognized who he was, or at least he thought not. Sometimes if he didn’t feel quite safe, he would rely on his instincts and keep one hand on his wand. Although, sometimes, he thought it was more a psychosis than anything. When had he ever felt truly safe in the world? He also knew that he could pretend, if he wanted to, that the world was a safe place or that he was normal. He could pretend that he was a regular eighteen-year-old walking around unnoticed, not special in any way, shape or form. Yet, the holly and phoenix wand, like a friend by his side, told him that no matter what, he was who he was. What he could do, was try to blend into the scenery. Harry brushed his fringe over his lightening bolt scar. He swiped his ticket through the machine and soon was walking through the white brick tunnel towards the Underground, the human smell mixed with cool air, making it seem acceptable. He walked past a man selling flowers and a mum with a baby, begging for change. Feeling sorry for their luck, he threw a fiver into her can, making sure he was using the Queen’s currency and not Wizarding. The woman called her blessings out to him as he walked on, head bent down, trying to disappear. Sundays. The train was filled with families on their way to various activities, museums, parks. Harry pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose and looked around at the snotty kids and their busy, fretful parents, trying to keep them entertained. He chose to switch lines twice before he decided he wanted to get off, to get out and walk as far as he could for as long as he could. These were the days and hours where his mind was able to wander and all he wanted to do was walk, get lost in it all. He thought a lot on days like this, about plenty of things. He thought a lot about last year, going over every single event in his mind again and again. He thought about Ron and Hermione and watching them together, being happy with one another instead of angry. He thought about those who had gone on and those who had lost loved ones. He thought about his tiny godson and what an influence he wanted to be. A good influence, a positive influence, a good friend, and he made a note to go see him again, even though he was only a baby who didn’t need him yet. He thought about how much being a godfather meant to him. And, of course, he thought about Ginny and what she was doing and whether or not she was happy, or at least happier than she had been last time they had talked in person. Their time in Hogsmeade had been short, and after their conversation where he had been as honest as he ever had, he had walked Ginny back to school in silence. He had been sort of worried about the way they left it off. It was alright, however. Her next letter was back to normal, and he was glad that the pressure was off for now about the future. He was also very happy she was accepting, and that he would be able to forget love for now unless it hit him over the head, which it had not. He just felt entirely empty of emotion leading up to that conversation. No matter how he tried to sort things out, he had only ended up frustrated. Maybe he should have been more honest with Ginny than he was about these feelings? Worst of all, he felt horrible for feeling like it really didn’t matter at this point how he felt. If he could just maintain status quo with Ginny, she would still be there when he finally did decide, right? Somehow, he would figure it out or he wouldn’t. If she loved him, she would be patient with him, and if there was ever a time when he was on the verge of thinking things would definitely not be working out, he would tell her straightaway so as to spare her feelings. He tried to think of other things besides Ginny. The remainder of his day was spent by a long spell sitting by himself in a dark pub, drinking stout, eating curry and chips, and watching a football match on the telly, completely zoned and indifferent. Just a regular kid in a regular world. The last eight years could have been just a dream. The days were getting shorter heading into November. By the time he left the pub, it was dark. He found a quiet alley and Apparated to the square outside Grimmauld Place. He trudged home, pleased to not have to worry about fixing himself dinner, his head still buzzing from the alcohol. He felt bad as he suddenly remembered his missed plans to ask George and Ron to meet him for dinner and couldn’t believe he had forgotten. It was like him these days. He forgot everything and sometimes, like now, he felt like even his limited social life was very hard to manage. Harry stepped out of his shoes and walked into the kitchen. He noticed that a letter from Ginny lay on the ground near the door. As he stooped to get it, he felt his muscles ache again. Her letters were less frequent than they had started out — once a week now, to answer his weekly letter, instead of two or three times. At least he was following the rules and getting around to writing her back. Ginny was her usual cheerful and funny self on paper, and especially lately, after a long, hard day in the training dungeons, finding one of her letters made him miss her more than usual. In fact, she was a really great writer, something he had never known about her, probably just because they had never written to each other before this year. She just made so much sense on parchment, whereas he always had to try very hard to be coherent. Above all, her parchment was peach coloured, and the letters smelled like her. Harry felt something warm stirring inside his chest as he thought of her, sitting in the library writing to him. Thinking of him enough to write. He threw himself on the couch and tore open the letter. Hi Harry, We won! First match against Hufflepuff. Sorry you couldn’t make it because of work. You were right about Jeremy! He came through with the Snitch and early, bringing it to me like an excited puppy. I think he’s my favourite little teammate. If he weren’t three years younger than me, I’d say he might be competition. Hope you enjoyed your weekend. Hermione is off visiting her parents again for the weekend, but she’ll be back tonight. She sends her love and she wants me to pester you to write to her as well. So there, have I pestered you? I promise it’s only because she’s threatening to put an extra hour of studying into my regimen if you don’t comply… just kidding, although I wouldn’t put it past her. Can you write to her, please? She wants to talk to you about the Quibbler interview (Sorry, she told me) and something else she’s keen to talk about but won’t let me in on. I have a Potions project due mid-November and I’ve been working on it like crazy. Who knew it took a clockwise stir every sixteenth stir? Whose bloody idea was that? I feel like, if I have to start over again, I’m going to scream. I’m sorry you’re frustrated with the way things are run at the department. It may seem unfair, all your punishments, but as you said, knowing how to use a spell does not mean that you are fit to use it, I suppose. You of all people should know that but then again, you’ve never listened to those sorts of rules. Before you know it, you’ll be running things there, and then you can do whatever you like. I believe that! You’ve obviously a special talent for Dark Arts, as you’ve been able to display thus far. *laughs out loud* You’ve other special talents as well, including French kissing in broom cupboards… I’m thinking of going to the Prefects bathroom to have some alone time… You were right… that’s what’s best about being Quidditch Captain. 'Course, when I’m there, I’ll be thinking of you. I miss you. Yours, Ginny,
Harry sat down to write a return letter at his desk later that night. He curled his socked feet against the worn rug beneath his toes and knocked his hand against the desk, thinking of what to write. Congrats on your victory. Told you Jeremy would be great. I just had a feeling. I did enjoy my weekend. Today I had quite a good Tube ride, walked for hours, ate pretty well… Maybe one day you’ll visit and I’ll take you around London with me... you’d like the Tube, I think. Wait, didn’t we ride it together once? Now I remember… Cor! That sixteenth clockwise stir… I can’t see myself running the department, by the way, but someone good should take it all apart and start over again, that’s my opinion. By the way, tell Hermione to keep waiting for my letter. In the past months, I’ve spent all my good writing energy on writing to you. What does go on in the girls' Prefects’ bathroom, by the way? At least you don’t have to be a Prefect to use it, because that would be worse, and we probably wouldn’t get along if that was the case. -H It wasn’t great, but he knew she would probably like it. Harry placed the letter in the deep pocket of his robes, where he would take it to the Owl Office tomorrow morning. He still could not bring himself to replace Hedwig. ** Ginny stuffed the letter into the envelope and stuck it into her school bag, knowing she would have to make the trip to the school Owlery later. After a two hour-long Quidditch game, the mere thought of this was tiring. She wished that she could just keep an owl by her long enough to pen a reply to Harry and be done with it. At least he was up to writing to her once a week, but she had cooled off the letters since that day they had cleaned up Grimmauld Place and now she was only matching his once a week note. She spent loads more time on her one letter, however, than he did on his. He wasn’t really answering her at all with these short, one-paragraph messages! Bugger all. It hardly mattered. Getting upset or arguing with him about writing something more substantial was on the edge of being nit-picky and she did not want to be a nit-picky girlfriend. She wasn’t going to let it bother her, really, as long as he was, in fact, writing. When they were together, it didn’t matter, right? It just felt like they hardly spoke these days. More recently, and up until the last time she had seen him, they were spending most of the time they had together glued at the lips. She didn’t mind this closeness with Harry, but she did mean what she had said after their groundbreaking conversation in Hogsmeade, the part about wishing that he would talk to her more. She hoped that she would remind herself of this the next time he swooped by Hogwarts to pull her into a broom cupboard with him. Ginny had tried not to think about the Hogsmeade conversation otherwise. All she was glad for was that he had finally opened up to her somewhat, even if it wasn’t exactly what she wanted to hear. Whenever she thought about it since, she would simply remind herself that Harry was alive, and he wanted to be with her, and she should be grateful for that, so that’s what she tried to do now. Funny enough though, the day afterwards, the conversation had upset her enough to want to keep her mind off it, so she had written Fleur a thank-you letter for the biscuits. Silly enough, she had gone on, and pretty much ranted, to Fleur about Harry and sent the letter off, not really caring. She wondered what Fleur would say or think of her now, as she hadn’t written back. Ginny wondered if that was a sign. Bother. She hardly cared, really, what perfect, French Fleur thought. Ginny shifted uncomfortably then, wondering why she instantly felt sorry for being so childish and off-handed towards Fleur. Now, she was with child, and the child would actually be her very first niece or nephew. And the biscuits had really been a kind gesture; Fleur hadn’t needed to do that. Ginny decided to make more of an effort to be kind to Fleur from now on. Sod it, if Fleur thought she was barmy. Ginny chewed the end of her quill and stared up at the ceiling of her four poster bed, aware that she needed to clean off from the match, but feeling too lazy to get up, wondering if she closed her eyes she would just drift off. Downstairs, the victory party was in full swing, but she hadn’t wanted to participate. She had run up here to write to Harry about the win. The letter she had just written was cheerful, and she was glad for the Quidditch victory, but in truth, she had been in a bad mood all week. She had just had an earful from her mum in a letter she received at breakfast about Professor McGonagall’s being frustrated with her lack of motivation for school. She’d had a headache for days, all of which hadn’t made her very cheerful. She hadn’t put any of this in the letter she had just written. Harry had worse things to worry for than her woes, and she didn’t want to bother him with nonsense. Ginny stood up from her bed and went to gather her bath things. Her back hurt from where she had taken a nasty spill off her broom during the game and she groaned, having to stretch it for a few moments. Thankfully, the team was set up now, and they had won, but it hadn’t exactly been graceful. It had been a close one. As Captain, whipping the team into shape was the hard part, and just because they had a victory, she wasn’t about to loosen up. Ginny wished McGonagall would not only whinge on to Mum about her too-short parchments and missed homework assignments, but write about the heart she was pouring into her responsibilities as Quidditch Captain! Ginny ducked out of the dormitory, sneaked through the common room, and made her way out the portrait hole. She followed the long corridor and two stairwells to the fifth floor and the Prefects’ bathroom, the use of which was one of the great benefits of her Captain status, it was true. She muttered the password. Thankfully, nobody else was inside. The door opened and she bolted it straightaway so that nobody would bother her. Yes, a long soak in the tub was what she needed to ease her sore muscles, wash away the sweat from the game, and the stress of being at Hogwarts in general. She didn’t like it, being in the castle all the time, but it was only one year. One year and then… and then things were wide open, were they not? Who really knew where she would be a year from now. She turned on the faucet, chose a yellow sunny-smelling bubble bath and a light blue flowery-scented one, and soon she was settling herself into the hot water. In her letter this evening, she had told Harry she would be thinking of him in the tub, if nothing else but to arouse some emotion in him, some sort of feeling so he would think of her, but he wasn’t on her mind for once. There was a segment in the Prophet the other day, which was burning a hole in the back pocket of her jeans. In fact, she had been carrying the article around under her robes. No, it wasn’t a picture of herself snogging Harry. She imagined the lettering and knew the ad by memory already. Ever dreamed of playing professional Quidditch?
Think you’ve got what it takes? Tryouts will run on the following schedule:
Reserve your tryout today. Spots are filling up fast! Wizards of age only need apply. Please respond by December 1st, 1998 Ginny breathed in and gathered the foamy soap on the surface mindlessly. She hoped to tell her mum soon about her sending in the form, but she wasn’t going to ask for permission! Again, she was of age! At Christmas hols, she would tell Mum and Dad about signing up for tryouts, and she would explain the feelings she was having regarding school and her future career. Ginny knew that, if she could explain herself better, her parents would understand. She could play Quidditch. She knew she could, and if she were given a chance she could be really good! It wouldn’t be difficult to explain. Did she want to tell Harry? Not yet. She would, when the time was right, although it was just a tryout, right? It wasn’t going to be a certainty that she would even make it; she could be cut the very first day! Besides, he would tell her to go for it. It didn’t matter, it was just for fun at this point. Ginny closed her eyes and let the bubbles overwhelm her. She visualized herself in black and yellow Wasps robes or even in the dark green robes of her favourite team, the Holyhead Harpies. For weeks, she had asked herself over and over what she wanted to do with her life, and ever since she began playing again, Quidditch just kept popping up… and then she had seen this ad, so she thought it might be meant to be. She had never felt like this, like she knew what she wanted to be, for certain; well, besides knowing she wanted to be Harry’s wife eventually. Ginny went underwater for a moment with her thoughts. Wow. She surfaced, took a breath and ran her hands over her wet hair. Was it even a possibility for her? Not that, the other thing! Quidditch, that was. Was she even that good? She had no idea if she was even that good. Of course her thoughts all pointed to “maybe.” Not “no.” That was a good sign. She had always been able to do mostly everything she put her mind to. *** October 30th, 1998 Ginny, ma petite, So glad you enjoyed the Madeleines and the Sables. I will make more soon and send them to you and Hermione. I am very glad to hear your school year is going well. I am feeling well. The pregnancy is three months this week! You say in masculine, his, but this could be a girl, so don’t generalize! Bill cares neither way, and both us of want a healthy baby. The Healer says we will have our little blessing sometime late in the month of April. I want to cry, thinking that this will be near the first anniversary of the end of the war. To answer, the word for your mother, Gran, in French is Mamie. My mother will be the baby’s Mamie. I will be Mere. Bill will be Dad, of course, as he cares not for the French word for father, Pere. Of course, you will be the baby’s beloved Auntie in the English. What’s the best is that this baby will grow up in both cultures. How wonderful an experience! No, you did not bother me with your thoughts, Ginny! Quite the opposite, as I am glad you shared with me. Harry loved Shell Cottage while he stayed here with us, and during this time, I studied him. I know what you mean, as he is neither open, nor willing to share his thoughts. This, he is used to. Remember that he had plenty of secrets to keep in war time. Dumbledore swore him to secrecy, and nothing, not even your brother, who can hypnotize a goblin army, could get him to open. This frustrated Bill, as well. I imagine that, in matters of love, your Harry is not used to sharing much. Some sister's advice I will give is that you should not let yourself get carried away in Harry’s arms while you wait for him to open up. Men who can’t stay connected to their emotions can become more physical while they search for the answers, as if being close with the girl will help them bring them closer to their thoughts. How silly, I know, yet men think this way! From experience, I have learned that this overactive mind with body connection can lead to even more confusion for both! I would tell you to relax a bit around him, and make sure that your time together is time well spent. Have a wonderful Halloween and please, never hesitate to tell me, Ginny, anything on your mind. Avec L’amour, —*— A/N: In this chapter, we begin to notice and understand the slight case of Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder that has Harry spending his days off pub crawling around London. There will be very slight allusions to alcohol usage in a few future chapters, all attributed to the PTSD. If only Harry could remember that Ginny's kiss is better than Firewhisky…
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