Three Saw

There was only one thing that I didn't get to say to Ginny before I died. And that was to explain myself. I suppose it's too late now, though. The most I can really do is watch my beloved Virginia at my funeral. Nobody here even knows why I'm dead, either. See, Voldemort was too inhuman to die, so when I tried to Avada Kedavra him, my life was transferred into his so that he could die; only I died too. It's odd, really. Being able to watch your own funeral, that is. It's rather flattering though, because all I'm hearing is the good side of the story--which is all Ron and the others got to see. "He was a kind man, a good friend, and most of all, a loving husband," Ron stated, somewhere between despair and anxiety (from having to talk in front of load of people, I'll bet.). It's really weird seeing your best friend cry because you are dead. It's even weird because he's leaving out all the messy details, which isn't really his fault because he didn't know about those. If you look at the cold, hard facts I doubt I could be considered a "kind man", much less a "loving husband". But I was. I loved Ginny with all my heart and soul--no matter how corny that sounds.

I specifically remember our wedding party. It was just find until she requested that one, stupid dance.

Ginny looked up at me pleadingly. "Harry, sweetie, may I have one dance with Draco?" she asked me sweetly.

I hate Malfoy. He knows Ginny better than I could ever even hope to. I knew that if he should ever fall in love with her (which I suspect he already had), he could make Ginny his faster than you can say "unfair". "But Ginny," I responded, grabbing her arm, "I want to dance with you." And it was true; I did want to dance with her.

Now the only thing I loathe more than Malfoy is the pouty face. When Ginny gives me that look my will melts into a muddle. And you know she did? She gave me the pouty face. "Of course, but Draco's my best friend, Harry. Besides, I've danced with you all night. Please?" she begged pleadingly.

I had no choice but to allow it, as she refused to stop giving me that look. "Fine," I responded, letting go of her arm. She smiled and skipped off to Malfoy. I began to feel pangs of fear. What if he stole my wife on our wedding night? I began to doubt I could trust her now. There was only one solution to all of this.

Beer.

Beer was the only thing that could never truly leave you. Whenever you needed it, it was there. I made my way over towards the bar, when Ron stopped me.

"Hey, Harry! What's wrong, mate?" he asked me, smiling like a maniac. That was Ron for you; always cheery even when you were not in the mood for happiness.

I had to think quickly, though, or else I might look rather stupid, talking about being jealous of Malfoy. "I... I don't really know... if I deserve Ginny," I said carefully, calculating my words.

I took a seat at the bar just as Ron replied, "Of course you do! You two are a match made in heaven!" Why couldn't he stop smiling so? I know, I wasn't telling him the whole truth, but he didn't have to go and sound like some episode from "Seventh Heaven". (Why Dudley found it interesting, I shall never know...) I ordered a fire whiskey for myself, glaring at nothing in particular.

"Match made in heaven? Sounds awfully odd, Ron. And why's she over with Draco is she loves me so much?" I asked him, annoyed. Ron's my best friend, and I know I shouldn't be upset with him, but I just can't help it. I sipped my fire whiskey boredly.

Ron turned beat red at my comment. "Ginny says it all the time. Besides, you and I danced with 'Mione at her wedding with Draco, remember?" Ron replied, still smiling.

That was it. That was the answer to my problem. Malfoy was getting back at me for having a dance with his wife. Except that knowing Malfoy, he would take it much farther, and I would have to keep a close eye on him. "You're right, Ron. I did, didn't I? Come on then, let's have a drink!" I said, ordering myself another fire whiskey. It was time to get drunk.

* * * * *

Ginny had to help me home. By the time we had finally arrived at our flat, I was dead drunk and fed up with the notion of her and Malfoy. She turned shut the door behind us and turned around, smiling. That must another Weasley thing. They all had that awful smile that was too damn happy for their own good. I slapped her. "That was for the dance, wench." She had asked for it, and what if Malfoy had stolen her away? He was married and she would wind up in loads of trouble. I was helping her.

After a moment of stunned silence, she whispered, "What?" Ginny touched the spot on her face gingerly, tears sparkling at her eyes.

But I didn't care. I slapped her again--harder. "Did I stutter?" I asked. She had to understand this; how could she be so stupid as to not understand? It was for her own good. I stormed off into the bedroom, slamming the door. She could sleep out there for all I cared. I loved her, but she just didn't get it.

"He cared most of all about his beloved wife. He was always at her side. He even stopped an evil, foul man from harming her. He saved many, many lives," I heard Ron say, his voice hoarse from the tears that were bound to come. I know that it's all true, but it doesn't sound right. I wish it did, but it can't. I had to stop Malfoy, so I killed him, but you just don't feel like it was the right thing afterwards. He and Ginny were always talking and owling one another. There had to have been an affair going on, even if I couldn't ever prove it. She begged me not to do it; she begged me not to kill him. But I did.

I knocked on his door, tapping my foot impatiently. Moments later, I heard footsteps, and then his face appeared in the door. "Hey, Harry! What's up? Something wrong?" Malfoy asked me, apparently noting my expression.

"Yeah, it's about Ginny. Can I come in for a moment?" I asked him, fingering my wand in my pocket. It was perfect. I could kill him, say he tried to rape Ginny, and I could get away with it too. It was too perfect.

"Of course. Is she alright?" he replied worriedly, holding the door open wider. I stepped inside, glancing around as he shut the door behind me.

"She... She's fine, I suppose," I said, reassuring myself that I hadn't hurt her that much. I took out my wand, twirling it between my fingers. "I just needed to ask you a question."

"Okay. What?" Malfoy asked, glancing down at my wand. If I didn't do this soon, he might catch on. He left me no choice.

"Avada kedavra," I said, aiming my wand directly at him. A flash of green light appeared, and Draco slumped to the floor; dead. I felt no guilt; he had been with my wife too much. And Harry Potter doesn't get jealous over just anything. I smiled to myself and walked outside.

* * * * *

The only time Ginny ever got her way after that was when she requested to go to Malfoy's funeral. I had forced her to agree with my story of attempted rape (The wizarding world wouldn't have understood my motives otherwise.), but I suppose I was in a mighty good mood when I said we could go to his funeral.

I wasn't stupid though; I made sure I could see her at all times. I couldn't let her slip away and blab to someone about the truth. She cried hysterically throughout the whole thing. It was sad, I suppose; Hermione, my second closest friend went mad afterwards. She had to have had it coming though; after all, she married the monster.

"Harry! What happened to you? You used to be so... nice," my wife sobbed, her face tear streaked. I hate to see her cry, but how else am I to keep her in line? I had put her in the hospital once--it was accidental, I swear. I never meant to hurt her like that, never. But she had nearly told someone the secret about Malfoy, what was I supposed to?

"What the hell are you talking about? I'm the same Harry you married!" I retorted, angry. I slapped her, just for good measure. I love her, but she doesn't seem to love me, and I just can't understand why. I hit her, but she has to know that I care. Doesn't she?

She nodded her head in retreat, still crying. I turned and began to leave. Tonight I would face Lord Voldemort--I could feel it. I heard her whisper, "Don't you love me any more?"

If only she knew.

Ginny, I really am sorry you doubted my love. I was never good at expressing emotion to begin with. See, I never got to explain to you--to her that is, that the only reason I did all of that was because I cared about her. I loved her. I was jealous. I was a jealous man, and that jealousy ate me up. So now, I sit here, and Ginny begins to laugh. Laugh. What can she find funny about my death? Didn't she love me? I know she used to--but does she now?

I certainly love her.