Liberating the Tin Man

Chapter 2. Dire Predictions and Unhealthy Addictions

Ginny leaned forward on the dark wood of the table she had been sitting at and dropped her chin into her hands, in a gesture of defeat.

"I'm going to fail everything, Harry. Everything. And then Mum and Dad are going to force me to move home, and I'll have to become their cleaning witch or something," Ginny ranted while Harry sipped carefully on his morning coffee. "I'll have to drop out, of course. It wouldn't be wise to waste another knut on the stupid London University of stupid Magic and all of its stupid, stupid professors."

A muscle twitched in Harry's cheek and he bit hard on the inside. Laughing at this particular time would not be a good idea. He took another sip of coffee and let the process of swirling and swallowing hold his tongue in place, lest anything stupid slip out of his mouth.

"First, I'll go to Intro' to stupid Alchemy and fail that," Ginny continued, lifting her head to look broodingly out through the window next to the table. "I mean, I won't get a single question right on that one. I'll probably set a record for how monumentally an exam can be blown." She paused, looked at Harry for a moment, and then returned her gaze in the direction of the window. "And then, I'll waddle over to Philosophy of Curses and Spells and fail that exam. And then --" She paused again.

"Harry, are you listening to me?" Ginny asked, tilting her head and glaring at her tablemate.

Harry froze, terrified. "Umm," he said.

"You weren't listening, were you," the troubled witch charged, sounding both puzzled and annoyed.

"Yes!" Harry said, defensively. "I was listening." He set his mug down on the table and waited patiently for Ginny to take a sip from her mug and place it down as well. It wouldn't do for Ginny to have a cup of steaming liquid in her hands while she was angry with him. "I was listening, and I think you're mad as a hatter," Harry said, speaking carefully, but with confidence. "You'll ace everything."

"Will not."

"Will too," Harry replied, giving in to the grin that had been yearning to form on his face for the last ten minutes of Ginny's fifteen-minute rant.

Ginny frowned. "Don't laugh at me," she pouted. "This is serious! I can't afford to fail out of school. My job at the bank pays barely enough for tuition and my dump of a flat, and it'd be a terrible waste if I threw it all away after some stupid notion that I could get a higher education, dreaming of becoming a manager or something..."

"It would be," Harry replied, smiling. "A terrible waste."

"And the first year at University is only general magical studies!" Ginny continued. "We don't even have any of the hard stuff yet, like Advanced Arithmancy and Magical Ledgering..."

"I'd hate to see you fail out of the easy stuff," Harry replied. "That would be incredibly embarrassing. I'd definitely have to go find smarter friends to hang out with."

Laughing, Ginny flipped her hair over her shoulder and snarled at Harry. "You'll see, Harry Potter. I'll be right, like I always am, and I'll get tossed out of that stupid school, and you'll feel terrible for encouraging me."

"Terrible," Harry echoed, smirking.

Ginny stuck out her tongue, and grabbed her bookbag, noticing for the first time that she hadn't even touched her drink. She was too nervous for coffee this morning, but letting off a bit of steam at poor Harry had served to calm her quite a bit more than she would have thought possible. She smiled. "Harry," she thought, "you can be so adorably cute when you want to." Pushing any further thoughts of the wizard who usually occupied her daydreams aside, Ginny hurried out of the door and down the pavement. She could not afford to think about Harry today, not even to scheme. Tomorrow, whether she'd passed her exams or had gotten unceremoniously tossed out of the school on her backside, there would be plenty of time to further her plans to bring the clueless wizard around. Tomorrow.

Harry sat back in his seat and stared at the whirling dervish who had just spent the morning with him as she hurried up the street. Ginny had so much about her, he reflected, that was attractive. She had passion: he'd just witnessed how invested she was in her academics, and her level of commitment and conviction during the war was all a matter of public record now. She had humility in spades, he thought, as he shook his head. Ginny Weasley had always been a good student, and so how she could possibly think that she'd fail not one but all of her very first post-Hogwarts exams was simply amazing to Harry. She had a bit of a wild side: one never really knew what was going on in that pretty head and she had a tendency toward getting involved in the most amusing antics. And, Harry admitted, she was very nice to look at. Everyone noticed Ginny.

Glancing at the huge grandfather clock that was positioned in a corner of the Caffé, near the loos, Harry reached his arms over his head in a huge stretch and yawned. He still had some time left before he had to meet Ron at the pitch, and his second cup was still nicely warm. "Guess I'll just sit here for a bit longer," he decided, glancing again at the pavement which was now devoid of any trace of Ginny.

Harry was in a state of melancholy this morning. A few players from the team had all gone out on the previous night and Harry had been treated to a myriad of tales from his teammates. Married, dating, not dating, recently divorced...they all seemed keen to discuss their favorite subject over a few drinks: witches. Ron had joined in spiritedly, regaling the older wizards with his favorite versions of The Misadventures of Ron Weasley and Hermione Granger.

"Poor Hermione," thought Harry, as the recollection of Ron's most recent stories brought a broad smile to his face. If she only knew how Ron could spin a tale, Hermione might think twice before berating him for such things as burning a teapot or borrowing her socks.

Of course Harry kept to himself, having nothing to say on the subject of witches. He'd long ago lost the urge to pursue a date, a kiss, or even a handshake with Ginny - or any other witch for that matter. So he had just smiled and sipped on his drink, trying to do his best not to appear revolted by the more detailed stories that were being thrown about and not to be too amused by the funny ones. Wizards, he knew, may be prone to poke fun at their love interests when surrounded only by other males, but their true colors were always brought out if they sensed any signs of ill will directed toward their girl from any of the others. Ron had taught him this much, long ago.

Harry, at the age of twenty, didn't seem to have a desire for the very thing that seemed to make putty of all other wizards his age. At first, carrying on with this solitary lifestyle had been a conscious decision born out of a very real fear that loving someone could bring about their death. Ginny's death, he'd feared. But even after the whole escapade with Voldemort and the Death Eaters had been settled, Harry hadn't pursued Ginny.

He knew that she had wanted him to, even though she hadn't approached him. It was visible in her face. Hope, longing, love, and eventually disappointment; they were all there on Ginny's pretty face for anyone to read. But everyone was still in mourning over the many deaths that had occurred during the war, and the time didn't seem quite right for rekindling their relationship. Harry had felt dead inside, as if the part of him that was previously concerned with basic human needs had been permanently numbed in defense against the many heartaches it had endured.

When Ginny was about to start her last year at Hogwarts, Harry realized that he wanted her to be free to enjoy it. He may not have been desirous of a proper relationship with his former girlfriend, but he still felt fiercely protective of her. And, he also wanted to throw himself at his Quidditch training with everything he had left. It had been a time of healing and forgetting, and there just wasn't any room in his life for romance.

"Keep in touch," Ginny had said when Harry and Ron saw her off to the Hogwarts Express on her way back to the normal life of a vivacious schoolgirl. She hadn't looked sad, Harry remembered, and he'd been slightly stung by that observation at the time.

"Yeah," he'd yelled back, lamely. Harry shuddered slightly at the memory.

As he took a final sip from his cup, Harry began to turn his attention back to his one real passion: Quidditch. This was his life now, he knew. Turning faster, leaning lower, grasping tighter: these were the things that occupied his brain from dusk to dawn, save for the occasional outings with Ron and the other blokes, and mornings with Ginny. He'd sacrificed all else to pursue Voldemort and now he was sacrificing it all again to pursue Quidditch.

Sacrifice, to Harry, had become an addiction.