Dean Knows

Dean Knows

I'm not stupid, you know. I knew even from the beginning that going out with her would result in heartbreak for myself. Funny, the things you do when you're in love. But I was willing to be with her, to date her and kiss her, knowing fully well that she was always thinking of another boy, because I loved her.

Who wouldn't?

Hair like a sunset and a smile that could light up an entire room. She's beautiful. Always has been, always will be.

Everyone knew about what happened her first year. For a while, everyone avoided her, fearing she was contaminated, spoiled, impure. But I knew better. Even as I watched her pine over him, even as I watched her date others, I knew that she was the most genuine and beautiful thing I'd ever seen.

For a while there, Ginny was just another Weasley with red hair and too many freckles to count, shy, quiet, and nothing really remarkable. Sure, she was pretty, but in a cute, adorable kind of way. But then, as things are wont to do, she grew up, and suddenly everyone began to take notice. Especially when she began playing Quidditch. Bloody hell. I'll never understand that game, but I went to every single one in fifth-year just to watch her fly, a streak of red whizzing through the air.

I was enthralled.

She'd first shown interest in me at the end of my fifth year, a month or so before our exams. We'd all known about her and Michael Corner breaking up, of course (who didn't?), so when Ginny had starting flirting with me outside by the lake one day, I remember gaping at her like a ruddy fool. Here was the most beautiful girl in the school standing before me, twirling her hair and smiling coyly, and all I could do was drool!

And then she asked me to write to her, and even then I knew I was doomed.

In the beginning, it was perfect. When we had those few precious moments alone, when her brother wasn't hovering over her like a watch dog, she would crawl into my lap, her brilliant hair tickling her nose, and kiss me like I was the only bloke in the entire world. And I would kiss her back likewise, trying desperately to show her that I was there for her, that I worshipped her, that I was the one she turned to when life got hard and demanding. Me. Not him. And she let me, too. She let me take her away from Hogwarts and classes and homework and the war. She knew I was falling for her. I don't blame her for not stopping it before it could get any farther, because I understood, see? We all need something in our lives to make it a bit easier to cope with. Ginny just needed something more than I could give her. The war, the deaths, the terror and fear, they were all affecting us pretty badly that year and we took comfort wherever we could find it.

Anyway, as we settled further into our relationship, I began to see a side of her I'd never seen before. Not only was she beautiful, but she was intelligent, witty, brassy, and surprisingly vindictive. When we would get in an argument, she had an awe-inspiring ability to cut me right where it hurt. She was an expert at verbal matches, and I knew even then that there was no fighting the inevitable. I was hurt, though, sometimes, by the things she said to me. She could be cruel, but she never...I understood and I forgave her. I did, because I knew deep down that she didn't really mean it, that it was just her way of protecting herself. Despite a steadily blossoming animosity, my love and affection for her grew.

And her friendship with him did as well.

I remember when she would fumble around him, would stutter and blush a radiant shade of red whenever he entered the room. She wasn't like that with him anymore, hadn't been for a while. She was happy and laughing, joking and teasing him, and often times, he would give as good as he got.

I wasn't blind, either. I saw the way he'd look at her, all admiring and appreciative, the way he'd stare at me as if I were a pesky fly that was getting in his way. It wasn't until I heard him, very late one night when the other boys were snoring softly in their beds and the sky was pure black, moaning softly, the rustling of cloth indicative of pleasure in a boys' dormitory, gasping out her name in ecstasy, did I realize I had lost her already. That she had never been mine to begin with. She was his and his alone.

In the end, it wasn't a surprise that she would find the most mundane and silliest reasons for picking a fight with me. The two of them were growing closer, and she and I were falling apart at the seams. The last few weeks we were together (which consisted of two actual conversations and less as many kisses) were filled with tension, anger, and bitter fights. And the two of them continued to grow closer.

Despite all this, though, I couldn't stop loving her. I tried, blimey, I tried really hard, but it's impossible not to love her, deeply and unapologetically. I struggled desperately to hold on to our relationship, but she was having none of it. An act of chivalry on my part resulted in the end of our time together, and the beginning of theirs.

I'm not stupid, you know. A little part of me knows, understands, that they were always meant for one another, knows that she is happiest when she is with him. A larger part of me, however, wants to scream until my voice is raw, wants to pummel his stupid face into the ground, wants to cry and beg her to come back to me, but I won't ever do it. I'm not stupid, after all. Just a bloke who fell in love with a girl who fell in love with a boy who saved the world.

~*~