Reckless Comfort

He woke me from a dead sleep, shaking me softly as I lay on the couch in my flat. I opened my eyes, staring blearily into his vivid green ones, so different from my own. He chuckled and scooped me off the couch. As he carried me to my bedroom in the rear of the flat, I wondered vaguely how someone so slender could be so strong.

"You work too much," he said against my ear.

"Mmm," was my only reply as I buried my face in the warm folds of his coat. He smelled vaguely of tea and broomstick wax.

He settled me into my bed, tucking the covers around me and smoothing my hair, which fell into wild splashes of copper across the pillows. I twisted my fingers in his when he pulled a chair to my bedside. Smiling up at him, I slipped into dreams.

Hours later, I was gazing sleepily at him, where he sat silently in the chair next to me. His silent vigil was not unfamiliar to me, but tonight it seemed strained, different.

I sat up, stretching and sliding over towards him, leaning off the bed into his lap, the bottom half of my body still on the bed.

"Did you sit there all night?"

"Yes."

"Why do you do that?" I murmured, more curious than disturbed.

"I like to watch you when you aren't fighting the whole world. I don't get to see you enough."

"Where is she?"

"A seminar in Wales."

"How long do we have?"

"A week."

I sighed, and crawled further into his lap, twining my fingers in his messy black hair. My heart tightened as I laid my head on his chest, knowing that this time things were different. This visit would not be the same.

“It isn’t enough,” I said softly, not raising my head to look into those clear, sharp eyes.

“It never is,” he said quietly, his hand creeping up my back.

As we climbed into bed together, I waited for the pang of guilt that never seemed to come.

Six days later, I was packing his trunk. I was used to our routine now by now, and I deftly folded his shirts as my wand organized the gathering of his scattered socks. He wandered from room to room, collecting his things, always sure to leave no trace of himself.

Standing by his trunk, I sorted through the mess that had accumulated, listening to him hum and mutter from the other room. I could hear his footsteps coming down the hall, and I looked up as he walked in.

My heart jerked as I saw what was in his hands. He held up a small silver cloak clasp as if it was poisonous.

“Is this his?”

“Yes, “ I said distantly, crossing the room to take it out of his hands. I ran my fingers idly over the tiny metal serpent, then used a bit of my shirt to wipe it off, finally setting it on my bedside table.

“Oh.” His voice carried an accusation, and my temper rose to it. The feelings I’d been struggling against all week bubbled to the surface.

“So, what? You can have your life, but I can’t have mine?”

“You are my life,” he said evenly, and sank onto the bed, rubbing his eyelids. I feel a flash of sympathy for him, but I waved it off.

“No, I’m not. Not when it counts. She’ll always be there when it matters. She’s on your arm at all the Ministry events. She’s whispering in your ear at the Hogwarts reunions. She’s sitting next to you on the couch at my family dinners. I see her name with yours in every front-page article about you in The Daily Prophet. In every society column, I get to see her pressed against your cheek at some Quidditch event, or nodding solemnly at your side during one of the many ceremonies honouring all your bloody contributions to our world. For Merlin’s sake, Harry, you took her to Ron’s wedding!” My voice rose on the last sentence, and he winced as if I’d slapped him. Part of me took pleasure in the twinge of horror that graced his face. In spite of my more gracious instincts, a wicked grin played on my lips, and I sauntered toward him.

“But you hadn’t planned on being in my shoes, had you? Watching me walk around, enjoying myself immensely on the arm of another man. Oh, I bet it burned the Boy Who Lived to see his mistress strolling arm-in-arm with the son of one of the first Death Eaters he killed. How does it feel to look into my eyes and know that I care about him? To know that he spends his days in these very rooms. Enough to leave his clasp here without even thinking. It must really have smarted to know that on some level, you‘re the same as he is. There‘s some quality that you must share for me to find you both so attractive.”

I shook the bit of silver in his face, the emerald eyes glinting in the sunlight. He looked at me in shock, his face pale, his scar slashing lividly in the pallor of his forehead. I knew I’d taken it a step too far, and I stared back at him in the silence that followed.

“Don’t pretend that he and I are the same, Ginny. Don’t ever compare me to him.” He bit out the words as he started piling pairs of slacks into the trunk. I catch a pair that I know aren’t his, and he frowns at the bundle of grey tweed in my arms.

“You have no high moral ground to stand on, Harry Potter,” I said sharply, stalking across the room to the closet on the other side of the room.

In all the time he’d spent there, we’d never addressed the fact that the door was never opened. Knowing that I was crossing a line we had never dared to cross before, I flung open the door. He turned his head sharply from the lines of simple, stylish clothing. The hints of silver and green were enough to send a spasm of pain across his face. I ignored his pain, stepping into the large closet. I steadied myself, taking a few deep breaths, inhaling the scent of the rows of designer suits, and heirloom scarves. I set the clasp gently in a box that already held a pair of cufflinks and a silver ring. I ran a finger across a hat sitting in the corner of a shelf, then turned back to Harry.

He looked chagrined, still sitting on the edge of the bed. He seemed like he was desperately trying to look at me and avoid looking at the contents of the closet at the same time. I eased some of his discomfort by stepping out of it, closing the door gently behind me.

“Ginny, you know I can’t leave her.”

“I know, Harry,” I said wryly. “Fame is a harsh mistress.”

“Stop it, Ginny.”

“Why? It’s such fun!”

“You’re hurting me.”

“You hurt me every day," I said, my voice cracking and raspy as if torn from my throat. He hung his head and I went on. “And there’s nothing that I can do to change that. I still want you more each day. But I indulge in his company. He has never found me tiresome. He doesn’t long for someone else in my presence. I’m not too brash and immoral for him. It’s not that he has low standards, it’s just that… I can never be her. And that kills you.”

“I’ve never expected you to be her. I’ve never wanted you to be her.”

“Then what do you want from me?”

“Everything! Nothing! I don’t know, Ginny! I don’t… I don’t want anything from you. I want you. I want these moments we steal. Us, alone, ignoring the world. But we can’t have that! You know who I am. You’ve known me for years. You know what is expected of me. Don’t pretend like I dragged you into this, Gin! It’s not fucking fair!”

“Don’t talk to me about fair! I have a life, too. I might not be the creator of some fantastic spell, I might not be the Boy Who Lived, but people know who I am! I have shops in Hogsmeade, in Diagon Alley. My name is plastered onto bags carried by everyone you can imagine. You can’t go into a wizarding household without coming across a piece of my clothing. I’m a fucking celebrity in my own right! I’m a designer, an entrepreneur, a best selling author-”

“And Draco Malfoy’s girlfriend.”

“Yes! We knew all along that you’d figure it out. We didn’t lay low. Draco and I set wizarding society on fire. Every event, every party, we were there. My family has known for months. My mum has even said that I should invite him for the holidays.”

“You’ve rubbed this in my face? You’ve been trying to hurt me?”

“No! You still don’t get it!” I crossed the room to sit by him on the bed, sliding my hand up his cheek. He turns his eyes to mine. Those eyes. The bottle green eyes that had always been too old, and now seemed ancient and mournful in the smoothness of his face. Tears burned in my eyes, and I fell silent looking into the rising pain that I saw in his. He stared at me imploringly until his resolve broke. He grabbed my hand squeezing my fingers until my joints ached.

“Make me get it, damn you!” He shouted, his voice sharp and hard, clumsily disguising the hurt that seemed to resonate in my ears despite the concealment. “Make me understand why you claim that I hurt you so much when you’ve been trying to hurt me, too!” He let go of my hand roughly, and it fell to my side.

I sat stunned for a moment, then stood slowly. I made my way to the kitchen, ignoring the burning stare I could feel on every inch my back. My ire grew and by the time I’d reached the tiny room, I was fuming. I kicked a large wooden trunk from under my cabinets. With tears in my eyes, I yanked it, cursing, down the hall. I shoved it into the bedroom, fetching the key from the same box that held Draco’s clasp. I quickly unlocked the heavy box and kicked open the top. I ignored the sound of distress he made when the contents were thoroughly revealed.

“You’re too young to need that.”

“Don’t you have one?”

“Yes, but-”

“He still lives in my dreams, too, Harry. You aren’t the only one scarred.” He ran a hand through his tousled hair, smoothing the strands, which jutted back up almost instantaneously. The next words out of his mouth were jumbled fractions of sentences until he settled on a question.

“Why are you showing this to me?”

“I haven’t even begun to show you yet,” I said flatly. The box was covered in charms, and I set about taking them off, the occasional pop and shudder causing the both of us to jump nervously. When I’d finally taken off the last set of wards, I reached gingerly into the box.

The runes on the side of the smooth stone bowl sparkled in the sunlight, making me squint. I sat a moment gazing into the silvery contents, swirling it gently. Finally, I looked up at him.

“You know, she and I were great friends at school. When she wasn’t with you, of course.”

“I know.”

“You say you want to understand why I am the way I am. Why I’ve been with Draco, when I have you to some extent. Perhaps I could show you?” He appraised me silently, and I sat under his watchful eyes for a moment, then sighed in relief when he nodded. I hadn’t really expected this to work. I stirred the Pensieve once more, then set it on my desk. I pulled another chair up, then motioned for him to sit down.

I settled into my desk chair, glancing at him solemnly; I prodded the surface gently with my wand. The liquid swirled in dizzying patterns, then started to clear. He reached over and clutched my hand as we looked into the translucent surface of the bowl. The Gryffindor common room rose to the surface until it was as if we were looking down at it from a window in the roof of the tower. I glanced over, meeting his eyes, and he nodded. Taking a deep breath, I leaned forward towards the bowl. We put our faces into the liquid and pitched forward into my memories.

It was like falling into a black hole. We spun in the darkness for a minute, each of us clinging to the other’s hand. After a moment in suspension, we were standing next to the familiar fire. I glanced around, getting my bearings. Spotting myself sitting curled in an armchair, I led him over, and sat down in an adjacent chair. I shook my head when he started to sit in the chair next to my younger self.

“She sits there.”

“Oh,” he said, and moved over to perch on the arm of my chair. We sat in silence a moment, watching the juvenile version of myself write quietly in her journal. My hair was shorter then, and it curled around my ears and brushed against my cheeks. My heart twisted when I saw the more carefree lines of my face, and noted the absence of the scar I now carried on my right arm, evidence of a run-in with a Death Eater’s knife. There was a racket from the staircase on the other side of the room, and my younger self looked up. Hermione was struggling down the stairs with a stack of books. My Pensieve self stood up quickly, hurrying across the room, taking a few of the books and walking with her back to the chair. Harry’s grip on my hand tightened when Hermione sat down next to us, facing my younger self.

“Thanks, Gin,” she said, re-arranging the stacks sitting on the floor next to her, and taking the ones from my hand.

“Oh, no problem. Why do you have so many? Doing research for the DA?”

“Don’t be so loud, and yes. Harry needs all the help he can get. He has so much on his mind.” At the mention of Harry, my younger self sat back a bit, biting her lip. Hermione glanced over concernedly, pausing in her perusal of Two Thousand Hexes and Spells For Everyday Protection. “Ginny? I thought that you--- Well, you’re with Michael aren’t you? I thought you were happy with that, and you’d given up on Harry.”

“I have. I mean ... I know that Harry doesn’t think of me that way, and I like Michael, it’s just…”

“It’s hard to give up on Harry isn’t it? Especially when you aren’t doing it for yourself---” she said, trailing off darkly. My younger self looked over at Hermione, who was staring intently at her book, though obviously not reading. She stared at her for a few moments, and then nodded almost imperceptivity to herself.

“Oh, Hermione. I’ll get over it. It isn’t as if I’ll ever have a chance. Not like you.”

“I wouldn’t want you to stop going after something you want, Ginny. You deserve to be happy, and if Harry would make you happy---”

“He wouldn’t. He would never make me happy because I’d never make him happy. I’d never be enough.”

I turned to Harry, who was still watching the two younger girls, who had settled into silent reverie.

“That was the day that I knew I could never be good enough for you. I realized then that she wanted you so badly, and I was only hanging onto a remnant of my childhood. Sure, I wanted you. But not the way that she did. Never the way that she did. That was the moment it dawned on me that I loved you both too much to ever be with you. Really be with you. I have one more to show you.” He didn’t speak as I drew us out of the memory and back into my flat. Poking the contents of the bowl again, we fell into a moment closer to the present.

The club in London was small, and full of wizarding folk. The second fall of the Dark Lord had created a mood of joy that I couldn’t remember feeling since my childhood. Harry and I stood by a small table in the corner of the club, where a year younger Ginny sat nursing a drink. She smiled and chatted with Neville Longbottom and Padma Patil when they passed her by, then sat back to scan the faces and sip her drink.

I felt Harry tense next to me and knew he’d arrived. The Ginny sitting at the table looked up at the pale man standing in front of her.

“What do you want, Malfoy?”

Draco smiled and slid into the chair across from her. “I wanted to see you. I heard about what you did for me.”

“I didn’t do anything for you, Malfoy. I am ---was--- an Auror. It’s part of my training to act that way.” She shifted uncomfortably in her chair, frowning slightly. “And whoever told you that I did it for you wasn’t aware of the situation. Lying was a regular part of my job. One I didn't relish, but I knew was necessary. I told them the opposite of what they expected, and I kept you safe." She paused, a sour expression crossing her face. "But if I hadn’t stepped in, other people would have died.”

“Like Potter.”

“No, not like Potter. Harry can take care of himself without my help.”

“Yes, it seems that Potter can do a lot of things without you. How are he and Granger, anyway?” The stricken look on my younger self's face would normally have made Draco smile. That was what he had been banking on anyway. This time he kept his eyes trained on her, his expression never wavering.

“Why are you here, Malfoy? Don’t you have somewhere else to be? Honestly. I came here to get away from all of that, and now you throw it back in my face. Did you come here to make me feel awful? Congratulations. You’ve mentioned them. You spent years telling me how pathetic I was and am for loving him.” Her voice cracked, my voice cracked, and my head throbbed with the memory of the anguish I’d felt. The Ginny at the table continued, tears starting to fill her eyes. “So tell me! Tell me how sad I am, how pitiful. Tell me how I should learn to get over him, and get a life! Just tell me! Damn you, Malfoy, if you enjoy my pain so much, go for it! Have another go at me.” She started to stand, and Draco stepped in front of her.

“Sit back down, Ginny. There’s no reason to storm out of here. I don’t know why I even mentioned him. Potter is such a bastard.”

“He isn’t a bastard, Malfoy. He’s better than you’ll ever be.”

“Well, considering you don’t even know me-”

“I don’t know you? I don’t know you? You-you spent the majority of your time at Hogwarts making us all feel like scum! You might have kept me alive when we attacked Azkaban, with your over-done theatrics and amazing sense of 'no one can ever kill me', but don’t think that I owe you anything. I saved you at the Ministry. That’ll have to be enough gratitude to last you a lifetime, because that’s all you’ll ever get from me. You can get away from my table, now, Draco Malfoy, because the sight of you makes me sick.”

“Merlin, you have a temper.”

“I told you to go away.”

“I heard you. I heard every word you said. How does it feel?”

“How does what feel?”

“Knowing that someone is actually listening to you,” he said, slightly smirking.

“People listen to me all the time, Malfoy.”

“Really? When’s the last time you and Granger had a chat? Seen your brother lately? Any of your brothers? Please, Ginny. You haven’t had an intelligent conversation in days. You think the gits sitting in this club are going to listen to you? Do you think the man sitting over there will ever understand what it’s like to get slashed by a Death Eater, to send a killing curse into the body of someone you went to school with? We’re soldiers, Ginny. We’ll always be soldiers. No one will ever understand you the way a fellow soldier can. And since there isn’t another Order member around, talk to me, Ginny. Talk to me.”

“I can’t,” she said weakly, eyes red and her face weary.

“You can,” Draco said, reaching out to take her hand. “You can and you will. You’ll talk to me because I’ll listen. Can he give you that? I know you’re his mistress, Ginny. But will he ever devote himself to you the way I will?” His silvery eyes were on hers, and standing there by the table, I felt the same jolt I’d felt that day. I’d been reduced to ‘the sister’, ‘the mistress’, and ‘the old friend’. The lure of going into something without labels was enticing. In his eyes, I’d seen a promise that I knew Harry would never give me.

As the Ginny from a year ago said, “Okay,” and reached across the table to twine her fingers in Draco’s, I took Harry’s hand and drew us out once again. In moments, we were sitting at my desk once again. I stood up and walked across the room, pensieve in hand. I put it back into the box and sat a moment, staring blankly at the floor.

“Harry, I’ve loved you the only way I know how. The only way I can. Two years ago, I would have thrown everything away just for a chance to be with you the way I am now. But this past year has worn on me. I love Hermione. She’s one of the best friends I’ve ever had. And when I’m with you, she disgusts me, just because of what she means to you. I can’t do that anymore. I can’t hate people because you love them in a way you can’t love me. I may mean the world to you, but I’m not your world.” I turned to face him where he was still sitting at the desk.

“You can live without me, and I can live without you. I used to think I couldn’t. He taught me that I could. He knows that I spend these nights with you. That’s why he isn’t here. He thinks that it’s something I need, and he’s been tolerant of that. God, it makes me love him so much to know that he would give that to me. I knew the day would come when I’d have to choose. And I am. I’m telling you that this doesn’t make me happy anymore. I’m saying goodbye to you on this level. Go home, Harry. Go home and tell her you love her. Because you do. More than you’ve ever loved me, or ever will. And I love him. I love the person I can be when I’m with him. Happy, Harry. Happy, and normal and loved. Let me have this. We need to let each other have the worlds we deserve.” I reached for the chain I had around my neck, and he shook his head.

“Keep it. It’s a promise, and it will stay one. I promise to always be there for you when you need me, Ginny. No matter what. We’ll always be friends?”

“Of course.”

As I walked him to the fireplace to use the Floo, he turned to me, looking tired and more than a little grateful.

“I could never have chosen, you know. Between you and her.”

“I know,” I said, and kissed him on the cheek. “I’ll see you in a few days, Harry.”

When he'd disappeared into a curtain of green flames, I crumpled into a tangled pile at the end of the bed. My stolen calm was broken, and the cold wave of good-bye swept away my relief, leaving me with the bitter sense of loss and grief. I crawled onto the bed, my arms shaking violently, threatening to give out. I reached the pillows, and curled myself into a ball, cradling my own limbs in a desperate effort to contain my pain.

Hours later, a muffled curse rang out across the room, and recognizing the tone, I mumbled from my place curled under the duvet. "My Pensieve box is on the floor."

"So I've noticed," Draco said dourly. The foot of the bed sagged as he sat down. "How are you, pet?"

"Awful," I whispered, my voice raw and cracking. I didn't move from my cocoon of blankets, and he didn't move to get into the bed. There was a length of silence, and I could feel his discomfort. "I'm sorry."

"Don't be," he said stiffly, then I felt the weight on the bed subside. He moved to stand by my side table, awkwardly patting in the general direction of my head. "I'm going to go sleep in the guest room. Call me if you need anything." He left the room, leaving the door open a crack. I struggled to sit up in the bed, and stared at the narrow strip of hallway I could see. The light went on across the hallway, and I heard him draw in a ragged breath, then let out a heavy sigh. My heart gave a painful wrench.

"Draco?" I called out feebly.

"Yeah, Gin?" he called back, his voice steady, as always.

I started to call out 'I love you' but the words stuck in my throat. I fumbled for something else to say, feeling unsettled and foolish.

"I---There are towels in the bathroom," I said unsurely.

"Er, thanks, pet," he said back, and cursing my own idiotic behaviour, I settled back into my bedclothes and fought to slip into sleep. Somehow, I just couldn't stop thinking about my lover in the other room, and Harry in Hermione's arms.

The next day was Sunday. I didn't get out of bed until midday, and when I stumbled into the den, he was curled in a chair by the window, reading my book for the third time.

"Luna will be here in an hour," he said, not looking up.

"What?" I gave a panicked scan of my current state. My hair was a tangled mess; I was still wearing my clothes from the day before--- they were rumpled and I noticed a small tear in the hem of my pants. I hadn't even washed my face. "Why? What's going on?"

"I figured you'd rather go out," he said calmly, raising his pale eyes to meet mine.

"Oh. Well, er---I have to get dressed!" The next hour was spent in hasty preparation for my friend's arrival. I was just clambering back into the den, trying to shove an earring into my ear and smoothing my hair one last time, when the bell rang. Draco answered it as I examined myself in the hall mirror one more time.

"Your robes are crooked!" it shouted, and I straightened my hem. I heard Luna's familiar dreamy tone, and headed down the hall. She was standing by the door, and Draco was attempting to make small talk with her. He'd never really gotten the hang of conversing with her, and I was mildly amused by his pained expression.

"Luna!" I said, and he sent me a look of pure gratitude.

"Oh, hi, Ginny," Luna said. Her dark blonde hair was pulled back and tied with what looked like a vine. "I've just been to Neville's. He has a wonderful patch of spindlegrass. It's very useful, you know."

Draco looked puzzled. "I thought spindlegrass was decorative. It isn't used for anything, is it?" Luna looked at him reproaching.

"Spindlegrass attracts Rendlevant Prottle-Checks," she said, and I fought a laugh.

"Oh..." Draco said, then looked pleadingly at me.

"So, where are we off to, Luna?" I asked. She beamed at me.

"The Quibbler office. I have a wonderful article to drop off about how the goblins are planning on kidnapping Oliver Wood before a Quidditch game and replacing him with a double." Draco gave an amused snort, then realized once again that she wasn't joking. I pulled Luna out the door before she could say anything further.

Standing by the long counter in the Quibbler office, Luna sent me her own puzzled look.

"So... you said good-bye to Harry. And you aren't happy about that?"

"It isn't that I'm not happy. I just---It's hard to totally change your life."

"I don't understand. You've already changed your life so many times. And this time, you have an already-built life ready to pick up. This was what you wanted, you made this choice. You should be happy." She said the last sentence firmly, patting me on the shoulder.

"Who could argue with that logic?" I said dazedly as she steered me out onto the sidewalk.

The next morning, I still hadn't figured out how to put Luna's advice into practice. Draco and I sat at the kitchen table in silence, each of us eating and neither concentrating on the other; I was reading the Daily Prophet, and Draco going over some last minute paperwork. He glanced up at the clock periodically and then finally said, "It's time for me to go."

I walked around the table and stood next to him smoothing his shirt. I kept my gaze level with his collar, unable to quite muster the strength to look directly into those quicksilver eyes. He put a finger under my chin and raised my eyes to his. Our eyes locked, and I searched in vain for a sign, something that would make me sure that I had done the right thing. I knew I was just kidding myself. Draco had always been able to deftly hide his insecurities, his emotions. This time would be no different. I blinked back a sheen of tears, and something flickered between us. Draco cleared his throat.

"We'll be fine, you'll see," he said softly, then kissed my cheek. As soon as he'd gone, I got my purse and Apparated to the Ministry.

Hermione worked on the fourth floor of the newly organized Ministry of Magic. Though she was as brave as any of us, Hermione had spent the majority of the war in a laboratory, only fighting when she absolutely had to.

She had cheerfully taken up the role of mad scientist. Along with a small team of equally brilliant --- but much older--- people, she had worked day and night to develop a way of defeating the opposing forces. Finally, after months of research, and months more of experimentation, they had succeeded. Her team members were openly admiring of Hermione, who it was said put in the majority of thought and theory.

They --- she--- had created a spell that made fighting the Death Eaters a lot more efficient, one of the only spells ever created that was simple enough for the masses to use, and strong enough to both block and attack. The inner working of the spell were intricate; the effect was influenced largely by intent. A spell so subtle and dangerous was an enormous blow to the Death Eaters, and had marked the beginning of the end of the war.

When the war was finished and we'd all began to choose our careers, something we should have done years before, Hermione was asked to be head of the Department of Experimental Spellwork, and had accepted with delight. Her teams were still affectionately called "mad scientists" and were working wonders in their labs in the Ministry.

Her secretary smiled in recognition when I walked into the comfortable area. She muttered a charm and a small bubble appeared, then floated through the door. A few moments later it returned.

"Ms. Granger will see you now." I entered the office and was greeted with a warm hug and a smacking kiss on the cheek.

"Ginny! I haven't seen you in ages. How have you been? I just came back from Wales. I learned so much fascinating new material. Speaking of material, how is the business? I heard that you're dressing the Minister's wife. She's disgustingly gorgeous and stylish, isn't she?" The flood of words stopped abruptly, and my brain wheeled around for a response. I settled on smiling warmly and sitting down.

"Hermione, I think that we need to have a talk," I said.

Her eyes narrowed shrewdly. "Has it come to that?"

"What? Has what come to that?" I stammered slightly, flushing.

"You and Harry. Oh, Ginny, come on. I've known you both so long, did you think I wouldn't know?"

Hermione's calm voice and cool logic broke through my wall of panic and grief, and I stared at her in shock a moment, my mouth slightly open in astonishment. Then I clumsily found my voice.

"But---um---If you knew, why didn't you---Why didn't you---"

"Interrupt? Change things? Say something? What would the point have been? I know Harry loves me, and you're one of my dearest friends. It made you happy for a while. Sure, it was painful at first." She scowled. "I spent days in a haze of anger. You'd betrayed me, I hated you. I wanted to hurt you, to damage your carefully constructed public persona. It would have been so easy to start a rumour. Your company was just finding its legs. Your clothes were just becoming popular. I had half a mind to bring it all crashing down on you. Then my thoughts caught up with me."

She stood up and paced a bit behind her desk. "How could I have even considered such a thing? Harry loves me, I know that. It's been proven multiple times that I mean more to him than anything else. I needn't worry about that. He came home to me; he didn't neglect me." She stopped and turned to me, her eyes cool and serious. "It didn't hurt as bad as I'd thought it would. Sure, every now and then, when I wasn't sure where he was, I'd have a pang of jealousy. A gnawing doubt that maybe I didn't come first. But he'd come home, and beam at me with those gorgeous green eyes, and I'd know that any intelligent person could be sure that the two of you would eventually come to a point where you didn't need it anymore." She eased back into her chair with a small smile, then patted my arm lightly.

"Hermione, I thought ... I had thought that if I said good-bye, I'd feel better and I could go on with my life. I was sure that all I had to do was say that I was finished, and everything would be done."

"Ginny, you knew better than that. You've been with him in a fashion for over two years. You can't think that letting go would be so easy. So mourn your broken heart, darling. Then let that gorgeous man you have waiting for you to sweep you off of your feet. He's waited long enough for it. Put away your childish things and your defence mechanisms and live."

"You aren't angry?"

"Angry? Angry wouldn't be the word for it. I'm disappointed. I'm still disappointed after these years. It's frustrating to knowing that people that you've known and loved for so long would feel the need to hide emotions from you. And my common sense tells me that as the woman scorned I should feel. . . scorned. I don't. It makes neither of you less of a person. And I care about you both. It made you happy, and now it doesn't. I have no hard feelings; I have no regrets. Do you?"

"No. I don't think so," I said, still bewildered by her complete acceptance of the situation. I tried again to impress upon her the horror of the situation. "Two years, Hermione. I can't be certain that you don't feel bad. I can't just believe that."

She smiled softly, shaking her head. "Then don't, Ginny dear. I can't stop you. Do you want forgiveness? You have it. Do you want assurance? I promise that I feel no malice towards you. What more do you want, Ginny?"

"I think a part of me demands that someone be angry at me. A part of me thinks I deserve it."

"Oh, you do. What you did isn't right. But don't look for your penitence here," she said softly. "Not to rush you out, but I really have a lot of work to do. Come over for dinner in a couple of days?"

"I don't think a couple of days will do it, really. Too soon to see him, especially with you."

"Then lunch, just you and I. It'll be fun. Oh, don't make that face. You look so ashamed. You're my best girlfriend. I adore you. Stop fretting."

We said our good-byes, and I walked out of the room, nodding at her secretary and heading down the corridor towards the lift. I saw a colleague of my dad's and waved him over to me.

"Oh, Mr. Mossbrook! I have something to give you," I called and started to root in my messenger bag. I pushed aside swatches of fabric, memos and a sketchbook full of evening gowns and dress robes.

I had just located the sheet of paper I was seeking when I heard Mr. Mossbrook's ancient voice over my head saying, "Mr. Potter! Wonderful to see you, chap. You've met Ms. Weasley?" My head jerked up, and our eyes met. His face was placid, but he gave me a reserved smile.

My mind when blank, and I flashed back to the feeling I'd always gotten on seeing him as a girl. Harry Potter, with the scar and the glasses, the glory and the hesitant smile.

"Yes, I have. Hullo, Gin." I stared in shock a moment, still lost in my memories, then checked myself.

"Hi, Harry," I said quickly. "I'm really in a rush. I'll see you 'round." My face felt like it was on fire as I rushed onto the lift. He turned to watch me as the doors closed. I was halfway up to ground level when I realized I hadn't given Mr. Mossbrook his paper.

When I got home, I went straight to the bathroom and took a long, hot shower. Wrapped in a dressing gown, with my hair dripping water down my back, I headed to mine and Draco's room to dress. I had a meeting with the board about our summer line in two hours, and I had the intention of stopping by Ron and Lavender's on the way. I had one leg in a long, black skirt when the doorbell rang. Rushing to finish dressing, I called, "Just a minute!" to whoever was waiting in the hall.

I charmed a bubble up, said, "This is Gin, who's this?" and sent it through the door. If the person on the other side lied about whom they were, the bubble would come back blue. It returned it usual shade of bright green.

"It's Seamus," came the terse reply. "I think we should talk." I flung the door open with glee, eagerly searching the hallway. My eyes fell on my tall, sandy-haired friend, who was leaning heavily on the wall opposite my door.

"Oh, how wonderful to see you. I don't have a whole lot of time, but we can make tea and---" I broke off when I fully took in his appearance. His normally genial eyes were dark with anger. He had slashes of bright colour on his cheeks and a scuff on his ear. When I noticed a cut across his right temple, I started towards him. "Seamus? What---"

"Don't," he said sharply. "And don't touch me, al'right?" His lilting voice had an edge to it, and I took a step back.

"What happened?"

"I got myself into a fight, obviously," he said. He didn't move from his place slumped against the wall, so I took a step towards him again. He flinched slightly, and I frowned.

"Why? Why would you get into a fight? Do you want to come in?"

"No, I don't think I do."

"Don't be silly. You didn't come here to stand in the hallway. I haven't the patience to have a conversation in the corridor. So, I'm going inside. Whether you follow me is your decision." I turned on my heel and headed into my flat. When he entered behind me, I closed the door.

"I needed a drink, so I went to the pub," he said shortly, and when he didn't offer any more information, I urged him along by asking a question.

"Why did you need a drink?"

"Harry said he needed to talk to me, so I went to visit him," he said, eyeing me darkly.

"Oh," I said, turning my back on him and moving into the kitchen. He followed behind me, unwrapping his scarf gingerly and tossing it onto the table. I went about putting on the tea, and ignored him for the most part as he took a seat at the table. When I spoke, my voice felt strained as it made it's way out of my throat. "I hadn't realised that everyone was so concerned about Harry and I."

"Well, I hadn't realised that you cheated on me," he said curtly, taking a cup off the tray I set on the table. I gave him a confused look, and he grimaced painfully.

"Two years, Ginny?" he said. He stared down at his cup. "Two years ago, you and I were dating."

"No we weren't, I was--- Oh," My face fell. "Yes, but Seamus---"

"Don't bother. There is no excuse for treating people this way. I just drunk myself into oblivion, and got tossed out of a pub for starting a fight and breaking a few barstools. I'm sick of this, Ginny. I don't think you and Harry understand that everyone around you has been affected by this."

"Yes, I do," I said desperately. "I do, and it breaks my heart, but I couldn't help myself. I needed him."

"And me?"

"You . . . You have been a cherished and loyal friend to me always."

He snorted. "That's comforting."

"What do you expect, Seamus? You broke up with me. There has never been anything more between us."

"What I expect, Ginny, is for you to be honest. I thought we were friends. You kept something important from me, cheated on me, and moreover, you lied."

"I didn't lie!"

"Not once? Never once did you say you were spending the weekend in Paris when you were actually at home with him? Never once did you say you were alone when you weren't?"

"Okay, then I lied," I said briskly, frowning down at my tea. "It's an important part of being the other woman, you know. Lying to cover your tracks, lying to buy more time, lying to make yourself feel justified. I'm sorry, Seamus, I am. But I can't erase the past two years. It's all over, and I won't have to lie to you anymore." He sat across from me, pale green eyes focused on me, and shook his head. He took a sip of his tea, then sat the cup back in his saucer.

"How badly did it hurt?" he said softly, and I looked up sharply. He raised his eyebrows at me. "What? You've broken it off, haven't you?"

"Yes, I have," I said, my voice cracking. "Seamus, I felt like I was dying. It hurt like nothing I've ever felt before."

"What about Draco?"

"What about Draco?" I asked, starting to clear the table.

"What does he have to say about all of this?" He waved his hand around vaguely.

"He already knew," I said, shaking my head. "So he's had nothing to say besides that I can come to him when I need him."

"Well?" He grinned at me, and I gave him a blank stare.

"Well what?" I said, my back to him as I rinsed out our cups.

"You need him. Why haven't you gone to him?"

"I saw him this morning. Everything is fine. I love him, he loves me. Harry loves Hermione, Hermione loves Harry. Isn't that how it's supposed to be?" I wiped off the cups and sat them in the cabinet, then sat back down at the table. I turned to where I'd left off in the Prophet, and began reading, motioning for him to go on.

"Sure, but you must have had a talk with Draco, reminded him that you love him above all others, and so on. You can't be so clueless about your own boyfriend." He glanced over at the paper in my hand. "Hermione's on page three." I rifled through to page three, and he continued talking. "I admit that Malfoy is not one of my favourite people in the world. The fact that he was on our side only makes it so I'm able to tolerate him. But Draco is a selfish person."

"Hey!" I exclaimed defensively, just as I reached the page in question. There was a picture of Hermione, her dark hair pulled back in a tight bun, with a couple of curls exploding around her face. Next to her was Harry, who had his arm around her, smiling. The picture was a normal wizarding one, and they both waved at me from the paper, then Harry rubbed Hermione's arm fondly, kissing the top of her head. I noted that Draco had written, "stupid git," over his head, and rolled my eyes. Some things never changed.

"Face it, Malfoy hates sharing. And he's been gracious enough to share his girlfriend for a year. His nature demands that he be rewarded for that. Do him a favour."

"I can't, I have a meeting in about an hour. We're working on the mid-summer campaign."

"It's December!"

"These things take planning."

"It's your company. Skip a meeting."

"You are a horrible influence, Seamus Finnigan," I said, glancing down at my paper once more, then grinning up at him.

The pub wasn't much different than it had been a year ago, when my life had changed with the gleam of an eye. It had the same intimate round tables, the same dim lamps and, it seemed, the same merry crush of voices. I nodded at a crowd of familiar people near the front, then carefully chose my table. It was nestled in a corner, with four comfortable chairs and a cauldron full of flowers in the centre. I left the chair opposite me empty, then put my bag, my cloak and my scarf on the one next to mine.

I ordered a drink and nursed it in edgy anticipation, fiddling nervously with the chain around my neck. My mind kept running through all the things I had to say---how I would say them, how he would respond.

A set of bells on the door clanged periodically, hailing new comers and announcing the departure of others. I opened my sketchbook and idly began sketching a blouse. I found it hard to concentrate; my eyes kept straying to the oft-opening doorway, and I spoke briefly with quite a few acquaintances and friends, fielding frequent questions about Madam Minister and her wardrobe. I was chatting with Cho Chang--- who had become Seeker for the Tutshill Tornados--- about her prospects in the upcoming finals, when a blast of frigid air issued once again from the door. I glanced up and my breath caught. I had forgotten how breathtaking he could be. I vaguely heard Cho say a cheerful good-bye, but responded without looking at her, my eyes trained on Draco standing across the room.

He seemed to sense my gaze, and turned, his eyes locking with mine. A slow, soft smile slid over his mouth, and he gave me a short nod, then started to make his way across the crowded pub. I used the time to watch him. I refreshed myself, so long distracted, on his mannerisms, how he looked to someone who didn't caress his face every day.

Draco moved with an easy grace through the crush, sending some people a cool stare and others a brief smile. He was dressed in his usual deep green, his heavy cloak buttoned tightly against the cold. His short, pale hair was covered in snowflakes and the brisk wind had mussed it gently, leaving a shock of it in his forehead. His dishevelled hair framed charmingly his smoke grey eyes. Eyes that always seemed to hold a clever gleam that gave you the unsettling idea that he knew more of what you were thinking than he let on.

He was, as always, patronizingly but carefully polite to people who hailed him. It was something subtler and more refined than his days as a taunting schoolboy. He had a slow way of slipping things under you that left you wondering hours later if he had meant what you thought he meant. No doubt this was a negative trait, worthy of reprimand, but no one could really blame Draco. Most people who endeavoured to speak with him had denounced him as spy and traitor during the war and now only sought the social and business opportunities that he could offer them. We had talked in quiet hours about the disgust he felt for those people, the pain it caused him that, even now, he couldn't escape the prestige that kept on sticking to the Malfoy name.

I thought of that conversation now, as he reached the table next to mine. I smiled, and got up to help him with his cloak.

As I brushed off the last of the snow, Draco slid into my vacated seat. I made an irritated noise in the back of my throat, and he glanced up at me, eyes widened in false innocence.

"What?" he said in faux cluelessness. "I thought that as my loving and generous significant other, you would be more than happy to give me the warm chair."

"Fine," I bit out, and went to the chair opposite him, settling into it with my back to the door. He flagged down a passing waitress and ordered an expensive brand of Firewhisky. I rolled my eyes at his predictability and he gave me a smooth grin. He brushed at his hair, and blinked his eyes, still attempting to banish the snow that covered the platinum strands. He rubbed his hands together, trying to shake the last of his chill, then eagerly took the drink the waitress offered.

"Quite out of character, this meeting," he said, gesturing at me with his glass, then taking a long drink.

"I know. I hate cancelling meetings but---" I trailed off vaguely, and he arched a pale brow.

"But what? I know you didn't pull me away from my work to sit and stare at me. Or maybe you did," he amended, shooting me a coy look. I snorted, still unable to quite decide how I wanted to phrase my thoughts and feelings. I decided just to go by my usual procedure. That is, regret what comes popping out of my mouth with no notice.

I opened my mouth to speak. "Draco, I---"

"Oh, Merlin, not tonight," he moaned, cutting me off. I sat a moment in bafflement, and it was only after I had opened and closed my mouth a few times that I realized he wasn't addressing me; his gaze was focused over my right shoulder. I had a sinking sense of dread, and turned slightly in my chair to see what he was staring at. My fears were concerned when I spotted Harry and Hermione shaking snow off themselves by the door.

"Just ignore them," I said quickly, and turned back to face Draco.

"You can't ignore them," he retorted. "They walk in, and everyone in the room is focused on them. They change the atmosphere in a room faster than Dumbledore saying he wants to tell a joke."

"Please," I said desperately. "I need to talk to you and---"

"Ginny!" I froze, afraid to turn, as I heard Hermione's voice ring out. For a wild moment I considered ignoring her, and realizing it was hopeless, I twisted in my seat.

"Hey, Hermione," I said dully. She didn't seem to notice my hesitance, just pulled a chair from a nearby table.

"Do you mind if we join you?" she asked, her eyes questioning and innocuous in her frost-cooled face.

Devil woman! I thought madly, giving Draco a hopeful look. Make them go away, Draco, please.

He obviously did not receive my eye-sent pleading, because he gave Hermione a polite smile, then pulled another chair over. "Not at all." My heart sank as I envisioned the four of us having a conversation that would soon turn into a brawl in the middle of the pub. I considered pretending I had to leave, but as Draco sent me a sly grin, I realised that he knew exactly what he was doing, and he was loving every second of my twisting discomfort. How could I have forgotten that he could be so cruel? As Harry made his way over and sat in the chair between Hermione and I, I shifted uncomfortably in my chair. Hermione sent me a sympathetic look, and I felt a twinge of guilt, what I felt had become my trademark emotion.

"Are you sure it's okay with you, Ginny?" she asked concernedly.

I felt like shouting at her that it wasn't okay, and that she should take her boyfriend and go have a drink in another pub. Instead I smiled stiffly and said, "Of course it is, I'm always willing to have a drink with a couple of. . .old friends." I lifted my drink to my mouth, and with a desperate air, threw my head back and drained it, waving at the waitress for another. Draco gave me an amused look, then turned to Hermione.

"How have you been?" he asked cheerfully, and it dawned on me that they were planning on spending the entire evening pretending like nothing had happened. I took a large gulp of my newly filled glass, and began to pick at a scratch in the table.

Hermione launched into a lecture about spell technology, kneazles and Qudditch fans. I continued to stare disconsolately at the table, gulping my drink hastily and picking at the table, guiltily longing for her to just leave. It wasn't until I felt a hand on my arm that I remembered Harry was next to me.

"How have you been, Ginny? He asked, his voice casual, but his eyes focused concernedly on my face. He glanced at the drink in my hand. then back to my face, looking worried.

I gave him a cool smirk, then pointedly took another drink. He shook his slightly, then had another go at conversing.

"I got a letter from Remus the other day. He's settled in India, and says we can visit him in the spring. It'd---it'd probably be fun, don't you think?" His voice was pleading, but I ignored him, my irritation building. I could hear Hermione across the table, and Draco's smooth replies to everything she said. Harry went on in a rushed tone. "I mean, I was thinking we could all go, you and Draco, Hermione and I, Luna and Neville, and Ron and Lavender. We could---"

"Would you shut up!" I said loudly, sick of the way this was going. I hadn't planned it this way, it was supposed to be a quiet dinner, just Draco and I. Instead I had to sit and listen to everyone try to play nice. It was loathsome, and made me slightly nauseous. Hermione had broken off with a startled expression, and all three of them were staring at me in shock. I scowled at them. "This is the most idiotic and fake conversation I've had in my entire life. Draco, you are making me ill with this polite-good-listener act; Hermione, you are far too clever to think that is feasible and healthy to behave this way; and Harry---" I shook my head. "you should know better."

"Ginny, I think you've had too much to drink," Harry said. He sounded faintly embarrassed by my outburst. He reached to take a hold of my arm, and I yanked it free.

"I have not had too much to drink. Don't treat me like a child. You---you spend all your time acting like you're being kind to everyone! 'Oh, Ginny, I'll love you, because no one else will!' 'Oh, Ginny, he can't really love you, because--well, you're you, aren't you?'!"

Harry had frozen in the midst of trying to get a hold of my arm again. His face was perfectly blank, and when he spoke, his voice was flat and dull, "I never said any of those things."

"You didn't have to. It's been written on your face for months. Nagging at the back of my mind. I'm sick of this, I really am. You, Harry, are fallible. You are imperfect, mortal, human. You can be untrustworthy." I gestured at Hermione. "And deceptive. You rage, you lie, you cheat, you sin." The three of them were wearing perfect masks of shock, barely blinking at they stared at me in startled dismay. I fumbled through the pile of coats and scarves, dragging mine out. As they stood in silence, I shoved my arms through the holes, and headed towards the door. As I brushed past Draco, he shook himself.

"Ginny, I--- See you at home?"

"I'm going to my mum's." The crowd parted slightly as I stormed towards the door, and as I stepped into the snow, I could tell that they were following me. Let them come, I thought bitterly, and started stomping through the snow, perfectly aware that I could Apparate, but enjoying the stomping, and the snow and the icy wind whistling along my cheeks.

"Ginny!" I finally heard behind me, and I wheeled around to face Draco.

"What?" I was half-shouting over the wind. My cheeks were beginning to feel raw, and my lips were getting chapped. Still, I stared calmly into those cool grey eyes, and the anger inside me dwindled. He gave me an irritatingly calm smile, and slid a gloved hand up my cheek.

"That was quite a production, darling. Now let's go home." I shook his hand off with the last thread of my antagonism.

"Do not speak to me like a petulant child. He did it, too, Draco. He cheated, too. Why do I have to bear all this pain while he feels nothing?" A slow tear escaped my crinkled eyelids, stinging as it slid down my cheek. I brushed it away impatiently. Draco took a step towards me, but didn't attempt to touch me again.

"I don't know what you want me to say, Ginny. I don't think he's come out of this without scars. I don't think anyone could have. Does he feel his pain at the depth you do? Most likely not. Does that mean that you have to carry this torch your entire life, letting it scorch you and burn those gorgeous fingers?" He caught my hand. "Please say no. Say no because I love you, and if you have to carry a torch, let it be for me. Let me love you, Ginevra Weasley. Let Hermione Granger and Harry Potter be damned. Come with me and be mine. Because I've been yours for years now, waiting for my chance to have you."

I sniffled through my painful sheen of tears, and my mind weakly tried to explain my breathlessness on the wind that was screeching past my ears and slamming into my face.

"Draco, I . . . I'm sorry. I'm sorry that I did that to you. That I made you wait those years; that I didn’t see you as you are. And when I did, I'm sorry that I took you for granted. I spoke to Seamus earlier, and I hadn't realised until then that I'd not even spoken to you. I didn't tell you the things I ought've," I said hoarsely, shoving a hand through my snow-covered hair. The snow was starting to coat my eyelashes, making it hard to see. "Draco, I l---" At that moment, Hermione chose to come running out of the pub.

"Draco! Ginny! You should come in out of the snow! You'll catch your deaths out here!" I stood there a moment longer, then glanced down at my hands, realising I hadn't put my gloves on. They were turning a lovely shade of pale purple with splotches of blue. I stared at them dazedly until Draco put his hand firmly at my elbow and steered me into the pub.

We stepped inside and were greeted by a small group of concerned friends. I raised an eyebrow at them all. "Were you expecting bloodshed?"

"Well, no," said Parvati Patil nervously, glancing around at her friends, who laughed nervously. I rolled my eyes and swept by them.

I stalked, covered in snowflakes, to where Hermione had joined Harry at the table.

"I want you to know, Harry, that I really did love you. Part of me will always love you, in it's own childish pathetic way. But that what that love is. Childish. Misshapen and malformed. A fascination with a person who doesn't exist anymore. You've not once taken your share of the guilt. I didn't cheat with myself, Harry," I said, shooting him a vinegar-soaked smile. "But I guess after all of this, I still can't bring myself to hate you. Hate the years I've spent, the years I wasted. So this is my apology. This is my apology and my act of forgiveness." I slowly unhooked the chain from my neck.

At the end of the long golden strand twisted a simple golden band. You couldn't see it, but I knew that 'beloved' was inscribed on the inside. I dangled it in front of me for a moment, and it caught the light from the scattered candles and threw it onto the walls. Then I clutched it in my hand, stepping around the table to stand next to Harry.

"This is a promise. Not easily broken. Let's just say we'll bend it in a fashion. If the promise was genuine, I'll have to say that I'm not your beloved anymore. And if your promise was false, I guess I'm glad I never was," I smiled gently at him, then pressed the necklace in the palm of his hand. I patted Hermione's hand where it rested on the table, then straightened and took Draco's hand. "Let's go." We started getting our things together, and from the corner of my eye I saw Hermione lay her head on Harry's shoulder, just before I Apparated.

Draco and I stood in our kitchen, not speaking as he made tea and I rooted around in the cupboard for a tin of biscuits I knew we had somewhere.

"Oh, damn," I muttered when I knocked over a precarious stack of boxes. As they fell to the ground with a clatter, Draco leaned on the wall next to me.

"Found them yet?" He asked, a mocking smile on his lips. I half-heartedly threw one of the fallen boxes at him.

"I know there are some in here," I said, returning to my search with a half-desperate air. He took a step closer, and I continued shoving things around on the shelves. "I only bought them a week ago. Where are they? You haven't seen them, have you? Did you eat them? I haven't eaten any, I know, because--" He laid a hand on my arm and I practically jumped out of my skin.

"Is there a reason that you are going mad over a tin of biscuits?"

"Yes! But. . .no. Well, yes!" I slammed the cupboard door closed, and we both winced at the loud bang that sounded through the room. "Hermione interrupted me. I'd been thinking of what to say all day, then she interrupted me."

"Oh," he said, moving to sit at the table.

"And now it won't be the same. It's too late. The mood is gone, and nothing I could say would have the same power and meaning."

"It isn't too late. I'm right here."

I sighed heavily, dropping into the chair across from him. "Why must you be practical when I'm trying to be irrationally upset and raging?"

"It's a gift," he said loftily. Then he grinned. "Also, I want to hear you talk about your love and adoration for me."

"Prat," I said, making a face at him.

He laughed, then scraped his chair around to a place next to mine, pushing a cup and saucer into my hands. "I understand, you aren't ready yet. It's okay. Now, did you see the new Skeeter article?" When I shook my head, he laughed again. "You have to read it!" When he went to fetch the paper, I sighed and stared into my coffee cup, trying to remember the words that had burned in my mind an hour ago.

I chose to take the least confrontational way out. I wasn't sure that another confrontation would do the feelings justice. So I started to write. It was something I was good at, and it came easily, though I spent two days agonising over the word placements, the sentences, and exactly what I wanted to say and how. I broke several quills and filled an entire bin with rejected starts, misplaced phrases and weak sentences.

To my Draco,

This has been the most difficult thing I have ever written. How can I possibly describe the thoughts that are spinning in dizzying circles in my mind? It seems like the largest task I have ever taken on, and the most important thing I have ever done. We have never been a couple who felt the need for flowery declarations of our devotion, or intense expressions of our love and desire for one another. This is not to say that the passion is not there, but it has been unspoken, with no real need to spoil the moments with fumbling words and awkward endearments.

You have asked so little of me. You've never demanded an explanation, you've always left me to my own devices, in my home, in our home. Merlin, I don't know how you've done it. Stood by my side through these years when I've done nothing but cause you pain. I know it must have been hard for you to stand by me.

Of all the things I have ever used to describe myself, I never thought that "unfaithful" would be one of them. But I have been, and I can't change that. I can't take back my actions, nor can I explain them to you. I think that, in the end, no one can truly explain their motives. Some things are only understandable on a level in your that no one else can grasp. I wish that I could share with you that deepest level of motivation, but it's just impossible.

I can tell you that in the past year, my love for you has been the best part of me. The steady part, the port in the storm that I allowed my life to become. I think I have to be one of the luckiest people on earth. And the daftest. To have this perfect life, this perfect love waiting for me, all this time, and I've done nothing about it. I cannot believe that you're still here, that you still want me after all that we've been through.

I love you so much. My relationship with Harry was a psychological roller coaster. A twisted game that neither of us could put down, no matter how hard we tried. There were days when I'd sit staring at you across the breakfast table, thinking, 'What the hell am I doing?'. But I could never just let go. Too much of Harry was never enough. There was no breaking point, no moment where I felt truly satisfied. I was just so thirsty for life. Longing each day for exactly the thing I had waiting for me at home. A loving man who had eyes only for me. But I couldn't see you, Draco. Even when I was looking right at you, I couldn't see you clearly. You were comforting and wonderful for me; I adored every second that I spent with you. But that younger part of me still couldn't let go that dream of a perfect life with Harry. I realised a long time ago that I'd never really have it. And for a while, the stolen hours I had seemed like they'd be enough.

But this last visit with him---seeing him holding your clasp out like it was poison---it broke me. That last thread I'd been holding onto snapped, and the world went spiralling away. I knew that it had to end. It had to be over, for good.

Now, here I stand before you. I must admit that I am broken. I have cracks and chips that will never go away. And I am stained by my infidelity, scarred by my own selfishness. But you still call me beautiful, and you still look at me with the same love shining in your quicksilver eyes.

I stand here, with trembling hands spelling out my adoration for you. I stand here and ask you to keep me. Keep me, little Ginny Weasley, with you always. Because if I wake up beside you every morning for the rest of my life it won't be enough.

Yours,

Ginny

The letter finished, bound and sealed, I stood at the head of our bed, staring down at it. I held the letter clutched in my hand and needed only to bend over and put it on Draco's pillow. I took a deep breath, and sat it down quickly, jerking my hand back in irrational fear.

A sense of closure started to settle over me immediately, and I smiled to myself, staring down at the crisp rectangle of white parchment. Done bun can't be undone, I thought, then went into the kitchen to wait for Draco to come home.