He Never Said Goodbye

CHAPTER TWO

Ginny spent the entire night face-down on the wet ground in Glynnis Glade, but she never returned there during her subsequent year at Hogwarts. She returned to her dormitory in Gryffindor tower shivering violently, streaked with mud and almost frozen, and consequently had to spend a month in bed at The Burrow before she was deemed sufficiently well to resume day-to-day activities without familial supervision.

She never told anyone what happened that evening in Glynnis Glade, and she never after that day smiled as radiantly as she had before it. Her laughter became shrill, the brown in her eyes faded, and her skin became so pale that her freckles made her face look almost dirty. Nobody could understand the change in her, but all who loved her nearly worried themselves to death when she almost wasted away completely due to lack of nourishment.

In other words, Ginny Weasley became a living phantom.

She packed away everything that reminded her of Draco and resolved never to look at any of it again. However, she didn't need to; he was always at the forefront of her mind. She took long, solitary walks out in the Hogwarts grounds and stared out of windows during classes. She kept falling down because her legs were too weak to hold up the rest of her body.

The professors didn't know what to make of her: she stopped doing her homework, never listened during lessons, barely even paid attention to the teachers when they were berating her right in front of her nose!

Finally, several detentions later, Professor McGonagall summoned Ginny to her office, where the former sat frowning at the latter with grave concern.

"Frankly, Miss Weasley, I am very disappointed with you and extremely concerned about your lack of progress," said McGonagall with an air of bewilderment. "What has happened to you?"

Ginny didn't even turn her head away from the window through which the Quidditch pitch and Forbidden Forest could be seen. "I'm all right, Professor," she said dully.

McGonagall's frown deepened. "Miss Weasley, you're falling apart! Your school marks have been steadily declining, your appetite has disappeared entirely, and your habits resemble that of the living dead! And this is an especially serious matter now, because you're in your final year at Hogwarts, and it is important for you to finish with good marks." She took a pause and sighed. "I'm going to give you one month to get in shape, Miss Weasley, and then it's off to Professor Dumbledore's office. Detentions don't seem to be having any sort of effect on you ..."

And so, Ginny spent the next month doing nothing to improve her health or mental status, and McGonagall eventually did send her to Professor Dumbledore's office.

It was December by then, the beginning of winter. Ginny felt as dead as the flowers underneath the snow, except they were just hibernating and she felt as though she'd never wake up again. She did everything automatically: she walked out of habit, she sat out of habit, she stared out of the window out of habit, too. She didn't feel there was any point to anything, that she might as well die and get it over with, because this didn't feel very much like living.

She sure didn't want to see Dumbledore, because she knew he'd just convince her to carry on with everything and keep trying to improve, like everyone else kept doing, but McGonagall made sure she stepped into his office before leaving, so Ginny couldn't skip the appointment, as she'd begun to do with her lessons.

Ginny had only been in Dumbledore's office once before, and that was back in her first year, when Harry Potter brought her out of the Chamber of Secrets and explained everything that had happened to her during that year. The office was pretty much the same: there was the patched and fraying Sorting Hat, looking as old and dirty as ever on its high shelf; and there was the beautiful red and gold phoenix sitting on its perch in the corner; and everywhere on the shelves were the same ancient tomes and fragile-looking, mysterious instruments that were all there six years ago.

"Please, sit down, Ginny," came a voice from the shadows, and Professor Dumbledore himself strode out and sat behind his desk. He looked no less eccentric and kind than he had at the beginning of the term or even six years ago. He was the same old Albus Dumbledore, with his long, silver beard; twinkling blue eyes; and warm, comforting smile.

But Ginny didn't feel comforted when she obeyed and sat down in the seat opposite him. As always when she was inside the castle, the turned her face to the window and stared at nothing in particular. She could feel Dumbledore's blue gaze upon her, but didn't want to look at him. She wished she could just fade away, and hated everyone for standing in her way.

"Do you know why you're here, Ginny?" Dumbledore asked quietly.

"For you to lecture me," replied Ginny blandly.

"Contrary to popular belief, I actually do not enjoy lecturing students, and no, that is not what you are here for," said Dumbledore, a slight smile curving his mouth. "I do not believe that lecturing you will make any difference; I will refrain from doing so. I would, however, like you to tell me what you aim to achieve through this new lifestyle you have invented for yourself."

Ginny turned her eyes to his, expecting pity or disappointment or even anger to be written in them, but there was nothing of that - only understanding and kindness. This she felt was even worse, because she didn't know how to deal with that; everybody had been perplexed as to what to do with her, not being able to understand what exactly was wrong with her. Dumbledore didn't seem to want to help her as everyone else had tried to; he seemed genuinely curious about her own motives behind her actions.

And, somehow, Ginny knew she could tell Dumbledore, knew she could rely on him to keep her secret, knew she could depend on him to truly help her and understand everything - because it seemed he knew everything that came before already. She finally realised why Harry Potter trusted him so much; it was just impossible not to.

Ginny opened her mouth, hesitating, then blurted out, "I'm tired of living." She looked up at Dumbledore again and his calm, non-judgmental gaze made her press on. "I feel like I haven't been alive in ages. I just don't see the point of anything anymore. Nothing interests me as it did before. All I want to do is run away to a place where no one can bother me ever again. I hate everything, and everyone, even myself. I just don't want to deal with any of it anymore. I'm just so tired ... so sick of it all ..."

Ginny hadn't realised that her words had opened the dam she had kept plugged up inside herself for so long, and that she was crying as she hadn't done since the night Draco left. Suddenly, she was sobbing and yelling things she had never dared to voice aloud.

"I hate him! I despise him for doing this to me! I hope he never comes back! I hope he falls into a ditch and dies! I wish he knew how much he hurt me! I wish he knew how much I hate him! I do, I do! I hate him ... I hate him ... I hate him ..."

The sobbing was slowly subsided to be replaced by sniffling and gasping, as Ginny sat gulping great breaths of air. She hadn't breathed so much nor been so loud in such a long time! Her hands clasped either side of the seat of the chair she was sitting on and she breathed in and out deeply, shivering slightly. She felt much more alive now than she had when she walked into the office.

She look up at Dumbledore who was still viewing her with the same gentle look on his face. "Sorry," she mumbled, wiping her face with her sleeve. "Lost my head a bit. Forget what I said."

"I'm afraid my memory isn't that terrible yet," said Dumbledore almost laughingly, "and what you said is nothing to be ashamed of. There is no more pure emotion than love."

Ginny lifted her head up so abruptly it almost fell off her neck. "What?" she croaked. "Who said anything about love?"

"I believe I did," said Dumbledore mildly, eyes twinkling at Ginny's suspicious face. "You see, Ginny, love and hate are often so subtly intertwined that it is sometimes so impossible to distinguish between them. Sometimes they are even one and the same, because the extent of the love is so strong that it overpowers the hate, even drowns it."

Ginny laughed raggedly to mask her emotional instability. "So, what are you saying? That I'm in love with someone?"

"I am merely suggesting," replied Dumbledore gently, "that you should not let yourself drown in your own emotions. It is difficult to fight against them, yes, but that is not necessary. Simply store them away until you have some further use for them."

Ginny looked away and mulled over this idea for a moment. Draco had asked her to wait for him. For how long had he said he'd be away? "Probably at least a month, maybe three, maybe more ..." Ginny whispered aloud.

Dumbledore could see what she had decided to do as she straightened her shoulders and grit her teeth. He wished that he could dissuade her, but he also understood that it would be entirely pointless.

I'll wait for him forever if need be, Ginny thought grimly. He asked me, and I said I would. That's as good as a promise. I'll wait for him forever if need be.

"Thank you, Professor," said Ginny aloud. "I'll go now, if that's all right. I have a lot of work to do."

Dumbledore simply nodded and watched her go towards the door. But, with her hand on the doorknob, Ginny turned around. She didn't know what made her blurt it out, but she knew she'd explode if she didn't ask - "He will come back, won't he?" She didn't have to ask Dumbledore if he knew of whom she was talking about; she was sure he did.

To prove her correct, Dumbledore did not betray any feelings of surprise or confusion at being asked such a question. He didn't speak for quite some time, though, and Ginny was about to repeat the question when he suddenly said, "Our destinies lie in our hands. It is upto us whether we follow the path already set out for us or ignore it and forge another by ourselves. We can throw our destinies away just as easily as we can place them in our pockets. We can also be following our destinies by forging those other paths. Only time will tell."

Somehow, even though Ginny didn't understand what Dumbledore meant by that, it set her at ease, and she offered him a small smile before stepping out of the office and heading to Gryffindor tower. Dumbledore, however, sat steeped in silent thought for a long time after she left.


Although Ginny's thoughts were still often directed to Draco, in the next few months she managed to pick herself up emotionally, clean herself up mentally and fill herself out physically. Her hair became vibrant and healthy again; her laughter, no longer shrill, was often elicited; her freckles became part of her face again, instead of standing out like patches of dirt; and she finished her seventh year at Hogwarts with more and better NEWTs than she ever expected (though, of course, not near enough to beat her brother Percy, who worked in the Ministry of Magic).

Ginny didn't know what field of work she wanted to enter into after Hogwarts, but thought she'd like to do something related to Herbology, which is why she decided landscaping. She loved being outdoors and enjoyed working with plants, so the job was very well suited to her.

She wanted to have her own space, so she moved out of The Burrow into a modest apartment in London that her mother insisted she come to clean for her once a month. Molly Weasley did that to all her children who had moved out of The Burrow, and Ginny was secretly grateful for this, because she often returned to her new home covered in soil and leaves, too tired to clean up the mess of the day before.

She had been more or less stable after that discussion with Dumbledore, even though she still occasionally cried herself to sleep after finishing school and aimlessly wandered the streets of night-time London. She had to admit that she was lonely again, though not as intensely as she had been in the interval between Draco's departure and her meeting with Dumbledore. Her mother kept recommending "nice boys" for her to go out with, but Ginny dismissed each of them without any consideration.

Ginny wanted to be loyal to Draco, but the temptation to give in occurred more than she wished, particularly on the last day of school.

She had finished packing her trunk and was heading down towards the Great Hall for the end-of-term feast when she was accosted by Seamus Finnigan outside of the portrait of the Fat Lady. She and Seamus had become pretty good friends since she gave up the life of the "living dead" as McGonagall had put it, and Ginny felt she knew him well, as he was really quite a simple person, desiring the simple things in life.

Which is why she felt somewhat puzzled when she saw a strange glint in his eyes that she had never seen before.

"Can I speak with you, Ginny?" he asked, rather shyly, Ginny thought.

"Sure, Seamus," said Ginny, allowing him to lead her into a shadowed alcove where they wouldn't be noticed. When Seamus stood staring at the floor and biting his lip, apparently at a loss for something to say, Ginny decided to help him get started. "Is everything all right?"

Seamus glanced up at her and immediately looked away again. "Well, it's like this ..." he mumbled, shuffling his feet. "We - we've known each other a while ... and - and I really like you ... I like you a lot, actually ... I - I think I might actually ... well ..." There was more of the shuffling of the feet and lip-biting, and a blush suffused his cheeks, making him even ruddier than usual.

Ginny felt she was finally latching onto what he was trying to say, but she didn't feel jubilant about it; only very weary. She watched Seamus and thought how silly he looked, with his eyes downcast and face redder than a beetroot - almost like a blushing maiden.

"You think you love me?" Ginny finally asked, taking pity on him.

Seamus looked up, the lopsided smile on his face proof of his emotions. He stood up a little straighter and fixed his eyes on Ginny's, still smiling shyly. "I was just wondering if ... well, seeing as how lots of other kids are getting hitched, I thought ... well, you know ... if you like ..." he trailed off hopefully.

All Ginny had to do was summon a vision of Draco before her eyes to understand her destiny. She saw him lounging against the wall, lazily smirking at her, silvery-grey eyes drilling holes into her own. He never blushed when asking anything; he always stared into the eyes of whomever he was talking to, fully in control of the situation. She saw him leaning over her. "Marry me," he said. This was not a question or a suggestion; it was a command, an order. She did not dare to disobey; moreover, she didn't want to.

Suddenly, someone's life flashed before Ginny's eyes. She saw a pretty bride in an old-fashioned wedding dress, glowing with joy; she saw dozens of sandy-haired, ruddy-faced children skipping around a blissfully happy couple; she saw an old woman, grey-haired and wrinkled, knitting in front of a dilapidated fireplace, and an equally grey-haired and wrinkled man reading a newspaper, exchanging sickeningly sweet smiles now and again.

Ginny nearly retched. This was going to be someone else's life surely; she would not be Mrs Seamus Finnigan for the rest of her life. That she definitely could not handle.

When she looked into Seamus's eyes, the latter flinched: Ginny's eyes were cold and hard, like granite, and her mouth was set in a thin, cruel line. All hopes he had entertained before this moment were immediately dashed.

"Sorry, Seamus, but I can't marry you," was Ginny's reply. She moved to walk past him, paused, and said, "Have a good life," before walking away, leaving him much more confused than he had ever been in his life.


This was not the last time Seamus Finnigan proposed marriage to Ginny. Ginny couldn't understand what made him so determined to win her over, and Seamus couldn't understand why she kept refusing. Both just accepted that it must have been the will of fate. But it took a third offer from Seamus for Ginny to accept his proposal.

Exactly ten years had passed since Draco's departure, and Ginny had become skittish and learned in the art of nervous habits. Her fingernails were bitten to the quick, she constantly chewed on her hair, and had quite forgotten how to sit still.

She was assigned to do landscaping for a quaint little cottage, rather like the one she imagined Seamus and his wife would live in. As it turned out, it was going to be his home after Ginny was done with it, as she found out when she bumped into him one day.

He still had the same boring sandy hair and florid face, but he was much less mild-tempered than he had been before. Whenever someone did something he didn't like he would growl expletives in a broad Irish brogue before resolving to do it himself. He didn't utter a single complaint about Ginny's work, though. And it seemed he'd finally found a great reservoir of legendary Gryffindor courage within him, because, just before Ginny was about to Apparate away to her apartment, he boldly strode up to her and, without further preamble, grabbed her around the waist and kissed her.

Ginny was too startled to protest, as she certainly would have had she been aware of his intentions, but was glad when the kiss ended a few seconds later. For one thing, Seamus wasn't particularly skilled in this field, and for another, she hadn't felt anything but shock when he grabbed her.

When he let her go, grinning, she took a step back and goggled at him. "What happened to you?" she asked.

Seamus shrugged. "I'm still in love with you," he said simply.

"Last time you tried to tell me that I had to say it for you myself," Ginny retorted. "What's the change?"

"I don't know. Maybe I've just grown bolder. Maybe I've realised exactly how much I want to be with you."

Ginny eyed him suspiciously. "Why?"

Now it Seamus's turn to goggle at her. "Why? Ginny, you're a marvel! You're the kindest, most selfless person I've ever known, and I honestly want to spend the rest of my life with you."

"Why?"

"Why are you questioning my motives? Isn't the fact that I love you enough? Because I do, Ginny. I've thought about you all this time and I'm going to keep asking you to marry me until you finally agree to."

"Why?"

Seamus ran a hand through his hair almost violently. "Because I love you, Ginny. With all my heart. I'd never lie to you."

Ginny surveyed him curiously. "But I don't love you back, Seamus. How could you live with that?"

Seamus's hair seemed to wilt at that, but he straightened his shoulders and smiled painfully. "You let me deal with that," he said quietly.


Ginny didn't know what made her decide to marry Seamus. Perhaps she was too tired of waiting for Draco; perhaps she was scared of becoming an old maid; perhaps she just wanted to settle down and share someone's body heat at night. She did know, however, that she would regret it for the rest of her life as Mrs Finnigan. She knew that Draco wasn't going to come back; he'd never said anything about ten years, and anyway, who takes ten years to figure out exactly who they are and where they stand?

Ginny didn't know and Ginny didn't care. Not anymore. Now all she wanted was to live out what remained of her pitiful life in peace.

So she wore her mother's old wedding gown and sequined slippers, and walked down the aisle like she was being led to her own execution. In every photo of the event that included Ginny, she was either grimly staring into the distance, her face nearly blending in with the dress, for she looked paler than ever, or forcing a vapid smile onto her face, clearly contrasting with Seamus's heartfelt happiness. Her eyes looked empty and her hair was lank; she refused to wash it or wear make-up.

The wedding was small and cosy, as only the closest friends of both families were invited. Ron Weasley attended with his very pregnant wife, Hermione, and buzzed around her all throughout the reception; Dean Thomas turned up with his fiancée, Parvati Patil, and gazed at her adoringly; Fred and George Weasley brought along their respective girlfriends, Angelina Johnson and Alicia Spinnet; Bill Weasley dragged along Fleur Delacour, who turned out to be oddly sentimental about the whole occasion and cried nearly as much as Ginny's mother, Molly Weasley; Percy and Charlie Weasley and Oliver Wood just brought themselves, though Oliver left with a pretty blonde who Ginny later recognised as Katie Bell.

Harry Potter was, of course, a no-show, because everybody knew he'd bolted out of the country by himself as soon as he finished his seventh year at Hogwarts, leaving only a note asking everybody to refrain from trying to find or contact him. Everyone accepted this without question after some initial deliberation, and life went on as normal.

Seamus wanted his cosy little cottage to be built the Muggle way and then strengthened by magic, because he wanted to see each stone of the foundation being laid, so he could tell future descendents of the Finnigan name how he had seen the house being put up. Ginny didn't mind very much, because she liked her apartment much better, which she and Seamus cohabited in the meantime.

She had never completely forgotten about Draco, though. She still had a small chest of the notes and trinkets he'd given to her during their three-year love affair at Hogwarts, which she occasionally looked over. Ever since she married Seamus, though, she only cried once, and that was on their wedding night, when, like any other average newly-wed husband, Seamus wanted to show the physical aspect of his love for his new wife.

It started out all right, Ginny thought, what with the gentle kissing and soft touches here and there that didn't stimulate a single part of Ginny's body. But when he positioned himself between her legs and a look of utter concentration took over his face, the gates of Ginny's memory suddenly opened and images of Draco flowed out and whirled around in her head. Draco kissing the corner of her mouth tenderly; Draco biting at her neck and leaving a most impressive hickey; Draco trailing his impossibly soft lips along the contours of her shoulders; Draco rubbing her thighs, her arms, her hips while they were moving to the music pounding in their ears ...

"No!" Ginny had cried out, immediately turning away from Seamus and curling up on the other side of the bed. Although Seamus pleaded with her, time and time again, to let him know what he was doing wrong and how he could remedy it, Ginny never told him that she wished his arms were Draco's, that his lips were Draco's, that his body, his whispers, his desires were Draco's ... she knew he'd hate her for it. She knew that there was always a limit to everything, even the deepest love.

After a while, Seamus completely stopped trying to make love to her, because Ginny automatically moved away from him whenever his touches became more than platonic. Ginny knew that he satisfied himself during those nights when neither of them were too tired to sleep but too weary to protest, and thanked whichever heavenly deity had made Seamus Finnigan such an understanding man when it came to being denied his sexual rights as a husband. She knew that, had he been less tolerant and respectful towards her feelings, he would have forced himself on her long ago.

Ginny learned how to close her mind to memories of Draco, but the stirrings they elicited from her body were harder to subdue. She tried to satisfy herself once, but it just wasn't what her body wanted: she knew it was her own hand, not Draco's, that travelled the length of her body and attempted to bring her release. No matter how much she tried, she couldn't force her mind to believe it was truly Draco's hand, Draco's lips, Draco's body that moved over her own; she felt she lacked the strength of mind.

If she had remembered how to look on the bright side of life, she would have laughed at the fact that she was twenty-six-years-old and still a virgin, even after three months of being married to a perfectly normal, red-blooded male.

Which is why she nearly lost her mind entirely when her life was turned upside-down at the end of those three months.