It isn't a modern fairy tale (everything will change): Ginny/Draco, Ginny/Harry. PG. Post-war.
Title: It isn't a modern fairy tale (everything will change)
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairing: Ginny-centric, Harry POV.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: through HBP
Word Count: 2,686
Summary: Perfection isn't everything it's cracked up to be.
Disclaimer: characters are not mine.
a/n:expect to be jossed in a few months. BUT EXCELLENT. ENJOY the het!! I am shocked that I finished something that does not involve remus/sirius at all. It is shocking.
Ginny is neat, precise, when she eats the brownie batter after the brownies are in the oven. Hermione likes cooking the muggle way, the way her mother has taught her, and so they all wait precisely forty minutes until the brownies are done. Ginny always licks the spoon and then dips it in for another go round. Her tongue darts out and neatly gathers a small amount, and no chocolate ends up smudged around her lips or on her cheek. Ron always gets chocolate on his cheek, sometimes his nose. Hermione is guilty looking with a smear on her upper lip. Even he usually ends up with batter somewhere it is not supposed to be.
Not Ginny though. Not once this summer, the summer before her seventh year, not once since she has come to visit their flat, has she had chocolate anywhere that it is not supposed to be. She is controlled, in mind, in thought, and especially in action. Harry thinks she hasn’t entirely forgiven him for his noble heroics at the end of his sixth year. Still, what was he supposed to do? What is he supposed to do now?
Voldemort is gone, defeated, and Harry has felt like something is missing ever since. He’s out of school, honorary degree, hero of the wizarding world, every girl’s dream. But Ginny Weasley will not give him the time of day. Oh, she is civil, she is not unkind, but there is a sharpness in her tone and voice that has never been there before. Ron and Hermione do not notice, he knows, but they haven’t noticed much of anything since the war was won and their epic love affair was launched. Their screams from fights and lovemaking echo off the walls, and Harry wouldn’t mind if only Ginny would give him the time of day.
She has come this summer to escape the Burrow. Harry doesn’t blame her. He loves her mother, but even still, Molly Weasley is stifling and overprotective of those she claims as hers. Ginny says she couldn’t take another summer of it, especially now, with her scar though one eyebrow to remind her mother of how Ginny had almost died.
“We all almost died though,” says Hermione, when Ginny explains her reasons for showing up at her brother’s flat at half past midnight on a cold Thursday morning. They hadn’t been to bed yet, giddy on champagne to celebrate Hermione’s new job and a Cannons victory. Still, Ginny had to knock loudly twice before they had answered the door to the disheveled redhead.
“You know mum,” was the only other thing Ginny said that night. She slept on a worn pallet in his room that night, and didn’t bother to unpack. She still hasn’t unpacked, just pulls clothes out of her suitcase every morning, and heaps them in a pile by the side of the bed. Her bras lie on various pieces of furniture around the room, and sometimes he finds them at the bottom of his bed, carelessly discarded. She does laundry every second Tuesday and repacks her suitcase. The drawer he cleaned out for her lies empty, and so does the hamper he bought for her.
Every Thursday Ginny leaves the flat at nine am sharp, and does not return until the next morning. She says she goes to visit Luna’s grave, and then stays over at the Burrow. It’s strange how long she managed to fool them with this lie, for when Harry dogged her purported footsteps yesterday, on the last Thursday in August, she wasn’t at Luna’s grave. And she wasn’t at the Burrow. And Molly had no idea what he was talking about. Harry thinks it is strange how easily she fooled them all.
When he goes to Diagon Alley, she is there, in fitted robes of Slytherin green. Fitting, considering Blaise Zabini is laughing at whatever she just said, and Draco Malfoy has a hand on the small of her back and is leading her into the nearest shop. He has never seen the robes she wears, and so he follows her all day. Zabini leaves at half past two, citing a prior engagement, and Malfoy just grins and bites at Ginny’s ear. She doesn’t seem to mind, just waves to Zabini and says they’ll see him at the club tonight.
Harry cannot believe his ears. Harry cannot believe his eyes. Harry cannot believe that Ginny, his Ginny, the girl he thought he would marry after the war was won, is in the arms of his boyhood rival. ‘Slytherin git,’ he thinks, ‘you’re not worthy to shine her shoes.’ Even now, after everything he knows about Draco Malfoy, he cannot like him.
Even if Malfoy killed his own father and two other death eaters in the last days of the war, and even if Harry congratulated him, and even if Harry thinks perhaps Malfoy might deserve some happiness, Harry cannot bring himself to see the happiness he still thinks of as rightfully his own bringing Malfoy’s face down for a kiss. He turns his face away, his hands clenched into fists. When he looks up again, they have disapperated.
Harry punches the wall, and he doesn‘t bother to bandage his fist for the rest of the day. Hermione clucks at him when she discovers it the day after, and says “You should have let me fix it. Now it’ll scar.” He hopes it does.
Later that evening, he is at the club. He has dressed like he imagines Sirius would- lots of black, and everything dangerous looking. He fits in perfectly.
Harry doesn’t recognize her when he first spots her. She is dancing with Pansy Parkinson, of all people, a sultry dance that makes him swallow hard as they rub against each other in ways that should be illegal, they are so obscene. The leather trousers clinging to Ginny’s legs don’t help matters much either.
And then Malfoy and Zabini are there, and the girls switch partners without even losing the hard pounding beat. Ginny’s hips sway and dip against Malfoy’s, and his hands run lazy patterns up and down her sides. Malfoy's hair is mussed and ungelled, his jeans are torn in several places, and there is a collar like Sirius used to wear around his neck. Harry orders another drink, stifles the thought about his godfather. It's going to be a long night, he knows.
Ginny does not stop dancing until three am. Parkinson and Zabini left two hours ago, and Malfoy has been tucked away at a table in the corner, away from the action, but close enough to hex anyone who bothers Ginny. He only manages to hex two, the others being felled by Ginny's haughty stare, or failing that, a well aimed kick or stomp with her dragon-hide boots.
And then Malfoy leaves the club at three am, with his hand guiding Ginny, and Harry stumbles home drunk ten minutes after. Hermione catches him as he trips into their flat, and she blushes when he tugs on a curl and says "I should've fallen in love with you." He falls asleep on the sofa, as far as their combined efforts could make it, and the worn blanket is soft against his skin. Red haired wood nymphs elude him in his dreams, dancing just out of reach.
When Ginny returns home at eight, he is awake, groggy, head pounding. He suspects a contingent of moss has taken up residence in his mouth. He sits up, fumbles for his glasses that Hermione has thoughtfully placed on the end table, and regards Ginny.
"Why're you on the sofa?" she asks, running a hand through her tousled hair.
"Couldn't make it to bed. Why were you with Malfoy last night?" He pushes his glasses further up his nose.
"None of your business." she drawls, and flounces past him into his bedroom. He sighs, starts to run a hand through his messy hair, and stops halfway through. What did she mean, it was none of his business? Does she think her family will accept Malfoy as one of their own? They won't, he knows. They won't accept Malfoy, won't accept an alternate future. He is her future. They're to get married, and have babies, and live down the street from Ron and Hermione, and Remus will come over for Sunday tea, and that is how everyone knows it will end.
Everyone except Ginny, he thinks fiercely as he brushes his teeth until his gums bleed. She must be punishing him for leaving her three years ago. But what was he supposed to do? She was his prize, his golden angel, and he'd be damned if he'd let her be sullied by the war or used against him.
He steps into the bedroom carefully. Ginny is clad only in an oversized button down, calmly placing the last of her belongings in her suitcase. Even the dirty ones have gone in, and the only remnants of her left are her clothes for today. She looks up from her packing, regards his hardened expression, and matches it.
So many questions have fluttered through his mind since last night. Thoughts, emotions, never ending questions have filled his brain, merged, and crystallized into one singular thought: This isn't how it's supposed to be.
Harry is used to not getting what he wants. Ten years with the Dursleys have taught him that. Sirius's fate had taught him that. But he had always thought of those things as beyond his control- in the end, Harry still blames Voldemort for everything that has gone wrong in his life.
But Voldemort is dead, defeated by his own hand. He is the hero, and there is nothing left to stand in the way of his happy life. Everyone knows this. Everyone thinks this. This is how it's supposed to be. At twenty one, it is finally time for what he wants, what everyone wants for him.
"This isn't how it's supposed to be," she says, and with one bold leap his heart gives way to hope.
"No, it isn't," he murmurs, stepping forward. He is ready this time- a storybook hero, a knight on a white horse, come to collect his maiden fair.
"You weren't supposed to know about Draco." She swallows, nervous and unbalanced. The first emotions she has shown to him all summer. His heart flutters. He moves a step closer. He is ready for the kill.
"Not yet. I was going to tell you, after- after everything. But it's too late now. I assume you saw everything?" Her eyes flash a challenge.
"Enough," he growls, "I saw enough. You're not supposed to be with him."
She turns away, grabbing her jeans from behind the suitcase and pulls them on rapidly. A diamond flanked by emeralds flashes on her ring finger as she zips up. He has never seen it before.
"So." She stops, starts again. "So I'm not supposed to be with him. So your fantasy life is ruined Harry. It doesn't matter. You never wanted me anyway- just wanted the girl, any girl would do. You think it's what you deserve because that's what everyone thinks. You don't know me- or else you'd know I'm not your happiness and never could be. You're so wrapped up in what you're supposed to do, what's right, being the hero of the wizarding world, that you forget you have to live your own life, find your own happiness. You have to learn to think for yourself, Harry. Do what you want, instead of what everyone tells you is right."
"But I want what's right, Ginny. You're right. You and I-"
"You only want that because it's you think it's what everyone expects of you!" she cried, stamping her foot. "Twenty years from now, or sooner, you'd wake up with me next to you and you'd think 'oh god, what have I done?' I can't make you happy, Harry, and you couldn't make me happy either. Hermione and Ron and saving the world will always come first for you- and that's fine, it makes you happy- but I can't come to the race and not even medal, Harry. That's not what a relationship, a marriage, is about. You have to put the other person first-"
"Oh, and Malfoy puts you first, does he?" Harry sneers.
"He does. He always has. And he loves me, because he knows me- knows my flaws and tarnishes, knows how I take my tea, knows I can't sleep during the new moon, knows my hopes and fears, what I want to become, and he loves me for it, or in spite of it. I'm not on a pedestal, he doesn't worship at my feet, and I love him for that, which is all he asks. I don't have to be perfect for him- I just have to love him. And that wouldn't be enough for you."
"How do you know, Ginny? You've never even tried-"
"I know you, Harry! I know you! I know how you like your tea, and I know that you miss Sirius in the quiet afternoons, and you go see Remus every full moon, and my family is so important to you, they've become like your own, and you worship Hermione and you'd probably be married to her if you didn't love Ron so much, I know who your first kiss was with, your favorite Quidditch team, why you haven't taken a job yet, I know everything about you! And you don't even know my middle name or what I want to be or the way I take my tea. You're so wrapped up in what's supposed to be, that you've forgotten that I'm a person too! You don't know me at all!"
"Brownies." he says, faintly. "You always lick the spoon clean, and you never get any on your face. You've been pushing me away since I broke up with you, but even worse the past year- I assume that's when you started up with Malfoy. You haven't been drinking tea since you've been here, and I don't like what you're implying about my relationship with Hermione." He watches her sit down, stunned. She places her hand on the suitcase next to her.
"That's rich, coming from you. Bit ironic, isn't it, coming on the day I was leaving you forever. It's like you can sense it, can't you. 'Oh no, Ginny might be happy, time to ruin it all!' You know, I was happy with you. I was. But I can't keep playing this game. It's not just your heart on the line." Her hand closed around the handle.
"No, it's not. You'd be disappointing me, Hermione, Ron, your entire family. They want to see us happy."
"I want to see us happy too. That's why I'm leaving. I can't disappoint myself again. I'm not your princess in a high tower, you know. I can't wait forever for the war to be won and you to come and make me happy, because don't you see? The war will never be over- not for you, the boy who lived, hero of the wizarding war. The taint is all over you and you'll never come clean."
"And he isn't tainted? Ginny, he's got the dark mark on his arm. Why won't you be reasonable?"
"I think, for the first time, I actually am." With one last look, she zipped up her bags. "Goodbye Harry."
When she walks down the aisle to him, she smiles and thinks "it isn't a modern fairy tale after all." But as a blonde lock of hair falls into his eyes, she finds she rather prefers imperfection.
Fandom: Harry Potter
Characters/Pairing: Ginny-centric, Harry POV.
Rating: PG-13
Spoilers: through HBP
Word Count: 2,686
Summary: Perfection isn't everything it's cracked up to be.
Disclaimer: characters are not mine.
a/n:expect to be jossed in a few months. BUT EXCELLENT. ENJOY the het!! I am shocked that I finished something that does not involve remus/sirius at all. It is shocking.
Ginny is neat, precise, when she eats the brownie batter after the brownies are in the oven. Hermione likes cooking the muggle way, the way her mother has taught her, and so they all wait precisely forty minutes until the brownies are done. Ginny always licks the spoon and then dips it in for another go round. Her tongue darts out and neatly gathers a small amount, and no chocolate ends up smudged around her lips or on her cheek. Ron always gets chocolate on his cheek, sometimes his nose. Hermione is guilty looking with a smear on her upper lip. Even he usually ends up with batter somewhere it is not supposed to be.
Not Ginny though. Not once this summer, the summer before her seventh year, not once since she has come to visit their flat, has she had chocolate anywhere that it is not supposed to be. She is controlled, in mind, in thought, and especially in action. Harry thinks she hasn’t entirely forgiven him for his noble heroics at the end of his sixth year. Still, what was he supposed to do? What is he supposed to do now?
Voldemort is gone, defeated, and Harry has felt like something is missing ever since. He’s out of school, honorary degree, hero of the wizarding world, every girl’s dream. But Ginny Weasley will not give him the time of day. Oh, she is civil, she is not unkind, but there is a sharpness in her tone and voice that has never been there before. Ron and Hermione do not notice, he knows, but they haven’t noticed much of anything since the war was won and their epic love affair was launched. Their screams from fights and lovemaking echo off the walls, and Harry wouldn’t mind if only Ginny would give him the time of day.
She has come this summer to escape the Burrow. Harry doesn’t blame her. He loves her mother, but even still, Molly Weasley is stifling and overprotective of those she claims as hers. Ginny says she couldn’t take another summer of it, especially now, with her scar though one eyebrow to remind her mother of how Ginny had almost died.
“We all almost died though,” says Hermione, when Ginny explains her reasons for showing up at her brother’s flat at half past midnight on a cold Thursday morning. They hadn’t been to bed yet, giddy on champagne to celebrate Hermione’s new job and a Cannons victory. Still, Ginny had to knock loudly twice before they had answered the door to the disheveled redhead.
“You know mum,” was the only other thing Ginny said that night. She slept on a worn pallet in his room that night, and didn’t bother to unpack. She still hasn’t unpacked, just pulls clothes out of her suitcase every morning, and heaps them in a pile by the side of the bed. Her bras lie on various pieces of furniture around the room, and sometimes he finds them at the bottom of his bed, carelessly discarded. She does laundry every second Tuesday and repacks her suitcase. The drawer he cleaned out for her lies empty, and so does the hamper he bought for her.
Every Thursday Ginny leaves the flat at nine am sharp, and does not return until the next morning. She says she goes to visit Luna’s grave, and then stays over at the Burrow. It’s strange how long she managed to fool them with this lie, for when Harry dogged her purported footsteps yesterday, on the last Thursday in August, she wasn’t at Luna’s grave. And she wasn’t at the Burrow. And Molly had no idea what he was talking about. Harry thinks it is strange how easily she fooled them all.
When he goes to Diagon Alley, she is there, in fitted robes of Slytherin green. Fitting, considering Blaise Zabini is laughing at whatever she just said, and Draco Malfoy has a hand on the small of her back and is leading her into the nearest shop. He has never seen the robes she wears, and so he follows her all day. Zabini leaves at half past two, citing a prior engagement, and Malfoy just grins and bites at Ginny’s ear. She doesn’t seem to mind, just waves to Zabini and says they’ll see him at the club tonight.
Harry cannot believe his ears. Harry cannot believe his eyes. Harry cannot believe that Ginny, his Ginny, the girl he thought he would marry after the war was won, is in the arms of his boyhood rival. ‘Slytherin git,’ he thinks, ‘you’re not worthy to shine her shoes.’ Even now, after everything he knows about Draco Malfoy, he cannot like him.
Even if Malfoy killed his own father and two other death eaters in the last days of the war, and even if Harry congratulated him, and even if Harry thinks perhaps Malfoy might deserve some happiness, Harry cannot bring himself to see the happiness he still thinks of as rightfully his own bringing Malfoy’s face down for a kiss. He turns his face away, his hands clenched into fists. When he looks up again, they have disapperated.
Harry punches the wall, and he doesn‘t bother to bandage his fist for the rest of the day. Hermione clucks at him when she discovers it the day after, and says “You should have let me fix it. Now it’ll scar.” He hopes it does.
Later that evening, he is at the club. He has dressed like he imagines Sirius would- lots of black, and everything dangerous looking. He fits in perfectly.
Harry doesn’t recognize her when he first spots her. She is dancing with Pansy Parkinson, of all people, a sultry dance that makes him swallow hard as they rub against each other in ways that should be illegal, they are so obscene. The leather trousers clinging to Ginny’s legs don’t help matters much either.
And then Malfoy and Zabini are there, and the girls switch partners without even losing the hard pounding beat. Ginny’s hips sway and dip against Malfoy’s, and his hands run lazy patterns up and down her sides. Malfoy's hair is mussed and ungelled, his jeans are torn in several places, and there is a collar like Sirius used to wear around his neck. Harry orders another drink, stifles the thought about his godfather. It's going to be a long night, he knows.
Ginny does not stop dancing until three am. Parkinson and Zabini left two hours ago, and Malfoy has been tucked away at a table in the corner, away from the action, but close enough to hex anyone who bothers Ginny. He only manages to hex two, the others being felled by Ginny's haughty stare, or failing that, a well aimed kick or stomp with her dragon-hide boots.
And then Malfoy leaves the club at three am, with his hand guiding Ginny, and Harry stumbles home drunk ten minutes after. Hermione catches him as he trips into their flat, and she blushes when he tugs on a curl and says "I should've fallen in love with you." He falls asleep on the sofa, as far as their combined efforts could make it, and the worn blanket is soft against his skin. Red haired wood nymphs elude him in his dreams, dancing just out of reach.
When Ginny returns home at eight, he is awake, groggy, head pounding. He suspects a contingent of moss has taken up residence in his mouth. He sits up, fumbles for his glasses that Hermione has thoughtfully placed on the end table, and regards Ginny.
"Why're you on the sofa?" she asks, running a hand through her tousled hair.
"Couldn't make it to bed. Why were you with Malfoy last night?" He pushes his glasses further up his nose.
"None of your business." she drawls, and flounces past him into his bedroom. He sighs, starts to run a hand through his messy hair, and stops halfway through. What did she mean, it was none of his business? Does she think her family will accept Malfoy as one of their own? They won't, he knows. They won't accept Malfoy, won't accept an alternate future. He is her future. They're to get married, and have babies, and live down the street from Ron and Hermione, and Remus will come over for Sunday tea, and that is how everyone knows it will end.
Everyone except Ginny, he thinks fiercely as he brushes his teeth until his gums bleed. She must be punishing him for leaving her three years ago. But what was he supposed to do? She was his prize, his golden angel, and he'd be damned if he'd let her be sullied by the war or used against him.
He steps into the bedroom carefully. Ginny is clad only in an oversized button down, calmly placing the last of her belongings in her suitcase. Even the dirty ones have gone in, and the only remnants of her left are her clothes for today. She looks up from her packing, regards his hardened expression, and matches it.
So many questions have fluttered through his mind since last night. Thoughts, emotions, never ending questions have filled his brain, merged, and crystallized into one singular thought: This isn't how it's supposed to be.
Harry is used to not getting what he wants. Ten years with the Dursleys have taught him that. Sirius's fate had taught him that. But he had always thought of those things as beyond his control- in the end, Harry still blames Voldemort for everything that has gone wrong in his life.
But Voldemort is dead, defeated by his own hand. He is the hero, and there is nothing left to stand in the way of his happy life. Everyone knows this. Everyone thinks this. This is how it's supposed to be. At twenty one, it is finally time for what he wants, what everyone wants for him.
"This isn't how it's supposed to be," she says, and with one bold leap his heart gives way to hope.
"No, it isn't," he murmurs, stepping forward. He is ready this time- a storybook hero, a knight on a white horse, come to collect his maiden fair.
"You weren't supposed to know about Draco." She swallows, nervous and unbalanced. The first emotions she has shown to him all summer. His heart flutters. He moves a step closer. He is ready for the kill.
"Not yet. I was going to tell you, after- after everything. But it's too late now. I assume you saw everything?" Her eyes flash a challenge.
"Enough," he growls, "I saw enough. You're not supposed to be with him."
She turns away, grabbing her jeans from behind the suitcase and pulls them on rapidly. A diamond flanked by emeralds flashes on her ring finger as she zips up. He has never seen it before.
"So." She stops, starts again. "So I'm not supposed to be with him. So your fantasy life is ruined Harry. It doesn't matter. You never wanted me anyway- just wanted the girl, any girl would do. You think it's what you deserve because that's what everyone thinks. You don't know me- or else you'd know I'm not your happiness and never could be. You're so wrapped up in what you're supposed to do, what's right, being the hero of the wizarding world, that you forget you have to live your own life, find your own happiness. You have to learn to think for yourself, Harry. Do what you want, instead of what everyone tells you is right."
"But I want what's right, Ginny. You're right. You and I-"
"You only want that because it's you think it's what everyone expects of you!" she cried, stamping her foot. "Twenty years from now, or sooner, you'd wake up with me next to you and you'd think 'oh god, what have I done?' I can't make you happy, Harry, and you couldn't make me happy either. Hermione and Ron and saving the world will always come first for you- and that's fine, it makes you happy- but I can't come to the race and not even medal, Harry. That's not what a relationship, a marriage, is about. You have to put the other person first-"
"Oh, and Malfoy puts you first, does he?" Harry sneers.
"He does. He always has. And he loves me, because he knows me- knows my flaws and tarnishes, knows how I take my tea, knows I can't sleep during the new moon, knows my hopes and fears, what I want to become, and he loves me for it, or in spite of it. I'm not on a pedestal, he doesn't worship at my feet, and I love him for that, which is all he asks. I don't have to be perfect for him- I just have to love him. And that wouldn't be enough for you."
"How do you know, Ginny? You've never even tried-"
"I know you, Harry! I know you! I know how you like your tea, and I know that you miss Sirius in the quiet afternoons, and you go see Remus every full moon, and my family is so important to you, they've become like your own, and you worship Hermione and you'd probably be married to her if you didn't love Ron so much, I know who your first kiss was with, your favorite Quidditch team, why you haven't taken a job yet, I know everything about you! And you don't even know my middle name or what I want to be or the way I take my tea. You're so wrapped up in what's supposed to be, that you've forgotten that I'm a person too! You don't know me at all!"
"Brownies." he says, faintly. "You always lick the spoon clean, and you never get any on your face. You've been pushing me away since I broke up with you, but even worse the past year- I assume that's when you started up with Malfoy. You haven't been drinking tea since you've been here, and I don't like what you're implying about my relationship with Hermione." He watches her sit down, stunned. She places her hand on the suitcase next to her.
"That's rich, coming from you. Bit ironic, isn't it, coming on the day I was leaving you forever. It's like you can sense it, can't you. 'Oh no, Ginny might be happy, time to ruin it all!' You know, I was happy with you. I was. But I can't keep playing this game. It's not just your heart on the line." Her hand closed around the handle.
"No, it's not. You'd be disappointing me, Hermione, Ron, your entire family. They want to see us happy."
"I want to see us happy too. That's why I'm leaving. I can't disappoint myself again. I'm not your princess in a high tower, you know. I can't wait forever for the war to be won and you to come and make me happy, because don't you see? The war will never be over- not for you, the boy who lived, hero of the wizarding war. The taint is all over you and you'll never come clean."
"And he isn't tainted? Ginny, he's got the dark mark on his arm. Why won't you be reasonable?"
"I think, for the first time, I actually am." With one last look, she zipped up her bags. "Goodbye Harry."
When she walks down the aisle to him, she smiles and thinks "it isn't a modern fairy tale after all." But as a blonde lock of hair falls into his eyes, she finds she rather prefers imperfection.