Author's Note: Thanks to where_is_truth and sugarbear_1269 for the on-the-fly beta.
***
There was more to her letter - her elegant script continued for at least another foot of parchment - but the words were incomprehensible to him at this point. The letters had blurred into each other, and his fingers traced the last words he'd read, as if that might help him understand.
She wanted to try, to know if he thought of her. Now, after so long, when she was engaged to another man. One who didn't satisfy her. He snorted in derision, feeling a flash of masculine pride. She thought of his hands on her body.
But she was still getting married. He must not forget that. He shouldn't even be surprised, as it was what she wanted - a husband, a complete commitment. He knew that too well, because as much he had loved her - as much as he loved her still - that was what he had been unable to give her.
***
It had started like any of their other nights together. They had come to his flat. He had gone to the kitchen to open a bottle of her favorite red wine while she moved around the living room, lighting candles.
A whispered `Lumos' could have done it, but she refused. He stopped minding after she explained that he was well worth the extra effort. There were several things he no longer minded, not after she explained them to him between kisses.
He moved into the living room, wine glasses in one hand, bottle in the other. Her back was to him, and she seemed not to have heard his approach, so he stood and watched her.
She moved so gracefully, bending to light the tiny flames that would fill the room with light and the subtle scent of vanilla. He had purchased several of the candles shortly after he'd started seeing her, with no explanation for his choice. It was weekly later when he admitted to himself that vanilla was what he smelled when he held her. Even at that early stage, he missed her desperately when she was gone.
They'd eaten dinner in a quiet, little-known restaurant, talking and kissing in the corner booth. The waiter had offered the dessert menu, and he had automatically declined.
He always took her home for dessert. Some sweets were best enjoyed in private.
And she certainly looked edible in that dress, the same rich chocolate color as her eyes. Its tiny spaghetti straps trailed invitingly to a deep V-neck, and the fabric molded itself to her lithe frame, hugging her body until it flared midway down her thigh. The jagged hem stopped just past her knees, and his eyes rested approvingly on her calves for a moment.
He took three long steps, quickly set the wine and the glasses on an end table, and wrapped his arms around her from behind, dropping a quick kiss on her neck. She leaned into him and turned her head to meet his lips.
A long, lingering kiss later, he was leading her to the couch. Her russet hair looked like flickering flames spread out against his white sofa, and he ruffled it with affection as he retrieved the wine. Then he noticed she was still wearing her strappy heels, and he knelt before her.
"I don't think you'll be needing these," he murmured, his fingers working quickly to undo the straps. He slipped them off her feet slowly and set them aside, then settled beside her.
They shared the bottle of wine in comfortable silence, Ginny snuggled up to his side. Perfect, perfect happiness, he thought, and then Ginny spoke.
Her words came out in a drowsy hum, and he turned to her, giving her his full attention.
"What, love?"
"I said I don't want to leave." She was still whispering, but it was deliberate. He thought her voice might even have trembled, but there was no reason for her to be nervous.
"So don't leave," he said easily, tilting her chin up and forcing her to meet his eyes. "It's not as if I mind your staying, silly girl."
He was not imagining it - her full, rosy lips were wobbling and he could see a suspiciously glossy sheen in her eyes.
"Gin?" he asked, letting his hand drop from her face.
"I …" she paused and took in a deep breath. "I don't just mean tonight."
Thick would normally be one of the last words he'd use to describe himself, but it seemed appropriate now, as he certainly hadn't seen this coming. Now he was the one sucking in a deep breath, but Ginny was rushing on.
"I love you," she was saying. "I'm in love with you. I miss you whenever we're not together, horribly so. I just think …" she paused to search his face. "I think we should be together. Always."
Her eyes were intent on his, looking for clues. He hadn't yet managed to speak, though his mind was racing through possible answers.
He knew one thing already: This could not end well.
***
Reliving that night had to be worse than anything she could say to him now. He picked up the letter again, and as he tried to make his eyes focus on the letters, he caught a faint whiff of vanilla. A tiny groan escaped him. She had as much power over him as she ever had, without even trying.
I'm not sure which outcome I should hope for. Reason tells me to assume your silence will be the only reply I'll receive to this letter, and so I try to be reasonable.
It might not be so bad, marrying a man who loves me and prizes my happiness above even his own. I convince myself that I'll be all right with that.
Then I think of the other ending, the one I barely dare to dream. The one where you come to me. And then I'm so happy I can barely breathe. But reason tells me that after so long, it's a silly schoolgirl's dream that I shouldn't hang on to. I do try to be reasonable.
If it wasn't for you, I might even succeed.
***
Ginny tried to focus on Hermione's cheerful prattle and find an interest in the work her friend was doing with cauldron bottoms - picking up where Percy had left off. But after she spilled her tea and then cast an Engorgment charm instead of the Scourgify she'd intended, her eyes filled with helpless tears.
Quietly, Hermione murmured the proper charm and put a hand on Ginny's arm.
"You're not fine," she said. "You're not even close to fine. Ginny, what's wrong?"
The solicitous entreaty was more than Ginny could bear, and when she opened her mouth to answer her friend, she was horrified that her response was a noisy sob.
Hermione, having always been more adept at dealing with practical problems than emotional ones, patted her back dumbly and whispered meant-to-be-soothing nonsense as Ginny wept stormily.
At length, she wiped her puffy eyes and apologized.
"I'm sorry, Hermione," she whispered. "I'm just … it's only that … well, there's something …"
She trailed off, trying to make a hasty decision. She had trusted no one with this secret - not the letter, and not the lover it was sent to. Maybe she could finally bare her soul. Maybe that would give her some peace.
"I know I shouldn't keep secrets," she started, and Hermione nodded, scooting closer. She could sense that Ginny's revelation was important - after all, it was rare for Ginny to cry, and even rarer for her to share her problems.
"I should have told someone, but I couldn't." At this Ginny trailed off, and Hermione reached out to her again.
"You can tell me, Ginny," she said, trying to keep the fear out of her voice. "Please … you can tell me."
Ginny met her eyes and seemed to find something necessary there. She nodded in acknowledgment.
Hermione was sure that Ginny might have shared some deep, dark confidence, but instead her friend's head jerked up sharply, startled for the second time that day by the pop of Apparition.
This time, the voice that called out for Ginny was not female, though it was still familiar. Both of the women looked up as a figure appeared in the doorway.
"Hermione," the man greeted. "I didn't know you'd be here." He gave her cheek a quick kiss and turned to Ginny.
"Hello, love," he said, bending to kiss her lips. When he straightened, he arched an eyebrow at the utter silence in the room.
"Someone cast a Silencing spell that I need to remove?" he joked, taking in Ginny's pale face and Hermione's anxious expression. Ginny's mouth opened and closed, and Hermione hurried to fill the silence.
"No, no," she said, forcing a laugh. "We're just fine, Harry."
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