Fragile

Disclaimer: I don’t own Harry Potter nor anything related to it. That’s obvious, I think.

Author’s Note: I have had this written for a very long time but have never posted it because I am afraid of the reaction I’ll get. I can’t be sure if it falls under H/Hr, since it’s told from Ginny’s PoV and she’s clearly in love with him, but it’s not H/G if they don’t end up together, or are at least in love. Anyway, it’s definitely something, so read it with an open mind. =)

***

FRAGILE

He was gone tonight, too.

And I felt this horrible, bitter sadness over that. I felt like I was going to die from jealousy and longing because I knew he was with her and not with me.

It was stupid. I knew why he was out. I knew he wasn’t off romancing her or anything. But I knew that there was something about him when he was ‘playing the hero’…there was that odd look in his eyes; that expression through which he let you have a glimpse into what his life had always been…and then you would be drowning in his emotions; in his loneliness and confusion, in his despair and bottled anger…

And you would want to help him. You would want to hold him in your arms and tell him it would all be fine. Heck, you’d want to make it fine, just to see him genuinely calm and happy.

I knew Hermione wasn’t immune to that. As if I hadn’t seen the way she looked at him…she loved him. She felt all that for him and more, probably. In truth, I should be able to respect that—especially knowing that he feels that way about her, too.

But I can’t.

I can’t, because I feel that way for him too.

I don’t know when my simple affection for him turned into something so…complicated and long-lasting as love. I mean, love…love can redefine every aspect of your life, can’t it? It can change a person completely, from the way they speak to the way they think…how could I have come to feel that way for Harry?

It’s all such a blur…first I was eleven and giggling every time he looked at me; then suddenly I’m fifteen and snogging him. Now, at sixteen, I can’t remember the turning point of my life when I started to love him. We were together only once after he broke up with me at Dumbledore’s funeral…we don’t speak as much, either…I just can’t understand why I still feel so strongly for him, after he’s made it clear that I was just…a girl. A fancy—nothing more.

And maybe it’s because he’s made it so clear—because he’s moved on so easily—that it hurts so much.

Because he’s blind now. Blinded by his love and devotion to another.

Huh. Sounds rather familiar.

--

“Don’t. Don’t say a word, Ginny.”

She looked so painfully sad…so grief-stricken as the tears slid down her cheeks. And yet, she looked beautiful. I could see why Harry liked her so much—even when she cried, she still had this elegance about her…this sort of presence that I could only wish to achieve. I actually felt guilty for what I was doing…she was suffering so much because of me. And for a moment, I felt as if it really wasn’t worth it.

But it was just for a moment.

She finished crying and wiped her tears away, sighing, “Listen, I’m sorry. For trying to make him see that—that he’s making the wrong choice. I’m sorry, but it’s the truth.”

“The truth,” I heard myself say, “is that he’s with me. You can’t force him to be with you.”

“Okay. But I love him, Ginny.”

“No! God, you don’t! You’re supposed to love Ron! Harry’s your friend, you hear me? Friend. You think you love him because of all you’ve been through, but you don’t.”

She shook her head, looking fragile as ever as she stubbornly looked me in the eye, “What you want to live is a lie. This…idealistic vision of the world that you’ve come up with. But the fact of the matter is…that Harry doesn’t love you.”

“Yes, he does.”

“And he’s noticing that, Ginny. He’s starting to realize he was wrong—”

“That’s not true! We love each other!”

“No—what you feel is obsession. It’s all about revenge and getting the best of the best. Of being the one talked about and envied—”

“You’re pathetic.” I spat, rage in every syllable. I was so angry at her for saying those things—how dare she insinuate such a thing about me! At that moment I truly, sincerely, hated her and everything that she represented.

But she kept talking, because she knew how much her words shook me, “It’s this…childish desire to beat me—and everyone. To be better—”

“Shut up.”

I wondered whether she was taking a disgusting sort of pleasure as she spoke. She didn’t seem to, but God, by the way she kept on talking in her pitying tone, you’d think she’d want to make me feel miserable, “To be special—”

“Shut the hell up, Hermione! Don’t talk about what you don’t understand! You just can’t accept that Harry and I love each other and that even after all these years, he doesn’t give a shit whether you love him or not!”

--

So much for not caring. Two weeks after that Harry broke up with me—and that time it really was over between us. He told me he was sorry for leading me on—unconsciously, but still—and that things between us weren’t going to work out…ever. He seemed to be struggling with his explanation, so I shut him up. As if I needed him to explain anything…Hermione had already told me all I needed to hear, after all. And deep down, it felt hopeless to me. I knew I wouldn’t be able to change his mind…I knew he really loved her.

We’re still on rocky grounds, she and I. I just can’t forgive her for what she said about me. She made me out to be a selfish, conceited little girl—and I’m not. I just have a different approach to love. Everyone does. I don’t know why it’s so hard to believe that I do sincerely love Harry.

After all, isn’t he why my suffering is doubled?

Because, aside from him, I do have other things to worry about. The Wizarding World is in the midst of a War…and everyone I know is somehow risking their lives. It’s as if I’m trapped here, confined for my safety, and I just have to watch as they fight, suffer, and get hurt. Everyday more news of deaths reach my ears, and though they’re not always about people I’m close to, a lot of times familiar names are mentioned.

And it’s…horrible. Watching kids even younger than me being called to McGonagall because their parents were injured or killed as they went to buy some groceries. Seeing as Hogwarts fully separates into three bands—the ones that support You-Know-Who, the ones that are against him, and the ones who’re too afraid to take a stand. Reading the headlines in the Daily Prophets about the robberies, attacks, breakouts from Azkaban, the hysteria that’s taken over everyone…

And the letters from Mum…they come in the strangest ways now; not by owl because she says it’s never been more unsafe than it is now during the War. Sometimes they appear in the fireplace, but sometimes they also appear in my dinner plate or inside my clothes. In any other circumstances it’d be rather funny, but each time I find a letter inside my socks it’s a dull, harsh reminder of the state we’re living in. You’d think I’d feel bad enough by then, but when I finish I always feel so…lost. Like I’m on my own and no one is going to save me from this reality.

It’s enough to drive anyone insane. I really, really can’t take this…the tension, despair, sorrow and worst of all…the hope. That sad, hopeful part of you that still has faith and believes everything will pull through. It’s because of that hope that I feel such despair upon reading my Mum’s letters. I always find a way to believe that the War will end soon and that You-Know-Who will be defeated, but those letters just snatch the hope away from me again and again. It’s this…vicious cycle that just doesn’t end—it won’t end until the War itself does.

And when will that be?

Do we have enough hope to believe it ever will?

Because what tells us that when Harry defeats You-Know-Who there won’t just be a brief relapse like when he did it the first time? I want to have faith, I really do, but it becomes harder everyday to believe that such evil can ever be destroyed.

It’s ironic that I can believe in so many things, but not in that. I believe in my love for him, in everything that he stands for…but somehow I can’t bring myself to have faith in him. I can’t look at him in the eye and tell him that I have no doubts about whether he’ll end it and save us all. I just can’t.

But she can…

She can close her eyes and let herself fall into his arms without worry because she knows he can do it. She trusts him with every fiber of her essence, because she has faith in him. And she’ll be there, by his side, and never doubt him.

Maybe that’s why he loves her and not me.

“Couldn’t sleep either?”

I whirled around to find Ron descending the stairs from the boy’s bedrooms. He didn’t seem to find it odd that I was up at three in the morning, sitting alone in the common room. He walked towards me, a quilt in his hands, and sat down beside me, throwing the quilt on top of me. I smiled, taking it and making myself comfortable under it.

He didn’t say anything and neither did I. We just sat there, looking at the fire with equal expressions of misery and regret. You wouldn’t need to be a Seer to know Hermione was the reason he was up. And I pitied him, because he’s my brother and no one deserves to go through that…but deep inside I knew it wasn’t the same sort of pain I was going through. My pain was worse…it held on to me tight, suffocating me in sorrow and need. He didn’t know what it was like—he just fancied Hermione. He would get over it soon enough.

But me…was it possible for me to get through this?

“They’ll be back soon, I guess,” he said suddenly, his eyes on the dancing flames.

I nodded numbly, “Maybe.”

“Do you know what they’re doing?”

I mustered the strength to roll my eyes, “That’s a stupid question,” I scoffed, though in a soft tone of voice, “Of course I do.”

“I didn’t go.”

“I can see that.”

He finally looked away from the fireplace, giving me a sad half-grin, “Do you know why I didn’t go?” he asked.

“I have an idea.”

He nodded, “I didn’t go,” he said slowly, “because I don’t like lying very much.”

I waited for him to elaborate, but he didn’t. He just looked at me as if I was supposed to know exactly what he meant by that statement. So after a rather annoying pause, I decided to go along with his odd attempt at conversation, “Lying? What does that have to do with going?”

“Everything.”

“How?”

“Because going implied that I thought that this time, we’d actually find something.”

“And you don’t?”

“Right now…I’m not sure what I believe, Ginny. I thought the person I l-loved felt the same way for me…and she—doesn’t. I thought my friends would always be there for me—but now I see that they can’t help me with this because…well, ‘cause they’re the reason for my problem. Right now, it’s like everything I believed in is suddenly the other way around. So how do I know we’ll find a way?” he asked hoarsely, and I could see this truly worried him, “How do I know…Harry’ll defeat You-Know-Who when…we haven’t made any progress in all these months? Is it possible, Gin? Can I believe in that?”

I stared at him. I heard myself blurting out the first thought that popped into my mind, “You have to!”

“Why?” he asked, looking rather taken aback.

“Because you’re Harry’s bloody best mate, that’s why!” I said, louder than I intended. Glancing at the dormitories, I lowered my tone and kept talking, “You can’t give up on him! You’re all he has, Ron! You and Hermione—your support is what gives him courage! If you leave him—if you lose faith in him—he’ll fail for sure. He needs you—he’s fighting for you. For you and everyone else. But if you don’t trust him…then he has no strength at all.”

For a moment, he still looked taken aback at my outburst. It was obvious that what I said really reached him. I could tell, by the look on his face and the silence that met my words, that he knew I was right. So I felt good—heck, I felt excellent for a moment—because I’d indirectly helped the situation.

“Do I really matter that much?” he mumbled. And, knowing my brother pretty well, I’d already changed his mind. He just needed some reassurance.

“Before Hermione became his girlfriend,” I shrugged, “You were his best mate, right? You were his friend before he even considered Hermione as one, Ron. I’d say you matter just as much as she does. And that’s a lot more than you can imagine.”

I paused, then gave him a grave look, “So you can stop being a prat and get back to being his friend. You’re much more helpful that way.”

He looked away from me and went back to gaze at the flames. I couldn’t think of anything more to add, so I didn’t say anything. It was up to him now to make the right decision. Sliding out from under the quilt, I rose from the couch and made towards the girl’s dormitories, looking forward to silence and perhaps even sleep. I was halfway there when I heard his voice again.

“D’you know what Hermione said when I told her all this a few hours ago? She said, ‘Don’t let your desires make you forget what really matters.’” he paused, before continuing, “I just think you might need to hear that, too.”

I stopped dead in my tracks.

“She’s right, Ginny. We can’t stop helping him because he’s done what…what he had to.”

I didn’t want to believe he was addressing my personal problems like that. Like it was so easy to forget about everything and let go of your pain. Again I noted how, clearly, what he felt towards Hermione was a thousand times simpler than what I felt for Harry. He couldn’t understand…and he wouldn’t until he fell in love like this. Until he had his heart ripped away and torn to shreds before his very eyes, he would not comprehend why I had to turn my back on Harry.

“Ron…believe me when I say you don’t know the half of it. You’ve no idea what you’re talking about.”

I didn’t look at him and I could tell he wasn’t looking at me either. If he’d seen the way my body tensed at his words or the way I was clenching my fists, he wouldn’t have answered me the way he did: “God, Ginny. What’s there to know? You and him were together, but he didn’t…he just realized you weren’t the person for him—”

I didn’t want him to finish that statement. I didn’t want to hear it right now, “You can’t seriously tell me you’re okay with them? After Hermione told you she needed time for herself, and all that load of bollocks?”

“I knew it was because we didn’t really…fit. I got used to the idea,” by the tone of his voice, he seemed to be telling the truth, but somehow I could still sense a hint of bitterness in his words, “I don’t know if they really are together, but if they are…I can’t blame them. She’s been with him every step of the way—”

“Bullshit!” I was so angry all of a sudden, so utterly annoyed at his defense of Hermione.

“Yes, she has. You weren’t the one that stayed up countless nights with him helping him out on one thing or another. Or the one that risked her neck to make him happy or to lend him a hand. Or the one that believed him or stood by his side even when she didn’t.”

A lone tear slid down my cheek.

“Neither were you,” I spat, hating him so much at that moment…

“Maybe,” he conceded calmly, “I guess that’s why I accept that they may be together. And because in the long run, Harry deserves that happiness more than I do.”

“I—I know he does,” I said softly, beginning to sob. I wrapped my arms around my shoulders, suddenly feeling a rush of cold air, “But I j-just…”

He had fallen silent now. The only sound that filled the common room was that of my own uncontrollable sobbing. I understood now, what Ron meant. I had to put my own happiness aside and think about what Harry wanted…because that was truly loving. Forgetting about yourself and thinking about the other. I saw it now—it wasn’t that he loved Hermione less…it was that he loved her so much that he learned to accept her love for Harry. He learned to accept that…for her. Because she meant so very much to him. And to think I’d actually turned my back on Harry because he didn’t love me…such an act now seemed childish and naïve. Stupid, bratty, inconsiderate and hateful…I wondered miserably if after all this Harry would even consider accepting me as a friend.

Because that was all I needed now that I understood.

I felt a hand on my shoulder. I turned and without looking at him because I didn’t want him to see me crying like this. I wrapped my arms around his waist and buried my face in his chest, closing my eyes and sobbing as I cried. He seemed to hesitate for a moment, before wrapping his arms around me and pulling me towards him in a protective hug. Between sobs I began to talk:

“T-the only thing I w-wish I knew…is why c-can’t he be happy w-with me?”

“I—I don’t know, Ginny.”

I recognized the voice instantly. A chill racing down my spine, I jumped away from his arms. I looked up to see Harry’s grief-stricken face…his eyes projecting only sorrow, his mouth a thin line. He was gazing at me with the most painful expression of guilt ever conceived. And through me passed a whirlwind of emotions—shock, slight anger, confusion and then my own remorse. He wasn’t supposed to see me like this—he wasn’t supposed to know I suffered for him. He wasn’t supposed to feel bad for doing the right thing.

Hermione stood behind him, with Ron. They were staring at us as if they had never seen us before, looking both saddened and guilty. And I didn’t want them to feel that way either.

“I…honestly wish I knew,” Harry said quietly.

What was I playing at? I knew why he wasn’t happy with me. I knew what hadn’t felt right for him. But I needed to hear him say it…because somehow that would make it real. That would close off any doubts I might have regarding this whole mess and send me back to where I’m meant to be in life—to the person I’m supposed to love; to the people I’m supposed to be friends with…

I didn’t say anything for a long time. I waited until I had stopped sobbing, because I knew that if I began speaking while I was still crying, I would never be able to explain anything.

“I’m sorry, Harry,” I whispered, shaking my head, “I really am. I—I was confused. And I guess I still am,” I added, and something resembling a chuckle escaped my lips, “I don’t know anything anymore. I thought…I thought you were happy with me,” I mumbled, my cheeks burning from shame and, surprisingly enough, anger. I could still find it in me to blame him, even a little bit, for this.

I lowered my voice even more, and leaned forward a little so only he could hear these next words, “She might not know it yet—that you love her. But you do, don’t you? That’s why you and I can’t be together. It’s as simple as that,” I shook my head, “Harry, please…the least you could do is tell me why. I need to hear it from you.”

He looked at me, and I knew he understood everything. I could almost never tell what he was feeling just by looking into his eyes—that was something she alone could manage—and yet, right now, it all seemed so clear. I could see it all—guilt for seeing me so torn, for what he was about to say, for what he had done…

He sighed heavily, “I love her, Ginny. I do, and this time I know it’s real when I say it, because I really do feel it. I did think I felt it before…but that doesn’t excuse what I did. You shouldn’t be apologizing—I should. And I will,” he took both my hands into his, “I’m sorry…I really am, Ginny. I do care about you…and seeing you like this hurts. I—I’m happy that you understand…but I respect your feelings. I know you need time.”

I just looked at him.

“That’s why I haven’t told her anything. She does know—I can tell. But I won’t tell her. Not yet,” he said, shaking his head, “Maybe when the time is right.”

He kissed my hands before releasing them. I nodded, shocked at his statement and unsure of how I should react. I wanted to tell him the time was right—that he shouldn’t waste any of it…not in these times, anyway. But he just turned and made his way up to the dormitories, Hermione rushing behind him after a moment, a worried expression crossing her face. Ron looked at me, and I nodded again, feeling this was the only way I could respond to anything right now.

I could only watch.

I could only hold myself back.

I could only try to understand this—him…them.

And I did now.

Harry and Hermione…

I guess it’s just the way things were meant to be.