Unofficial Portkey Archive

Disclaimer: See Chapter 1.

Author's Note: Apologies for the very long wait but RL and some computer problems have gotten in the way of updating this story. I promise it won't take so long to update this next time!

This is a rather short chapter because I have a hard time writing Ginny in a non-snarky, relatively sympathetic sort of way (and this chapter should be proof of that.)

What Happened Before the Wedding

Chapter 3: Confessing the Truth

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"Ginny." Harry tried to interrupt Ginny's enthusiastic story of Mrs. Weasley's and her visit to one store (the first of many such planned) to find her wedding dress.

"Of course," Ginny said with a small, flirtatious little laugh and a sideways glance at Harry, "you won't be able to see me wearing the dress until our wedding day."

"Ginny," Harry tried again.

"But that doesn't matter right now since I didn't really love any of the dresses we saw today. What would you think of my designing my own, Harry?" She didn't pause for his answer, only continued, "But Mum says Phlegm's mentioned a few stores she knows in Paris and we're thinking of visiting those too."

"Ginny!" Harry raised his voice slightly, making her name more emphatic and she finally stopped, looking at him with some reproach in her eyes.

"Harry, you don't need to snap at me."

He softened his voice, cringing inwardly at how much more reason she would soon have to look at him reproachfully. "Ginny, we have to talk."

"About what, Harry? You're sounding and looking very grim. Come on, Harry," she said cajolingly with one of her prettiest smiles, "smile at me. You know how handsome I think you are when you smile."

He didn't. "Ginny, I'm serious."

"What is it, Harry?"

He looked at her, seeing the slight smile playing on her lips and in her eyes, her utter confidence in their relationship making him flinch.

"I- I don't think I can do this," he finally blurted out, his voice very low and his eyes faltering before hers.

"Do what? Harry, I don't know what you're talking about."

He forced himself to look back up and meet her eyes, confused now. "This isn't going to work. I- I can't marry you, Ginny."

There, it was out. He'd said it.

For one terrible second, she only stared at him, as if willing him to say that he hadn't meant it, that he'd only been joking or something, as if willing herself to have been imagining the words. "But- but we were-we are-so happy together…"

He flinched again. "Yes, we were," he conceded, "but not lately. Lately… you've been happy but I- I haven't been, not really. I'm sorry, Ginny."

"But- but we're perfect together… This is how everything's supposed to be…" She pushed herself out of her chair and moved to sit on his lap, putting her arms around his neck. "You can't mean it, Harry," she said softly, seductively. She shifted on his lap to press herself closer to him, one hand undoing the buttons of his shirt to slide inside and caress his chest. "You know you don't really mean that, Harry."

She tried to kiss him and he flinched, turning his head so her lips brushed his cheek instead of his lips. He captured her wandering hand with his, pulling it away. "Don't, Ginny. I'm serious." He grasped her arms, pushing her gently away. "I just can't marry you."

He finally managed to escape her embrace and retreated, putting some space between them.

"But- but you love me, Harry. I know you do!"

He flinched again, guilt flaying him with every word she said. "No, I don't-not enough, at least. I thought I did-but I- I just can't…" he finished so softly the words were barely audible.

But in the silence, they seemed about as loud as an explosion would have been.
He was unnaturally aware of the pounding of his heart, of the sound of her breathing-could almost swear he could hear her blinking, he was so miserably, intensely conscious of her-and the hurt he was causing her.

"But Harry… I love you…"

He had to look back up at her at these words that were almost a wail and then wished he hadn't at the sight of the tears in her eyes, the pleading in her expression.

This was why he'd tried never to disagree with her before, because he hated to see the look of hurt, of pleading, hated to see her tears. It always made him feel as if he'd just kicked a puppy or some other defenseless thing.

"Ginny, I'm sorry, I'm so, so sorry… I thought-I thought I could, thought I- loved you enough but I just can't… I'm sorry…"

He was a right prick. How could he hurt her so much?

But he couldn't marry her either.

"You- you deserve better than me, Ginny. You deserve someone who- who adores you."

And he could not be that man. He could not be the perfect hero she wanted and thought he was.

"I don't want anyone better. I want you! I've always-always-from the first time I saw you, wanted to marry you."

"I'm sorry, Ginny," was all he could say, again, his voice very low.

"How could you do this to me, Harry?" she cried. "What will everyone say? Everyone knows we're engaged-the scandal-how could you do this? Why did you have to wait until now when we've already planned so much?!"

"I know. I'm sorry I didn't realize it sooner; I should have but I just… didn't. I thought I could, thought this was what I wanted too…"

And at first, they'd been happy together. He'd been happy, thought this was all he wanted.

"How am I ever going to go outside again? There'll be so much talk and gossip and-Merlin, Harry, how could you do this to me?"

"I'm sorry."

"Don't say that, Harry! If you're so sorry, if you really care so much, then fix it and we can get married like we planned to!"

"I- I can't, Ginny."

He tried to put a comforting hand on her arm but she leaped up before he could. "Don't, Harry! Don't try to make this better!"

She grabbed her purse and her cloak with a muffled sniff and almost ran out of the flat, slamming the door behind her so hard it rattled the hinges.

He dropped heavily into a chair.

It was done-but God, he hated himself! At that moment, he detested himself almost as much as he felt sure Ginny did-as she should.

But he'd had to do it…

How could he marry her doubting the way he did? How could he marry her when he still felt he couldn't truly talk to her?

From some corner of his mind, he heard Dumbledore's voice say, do what is right rather than what is easy…

He laughed a bitter little laugh. Well, he'd done that. Hadn't he?

But Dumbledore had never mentioned how doing what was right could make you hate yourself.

He was still flagellating himself hours later when he heard running footsteps and just barely had time to stand up to face the door, knowing it would be Ron and he couldn't avoid what was going to happen now.

Ron flung the door open with a gesture of suppressed violence. "How could you do that to her, Harry?" he demanded, dispensing with any normal greeting.

"I had to. Do you think I would have done it if I'd had any choice? But I just can't do it. I can't marry Ginny, Ron. I'm sorry."

"You should have realized that before you got engaged to her!"

"I know that," Harry admitted quietly. "I wish I had but I just didn't know until now…"

"And what's so wrong with my sister that you had to decide that you can't marry her?"

"There's nothing wrong with her. It's me. I just… I don't love her enough, can't love her enough…"

Ron's face turned almost puce. "So you've just been using her as a casual shag or something then?"

Harry opened his mouth to protest but before he could, Ron lashed out again, "Damn you!" his fist hitting Harry squarely on the cheek, knocking his glasses askew.

Harry's head snapped back sharply, stars exploding in his head for a second as he staggered before steadying himself.

He felt a quick flare of anger at Ron's unjust accusation-Ron, of all people, should know better!-but that was quickly nudged aside by the pricking of his own guilty conscience.

Because it did look rather like that, his conscience prodded, and he had used Ginny badly, even if it had been unintentional. He could hardly expect Ron to overlook or quickly forgive the insult to his own sister.

"I'm sorry," he said again. "I didn't mean to hurt her."

Ron let out a sharp, sardonic laugh. "That's bloody rich! Didn't mean to hurt her-yeah, well, you did and saying sorry isn't going to make things right! How could you--"

The rest of Ron's angry words were cut off as the door opened and Hermione came in, her gaze immediately flying to the two of them, taking in their expressions and the no-doubt rapidly forming bruise on Harry's cheek.

She dropped her bag carelessly to the floor and almost flew across the room to where they were standing.

"Ron!" she scolded. "How could you?" She turned to Harry in the same breath and asked, her voice softening remarkably, "Are you okay?"

Harry nodded silently.

She turned back to Ron. "Ron, really! How could you punch him?!"

Ron gaped at her. "You're taking his side in this? Hermione, how could you? He just broke Ginny's heart and she's your friend too!"

"This has nothing to do with taking sides; there are no sides in this. Ginny is a friend and I'm sorry Ginny's hurt but it's not like Harry's very happy either and Harry's my best friend. Since he was having doubts, it's better that he say so now before they actually did get married when anything else would hurt Ginny a lot more in the long run."

"I can't believe you're defending him! He broke my little sister's heart!" Ron turned his gaze to Harry. "And I trusted you!"

"Ron, stop it!" Hermione deliberately edged in front of Harry, although as tactics went, it wasn't entirely successful as Harry was tall enough to see over her head and Ron certainly was.

"Hermione, it's okay. He has a right to be angry," Harry spoke up, trying to intervene but for once, Hermione ignored him, in favor of continuing to face Ron.

"Ron, be fair! You know Harry better than that!" Hermione forcibly gentled her tone, her voice softening, becoming persuasive, logical, reasoning. "Do you think he would hurt Ginny and disappoint your parents like this if he felt he had any choice? Do you think he's getting any fun out of this?"

Ron apparently didn't find her softened tone any more persuasive than before, his scowl not lessening. "Oh fine, take his side!" he snapped. "You always seem to anyway! I'm going to see if Ginny's alright, since somebody should."

He stormed angrily out of the flat, only pausing to throw a last reproachful glare at Harry.

There was a moment of almost ringing silence in the flat after that, the sound of the slammed door almost seeming to echo.

Hermione turned to Harry, her entire expression softening, changing, until it was almost hard to believe that this was the same person who had faced off with Ron just a moment ago. "Here, Harry, sit down and let me take a look at your cheek."

"I'm fine, Hermione. Really. It's just a bruise."

She ignored him, almost pushing him onto the sofa and then summoning a small jar of ointment from her little collection kept for personal use.

She slipped his glasses off with a gentle hand, putting them aside, as she bent over him, her fingers remarkably gentle as she touched his cheek.

"How badly does it hurt?"

"I'm fine, Hermione," Harry said again in a futile attempt to make her stop.

"You've got a little cut on your cheek and a nice bruise forming, Harry," Hermione went on smoothly as if he'd never spoken. "I'm going to put on just a dab of ointment to make the cut heal and take care of the bruise after that."

Harry gave up, knowing when it was useless to try to argue against Hermione.

"Thanks for defending me," he finally said. "My hero," he added with an attempt at humor that fell flat.

"It was nothing."

"I'm sorry for making you argue with Ron," he ventured a little uncertainly. He usually tried so hard to keep out of Ron and Hermione's relationship, since it was hardly fair to them, but he'd been dragged fairly into the middle of a fight now, inadvertent as it may have been. He felt a small pang of guilt at the thought of how Ron had glared and the anger that had been clearly visible.

"Don't worry about it. You know I wouldn't have defended you if I didn't honestly agree."

He did know that and that made her defense mean all the more. She had defended him this time but she was also just as likely to tell him he was being an arse when she thought he needed it. He hadn't thought about it before but it made her loyalty mean more, made it precious. "I know."

"This ointment might sting," was her only response.

He blinked, focusing on her face hovering above his, a slight frown of concentration creasing her brow (a very familiar expression), her fingers almost impossibly gentle as she put a dab of the ointment on the cut and worked it into the skin.

The ointment did sting a little but he hardly noticed it, distracted instead by the warmth of her hands and her body as she stood over him so closely, distracted by the very gentleness of her touch…

It was an odd thing and he could never explain why but he couldn't deny his reaction to the light touch of her fingers on his bruised face, feeling a bubble of desire begin and spread through him. And somehow, like her touch, this desire was a gentle thing-although he'd never before thought that desire could be gentle. And yet somehow, this feeling was. It wasn't an entirely sexual thing, although it was definitely a physical reaction, but something other than that as well, something different than purely sexual. There was no passion in this feeling, no burning need; it was gentler than that. (He wondered if she had any idea how very… seductive… gentleness could be, wondered how he'd never before known how seductive gentleness could be-because he was attracted, was seduced in an odd, lazy sort of way.)

And he looked at her and thought that he wished he could sit there and just have her fingers touch his face like this for days, possibly even a lifetime, and he wouldn't want anything else. He looked at her and wondered what it would feel like to kiss her, not passionately, not heatedly, but softly, just brush his lips over hers…

There was no compulsion about it; he only wondered…

And then his rational brain caught up with his wonderings and he stopped short. Great Merlin, he'd lost his mind.

He must have lost his mind.

He jerked away from her touch. "That's enough."

He caught her look of mingled surprise and confusion and a touch of hurt and promptly felt like a bastard. No, he was a bastard. He might have gone insane but that was no excuse to be so short with her, the best friend he'd ever had-and more than a friend too, a tiny voice in his head inserted but he squelched it quickly.

His voice gentled. "Thanks, Hermione. I feel as good as new now. I just… don't want to be a bother, you know," he explained, rather lamely, he felt.

She managed a slight smile. "I'm glad the ointment helped."

He tried for a smile and managed one. "It did help, thanks."

"Ok, good. And it's not a bother. I do this for a living, remember?"

"Luckily for me," he quipped, trying to make light of it, trying to forget his utterly inappropriate reaction.

"Tell me if it still hurts after a while."

"I will," he said, even as he added the mental disclaimer that he wouldn't unless he felt like he was going to die from it. He didn't dare. Not now, not when he could still feel the warmth of her fingers on his face.

She was so gentle and she cared so much-and he hadn't known enough of that sort of caring in his life to be able to shrug it off.

He cared about her, trusted her more than anyone else; she was, as she'd always been, his best friend…

And he was beginning to suspect, somewhere in the most hidden corners of his mind, so deep it was mostly unconscious as yet, that he could, if he let himself-that he might-care about her as more than just a friend… That he could love her…

~To be continued…~