If You Don't Want to Love Me


Rating: PG
Genres: Angst, Romance
Relationships: Draco & Ginny
Book: Draco & Ginny, Books 1 - 7
Published: 16/10/2010
Last Updated: 16/10/2010
Status: In Progress

Cancer. It hits and devastates thousands of families, leaving everything in ruin in its wake. Ginny Weasley never thought she would be a victim left in the ruins, her husband gone and she left without a notion of what to do. She begins running - but soon finds out,to her surprise, she's not the only one running. [EWE. R/LL, H/Hr]

1. Such a Bitter form of Refuge

A/N: Hi all! My first attempt at a chaptered fic here on portkey. I feel the need to clarify though: Draco/Ginny is kind of a side-ship for the first while of this fic. I mean, she’s not with anyone else, but it takes a while for them to get together. I hope you’ll give it a chance though, I’m excited about writing it!

Chapter title and quote bellow is from The Killer’s song “Dustland Fairytale.” which is an amazing song by the way. I don’t own it, or Harry Potter for that matter. And now, onto the story! Chapters will be longer than this one usually by the way.


29th December 2008

“Don’t you go to sleep, it’s such a bitter form of refuge,”

She ran blindly through the house, unable to see due to the tears blurring her vision. Her chest heaved and ached, though she felt completely numb at the same time. Her movements were jerky and to any outsider, her eyes would look wild and frightened. Ginny scampered up the stairs, tripping dangerously several times on the way. Once she reached the top, her immediate reaction was to burst into her bedroom but she fell short outside the door. Staring at the closed door, her chin began to wobble and her resolve crumble as the tears she held back were allowed to flow from her eyes.

She cupped her hand over her mouth and shakily turned around, leaning against the wall so that she could slide down onto the first step of the stairs. Ginny glanced down the stairs and briefly wonder what it would be like to let herself fall; to feel herself slip in and out of consciousness and eventually succumb to the darkness waiting; to feel numbness and absolutely nothing instead of the unbelievable pain she felt at that moment.

Just as she was contemplating throwing herself down the stairs, there was a frantic knock on the door. Ginny remained where she was.

It was no one she wanted to see. It was impossible to see the one she actually wanted to see.

She gazed at the front door blankly from the top of the stairs, her tears now drying as she emptied her mind.

The door was broke down with a reducto and in stepped two figures.

Ginny pulled out her wand and put up a shield, warding off everyone and preventing them from speaking or touching her. She was making her stance clear; I want to be alone.

She painstakingly pushed the memories from her mind, concentrating hard on keeping her thoughts blank. It was so difficult.

“Oh, Ginny,” Came a voice filled with pity, sympathy and sadness. Ginny felt as if she were blind as she stared at the brown carpet, ignoring any movements towards her of the people. She could only feel them trying to break down her shield with their attempts to hug her. Ginny shifted to escape their prying eyes and arms. “Ginny, please. Please, say something,”

She recognised the voice; but it wasn’t his. Nothing could ever measure up to him or give the same measurement of comfort. What Ginny did recognise, however, was that it was her mothers voice. Somewhere deep in her mind, something echoed to reply.

This was lost on Ginny.

“Ginny?” It was a new voice. Gruff, deep and that of a man’s. It had a undercurrent of warmth that she knew, and instantly realised it was her father. “Are you alright? Come now, let’s put down this shield and..” He trailed off then. Ginny didn’t know why.

She sat on the stairs, counting the single strands of carpet surrounding her as the numbers grew larger. She found it oddly comforting and occupying. She brushed her fingers along the carpet, feeling as if nothing were there. She brushed harder again, but there was no carpet burn and no hurt.

She withdrew quickly as she realised her hand was still not hurting. Ginny frowned; she was numb to that pain, but not the one that was enveloping her entirely. Why?

“Oh, my little baby, Arthur! She--she’s … do s-something. M-My baby..” Molly wailed, and Arthur’s attempts to calm her were fruitless.

Ginny made a grave mistake then and raised her eyes to the ceiling, allowing her eyes to rake over the walls as her stare moved upwards. She hadn’t blinked in what felt like years.

And then she froze. In her haze and derailed thought process, Ginny had completely forgotten the photo’s. They were all there; her and her husband at balls, parties and friends houses; pictures of him with friends; pictures of all their friends and the happy couple.

Ginny drew her knees tighter into her chest, as if squeezing the pain out and distancing herself from the happy memories donning the walls. Ginny wanted to smash it; she really did, but there was no energy to do so. Everything felt pointless, and everything felt so relentless and laborious.

There were more voices now, but they were fading as Ginny felt herself growing faint. The increasing number of voices were reduced to a low buzz in her ears as she focused on their wedding picture.

It was over. Their marriage was now nullified -- it was like divorce. Ginny was no longer married. He was gone and he wasn’t coming back. Why did this happen to her? Why did he get the illness, out of all the people in the world? Why couldn’t she have gone instead of him?

Ginny didn’t register the number of people downstairs now fighting, and instead stood, her shield still standing.

“Ginny?! Ginny, what are you doing?”

“..Answer me, Ginny! I am now ordering you to answer me.”

“Please listen, Ginny!…We love you, so please respond..”

“I know it’s hard, Gin, but think of all you have. It’s okay, just listen to me and..”

“Can you hear us, Ginny?”

“ … not even responding to our voices. Don’t you think she needs to be brought to the hospital, Mum? Mum! She--she’s--”

Still staring at the picture, Ginny closed her eyes and pictured him. She envisioned his smiling face, his warm, brown eyes and brilliantly white teeth. His affectionate nature and loving disposition..

She let out a potent sob, racking her small frame. Ginny lost her footing then, and fell down the steps as her wand dropped and shield collapsed…

They all sprinted, and even apparated, to catch her. They screamed and shouted, and the house had a roar of loud noises for the moments of her fall. Each and every one of her friends and family scrambled to grasp her tumbling frail body.

Ginny wasn’t so sure that she wanted to be caught.

2. You Promised me Everything, You Promised me Thick and Thin

July 2008

It was a lovely day, with the sun breaking through the scattered clouds and a mild breeze in the air, it was the perfect day to Ginny. It was her favourite type of weather; not too hot, not too cold. She smiled at seemingly nothing as she waited for her husband to finish getting ready as, as usual, he had gotten held up at work and was now hurriedly changing his clothes. He had been called in unexpectedly, otherwise, she wouldn’t have allowed him to work today.

It was her long-time friends birthday today, and her mother was holding a little get together for him at her childhood home, the Burrow. All of Ginny’s family was going to be there, and so she was more than eager to leave.

“Dean? Honey, are you nearly ready?” Deciding that he had taken long enough, Ginny sighed and went upstairs to fetch her husband. “Dean, are you.. Dean!”

He was leaning over the toilet in their ensuite, hurling his lunch into the bowl as if it burned his stomach. Ginny ran forward, wondering what on earth was going on with him of late. She patted his back as he emptied the rest of the contents of his stomach, and then he leaned back against her tiredly.

“You never told me you were sick,” She said, worry and accusation mixing into her tone. She felt his forehead, “Do you want to go to the doctor? You’re burning.”

“No, no, I’m fine. We need to go to the burrow..” she could hear the weariness in his voice and frowned for a moment.

“Are you sure? There’ll be other birthdays, other family meetings… other burrow lunches. I don’t want you to go if you feel bad,”

He mustered up a smile, but it lacked his usual lustre. His gleaming white teeth against his dark, smooth skin made him the picture of handsomeness. She automatically smiled then, deciding that if he was sure, she wasn’t going to keep pestering. “Well, come on then. I’ll iron your shirt while you brush your teeth, okay?” Ginny said softly, aware that despite his insistence, he was ill.

Dean’s smile became grateful, and he turned to the sink to brush his teeth. “Sorry about that, Gin. I must’ve caught something at the hospital. Hopefully that’ll be it now anyway!”

“Are you sure its just something you caught at the hospital? That’s not the first time I’ve had to comfort you while you threw back up a dinner, lunch or breakfast. And you have been getting headache’s a lot..” She turned to look at him, “Have you got one now?”

He met her eyes in the mirror, warmth shining in the dark orbs, “Just a small one, but it’s from stress.” He popped his toothbrush back in the holder, “Who’s the doctor here anyway?”

She laughed and finished ironing, then walking up to him and wrapping her arms around his waist from behind. “I’m trained in the art of ‘Molly-Weasley-Sick-Detecting’ so doctor does not come into it.”

Dean grinned and turned around to face her, “Well, you must not have all of your mothers abilities as I am perfectly fine.” He kissed her forehead. “Now, is there not a party we’re late for?”

Ginny looked up at him through her long eyelashes, batting them at him jokingly, “Oh but Mr. Thomas, wouldn’t you like to have your way with me beforehand?” They both laughed, before all was silenced when he swooped down to kiss her, then scooping her up into his arms and carrying her to their bed.

Ginny smiled against his lips, oh how she loved this man.


“And just where have you two been?” Ginny started to open her mouth before she was cut off, “You know what? I don’t want to know, nor do I particularly care at this point.” Dean smothered a laugh as she continued., “Your mother is freaking out and I’ve had to bear the brunt of it till now. Oh-ho, no more.. You have the starring role now, Gin!” Hermione grinned boldly, and then hugged the two of them quickly. “Sorry I can’t stop to chat, I’ve got to put up bloody decorations. Talk later.”

Dean laughed as soon as she was out of sight, “High strung is going to be the word of the day! Do you want to find your Mum and I’ll find Ron, ask him if I can help him on --”

Ginny grabbed his arm and directed him towards the kitchen, where she knew her Mum was probably cooking up a storm. “You know as well as I that Ron will be hiding out somewhere attempting to escape work. Now, to my mother.”

He groaned in defeat, “Fine. I shall work… Even though I’m ill. I could die whilst putting up decorations, and how sorry you‘ll be then!”

Laughing, “Oh, now you’re sick?”

The burrow was buzzing, and everyone hadn’t even arrived yet. There was an atmosphere of happiness, a glow in everyone and everything that made you want to smile. The place was strewn in decorations, looking as if they had been put there quite haphazardly, and Dean offered to fix them as he saw them. Ginny nodded and continued the path to her mother.

It was surprising how well things had turned out after the war, really. In all honestly, Ginny had actually expected everything to be absolutely dandy, but when she matured she realised that it was very surprising that things did turn out dandy. That war didn’t completely tear her family apart and rip everyone into shreds. Granted, there was the odd argument over old pasts and prejudices, and the occasional skip over someone’s name who was no longer on the earth but under it, but that was nothing in comparison to what it could have been. And Ginny was thankful everyday for that.

She, herself, had been very lucky after the war. After a brief -- two years brief -- relationship with Harry, they called it a day and agreed that they were not as suited as they had once thought. After the war and school, neither were the same people they once were and this eventually built to the point where they couldn’t talk about anything and were instead engulfed in silence all the time. However, they reconnected once they were friends again and she was fine with him then.

And then Dean walked into her life. A drunken mess at the time who told her to let old flames reignite, a one night stand that turned out to be the love of her life. They married when she was twenty-six, and she hasn’t looked back since. He was all she could ask for and more; smart, quick, good-humoured, ambitious, humble, friendly, handsome.. Not too mention that the sex was amazing. But, of course, that was always a factor.

“Ginevra, what time is it? I asked you to be here an hour ago!” Molly was suddenly in front of her, wand in hand and patches of flour on her apron.

Ginny cringed a little at the full use of her name, “Sorry, Mum. Dean got held up at the hospital… Do you want any help?”

Molly then brushed all punctuality grievances off of the hypothetical table and smiled, “It’s all nearly ready now, dear. You could help Hermione with the decorations though? Bless her, but she’s not doing the best job today. A bit frazzled.” She leaned forward then and whispered, “I think she’s pregnant.”

“You hope she’s pregnant, Mum.” Ginny replied dryly, knowing full well that her friend wasn’t.

“As a mum of seven, I’d like to say that I can spot the signs. Now, off you go to help her!” She shooed Ginny out of the kitchen then, and returned to her recipe’s, ingredients and magically stirred bowls.


It was two hours later when everyone was finally sitting down at the table, which had been magically enlarged to allow more people to sit, and conversation flowed back and forth and laughed filled the air as they fed on Molly’s famed delicious food.

Molly and Arthur sat as heads of the table, as usual, and from Arthur went oldest to youngest, with spouses sitting beside them and their children across from them. This caused the man of the day to be seated somewhere towards the end, which although didn’t suited the day perfectly, he was happy with because he wasn’t a fan of the attention.

“This is yummy, Nana!” Victoire chirped delightfully, eating up her dinner as if it was going to disappear any minute.

Bill smiled at his daughter and nodded in agreement, “You’ve outdone yourself again, Mum.”

Molly flushed proudly, “Not at all. Nothing but the best for my family --”

“Ouch!” The loud noise caught the attention of the whole table, who turned to look at Teddy Lupin, who was nearing the top of the table as Victoire had insisted he sit beside her. His cheeks darkened, and his hair turned a deeper blue, but he immediately opened his mouth to defend himself, “Dominique kicked me! And quite hard, too.” He sent her a death glare, dropping his ‘sophisticated’ ten year old façade for a moment.

She looked around the table innocently, “I did not! It was probably Victoire. She’s in between us.”

Ron whistled loudly, “She’s going straight to Slytherin.”

Bill shot him a disapproving look, but then returned his gaze to his five year old daughter, “Honey, you know you’re not supposed to kick people. And never, ever allowed to lie. Apologise to Teddy.”

Dominique gave a theatrical sigh and glanced at him before frowning at her near-empty plate. “Sorry Teddy.”

He smiled a little, “That’s okay.” Conversation returned to normal then, separating into groups to accommodate the whole table.

Ginny couldn’t help the warmth in her heart as she observed her family, all of them here at one place. Bill and Fleur were listening intently to something Charlie was saying, and she assumed from the interest and astonishment on their faces that it was something to do with his profession and time in Romania. As they conversed, across from them, Teddy, Victoire played a game where their hands were people, only leaving the game for moments where they would scoop another mountain of food into their mouths. Dominique watched them forlornly as they refused to let her play, she was too young for their big games. Percy and his wife Olivia were helping their son to eat, as he was a stubborn three-year old, as Ginny imagined Percy was. Olivia occasionally added a word or two to the conversation between Fred, George and Ron. This seemed to be some sort of mocking of Ron, as he was alternating between frowning and speaking rapidly and laughing languidly. George’s wife, Tania, discussed politics with Luna, who was across from her, and Hermione, who sat beside her. Ginny was close enough to make out this conversation, and briefly listened in on it,

“All I’m saying is that the Ministry needs some big changes before I even contemplate voting for the next Minister..” Tania held up her hands, as if in defence.

Hermione seemed to be on the verge of combusting from frustration, “But that does nothing! You’re not changing the ministry, or making your opinion be known. You’re just one of the ones who didn’t bother to vote, the ones that the Ministry isn’t going to be bothered to change for.”

Luna sighed and shook her head, “I’ll have to side with Hermione here. What good is not voting doing? Unless you were guaranteed a very large people boycotting it with you, it doesn’t make much of a difference. People fought for that vote during the war, and it wouldn’t seem quite right to just ignore it.”

Tania’s mouth dropped open here. She then sighed and leaned back in her seat, “I give up. I’ll vote for whoever you want, masters.” They all laughed then, and returned to more neutral topics. Politics always raised fire in the Weasley household, as it did most, Ginny supposed.

“I’m sorry, but you know he likes me way more than you! And that’s quite sad because you’re his godfather. You were destined to be the favourite.”

Harry cooed at Lorcan, “That’s not true, is it, Lorc? You love me way more than Uncle Dean. Uncle Dean doesn’t play with you nearly as much as I do.”

Luna and Ron’s son, Lorcan, the two-year old bundle of energy, ignored Harry and continued to play with his mash potatoes, adding sound effects where necessary. By the sounds of it, it was a horrifying battle field his fork was walking into.

Dean wrapped his arm around Ginny, “What do you think, Gin?”

She snapped out of her reverie, shaking her head, “What were you saying?”

“He thinks Lorcan likes him more.” Harry jumped in, his tone implying that he thought this was the most ridiculous thing he had ever heard of. He further enforced this by continuing, “Isn’t that the most ridiculous thing you’ve ever heard?”

“Oh, I’m not so sure.. I heard that you’re dubbed to be Witch Weekly’s best smile again this year..”

Harry nodded, “Yeah, I suppose that is a bit ridic-- Hey, hey, hey.. I have got the best smile.” He flashed her a grin, and Ginny was momentarily reminded of just why she liked Harry Potter so much in her youth.

Dean squeezed her shoulder, and she glanced at him through her laughs to see his eyes shut tightly in pain. His jaw was clenched tightly and his hands were curling into fists.

Ginny slipped out from under his arm to shake him, “Dean? Dean, what’s wrong?” panic rose in her voice, and slowly the noise in the room died down.

“Just--just a headache.” He managed, but ten seconds later, Ginny watched in silent horror as her husband convulsed in a violent seizure that would irrevocably and irreversibly changed their lives forever.


Hours seemed to drag by as she sat in the waiting room, curled onto the uncomfortable, white, plastic hospital chairs. She brought her knees up to her chest, and rested her head on them, allowing her eyes to close for the first time since she arrived. Ginny couldn’t handle the glaring of the white walls anymore.

She could distantly feel Hermione rubbing her back soothingly, having now given up on trying to talk and console Ginny.

Ginny knew something was desperately wrong, she could feel it in her gut. No, she could feel it from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. From a single strand of hair on her head to her organs and muscles. It was a sense of foreboding, dread and pure fear.

There was something dreadfully wrong. Desperately, dreadfully, horrifically wrong.

It had been three hours now, and time hadn’t quickened since then. Each second still ticked by as if it were a minute, and she still sat so far forward on her chair with anticipation and nerves that it tilted forward every now and then, causing her to nearly fall off.

Ginny’s family were taking shifts in staying with her, and this one was Harry and Hermione’s turn. Harry had gone to get coffee as they hadn’t eaten or drunken anything since their interrupted meal, and Hermione was simply sitting quietly.

Ginny pondered for a moment on being Hermione and Harry Potter. Their lives were sunshine and rainbows, with one success after a next. They found love with each other after a string of unpromising dates, when they could no longer deny the budding sexual tension and the underlying, deep emotional ties to each other. Ginny saw it before they did, she predicted it before anyone else. And yet, she was still slightly surprised when it happened. She thought neither of them would be brave enough, the irony of it not lost on her when they were perhaps the bravest people she knew.

Married now, with no children, and rapidly advancing careers, they had a happiness she had always noticed. Mostly because she knew what it looked like, as Dean made her that happy.

She felt that happiness being snatched from her, Ginny could feel her fingers slowly slipping from it but she steadfastly gripped it as if their lives depended on it.

“Mrs. Thomas?” A doctor asked, looking at either of them for confirmation. Ginny was mildly shocked he didn’t recognise them. Quickly shaking her head, she stood hastily, nearly tripping in her swiftness. “That’s me.”

He was tall, with a rounded stomach and an aging face. His hairline was receding, and the only colour in the remaining was at the sides, which said that he was once a dark haired man. Traces of attractiveness were etched in his expression, but age had ebbed it somewhat. Wrinkles formed around his bright blue eyes as he smiled briefly at her as a greeting. “I’m afraid it’s not good news, Mrs. Thomas.”

Ginny could already feel the tears pushing to escape, “C-call me Ginny,” she told him, avoiding having to make a response.

“Ginny, your husband has a severe brain tumour known as Glioblastoma multiform.” Her eyes widened and shock took hold of her, enabling the rest of her emotions to be bottled for the time being. But fear still seized her heart and wrapped around it, squeezing it so tightly Ginny thought she was about to faint. “Symptoms are extremely hard to recognise, which would perhaps give for why your husband didn’t even recognise it, as a healer himself. His is particularly bad, and has progressed to a state when there is nothing we can do about it. We can put him on a treatment of muggle chemotherapy to prolong his months left, but it won’t be by much and will be extremely painful for him. Nothing magical will work on him now. I’m very sorry I couldn’t be bringing better news--”

“Months?” Ginny asked softly, the words still ringing in her ears.

Sadness showed in his face, “Yes, he has approximately three months left. I’m sorry, Ginny.”

She couldn’t hear him anymore, and her vision became blurry. Ginny could hear her world crash down around here, sounds of chaos blaring loudly in her ears. Her knees became weak and legs turned to jelly, causing her to fall to the ground. Pain coursed through her veins, pounding in her chest and sending it around her body. Hands shook almost violently, and so Ginny made no attempt to get up from the floor. Tears began to fall rapidly, and she couldn’t stop them, they just fell and fell.

Distantly, she could hear Hermione begging her to respond and Harry frantically quizzing the doctor for information.

The darkness was now nearly enveloping Ginny, she was losing touch with reality. Just as she was about to drift off, words rang in her ear..

“Even though I’m ill. I could die whilst putting up decorations, and how sorry you‘ll be then!”


Hold on guys, things only go upwards from here! Darkness becomes lessened etc..

Reviews would be greatly appreciated!

Again, chapter title is a Dire Straits song, “Romeo and Juliet.” I do not own it or Harry Potter! :D


3. I Could Really Use a Dream or a Genie or a Wish

A/N: Thank you so much for the reviews. I cannot thank you enough actually! It’s what inspired me to write this chapter, and though a filler more than anything, it’ll get me writing the next one as I want to keep going now. I may give you a preview of the next chapter at the end of this though :D

Enjoy, and reviews love, love, loved!

Chapter Three: I Could Use a Dream or a Genie or a Wish.

January 2nd 2008

Hermione strokes her friends hair silently, providing a comfort that Ginny is thankful for. Their eyes glued to the television, breathing calm and minds occupied, Ginny welcomes the minute relief she’s getting. It seems she’s able to breathe for a little while, sitting in the company of her best friend.

Lately, her family has been taking shifts in staying with her. Ron had left a few hours ago, and Ginny had been thankful for his leave. Not the most tactful or emotionally in tuned person, he had just ranted on for twenty minutes about incessant things, and had mentioned her husband and asked about how she was several times before stumbling over himself and changing the subject. It had been entertaining at parts, but for most of the time, she just felt sad. Her brother couldn’t even talk to her now.

Due to the position of her head in Hermione’s lap, Ginny’s shook from her thoughts when Hermione laughs at the programme on television. Although she wants to laugh at the characters complete absurdness, Ginny feels like she shouldn’t. Like it’s not right.

He can’t laugh, he’ll never laugh again. And this makes her guilty for even smiling sometimes.

‘Friends’ continues to play as Ginny drifts off into her thoughts again. She spent most of her time in her thoughts now days, keeping her words to a minimum. She’s aware that her mother is extremely worried with her lack of communication, but Ginny just needs to grieve. She needs to take time away from her family, from smiling, laughing, joking, entertaining and gossiping.. And Hermione seems to be the only person she could just be with.

Sighing softly, Ginny wishes she could turn back time, not for the first time in the last two weeks. Every second ticked by painfully, every minute cutting her in half. The hours seemed to rip her to shreds until she became numb to the days passing.

She wants everything to stop. For time to pause and acknowledge her grief, perhaps allow her to catch up with it. To make peace with it.

Ginny wants the world to stop and look, to realise there’s a very important person missing from the world and that he’ll never be back again. She wants the shops to close, the people to mourn, the birds to stop singing, the sun to stop rising, the stars to stop shining..

She wants life to stop. But, to her utter dismay, no one listens or realises this aching pain she feels. Ginny can barely stand to look outside and see the happy, smiling faces of her neighbours. She wants to scream when she see’s anyone in her family joking and laughing, and this in turn makes her feel guilty. Because she shouldn’t begrudge them their happiness.


It consumes her at every turn, eating her and rotting away at her heart. Everything Ginny does seems to make her feel guilty in some way, and so sometimes, she just bears with the heavy and uneasy feeling in her chest and stomach, and does what she wants. Granted, it’s rare these days that Ginny even knows what she wants, but there are occurrences.

“Ginny?” Hermione whispers softly, shaking her friend out of her light slumber. “Ginny, come on to bed.”

Ginny whimpers, “He--he wasn’t supposed to go, Hermione. He wasn’t supposed to.”

Hermione sighs mournfully, then shifts position so that she can wrap her arms around Ginny. “I know. But sometimes, life deals us an unfair hand, and you have to just try and make do with it. Try and cope.”

“But--but its so hard,” Her voice breaks, and Hermione thinks her heart nearly breaks along with it.

She stands then, pulling Ginny up with her and supporting her as they walk to Ginny’s room. Well, it’s the guest room as she can barely look at her and Dean’s old room, let alone sleep in it. Hermione pushes Ginny gently down onto the bed, then takes the younger girls hands. “You will make it through, Gin. I promise. I won’t let you wilt away, okay?”

“I’m not afraid of that.” Ginny insists, shaking her head. The drowsiness seeps into her voice, and Hermione just smiles sadly in response.

“Well c’mon then, into bed.” She tucks Ginny in as if she were a little girl, and Hermione supposes that, in some ways, Ginny is. She’s as vulnerable as a child, as easily shaken and needs someone to look out for her. Hermione resolves to look out for her at all costs; she won’t let her best friend down.

Hermione kisses her softly on the cheek before walking downstairs, feeling the strain of the day finally getting to her.

She’d go home now, and someone else would be there for Ginny in the morning when she woke up. Hermione supposes that they should allow Ginny some time alone, some independence. But they all feel she’s too vulnerable, and although she does spend time on her own in the house, someone is always in the vicinity.

Ginny refuses to leave the house, too, so it makes it a lot easier. Though not less stressful, and a lot more worrying. It’s not good to be locked up in a house all day, but all the prodding in the world can’t to budge Ginny, who definitely has the Weasley stubborn nature.

Hermione doesn’t know how she’s going to manage for work in the morning, especially with the troubled clients she has lined up tomorrow. After the war, Hermione had gone to college and achieved her degree in psychology, and became a qualified councillor. Then being offered a position in the Department of Law in the Ministry, Hermione almost jumped at the opportunity. She would be able to impact the Wizarding world in a big world, and changes would be made much more easily if she were in the integral part of the Ministry.

However, after witnessing and hearing about one too many breakdowns, Hermione realised that there was a severe lack of mental help for witches and wizards. Psychology was not as practiced in the wizarding world as it was in the muggle world, though there were a few doctors that helped patients and offered counselling, there were no practices and nothing like what should have been there. And so, her counselling practice was born.

It had taken years for it to really get off the ground, but Hermione managed it, and now there is queues to get an appointment with her. She’s run off her feet with the amount of patients, but Hermione wouldn’t trade it for anything.

As she floo’s home, Hermione dreams of a warm bath and her cosy bed. But, Hermione thinks, a bath is a lot of effort that she doesn’t have right now. Perhaps bed is the way to go.

Her living room is empty when she gets home, though the lamp is on. She frowns; usually Harry is waiting for her when she gets home. Walking into the kitchen, Hermione continues to search for her husband. “Harry?”

She hears footsteps coming form upstairs then, and feels stupid for not checking upstairs. Although, he never left the lights on… It was probably out of courtesy that he did.

“You’re home,” He announces, smiling at her. She instantly walks up to him, wrapping her arms around his waist and burying her head in his chest. She inhales deeply, relishing the comfort of Harry’s familiar smell. Hermione doesn’t know what she would do if Harry were to pass away - she can’t even bear to say the ‘d’ word - and automatically clutches him tighter.

Harry frowns, “Are you okay?”

Hermione nods into his chest, “Yes. Just tired. Emotionally exhausted, too.”

He pulls back, searching her eyes for a moment, as if not believing what she said was true. Hermione laughs softly, “I’m serious. I’m just tired!”

He smiles, but then it’s gone just as quickly. “How’s Ginny?”

Hermione’s upbeat expression also fades, to be replaced with a worn and sad one. “The same. She talks a little more, but not very much. I’ll go to see her tomorrow again. Hopefully, I can get her to talk more and more… Until I can get a real conversation with her,”

“Well, until then, I’ve got a warm bath prepared for you.. With all that lavender stuff, the way you like it.” He scrunches his nose a little at the ‘lavender stuff’ but still smiles.

“Oh, Harry.” Hermione beams, and feels a burst of love for her husband.

How did she ever get so lucky?


Chapter Four Preview:

“So, where do you want to start today?”

He quirks an eyebrow, “Isn’t that your job to decide? Is that not what I’m paying for?”

“I thought we could shake things up a little today,” She smiles, looking expectantly at him. “I always start, now it’s your turn.”

“This is ridiculous,” He sighs, rolling his eyes. He picks at some imaginary dust on his black slacks.

“Now it’s your turn.” She repeats, and with another overdone and dramatic sigh, he gives in.

“I suppose I’ll start with yesterday, then…”


So there we go, a little preview until next time ;) Again, reviews loved. Oh and the chapter title is from the song “Airplanes” by B.o.B feat. Haley Williams. Great song, but I don’t own it or Harry Potter.

Thanks for reading!