She'd do anything to sparkle in his eye.
She would suffer, she would fight, and compromise.
She's been wishin' on the stars that shine so bright
For answers to the questions that will haunt her tonight.
It had been three long, painful months. Ginny Weasley, the youngest and only female Weasley, had been left all on her own in their flat for three months. It was still their flat to her, and it always would be. She knew that there was nothing she could do to get him back into her life – she didn’t have a cock, for one, and he loved someone else for another. For a third, he had always told her she didn’t understand. He was right, she didn’t, but it was more than that; she couldn’t understand. No one could. Not even Ron or Hermione, Harry’s closest confidantes, knew anything about it until it was far, far too late. How could have anyone have foreseen that Harry Potter would fall in love with Draco Malfoy, of all people? Draco Malfoy, the Death Eater, the person who had hurt Harry on numerous occasions, whose father had tried to kill Ginny herself.
But Ginny had to hand it to them – they looked pretty damned good together. Harry was happy when he was around Malfoy, and Malfoy seemed… softer when in Harry’s company. Harry’s usually dead green eyes shone whenever he even saw Malfoy; his whole person glowed. Harry’s eyes never sparkled when they were together, let alone blazed with green fire, like that of the Floo. She’s do anything to see even a spark, one last time, that she had induced, but he knew it would never happen.
She had done her fighting, and would never be done suffering, and, in the end, had made a compromise; if she could have him for herself, she would be the best, most helpful and kind and accepting friend she could be. She would ignore the fact that Malfoy was evil and that he should be locked up in Azkaban with his god forsaken father, and she would ignore the fact that she hadn’t even realized Harry was gay until she caught Harry with Malfoy’s cock down his throat, on their bed in their flat. She’d ignore the why’s and the wherefores and would just be there for Harry if and when Harry needed her; it was the best she could come up with.
But when the sun goes down every evening and she’d resigned herself to their bedroom and their bed with brand new sheets, that was when all of her questions and doubts and anger came surging back and kept her from sleeping. Or, if she did manage to doze off, permeated her dreams like fog filling a valley – slowly, everything was shut out until it was just you and the suffocating near-blindness.
How she'd be soothed, how she'd be saved if he could see
She needs to be held in his arms to be free.
But everything happens for reasons that she will never understand
'til she knows the heart of a woman will never be found in the arms of a man.
In three months, Harry had shown no sign of ever having loved her, let alone still possessing any feelings for her still. She could not love him more. If there was a way to make him love her, make him see that that she loved him more than Malfoy ever could, she would take the opportunity, no matter how selfish it made her.
In the beginning, which was what Ginny had started calling it all – all of this mess and turmoil – when, she supposed, Harry had been cheating on her with him, Harry had, of course, pretended to love her; he held her at the right time, kissed her and on the rare occasion, fucked her (whilst imagining her hair was blonde, not auburn, and that her brown eyes were like that of smoke rather than wood) and if she had not been so desperately in love, so oblivious, she may have seen the grimace when he opened his eyes, she may have heard him cry during a Firecall with ‘no one, just an old friend’ of whom looked suspiciously blonde and far too pointy to be anyone but Malfoy, confessing that he’d ‘done it again’ and that he was mortified and that sorry was far too small a word.
It was now that she missed his arms around her, no matter how loose or tense they were; when he held her, it seemed as if all her troubles fell away like pieces of a cliff tumbling into the sea. She felt light, as if the slightest breeze could life her off of her feet; she felt free.
She knew now that Harry would never be hers – he belonged with Malfoy, as much as it pained to admit it – but she didn’t know why.
“Everything happens for a reason, Ginny dear,” her mother had told her when she had broken down in tears at the Burrow one Sunday afternoon. She knew that. She knew it did, but she didn’t know why; she needed to know why! Molly had said something about never giving a man your heart, because men are clumsy and untrustworthy and then Ginny had said something about her father, and Molly got flustered and left to finish cooking the Sunday roast.
And if she runs away she fears she won't be followed.
What could be the worse than leaving something behind?
And as the depth of oceans slowly become shallow,
It's loneliness she finds...
If only he was mine.
Harry and Ginny were friends - that was the deal. But Ginny was scared that Harry agreed to be friends to keep her quiet and off his back. He had apologised for everything numerous times, of course, but he was with Malfoy, and he didn’t want Ginny around him all the time. He wanted Draco, not Ginny. He wanted passion and taboo, not expectation and convenience. She wanted to move away from the flat, to a different country, another world, perhaps, but her deepest fear is that Harry wouldn’t acknowledge her absence. A small part of her mind, the masochistic part, made her stay, however. It made her stay in their flat and sleep in their bed and wallow in her self-pity every time Harry and Malfoy were photographed kissing in a public park, wrapped together in a Slytherin scarf, or sat almost nose to nose in a coffee shop, hands clasped tightly, or spotted with bruises on one another’s necks in places where their scarves slipped. Once or twice there had been a picture of Harry with his hands down the front of Malfoy’s trousers, the blonde’s bottom lip caught between his teeth, eyes shut in pleasure in an alley outside a dingy club. All mention of these incidents had disappeared the next day, of course, but Ginny remembered them.
She couldn’t leave her Harry behind, she couldn’t think of anything worse. But as more and more photos and articles and family get-togethers came to light, everything that Ginny thought she saw with Harry, all the chemistry and connections, sparked out, became smaller and smaller, slipped further out of reach, and Ginny herself began to feel more and more insignificant.
She had never felt more alone.
Oh, if only he was mine…
She must rinse this all away.
She can't hold him this way.
She must rinse this all away…
She knew that she had to forget him, but it had been three months and she had tried everything except Obliviate. Maybe that was the only way…
He was gay and in love with another man – she’d never be able to hold him again. If she made herself forget... erase all the memories from her mind… Maybe she’d be free.
She picked up her wand and put the tip to her temple. Self-Obliviation was risky, but Ginny was a powerful witch – she had no doubt she could make herself forget, but she was worried about how much she would forget… With a firm shake of her head, she uttered the spell.
…She can't love him this way.