Who: Harry and Ginny Where: Ginny's flat When: Saturday night What: Ginny is feeling sick. Rating: TBD. Status: Ongoing / Private.
Harry had never asked to be any sort of hero, he'd never once asked to be put on some sort of pedestal, to be held in high regard; and, while most seemed content with how he'd composed himself, he never asked to be considered perfect in any shape or form. Fact was, as he saw it, he'd never done anything spectacular in his life. He'd only done what was impossibly necessary, only what he'd been forced into. So it was no surprise to him he made mistakes, he made plenty of them; however, when he made them, it always seemed to be a subject of much debate.
Was Harry slipping? Was he letting fame get to him? It was that pedestal that seemed to be his downfall really. He didn't embrace it, nor did he use it; although, it seemed most intended on using it for him. When he'd broken up with Ginny, the world had seemed to think either she was a villainess, or he was suddenly a power-hungry maniac looking to corrupt and hurt the innocent. The Rags spoke all about it, yet it had been nothing more than mutual. A growing apart that was mostly Harry's own stupid insecurities--the sort that got in his way most of the time.
It had spread to parts of his personal life though. He held a promise that was innately his to keep. He would always be there, in the most desperate of times, Harry would arrive to save you. He wasn't because he was human, he was on vacation, and it was because of that shattered belief that any relationship he looked to have was doomed from the start. It was why his hope to be there for Lavender was laughable at best. Cho had wanted him to be a shoulder, an ear; to relive Cedric's death with her, to find some weird romance in that moment. Almost every other girl wanted to date Harry Potter, but only one had ever seemed happier with just Harry. That was why at this moment he was suddenly finding that decision to break it off so excruciatingly difficult.
Ginny Weasley was the girl that understood him on a level no other person, other than Ron and Hermione, could ever hope to understand. He'd broken it off because they had their own lives and they weren't there for each other; however, that had been unfair, brash, and stupid of him. He could've made time, he knew time would have come to them; he just had to weather it. The man who'd never lived a normal life, had become far too impatient waiting for one to come to him, and it had cost him nearly everything worth anything post-Hogwarts. Yet, there she was again. Talking to him, laughing and joking with him over journals like old times.
Were some mistakes capable of being fixed? Perhaps. Only time would tell, but as Harry approached her door with that basket of food that Ron had only gone through about a third of the way, he suddenly was wondering would a cup of soup be enough to heal more than just illness? Who knew, but what he did know was he hadn't felt nearly this 'real' in weeks as he was here.
He knocked on her door, waiting as he took a step back.