I don’t know why I bloody do it. I’m not the first girl and I certainly won’t be the last so why do I think that hope will get me anywhere?
But no, that doesn’t stop me. I have high quality, very effective blinkers. I never see the millions of little red flags that pop up all over the place. Or the massive STOP signs. Or the flashing lights that spell warning. None of them stop me. Not. One.
So I keep hoping he’ll come around. I keep hoping that today he’ll look my way. I don’t know what I’m really expecting. Maybe that his brain will manufacture a flashing arrow above my head.
Well if it does, his brain misses me. I’m invisible to Harry Potter’s brain.
I can’t blame all this pain on him. After all, he never told me he loves me and he never made a move. Isn’t it ironic that never having what you want can be just as painful as losing it?
And the hardest part is that I can’t blame him. Because he didn’t hurt me. I hurt myself. By hoping.
There are those days where I wake up thinking that I’ve finally been able to take a step forward, that I’ve finally been able to loosen his hold on me a little bit more. I’ll be okay. I’ll move on and find someone who is worthy of my attention and my love.
And then the next day I wake up, and it’s worse. Now I’m on my knees. Suddenly, I find it hard to breathe without thinking of him.
It’s like my heart is afraid of the dark and he’s my only source of light.
And so just the thought of seeing him soon makes me smile. Just the thought of talking to him, makes me want that time to come a little faster.
And it feels so right and real in my dreams.
Until one day you realise that there is actually no hope. That you will lose him to someone else. And she will be ‘that’ girl. The type you always lose to. The type who always gets what you want.
And it’s as if you willed her into existence because…there she is. Smiling prettily at him as he makes his way over to her. He looks down at her as though he’s never seen a human being before.
And all I can think of is how much I desperately want him to look that way at me. I want his green eyes to stare right through me and see the hours upon hours of waiting, wanting, willing.
I’m getting sick of repeating history.
I guess what I’m also sick of is counting signs and analysing his every move. I hate being such a girl. I hate admitting to myself that I’m just like every other female in the history of the universe.
He looks at me. He says my name. Makes a compliment. Passes by me. Even a simple smile.
And I’m right back at square one.
All that inner therapy and all those nights talking it over with Hermione…gone.
A memory of Harry hugging me after that little trick of slamming into Zacharias Smith at the Slytherin-Gryffindor match comes to me. I remember what it was like to feel his arms around me…and how quickly he let go as well.
I can feel the helplessness rush through my veins again. There it is, paralysing me. Making me let go.
Something interesting hits me. I’d never cried over him. I’d never actually cried a tear over him ever.
I guess because I’d always hoped…
My body naturally gasps in shock as the strongest desire I’d ever felt hits me like a bolt of fire.
What the hell was I doing sitting here feeling sorry for myself?
Since when was I, Ginevra Weasley, rendered a vulnerable damsel?
Nothing in this world worth having comes easily. You have to fight for it.
What if I fight?
What if I do everything to fight for him?
My mind and heart begin to race. Why wasn’t I fighting for him already? Had I just always had things come to me so easily that I’d never actually learnt what it felt like to truly feel for someone? To want so desperately to fight for them.
“That’s it, Harry Potter,” I whisper to the empty room, my voice audibly getting stronger, “Things have to change.”
It’s as though the lightbulb was always in front of my face and I had finally realised I needed to pull the cord to turn it on.
Everything was suddenly clear.
Time to get some self-respect back Ginny Weasley.
Wrenching the door open, I run through it, my thoughts only on finding him. I had to talk to him now. While I still felt this brave. While I still felt this sure.
I run straight into the crowd of ambling Gryffindors getting ready to go down to the pitch.
Damn. The game.
“Bloody hell woman, we’re going to be late,” Ron shouts at me grabbing my wrist, “We have to get down to the pitch NOW!”
His grip is tight around my arm and even though I struggle against him, a sudden panic rising in my throat, I can’t seem to shake him off.
Have to find Harry.
“Ronald Weasley! I swear on Dumbledore’s name that if you don’t let go this second I WILL curse you.”
Have to find Harry.
“You’ve got to be sodding kidding me...” He curses in true Ron fashion and pulls me further into the swarming crowd.
No. Have to find Harry.
Looking for Harry as my idiot brother drags me through the crowd (“If you want Gryffindor to win the Cup, you better bloody let us through!” Ron is shouting) seems to be my only option and so I put up as much resistance to Ron as I can while I look frantically through the crowd.
I can’t see him. No ridiculously messy black hair.
“What the hell are you doing woman!?” Ron roars whilst pushing through the people in front of him, “Do you want this Cup or not?”
“I need to talk to…”
“You need to talk? Who the hell are you? Padma Patil?”
“You are NOT my Captain!”
“No but if you hadn’t noticed OUR CAPTAIN IS IN DETENTION!”
“Shite, I forgot about that,” I mumble to myself.
You can still fight.
“RON, WHY ARE YOU BEING SUCH A GENTLEMAN? SHOVE THEM TO THE GROUND! WE HAVE TO GET TO THE PITCH!”
“Cho Chang doesn’t know what hit her!” the commentary bellows across the pitch, “No Snitch is getting past Ginny Weasley today. Something’s firing her up!”
Cho throws a dirty glare at me and mumbles something to herself. I can’t help but smile. I’m not a gentleman like Harry Potter. Nor do I have to be.
Something glints right in my eye and it’s just my luck that Cho is still glaring at me as I see it.
The Snitch is right behind her.
I’m halfway across the pitch, heading straight for her before she even realises.
“AND GINNY WEASLEY HAS CAUGHT THE SNITCH! GRYFFINDOR WINS THE HOUSE CUP!”
I can hear the roar of the crowd, shouting my name, shouting Gryffindor’s name. I can see people hugging each other, boys weeping with joy, Professor McGonagall smiling widely and Snape glowering. (‘That’s my sister! Ron is shouting, ‘That’s MY sister!’) But I can’t feel any of it. Not yet anyway.
There’s something about Quidditch matches where you don’t really need the ability to walk, you just generally get carried along with the crowd. And so I let myself get carried, swiftly, all the way back to Gryffindor Tower. I think there were even moments where people were carrying me on their shoulders.
I’m not too sure. I can’t see anything. The world has gone blurry.
I’m trying desperately to cling to this sudden fiery courage.
Faces and bodies seem to move in slow motion, hazy around me. I can see smiles but not whose faces they belong to. I can see the gold glint of the house cup but not its shape. And my heart thumps louder the less I can see, the longer it takes to find him. I don’t know how much longer my courage is going to hold up. I don’t know how much longer I can be this brave.
And then suddenly there he is. Walking through the portrait hole. And for a moment I hesitate and the bottom of my stomach drops. My body flashes from hot to cold, from jittery to numb.
Time doesn’t stop but my eyesight sharpens. Now all I can see…all I can feel in the room is Harry.
The adrenaline rushing through me makes me suddenly reckless. Where once I planned to talk to him…now I find myself unable to settle for anything less than him entirely.
And I don’t know what’s going to happen next. All I do know is that he is finally here…looking at me.
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