Ginny stood in front of the mirror, her brow furrowed in concentration as she scrutinized every detail of her outfit. The usual Sunday brunch was more than just a casual gathering; it had become a routine steeped in silent competition and unwritten expectations. Every week, the pressure to appear effortlessly perfect weighed heavily on her, and today was no different.
She tugged at the hem of her dress, smoothing out an imaginary wrinkle, before stepping back to assess her reflection once more. Her flowery Valentino dress hugged her figure in all the right places, the rich color bringing out the fiery undertones in her auburn hair, which she had meticulously styled into soft waves. Her makeup, though minimal, had been carefully applied to accentuate her features—subtle but undeniably polished.
The scent of freshly brewed coffee and the soft clinking of silverware being laid out drifted up from the dining room below. Blaise had already begun preparing for their guests, his quiet efficiency contrasting with her obsessive attention to detail. She appreciated his calm, steady presence, but today, her nerves were running high. She moved to her vanity, opening her jewelry box and picking out a pair of simple gold earrings, then paused, reconsidering. Too simple, she thought. Today needed something more.
She sifted through her collection, her fingers grazing over the delicate chains and precious stones. She needed the perfect touch—the right balance of elegance and sophistication. After a few moments of deliberation, she settled on a pair of emerald earrings he had given her months ago. They sparkled against her pale skin, complementing her dress and adding just the right amount of flair. Satisfied, she took a deep breath and exhaled slowly, trying to steady her nerves.
Despite her outward composure, Her mind raced with thoughts of the brunch ahead. It wasn't just about looking her best; it was about maintaining an air of confidence in front of their circle. Every detail mattered, from the perfectly arranged centerpiece on the dining table to the crisp linen napkins Blaise had folded with his usual precision. Their brunch had evolved into something of an event, a chance to socialize with their friends while also silently asserting their place in a world that still, at times, felt foreign to her.
She glanced at the clock, anxiety bubbling beneath the surface. There were still the final touches to oversee downstairs, and she needed everything to be perfect. The dining room had already been set hours ago, but she knew she'd feel restless until she gave everything one last inspection. A quiet voice in the back of her mind whispered that she was being obsessive, but she brushed it aside. This wasn't just about brunch; it was about keeping control, about making sure every piece of her life fit exactly where it was supposed to.
Descending the grand staircase, Ginny walked into the dining room, her eyes sweeping over the table he had laid out. The fine china glimmered under the soft light of the chandelier, and the floral arrangement in the center was immaculate—a burst of vibrant blooms that contrasted beautifully with the muted elegance of the table settings. Blaise had a knack for these things, for making the space feel both welcoming and luxurious.
"Everything looks perfect," he commented from the doorway, his voice smooth and reassuring. He leaned against the frame, watching her with an amused smile as she gave the room another once-over.
"Almost," she replied, a small frown tugging at her lips as she adjusted the position of a wine glass by half an inch. "Just… need it to be right."
He crossed the room and placed a gentle hand on her waist, pulling her into his side. "It's already perfect, baby," he said softly, pressing a kiss to her temple. "You don't need to drive yourself mad over every little thing."
She sighed, leaning into his warmth for a moment before pulling away. "I know," she murmured. "I just… I don't want to look like I don't belong. Not today."
"You belong," he said firmly, his voice carrying the weight of unspoken understanding. "You've earned your place here. Don't let the ghosts of the past tell you otherwise."
Ginny nodded, taking comfort in his words even as the nagging feeling of inadequacy lingered at the edges of her mind. She had come a long way from the girl who had grown up in the Burrow, but the insecurities of her past still clung to her, especially in moments like this, surrounded by wealth and power.
The doorbell chimed, breaking the quiet tension in the air. Their guests had arrived.
She took a deep breath, straightened her posture, and plastered on her most confident smile. It was time to host—time to step into the role she had fought so hard to perfect. As she moved toward the door, his reassuring presence at her side, she reminded herself that she was no longer the outsider. This was her life now, her home.
With that thought, she opened the door, ready to greet their friends with poise and grace, determined to make this brunch another flawless success.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Hermione and Draco attended the Sunday brunch that weekend, both impeccably dressed in Valentino, a brand that had somehow become a pureblood staple and a showcase of their status. Pansy, her usual fierce demeanor softened by the elegance of her attire, wore a stunning crimson dress that hugged her curves, a sharp contrast to her dark hair. Beside her, Neville looked equally dapper in a tailored suit that complemented Pansy's ensemble perfectly. It was a visual representation of their partnership, a blend of strength and charm.
Meanwhile, Hermione wore a gold dress from the latest collection, adorned with goddess-inspired gold jewelry that shimmered under the sunlight. Draco stood beside her, exuding the dark and brooding essence of Hades himself, his tailored suit accentuating his sharp features. Together, they looked as if they had stepped off a runway, their attire perfectly coordinated and enhancing their striking presence. For a moment, they became the center of attention, a couple seemingly made for each other, even if their union had raised eyebrows among those familiar with their history.
The gathered purebloods nodded in approval, acknowledging the power and beauty the couples represented. Draco's arm wrapped possessively around Hermione's waist, a gesture that conveyed both pride and ownership. Together, they radiated strength and determination, embodying a modern-day Hades and Persephone—bound together against the odds yet standing tall in their individuality.
"Hello, lovebirds! You both look amazing!" she greeted them, her voice cheerful as she approached, her own vibrant outfit a testament to her fiery spirit.
"Finally, some pureblood rubbed off on Hermione," he added with a chuckle as he joined them, his casual air belying his sharp wit.
"Positive influence?" Draco countered, a playful smirk on his lips as he raised an eyebrow. "Perhaps some credit is due to my impeccable taste."
Hermione rolled her eyes, mirroring Draco's smirk. "Oh please, you and your 'impeccable taste.' More likely an intern at Valentino owes you a galleon."
Blaise chuckled, shaking his head. "Regardless of the origin, the results are undeniable. You both look like you waltzed straight out of a magical fashion show."
"Absolutely," she agreed, her eyes sparkling with admiration. "You look like you just stepped off the cover of a wizarding fashion magazine."
Draco glanced at Hermione, a glimmer of pride in his eyes. "See? Even Blaise and Ginny approve."
Hermione couldn't help but smile at the compliment. "I suppose I'll take that as a compliment."
"Definitely," he said, his tone turning more serious. "You both make quite the power couple."
Draco nodded in acknowledgment, a hint of pride in his expression. "Thank you, Blaise. We're just trying to keep up with you and Ginny."
"Oh, please," she laughed, waving her hand dismissively. "You two have that enigmatic couple vibe going on. It's like you were made for this."
As they spoke, Pansy and Neville approached, Pansy's demeanor shifting to match the lively atmosphere. "What are we talking about?" she asked, her voice light yet curious.
"Just admiring Draco and Hermione's impeccable style," she replied with a grin.
"Good luck topping it," Pansy teased, her eyes sparkling with mischief. "I mean, how could anyone compete with the ethereal beauty of Persephone and her brooding Hades?"
Neville chimed in, his voice warm and supportive. "I think you both look fantastic, really. It's great to see everyone so well dressed and happy."
Hermione felt her cheeks flush slightly at the compliments. "Thank you, Pansy. You look absolutely stunning too."
"Cheers to that!" he exclaimed, raising his glass. "Here's to friends who look fabulous!"
As they settled into their conversation, the warmth among them was palpable. Hermione's nerves began to ease, and she felt a sense of belonging wash over her as they all shared laughter and playful banter.
"Who's on the guest list today?" Hermione asked, glancing at Ginny with a hint of curiosity mixed with apprehension.
Ginny scanned the opulent room, her fiery hair catching the sunlight. "The usual suspects, really. Harry and Cho should be here any minute, and Luna and Theo mentioned they'd make an appearance."
A genuine smile broke across Hermione's face. "It'll be good to catch up with them."
"They'll be here soon," Ginny confirmed, glancing at her watch. "Theo mentioned a slight delay, but Luna's fashionably early as always."
Draco's gaze swept the room, his usual stoicism replaced by a relaxed curiosity. "It's good to see some familiar faces again."
"Indeed," Hermione replied, smoothing the emerald folds of her dress. "It has been a while."
Her smile widened, her eyes sparkling with warmth. "Don't worry, Hermione. They'll be thrilled to see you. And seeing you two together…well, let's just say it'll be the highlight of their day."
The air crackled with unspoken anticipation. Hermione and Draco exchanged a silent glance, a promise of support lingering between them.
As if on cue, the double doors swung open, announcing the arrival of Luna. Her signature radish earrings gleamed under the opulent chandelier as she skipped into the room, her radiant smile illuminating her face. "Hello, everyone!" she chirped, her voice like a melody, instantly lightening the atmosphere.
Following close behind was Harry, his familiar scar hidden beneath a shock of messy black hair, and Cho Chang, her raven locks cascading down her back, walking beside him with a shy smile.
Relief washed over Hermione at the sight of her friends. Pushing away the remnants of her nervousness, she rose to greet them with a genuine smile. Harry pulled her into a tight embrace, his warmth enveloping her. Years might have passed, adventures shared and scars earned, but the comfort of their friendship remained undimmed.
"Hermione!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with genuine joy. "It's been too long."
"Harry," she replied, squeezing him back just as tightly. "Too long indeed. It's wonderful to see you."
Draco, ever observant, watched the interaction with a flicker of approval in his eyes. He straightened in his chair as Harry turned towards him, extending a hand. "Draco," Harry greeted with a nod, his tone devoid of animosity.
"Potter," Draco replied, meeting his handshake firmly.
A smile broke across Luna's face. "Lovely to see you all together!" she declared, her voice brimming with her usual whimsical cheer. "Now, who wants to hear about the Wrackspurts I found nesting in my attic?"
Laughter filled the air as everyone found their seats around the table. The earlier tension began to dissipate, replaced by the comforting warmth of camaraderie. Pansy nestled comfortably next to Neville, feeling grateful for his steady presence, while Hermione found herself sitting beside Draco, relaxing into the moment. Surrounded by loved ones, both old and new, she felt a spark of hope flicker within her.
As the conversation flowed, Hermione's apprehension melted away with each passing moment. Stories were exchanged, laughter punctuated the air, and Neville, ever the thoughtful one, found himself in a surprisingly animated discussion with Pansy about their shared love for herbology.
"Have you tried those new plant hybrids?" Pansy asked, her eyes lighting up with enthusiasm. "I heard they have some unique properties."
Neville nodded eagerly, his passion shining through. "Absolutely! They're fascinating. I think they could have some incredible applications if we can figure out how to cultivate them properly."
An unfamiliar flicker of pride sparked within Hermione as she observed her friends. Across the table, Theo, ever the jester, broke the comfortable silence. "Ah, so the eagle's nest, the lion's cave opening, and the snake's den, all gathered under one roof, huh?" he remarked, a playful glint in his eyes.
Draco chuckled, a sound rarely heard these days. "Looks like we've almost got all the Hogwarts houses covered, wouldn't you say, Potter?"
Harry, ever the Gryffindor, met Draco's gaze with a hint of amusement. "Just missing a loyal Hufflepuff, Malfoy."
A small smile tugged at Hermione's lips. "Perhaps next time," she chimed in, the playful banter warming her heart.
Ginny, ever the peacemaker, interjected with a warm smile. "It's good to see all of you together like this. A Hogwarts reunion, in a way, wouldn't you say?"
Theo raised his glass, a mischievous glint in his eyes. "To Hogwarts, surviving the trials it threw our way, and to the unlikely friendships forged in the flames!"
The friends, united by shared history and a bond forged in the crucible of war, clinked their glasses in a toast. The sound echoed through the opulent room, a testament to the enduring power of friendship, love, and the unexpected connections that bloom in the most unlikely places.
Maybe things weren't perfect, but they were getting there. And for now, that was enough.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Ginny stood in front of the sink, staring out the kitchen window as Luna's words echoed in her mind. Harry's the one who got away? It seemed absurd, ridiculous even, but she couldn't shake it. Luna had a way of saying things that made you question your entire reality. And now Ginny found herself doing just that.
Harry...the one who got away? She snorted under her breath, shaking her head. It didn't make sense. They had broken up ages ago, barely more than kids. It was puppy love—intense, yes—but fleeting, like summer rain. They had their time, and it was over. There was no further spark between them, no deep longing that had kept her awake at night.
Or was there? She froze, her hands gripping the edge of the counter. For the first time in years, she allowed herself to think about him not as her best friend or the boy who had saved the world but as the boy she had once loved. The boy she had dreamed about as a girl. The boy who had walked away.
She had loved Harry fiercely. He was her first real crush, her first boyfriend, her first heartbreak. But it had ended because it was supposed to end, right? She had moved on, hadn't she? Blaise had come into her life, and now they were married. She loved Blaise, didn't she?
She thought about Blaise—his dark eyes, his confident smirk, the way he made her laugh despite everything. But he was a closed book. Always secretive, always keeping her at arm's length. There were things he wouldn't tell her, and she had learned to live with it. But did that mean there was a part of her that still wondered about the past?
No, she told herself firmly. Harry wasn't the one who got away. That wasn't how life worked. She wasn't that girl anymore—the girl who spent her nights dreaming of Harry Potter. She had grown up, moved on. But the seed of doubt had been planted, and it gnawed at her. What if?
Luna's words lingered like a soft breeze in her mind. He could've been the one...
She let out a frustrated sigh. Why did Luna always manage to turn her world upside down with a single, whimsical comment? She knew how to hit at the heart of things, even when she seemed to be floating above the clouds. Ginny had spent years putting Harry behind her, or so she thought, but now the what-ifs felt like lead in her stomach.
The truth was, she had never given herself the space to really process her feelings after the war. They had all been so caught up in rebuilding their lives, moving forward, trying to grasp at some semblance of normalcy. She and Harry had gone their separate ways, and it had felt... natural. Comfortable. But not everything comfortable is right.
What if we had tried harder? she thought, guilt creeping up her spine. Would things have been different?
She shook her head again, forcing the thoughts away. Stop it, she commanded herself. She had no regrets about her life now. She had chosen Blaise, chosen this life. But Luna's words had stirred something deep inside her, something she wasn't sure she wanted to confront.
She felt a wave of annoyance. Why did this even matter? Why was she letting herself get tangled up in the past? Harry was her friend, nothing more. He had his life with Cho now, and she had hers with Blaise. It wasn't like Harry was secretly pining for her either. He had moved on, hadn't he?
But then she remembered the way Harry had looked at her during the brunch. Just for a moment, his gaze had lingered on her, and there had been something... wistful in his eyes. Or maybe she was just imagining it. Was I imagining it?
Ginny sighed again, pushing the thoughts away as she wiped her hands on a towel. It was silly, really. She was happy with Blaise, despite his secrecy and his aloofness. They had their issues, sure, but she wasn't about to start questioning everything just because of a few words from Luna.
Harry was not the one who got away. He couldn't be.
He couldn't, she repeated to herself, clutching the edge of the kitchen counter as if the weight of that thought could steady her racing mind. It was absurd to even entertain it. She had made her choice, hadn't she? Blaise Zabini was her husband, and not by some random accident of fate or misguided affection. Their union was calculated, orchestrated by the Ministry under the Forced Marriage Act, and while it had started as a bureaucratic nightmare, there was something undeniably magical about their bond.
She and Blaise had a magical core compatibility of 97%. Ninety-seven percent, she reminded herself, as if the number alone could erase any lingering doubts. Their connection wasn't just good—it was practically cosmic. The Ministry's evaluation had labeled them "soulmates," an incredibly rare match. They were bound not only by law but by magic itself, a connection that ran deeper than words. It wasn't perfect—far from it—but the numbers didn't lie, right?
But then, why did Luna's offhand comment gnaw at her like a thorn buried too deep to pull out? Why did she suddenly find herself wondering about Harry, about what could have been, about what their magical compatibility might have looked like?
87%? she mused, feeling a pang in her chest. That would be a respectable number, strong enough to indicate a deep connection, but not quite "soulmate" territory. She could picture it now—a comfortable relationship, built on years of friendship and shared history, with a bond that might have grown into something more over time. It wouldn't have been the fire she felt with Blaise, that much was certain. But maybe, just maybe, it would have been enough.
But what if it wasn't even 87%? What if their compatibility was something lower? 28%? The thought was laughable, but it gnawed at her all the same. What if she had clung to the idea of Harry for so long only to realize that the magic between them was never really there? What if their relationship had been doomed from the start, their connection weak and fragile, held together only by youthful infatuation and the aftermath of war?
No, she thought firmly. That wasn't Harry and me. Their relationship hadn't been weak or fragile. It had been intense, full of passion and affection, but it had been short-lived. There was no room for what-ifs, not when she had moved on, not when her life had taken a different path.
But then the numbers swirled back into her mind, haunting her. What if their compatibility was something even more improbable? 463%? She scoffed at the idea. That would be impossible, wouldn't it? A number so high it defied logic, the kind of connection that people whispered about in legends and fairy tales. A number like that would mean something truly extraordinary, a bond so powerful it would have been impossible to ignore.
She shook her head, trying to clear away the thoughts, but they stuck to her like spider webs. But what if? What if she and Harry had a bond so strong that even the Ministry's forced pairing with Blaise couldn't compare? What if their souls were meant to intertwine in ways she hadn't allowed herself to consider? What if, all along, she had been denying the truth—denying Harry, denying herself?
She slammed the kitchen drawer shut, her heart racing. Stop it. This was madness, pure and simple. She couldn't—wouldn't—question her life based on some fleeting moment of nostalgia, or worse, a whimsical comment from Luna. Blaise was her husband, her match in every magical sense that mattered. He was the one she was meant to be with.
And yet, there it was, that nagging whisper. What if?
What if the Ministry hadn't stepped in? Would she and Harry have found their way back to each other? Would they have rekindled what they had, grown stronger together, built a life that was less about bureaucratic convenience and more about real, deep love?
Her mind flashed back to the brunch, to the way Harry had smiled at her. It was the same boyish smile she had fallen in love with all those years ago, but there had been something else, too—a wistfulness, a longing that she hadn't seen in him for a long time. Had it been there all along, hidden behind his polite smiles and friendly conversation? Or was she just projecting, searching for something that wasn't there?
"Baby girl?" His voice was casual, but there was something off about it, as there often was when he came back from one of his mysterious outings. She didn't ask where he'd been; she knew better by now.
"Dinner is almost ready," she said, her voice steady, betraying none of the turmoil raging inside her. She turned to face him, forcing a smile as he entered the kitchen.
He walked over and kissed her cheek, his hand lingering on her waist. "Smells good. You alright?"
She nodded, her mind still swirling with thoughts she didn't want to acknowledge. "Yeah, just... tired."
He eyed her for a moment, clearly sensing that something was off, but he didn't push. That was one of the things she both loved and hated about Blaise—he didn't pry. He never asked too many questions, never pushed her when she was quiet, never demanded explanations. It was comforting, in a way, but it also left a gap between them, a distance that she couldn't quite bridge.
"Alright," he said, letting the silence settle between them as he moved to wash his hands.
She turned back to the stove, her grip tightening on the spoon as she stirred the soup. The numbers danced in her head again—97%, 87%, 28%, 463%—each one pulling her in a different direction, each one making her question everything she thought she knew.
Harry wasn't the one who got away. He couldn't be.
But deep down, she wasn't so sure anymore.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
He returned from work that evening, the tension in the air almost palpable. She was in study, reading her gossip magazines when she heard the door creak open. She expected his usual, casual greeting, but instead, he walked in holding a massive bouquet of red roses.
Not just any bouquet—97 roses, to be exact.
She stared at the arrangement, her brow furrowing slightly. The number was... odd. Was he trying to make a point?
"Blaise?" she asked, her voice a mix of curiosity and unease.
He gave her a tight-lipped smile, leaning in to kiss her cheek before placing the oversized bouquet on the counter with an air of exaggerated importance. The scent of the roses filled the room, thick and heavy. The sight of them all lined up, neatly arranged, felt almost suffocating.
97 roses. Was it romantic or was it... something else?
Kinda creepy.
But she shoved the thought aside, forcing herself to focus on him. Without a word, she stepped closer and kissed him deeply, her lips meeting his with the intensity of someone who didn't quite know what to say. His lips were warm, familiar, but beneath that, she sensed a tension, an underlying frustration that made her heart race.
He broke away from the kiss first, eyes dark and searching. "You know that you are my everything, right?" His voice was soft, almost tender, but there was a crack in it, something raw.
She nodded, smiling slightly. "I know that, darling."
But Blaise didn't smile back. His gaze held hers, and there was something stormy in those brown eyes—something Ginny couldn't quite place.
"…Look," he began, his voice low, but there was an edge to it now. "When I said I loved you while I was drunk... I meant it. I love you more than life itself, Ginny." His words hung in the air, heavy with meaning, as if he needed her to understand, to truly hear him this time.
She smiled, though it was smaller now, more hesitant. "Thank you, darling."
But that wasn't what he wanted. The smile didn't reach his eyes, and his fingers twitched, clenching into fists by his side. She could feel the frustration radiating off him, growing in the silence between them.
"The only person I have ever loved is you," Blaise said, his voice harder now, more insistent. He took a step closer to her, closing the space between them, his eyes burning into hers. "And can you honestly look me in the eye and say the same?"
There it was—the question that had been looming over them for what felt like an eternity. Ginny felt the floor shift beneath her, the air in the room suddenly thicker, more suffocating than the roses ever could be. Her heart pounded in her chest, her throat tightening as she searched for the right words.
But they didn't come. Not immediately.
"Blaise..." she started, her voice soft, almost pleading. She didn't know what to say—how to say it. How could she explain the confusion that Luna's comment had stirred in her? How could she tell him that, despite their 97% compatibility, doubts had crept into her mind?
He didn't wait for her to finish.
"That's enough of an answer for me, then," Blaise said sharply, his eyes narrowing in cold anger. His voice was biting, full of an edge she rarely heard from him, and it stung more than she expected. "Ginerva."
Her full name, cold and formal, cut through the air like a blade.
Ginny reached out, grabbing his arm as he turned to leave, her fingers trembling. "Blaise, wait—"
But he pulled away from her touch, storming out of the kitchen before she could say anything more. She stood frozen, her hand still half-raised, staring at the empty space he left behind, the tension thick in the air. The sound of the door slamming echoed through the house, reverberating in her chest.
Ginny's mind raced, a whirlwind of confusion, guilt, and frustration. She didn't want this. She hadn't asked for it—the tension, the doubts, the damn questions swirling in her head about Harry and what could've been. But now, here she was, caught between two worlds. One was the life she had built with Blaise, their undeniable bond, their 97% compatibility. The other was the shadow of the past, the unanswered questions that Luna's casual remark had brought to the surface.
She glanced at the roses—97 bloody roses—and felt something tighten in her chest. What had seemed like a grand romantic gesture now felt like something far more suffocating, far more ominous.
What was she supposed to do now?
The smell of the roses felt overwhelming, the kitchen too small, the silence too loud. She wiped a tear that had slipped down her cheek, her heart sinking.
Was she really losing him?
No, she told herself. No. But the words felt hollow in her mind.
Ginny stood there for what felt like an eternity, staring at the space Blaise had left behind. The house felt empty, the air still thick with unspoken words and unresolved tension.
Eventually, she moved, but it felt automatic—like she was floating, disconnected from her own body. She turned off the stove, her hand lingering over the switch as she stared blankly at the simmering pot. Then, she leaned against the counter, her legs suddenly weak.
How had everything gone so wrong so fast?
Blaise loves you, she reminded herself. He loves you more than life itself. But the echo of his words—the cold, hard edge in his voice—kept playing in her mind.
And she didn't know how to fix it.
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
She paced around the kitchen, her mind spinning. She knew she had to get her act together. She couldn't keep pretending that things were fine between her and Blaise, not when the truth was gnawing at her from the inside. Blaise had made his feelings abundantly clear—he was head over heels in love with her. He treated her like she was the center of his universe, going out of his way to make her feel cherished, adored. But she wasn't in love with him. Not yet, at least.
Did she like him? Yes. Very much. He was everything anyone could ask for in a husband—loyal, devoted, handsome, thoughtful. He was all of those things, and she was grateful for him. But love? It wasn't there yet. And it was eating her alive that she couldn't give him what he deserved.
She took a deep breath, knowing what she had to do. She had to be honest with him.
Her legs felt like lead as she walked through the house toward Blaise's office, her heart pounding in her chest. This conversation wasn't going to be easy, but it was necessary. She couldn't keep stringing him along, letting him believe something that wasn't true.
As she approached his office, she saw him inside, seated at his desk, focused on a stack of paperwork. His brows were furrowed in concentration, the glow of a single lamp illuminating his chiseled features. He looked tired. He always did after a long day of work, but even then, he still managed to take the time to make her feel important.
For a brief moment, she hesitated. Was she really going to break his heart right now? But then the guilt came crashing down again, reminding her that she owed him the truth.
She knocked gently on the doorframe.
"Blaise?" she said softly.
He looked up, his expression softening slightly when he saw her. "Hey," he said, a small smile tugging at the corners of his lips. "What's up?"
She bit her lip, suddenly feeling like the words she'd rehearsed in her head were stuck in her throat. She took a few steps into the room, wrapping her arms around herself.
"I… I need to talk to you," she said, her voice quieter than she intended.
He raised an eyebrow, leaning back in his chair. "About what?"
She exhaled shakily, forcing herself to meet his gaze. "I need to be honest with you," she began, her voice trembling slightly. "About us."
He immediately straightened up in his chair, his entire demeanor changing. His smile faded, and the relaxed air in the room evaporated. "What do you mean?" he asked, his voice careful.
She swallowed hard, feeling the weight of what she was about to say. "I can't... I can't honestly look you in the eye and tell you that you're the only person I've ever loved."
He stared at her for a long moment, his face unreadable. The silence was suffocating, pressing down on her like a physical weight. Then, very slowly, he pushed his chair back and stood up, towering over her.
"Am I supposed to be happy about that?" he asked, his voice calm but laced with an edge of frustration. "Thank you for bringing salt to the wound, Ginerva. I appreciate it."
She flinched, hating herself for causing him this pain. "Blaise, I—"
"No," he interrupted sharply, his eyes narrowing. "I'm going to say this with the utmost respect, Ginerva: Fuck. Off."
Her breath caught in her throat at the harshness of his words. Blaise was rarely ever cruel to her, but the hurt in his voice cut deep.
"Blaise, please, just listen to me," she pleaded, stepping closer to him. But before she could say another word, Blaise raised his hand, and with wordless magic, he slammed the door in her face. The sound reverberated through the house, loud and final.
She stood there, stunned, staring at the closed door. Her heart was racing, her hands trembling. She had known this conversation would be difficult, but she hadn't expected him to react like that. She pressed her forehead against the wooden door, trying to steady her breathing. What had she done?
Behind the door, she could hear Blaise pacing back and forth, muttering to himself. She could only imagine what he was thinking right now—probably that she had just shattered his entire world. And maybe she had.
A few minutes later, the door suddenly swung open again. He stood there, his face a mask of anger and hurt.
"You know what really pisses me off?" he said, his voice low but full of intensity. "The fact that I've been nothing but honest with you."
LIAR.
She blinked, tears threatening to spill from her eyes. "Blaise, I didn't mean to hurt you. I just… I had to be honest."
"Honest?" Blaise scoffed, taking a step closer to her. "You want to talk about honesty? Fine. Here's some honesty for you, Ginny: You're the only person I have ever loved."
She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. She couldn't lie to him, not after everything. But she couldn't tell him what he wanted to hear either. She couldn't force a love that wasn't fully there yet, no matter how much she wanted to.
His eyes searched hers, waiting for an answer. But when none came, he nodded to himself, the hurt deepening in his gaze.
"That's what I thought," he said quietly, his voice hollow.
Without another word, he turned and walked past her, leaving the room. She stood there, frozen in place, feeling the full weight of what had just happened. She had tried to be honest with him, but in doing so, she had only pushed him further away.
As she listened to his footsteps fade down the hallway, she felt a wave of regret wash over her. She had to fix this. Somehow, she had to show him that even if she wasn't in love yet, she did care about him. Deeply. And maybe, just maybe, love would come in time.
Hours had passed since their argument, and she felt a knot tightening in her chest with every minute that went by. She couldn't leave things as they were, not after the look in Blaise's eyes. It was the kind of hurt that could break something deep inside, and the idea that she was the cause made her stomach churn. She had been honest with him, but it was clear that honesty had come at a price she wasn't prepared to pay.
She stood outside their bedroom door, her hand resting on the handle, hesitating. Part of her wanted to give him space, to let things cool off. But another part, the larger part, couldn't stand the distance between them. If she didn't go to him now, she feared they might never find their way back.
Taking a deep breath, she opened the door quietly and stepped inside. The room was dimly lit, the moonlight casting shadows across the walls. Blaise was already in bed, lying on his side with his back to her. The silence in the room was deafening.
She looked around, noticing immediately that the room seemed half empty. Her things—her clothes, her books, the little trinkets she had collected—were all gone. Her heart sank.
"Blaise… where's my stuff?" she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper.
He didn't turn to face her, his voice cold and detached. "In your bedroom. You know, just how we started."
Her breath hitched. He had moved her out, as if they were back to the beginning, strangers forced into a marriage neither of them had asked for. Her heart ached at the thought. They had come so far since then, or at least she had thought they had.
"Please," she said, her voice trembling. "Don't do this to me. I'm not going to apologize just because I'm not in love yet. I'm trying—"
Blaise cut her off, his voice sharp and biting. "I can do whatever I want in my room. And if that means I don't want to look at you right now, then that's my choice."
She stepped closer, desperation creeping into her tone. "Please, baby, I'm begging you. Just talk to me. Don't shut me out like this."
"I am talking to you," he said flatly, still not turning to face her.
"No, you're not," she argued, her frustration building. "You're angry, and you have every right to be, but shutting me out isn't going to fix this. We need to talk. We need to figure this out."
Blaise finally rolled over, his eyes meeting hers. The coldness in his gaze made her stomach drop. "What else is there to say, Ginny? What could I possibly add to this one-sided conversation? I told you I love you. I told you you're the only person I've ever loved. And what do I get in return? 'Thanks, Blaise, but I'm just not there yet.'"
She flinched at the bitterness in his voice. She hadn't meant for her honesty to hurt him this much, but she could see now that her words had cut him deeper than she realized.
"It's not that I don't care about you," she said, her voice pleading. "I do. I care about you more than I ever thought I would. But love… it's not something I can just force."
He sat up in bed, his eyes blazing with frustration. "Do you think I don't know that? Do you think I don't get that love takes time? But damn it, Ginny, I've been nothing but patient. I've been waiting for you to feel the same way I do, and all I'm asking for is something, anything, to show me that I'm not wasting my time. That this isn't just a marriage of convenience for you."
Her heart twisted in her chest. "It's not," she said quickly. "It's not just a marriage of convenience. I wouldn't be here if it was."
"Then what is it?" he demanded, his voice rising. "What am I to you, Ginny? Am I just the guy who buys you flowers and luxurious things and makes sure you're comfortable? Am I just your damn roommate?
"No!" she cried, tears welling in her eyes. "You're more than that, Blaise. So much more."
"Then tell me what I am!" he shouted, his voice breaking. "Because right now, it feels like I'm nothing to you. Nothing but a placeholder."
Her throat tightened as tears spilled down her cheeks. "You're not nothing," she whispered, her voice trembling. "You're everything. You're everything to me."
He stared at her for a long moment, his expression unreadable. "Then why can't you love me?" he asked quietly, the pain in his voice undeniable.
She took a deep breath, trying to find the right words. "It's not that I don't want to love you. I do. But I've been hurt before. I've had my heart broken, and it's hard for me to just… let myself feel that way again."
He shook his head, his frustration boiling over. "I'm not him, Ginny. I'm not Potter. I'm not some boy who's going to break your heart and leave you. I'm here. I've been here since day one, and I'm not going anywhere."
"I know that," she whispered, her voice barely audible. "But it's not just about him. It's about me. I'm scared. I'm scared of loving you and then losing you. I'm scared of getting hurt again."
His expression softened, and for the first time since their argument, his eyes filled with understanding. He reached out, gently wiping away her tears. "Ginny," he said softly, his voice no longer harsh. "I'm not going to hurt you. I swear to you, I'm not going anywhere. But I need you to meet me halfway. I need to know that I'm not the only one fighting for this."
Her heart ached at the vulnerability in his words. She realized then how much he had been carrying, how much he had been holding back for her sake. She had been so focused on her own fears that she hadn't seen how much he was hurting, too.
She stepped closer to him, her hands trembling as she reached for his. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice thick with emotion. "I didn't mean to push you away. I didn't mean to make you feel like you weren't enough."
His eyes softened, and he squeezed her hands gently. "You don't have to be sorry, Ginny. I just… I just need to know that you're in this with me. That I'm not alone in this."
"You're not," she said firmly, her voice stronger now. "You're not alone, Blaise. I'm here. I'm with you. And I'll do whatever it takes to make this work."
For the first time that night, his expression softened completely. He pulled her into his arms, holding her tightly against his chest. She buried her face in his shoulder, her tears soaking into his shirt as she held onto him just as tightly.
"I don't need you to be perfect," he whispered into her hair. "I just need you to be here with me. To fight with me."
"I will," she promised, her voice muffled against his chest. "I'll fight for us. I swear."
They stood there in the dimly lit room, wrapped in each other's arms, the weight of their argument slowly melting away. For the first time in weeks, Ginny felt like they were on the same page, like they were finally moving in the right direction.
It wasn't going to be easy, but she knew now that they could get through it—together.