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Disappointment
By Lady Linen Closet

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Category: Angst Valentine Challenge (2006-1)
Characters:None
Genres: Angst, Drama
Warnings: Extreme Language
Story is Complete
Rating: PG-13
Reviews: 31
Summary: ** Winner of Best Angst in the Angst Valentine Challenge **
Ginny feels the annual disappointment that usually accompanies Valentine's Day. As usual, Harry does nothing to quell these feelings.
Hitcount: Story Total: 4900



Disclaimer: Harry Potter Publishing Rights © J.K.R. Note the opinions in this story are my own and in no way represent the owners of this site. This story subject to copyright law under transformative use. No compensation is made for this work.





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Ginny's finger followed a drop of rain as it slipped along the surface of the common room window. The glass was cold against her bare shoulder, and she marveled at the feel of something other than disappointment. Disappointment and anger and sadness.

Valentine's Day seemed to be the only holiday capable of causing such emotional confusion and overall depression. This Valentine's Day hadn't failed. In fact, it seemed to carry on the tradition with a new zeal. It was times like this Ginny hated Cupid and St. Valentine - whoever the hell he was - and construction paper hearts, chocolate, roses; the list was endless.

It really wouldn't be so bad, she reasoned for the fourth time that night, to live alone in a house full of cats and darn socks for the rest of her life.

"Hermione?" Ginny called to the girl currently making her way across the room, "How, exactly, does one darn a sock?"

Hermione sighed, collapsing in a nearby armchair, "I haven't the faintest idea."

Ginny raised her eyebrows at the resigned look on Hermione's face. She supposed it resembled her own. Let down. Damn holiday.

"I don't suppose you like vast amounts of cats?" Ginny asked in an attempt to cheer up both herself and Hermione, but her voice was tired and rough from crying.

"Just one is enough, thank you," Hermione looked extremely interested in the wall just beyond Ginny's head.

The silence that settled was not entirely comfortable, and the misery was suffocating. Ginny looked out the window once more, wishing it had a latch on it, so she could open it and jump out. "I take it your day went about as good as mine."

Hermione was silent for a moment, but Ginny could see her thoughts being formulated furiously beneath that mass of bushy-brown hair. She looked as if she would explode at any moment.

"I just don't understand it!" Hermione cried, throwing her hands up, "Valentine's Day shouldn't even be important! There are several St. Valentine's in history - and all of them were martyrs! Martyrdom has nothing to do with lacy hearts and chocolates and what not. It's absolutely absurd that a holiday that is purely commercial-hype and capitalist propaganda can leave me feeling so completely horrid!"

Ginny smiled slightly, sadly, "Tell me about."

Hermione rubbed her hand across her forehead, “I suppose it was nice enough to at least be asked out.”

“Yeah,” Ginny looked down at her hands and bit her lip. No need to start crying again, not like it ever did any good before.

“But God, Ginny,” Hermione continued sighing, “it was awful. He kept talking about Quidditch and this spectacular play he made, and that amazing victory he insured. I was ready to shove my mashed potatoes in his face.”

Ginny cast her friend a sympathetic glance, “He’s a prat.”

“You’d think a Ravenclaw would have more to talk about, that’s all.”

“Well, Ian Bradley isn’t exactly known for being the brightest Ravenclaw,” Ginny tried.

“No, I suppose not,” Hermione reasoned, “I guess I just hoped for too much.”

And there it was. I just hoped for too much. Ginny was struck by the horrible truth of the statement; it was precisely what she had done this year, and last year, and every year before that. Stupid girl. When would she learn that hoping never brought anything other than disappointment?

Ginny glanced up as she heard the portrait swing open, and she quickly wiped the tears from her eyes. Lavender Brown and Parvati Patil appeared through the portrait hole, each wearing very different expressions. Valentine’s Day certainly had that effect on people.

Lavender spotted Ginny and Hermione nearly immediately, and came bounding across the common room. Apparently one person had enjoyed the day. Parvati, however, followed Lavender with quite a bit less vigor and a face that looked weary.

Lavender pushed past Hermione and moved to sit on another armchair that had been stuffed into the corner of the room. “So how was everyone’s day?”

A vague murmur of discontent sounded from the other three girls in her company, but this didn’t seem to phase Lavender in the least, “Valentine’s is so wonderful, isn’t it? I had the best day.”

Ginny cast an uncertain glance at Hermione who looked ready to sink into the armchair and disappear completely. She knew that Hermione was trying to hide the look of hurt that was fighting to cross her features.

“I mean, when we broke up, I thought that was the end of it for sure,” Lavender continued to babble on, “So when he asked me out for Valentine’s I was so surprised. I mean, in a good way, but still surprised.”

“Yeah, we know,” grunted Parvati in a very un-Parvati-like manner. Ginny had the feeling she had heard this speech nearly a thousand times.

“But we went to Madam Puddifoot’s, and he was such a gentleman, he pulled out the chair for me and paid for the meal and everything. And we just talked about everything and I feel like we really connected, you know? And then when he —”

Ginny couldn’t stand it anymore. Lavender’s voice was grating at her last nerve, and Hermione looked as if she were about to pass out or vomit — or both. “That sounds wonderful, Lavender,” Ginny’s voice was overly-sweet and completely artificial, “What about you, Parvati?”

Talking about Valentine’s Day was really not something Ginny wanted to continue, but the thankful look Hermione shot her gave her the courage to brave one more story.

“Bloody awful,” Parvati groaned, still standing a good distance from Lavender, “I have the worst headache.”

“That bad?” Ginny asked sympathetically.

“Dean kept talking about my hair,” she fingered a long, raven lock, “Oh Parvati, your hair is gorgeous and oh, Parvati, would you mind moving into the light? It’ll make it easier to draw your hair. I am seriously considering just shaving it all off, at this point.”

Lavender looked mildly horrified at the consideration, but Ginny and Hermione shared an amused look. Parvati shook her head in resignation, “Well, I’m knackered. I’m going to bed.”

As she removed herself from the group of girls, Lavender quickly followed suit, and happily wished Ginny and Hermione pleasant dreams, sauntering after her best friend.

When the girls were out of sight, Hermione let out a soft moan, “I hate Valentine’s Day.”

“I know,” Ginny whispered, and silence once again enveloped them. She wanted to comfort Hermione, but she wasn’t sure what she was supposed to say. Maybe Hermione didn’t want her to say anything at all.

“God, I’m such an idiot,” Hermione buried her face in her hands, feeling utterly foolish.

“You’re not an idiot,” Ginny still didn’t have the slightest idea of what to say, but she couldn’t let her best friend hurt like this, “He doesn’t love her, you know. I don’t even think he likes her.”

Hermione exhaled sharply, clearly not believing the redhead. It had been ridiculous to think that Ron had learned his lesson after the Yule Ball. He clearly hadn’t. She had had visions of a tender, romantic Valentine’s Day at a nice restaurant in the village in which Ron admitted to being thick for not asking her out earlier. And finally — at long last — they both voiced the feelings they had kept hidden under anger and tension for years. Then they would live happily ever after with all that that implied. How foolish she had been.

After all, Ian had only asked her out a week before the Valentine’s weekend trip to Hogsmeade. Ron should have had plenty of time to gather his courage. And, Hermione reasoned, that could only mean one thing: Ron simply didn’t see her the way she saw him; and it hurt more than Hermione could describe. God, she needed to rest.

“I need some sleep,” Hermione pushed herself out of the chair, “You should probably get some sleep, too. You look a bit peaky.” She hugged Ginny dully, and trudged her way up the stairs to her dormitory.

Ginny gave the common room a fleeting look and realized that she was all alone — just as she seemed destined to be. A choked sob she didn’t know she had been ignoring abruptly escaped her lips; she didn’t fight to conceal it. She was suddenly relieved that Hermione had not asked her about her day, but Ginny had a feeling this Valentine’s Day wouldn’t leave her for some time to come.

The sadness and disappointment filled her once more as she recalled her date — if she could even really call it that. She pressed herself harder against the glass, hoping that the cold would seep in and numb some of the jagged pain that was pushing against her insides.

Ginny made another nameless shape in the condensation on the table, and stared out the window once more. No one seemed to walking on the streets today, the rain had forced all inhabitants of the village, as well as the Hogwarts students, indoors.

“Another drink, honey?” Madam Rosmerta smiled kindheartedly.

Ginny looked at her glass of water; it was half-empty and all of the ice had melted, “No. No thank you.”

“All right,” the older woman looked at her concernedly, “But if you need anything, just give a shout.”

Ginny nodded, knowing she wouldn’t ask for anything else. She really didn’t want anyone feeling sorry for her, especially on Valentine’s Day.

Why had she even come?

Because of Harry, that was why. Because Harry bloody Potter had come to her the week before, and asked if she
might just want to maybe go to Hogsmeade with him. And of course, she had said yes. She couldn’t say anything else.

Even after all of those years denying her feelings for Harry, all of those years of letting her feelings for him govern her life when he clearly wanted nothing to do with her, she couldn’t find it in herself to say, ‘No. I deserve more.’

Because somewhere, deep down, she knew that she deserved more than this. She deserved more than the occasional, hurried, ‘hey.’ She deserved more than the awkward pat on the back after winning an especially grueling Quidditch match against Slytherin. And she certainly deserved more than being left to wait for hours on Valentine’s Day at the Three Broomsticks for someone who had no intentions of coming.

She furiously wiped away tears, as she realized that she had been stood-up. Stood-up by Harry Potter, the only boy she had ever really loved — and for some reason — the boy she still loved.

She would have done anything for him to realize that she existed, for him to feel something even resembling love in regards to her. She would serve a detention with Snape everyday for the rest of her life, she would dance starkers on Harry’s bed — hell, she would fight Voldemort himself if it meant that Harry would love her.

God, she was such a stupid, stupid girl.

He wasn’t coming. He wasn’t ever going to come for her, and it took her until now to realize that little Ginny Weasley would never be enough for someone like Harry.

She stood slowly, her head was light and if she rose too quickly, she was sure she would collapse. Crying openly now, she placed several knuts on the table even though she hadn’t ordered anything. She grabbed her battered coat off the back of her chair, and frowned as she buttoned it up in order to hide the beautiful robes she had worn for the occasion — the nicest she owned.

On her way out, she nodded to Rosmerta behind the bar, before pushing open the door and stepping into the rain. She stood there momentarily, letting the rain mingle with her tears as it washed away the make-up she had so carefully put on earlier.

And slowly, letting the rain soak through every layer of her clothing, she made her way back to the castle.


Renewed tears streamed down Ginny’s face. She hated Valentine’s Day.

Once again, the familiar sound of the portrait opening came from across the room, signaling the entrance of another Gryffindor. Ginny pulled her knees closer to her chest, hoping to go unnoticed by the newcomer. However, when the student emerged from the portrait hole, Ginny was surprised to see that it was none other then Harry Potter.

An unwelcome spark of hope ignited itself in the pit of her stomach, as she watched Harry move hastily through the room. His hands were buried deep in his pockets, and his head was down as his eyes followed his feet closely. And just like that, her hope was promptly dowsed when he failed to notice her presence, ascending the stairs without so much as an apology — or even a glance, for that matter.

It was silly, really, to expect anything different from Harry — even on Valentine’s Day.


Fin.
Reviews 31
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