Chapter 2

The glint in Ron’s eyes was starting to get annoying.

“What are you staring at?” asked Harry tersely.

The chessboard was as bleak as ever. Most of Harry’s chessmen were killed by Ron’s, which left the board covered in white pieces that, much to Harry’s resentment, weren’t missing many comrades.

“Oh, nothing,” said Ron conversationally, grinning at his best friend’s agitated expression.

Harry narrowed his eyes. “There is a way around this, isn’t there?” he asked, motioning to the game with his hand vaguely. Playing chess with Ron always distracted him from things that were bothering him. Though he hated to lose at any game, he rarely ever beat Ron at chess.

“I’ll let you win if you tell me what that note from Ginny said.” When Harry bristled, he added, “C’mon, mate, can’t keep it a secret forever.”

”It hasn’t been forever. It’s been three days. And I don’t need you to let me win.” Harry forcefully shoved his Rook into position to protect his King, and Ron promptly put him in checkmate. “Why do I even play this game with you?”

”You’re waiting for the day I let you win.”

*

The next morning, Harry rolled over in his bed and stared blankly out the open window. The harsh morning rays of sunlight didn’t make him blanch or strain his eyes. He had watched the sun rise just as he had watched it set. Sleeping wasn’t something that Harry did very much of anymore.

He stretched dramatically and yawned before a familiar voice startled him.

“You’re going to freeze if you don’t keep that window shut.”

Huffing, Harry went limp against his bed, leaving the blankets awry and twisted around him. “I really hate it when you stalk me,” he said.

“We live in the same house, Harry.”

"I know, Hermione, but do you have to be in here every morning?"

Hermione pursed her lips and gave him a severe look, ignoring his last jab. She didn't come into his room every morning, but Harry was an extremist, and if something that annoyed him happened then it happened all the time, no matter how frequently it really happened. Harry instantly felt guilty when he realized she'd brought him breakfast. His guilt faded quickly, and was promptly replaced with suspicion. He knew exactly what she wanted to talk about.

He eyed the plate of burnt toast warily. He wondered vaguely if he was obligated to actually eat it. Finally, Hermione spoke again, “No, you don’t have to eat it.”

“Oh,” said Harry as though he were somewhat disappointed, but he made no move to grab for the plate. He wouldn’t have been hungry even if the food were edible.

“I want to talk about Ginny,” said Hermione slowly, allowing herself to look a tinge of the hopefulness that she felt. She had been trying to get Harry to open up and talk about what had happened between them, but he would always clam up and leave the room or change the subject.

Harry’s face remained carefully blank. “You do?”

Hermione’s look of hopefulness increased. Maybe Harry would actually let her get her foot in the door this time. “Yes, Harry, I do,” she said quickly, pushing forward until she was perched on the edge of her chair in anticipation. “I was wondering if you would talk to me—“

“Because I don’t want to talk about Ginny,” said Harry, rearranging the blankets around him idly. He picked a piece of imaginary fuzz from his comforter, which made him fail to notice the disappointed look on Hermione’s face. “We can talk about Ro—“

”You can’t hide from it forever, you know,” said Hermione abruptly. Her eyes never wavered from his unblinking, eerie gaze.

It shocked Harry slightly that she had the audacity to bring this up so many times after he had blatantly told her not to. His jaw tightened visibly, and the muscle flexed repeatedly.

“Harry, listen to me—“

”No. I need to get up and shower. I have some errands to run today,” Harry lied.

Hermione knew better, but she didn’t push it. At least he hadn’t shouted at her this time. Maybe she was making progress. But at this rate, it would take years to have a civilized conversation about it.

“Fine,” she said shortly, standing up and smoothing her skirt down. “Remember what I said.”

*

The problem was that Harry didn’t remember what Hermione said. He hadn’t given it a second thought. However, this was likely because he didn’t want to think about it. There were so many other things to worry about these days. Not to mention there was always a certain red-haired girl that haunted his thoughts.

Said girl was floating through his mind while Ron was talking about Bill and Fleur. Ron’s hands were gesturing animatedly around. “Should have seen it, Harry. Home looks so… there are flowers everywhere and they’ve cleaned the yard free of gnomes.” Harry had the sneaking suspicion that Ron was only excited about seeing Fleur all dressed up.

Hermione must have had the same notion, because she slapped him on the shoulder and said, “Why don’t you tell us what you’re really wanting to see, Ron?”

Ron ignored her and turned his attention back to Harry, wanting to steer her from her jealousy of Fleur. “Oi, Ginny seemed disappointed that you hadn’t written her back.”

Harry sighed heavily and sank into his chair, looking back and forth between his two best friends with a look that could have been contempt or indifference. It was hard to tell. Harry always felt a stab of something cold in his chest when they said her name. “Did she?” he asked, trying not to appear as curious as he really was.

”Yeah,” answered Ron, nodding. “She was lurking about, but… I didn’t know she wanted to talk to me alone.”

The only answered Ron and Hermione got was a curt nod.

*

Harry raked a hand through his disheveled hair and looked down at the piece of parchment in front of him. There was only one word scribbled at the top, and that was “Ginny”. He sighed heavily.

He knew that he had been avoiding Ginny, and that he probably shouldn’t be, but it lessened the guilty feeling in the pit of his stomach if he didn’t have to see her. She understood why he broke up with her, and he was grateful for that, but it bothered Harry. There was a swooping sensation in his stomach each time he thought about her.

It took him a couple of days to realize that he missed her.

That was what made writing this letter so difficult. Harry couldn’t express that he missed her, not after he’d broken up with her. There were tons of things that he would have liked to write to her about, but none of them seemed very important at the moment. Only one thing kept coming to mind, and he couldn’t force himself to write the words “I miss you, Ginny.”

It was late and Kreacher was muttering to himself as he wandered around the den, smearing a filthy rag across the window and leaving streaks of dirt behind. The house felt so cold and empty now. Sirius was dead. Dumbledore was dead. His most comforting form of companionship had been dismissed. But he had no one to blame for that. Except himself.

Angry with himself, he wadded up the yellow parchment and threw it at the garbage bin.

He would wait until Bill’s wedding to talk to her.