Current location:	mi computadora
Current mood:	creative
Current music:	Oasis - "Slide Away"
Entry tags:	fanfiction, harry/ginny

Chocolate occasionally tastes good
Wrote a small drabble, inspired by something a good friend recently said to me.

Title: Better Left for Future Reevaluation
Rating: PG
Fandom: HP
Genre: Romance, General
Wordcount: 438
Disclaimer: Not mine.
Summary: "We could've had ages... months... years maybe..."
Notes: Slight Harry/Ginny. I know, I know - but I just got inspiration and had to write it. Took me all of 5 minutes, so be on the lookout for errors.

Best Left for Future Reevaluation



“We could’ve had ages… months… years maybe…”


Had that really only been a week ago?


Harry stared ahead aimlessly as he picked at a scab on his knee. Had that only been seven days ago?


It seemed like ages ago.


Harry smirked, realizing the irony of the thought.


Months… years maybe…


But he had been right, of course. That was the only possible action. That was the only way to keep her safe. Voldemort couldn’t – wouldn’t – hurt her. He’d make sure of that personally.


He’d made the right decision. He knew that. He was sure of it.


Positive.


…


Well, he hoped he was positive. Yes – he was pretty damned sure that he hoped he was positive.


And a little bit of hope was better than risking everything. That was just logic.


That wasn’t to say that he hadn’t thought of it, maybe – thought of changing his action, not breaking it off. Sometimes he only wanted to go back to her, to tell her how he’d been an idiot and that she’d been right all along. He wanted to tell her that he was a fool, and that he hoped she could tolerate boys and their idiocy.


Sometimes, in his dreams, he did.


“We could’ve had ages… months… years maybe…” Then he’d continue, “I’m not wasting any more time,” or something equally romantic or cliched.


It never mattered what he said. She always said the same thing:


“Maybe it was better that we were friends first.”


He didn’t really know why she said the same thing every blasted time. Maybe his subconscious was trying to send him a message. Maybe he was just crazy. Really – would Ginny even say that?


Of course she would. It was a wise thing to say, and her wisdom seemed to be limitless. Comparatively, anyway.


But perhaps Ginny – well, Dream Ginny – was right. How would he know what he was missing if he’d had it all along?


That was the key, he supposed. Now he did know, yet he also knew – thought he knew, at least – what he must do to sustain it. Sometime later, after the war, he would meet Ginny under a large tree in the summer (for he’d figured this all out long ago) and they would talk. About them. About everything. There would be a gentle breeze, and it would mess up his hair even more than it was all ready was, and they would laugh and it would be just like old times.


Harry smiled to himself and leaned back against the wall of the house.


“We’ll have ages… months… years maybe...”