Eggplant

(Could also be called 'You're Wrong')

By: Amilia Padfoot

Disclaimer: I don't own any of the characters in this Fic, only the idea for the story.

Summary: Harry has an unexpected reunion with a certain family member that brings both old and new feelings to the surface. From Ginny and Harry's point of view.

A/N: Ok this may get confusing so let me explain; whenever Harry or Ginny is alone the story will be written in 1st person, when together or with others it will revert back to 3rd. Hope it's not too confusing, I will try to make it clear. This is my first ever attempt at first person!

(Ginny's POV)

My heels clacked loudly as I marched back out into the car park. I paused, slightly startled as a lamppost suddenly flickered back into life. I was about to continue when I noticed something in the corner of my eye. There was something lying on the floor. Curiosity peaking inside me, I walked towards it. Dread flooded me as the shape on the floor came into view. I ran to the body, heart beating wildly. No, Merlin, no! Please don't let it be him! I felt a surge of relief as I reached the body. Whoever it was, he was far too large to be Harry. I took a step backwards as the man rolled over and clapped a hand over my mouth as the smell of stale drink and vomit reached me. I turned away in disgust and noticed some shopping on the ground a few paces away. I walked over to it; I'm not entirely sure why. Bending down, I picked up the bag and gasped at the content. There was an umbrella - a broken umbrella - and an eggplant. Tears stung in my eyes as I remembered with a jolt that Harry wouldn't have gone out at all if I hadn't been so insistent on having Chinese eggplant. The recipe had said Chinese. Who cared really though? Does it really matter if it was Chinese, Indian or bleeding Scandinavian? It had mattered to me though. I had wanted everything to be perfect. I'm tired of not being as good a cook as my mother. No-one has ever told me as much but I can tell. Every time I have ever been the one to cook at family gatherings, my mother would always bring something along with her for afters, and I would be forced to watch as everyone tucked in gleefully, my desert forgotten. No, that isn't entirely true, I reminded myself. Harry would always try to eat a bit of both, and whenever I couldn't be bothered making desert when I just knew it wouldn't be eaten, he would always have seconds of everything else , as to be much too 'full' to have any desert. It was a clumsy attempt at making me feel better, but it had always made me smile watching him eat double of everything, while shooting me mock confused looks every time he caught me looking at him, as if he didn't know why. I blinked back the stubborn tears and wondered how I could have spoken to my husband so cruelly. Was it really his fault if had brought Indian instead of Chinese? Surely he had better things to worry about after a hard day's work.

I had specifically asked for Chinese though. I'd been having a really bad day, where nothing seemed to go right for me, and when he had come home with Indian instead, it had been the last straw. It wasn't the first time by any means that I have snapped at my husband or vented my frustration on him simply because he happened to be there, but it had been different this time. Usually, any insult or heated remark I made would just wash over him. He never got angry or shouted back; he would stay calm and let me shout and fume 'til I felt better. Sometimes he would just wrap his arms around me, tell me to calm down. If anyone else had told me to calm down when in a mood, I would have slapped them there and then, but with him my frustration and anger just evaporates. Harry would joke that it had more to do with him pinning my arms down with the hug then his soothing voice that kept him from being slapped, but I know better. Today, to an outsider, would have looked like any typical 'Ginny-Harry' argument, as I've heard them call it. He had let me rant and fume; he hadn't even flinched when I'd chucked the Eggplant at him in sheer frustration - but to me, it had been different. My words hadn't washed over him: he'd taken them, absorbed them. Even with his face fixed in the usual mask of calmness I had seen the hurt in his eyes. He had taken each word like a blow to the chest, and it wasn't till his back was out the door that I realised with a jolt that he had not hugged me.

I got up, leaving the eggplant where it was. It didn't matter anymore. How could it? What was the point in having a perfect dinner if he was not there to share it? I wrapped my arms around myself, trying to keep the cold at bay. Every step I took seemed to take so much work, my guilt weighing me down. Where is he?

(About three hours previously)

(Harry's POV)

I felt the beginnings of rain as I gripped the umbrella and sprang it open. Holding it tightly above my head, I picked up my pace. Dodging frantic shoppers as they hurried to get to their cars, I headed for the automatic door of the Muggle supermarket. As I quickly stepped aside to avoid getting hit by a heavily pregnant woman as she, rather violently, swung her exceptionally large handbag over her shoulder, several drops of water had began to run down my face. Looking up to see how this was possible I noticed a considerably large hole in the black umbrella. Sigh. Things just get better and better for me, don't they? I collapsed the blasted thing and walked faster, making a mental note to wipe my glasses when I get the chance.

Finally, I hurried through the door, passed the dairy products and turned into the fruit and vegetable isle. Eggplant, eggplant, where's the damned eggplant? Why do we even need eggplant! I already got an eggplant, didn't I? But OH no, it's not just any Eggplant - it's supposed to be Chinese Eggplant. Urgh! Does it really matter? I inwardly cringed at my own stupidity and mentally thanked myself for not saying that particular thought out loud to Ginny, because it obviously matters to her. And that is why I'm out shopping, looking for a plant I never even knew existed until today, at nine o'clock at night. After finally locating the plant and checking that it is indeed Chinese, I grabbed some and hurried over to the till.

"Sorry love. Tills aren't working. You'll have to join the one down there" A rather large looking woman told me, not even bothering to look up, but just waved her hand vaguely in the direction of the till on the opposite side of the shop. I thanked her and made my way over to join the infinite queue that snaked its way round the corner and even into the bakery section. Sigh, this is going to take forever.

As the automatic doors clunked behind me, I was immediately pelted by rain. It was getting dark, the shops car park hidden in a swirling haze of rain drops. I gripped the flimsy plastic bag and once again stepped out into the night, secretly glad to be out of the stuffy supermarket. The wind tugged at my coat, beckoning for me to go in the wrong direction. I ploughed onwards, planning to find a nice quite place to apperate home. Home: to my wife, my children, and to my friends that have came over with their children. Home: to my family. Do I really want to go home? I pulled up my sleeve and managed to make out quarter to ten on my watch. It was then that the wind carried an incoherent shout to me. I looked up and through the rain saw something, or perhaps someone, staggering towards me.

"You!" I instinctively whipped around, expecting to see someone behind me. There was no-one there. I turned back round. The man was closer now. "It's you, isn't it?" The man's slurred voice echoed slightly in the now empty car-park.

"I think you've made a mi-" I began, but was cut off by more shouting from the inebriated man. "You, you freak, I know it's you!" The word freak brought back a wave of unpleasant memories and as soon as the word had left his lips I knew who I was looking at. My uncle took another unsteady step forward, making me take an unintentional step back that had once been instinctual. I mentally berated myself, I had stopped being scared of my uncle years ago and I'll be damned if I will be intimidated by him now. I made to walk past but was stopped as he grabbed me by the elbow. I couldn't help the slight prickle of fear, remembering a time when I hadn't been able to defend myself. "You ruined my life, you did." He spat.

"Well that's a shame 'cause you made mine simply wonderful" my voice dripped with sarcasm as I yanked his arm out of the bigger man's grip. My heart was beating feverously, threatening to melt my cold facade. He snorted.

"I gave you everything you deserved"

"I don't have time for this" I growled and started to walk away, yearning to just apperate home, only to stop in my tracks.

"No one will ever love you!" It had always been my uncle's favourite taunt. He had always known how to get to me, the best way to hurt me, and it seems that this has not changed even seventeen years later. I felt a sudden surge of utter defiance shoot through me as I spun around.

"You're wrong!" Before now, I had been forced to listen to my Uncle rant about me; I had not been allowed to contradict him, or even move, as he told me I was a freak and how I'd never be loved. I had not been able to fight back or to yell out loud as I'd so dearly wanted to when told these things. "You're wrong!" I yelled again, feeling a surge of pleasure at being able to voice the mantra I had once chanted in my head over and over again. "I am!" I was breathing heavily now. Inside me, a whirlwind of emotions, defiance, anger, doubts.

My uncle snorted again. "Are you now?" he sneered.

"Yes. I have a family! Something you never were!" I have no idea why I want to convince my uncle so badly. I owe him nothing, I do not have to prove myself to him and yet I feel I have to. A part of me wants to show him that he was wrong, that I can be loved. I felt a mad desire to yell at him and yet laugh in his face at the same time. I want to state that my uncle had failed, failed to break me, to turn me into the bitter man that I could so easily have become. I am not alone nor unwanted as my uncle had sworn I would always be. I have won. "I'm married, I have children, I am happy!" I yelled.

"You? Married? Don't make me laugh." And indeed he was beginning to. Anger bubbled inside me. Is it really that hard to imagine me with a wife? "Cheating on you, I s'pect." I opened his mouth to retort furiously but no sound came out. How dare he? How dare he suggest such a thing! He doesn't even know her. The idea of Ginny ever being unfaithful to me seems utterly ridiculous and yet the words that were to form my response were diluted by a single memory of the night before last.

We had finally managed to find a day for ourselves, just the two of us. We had gone to a lovely restaurant that we had visited on our anniversary the year previously. The evening had been going well until Gethin Morgan, the only male player on Ginny's old Quidditch team, had came in and spotted us. Much to my annoyance Ginny just had to insist on him joining us. At first I had been unsure about the handsome-looking acquaintance, but as the evening wore on, I had wanted nothing more than to reach across the table and strangle him. Gethin and Ginny had been busy catching up on old times, with Ginny giggling away the whole time. I couldn't help but feel invisible. Who the hell was this guy? Coming in here and making my wife giggle. Giggle, since when did Ginny giggle? She wasn't a girly girl. She didn't giggle, she laughed. I've always liked the fact that she didn't, but sitting there while the two chuckled at some inside joke I couldn't help but wonder why I'd never made her giggle. Gethin hadn't left until for the first time that night, he had met my eyes, probably expecting to share a knowing smile, but had been met with a full force glare. The message 'Stay the hell away from my wife' was received loud and clear and Gethin had drank down his wine, made his excuses and practically ran out of the restaurant. Ginny had been strangely quiet after and the last thing she had said to me before we had gone to sleep was: "Shame Gethin had to leave like that"

I know this was in no way suggesting anything, but with the image of Ginny shouting at me only a few hours previously still fresh in my mind I can't help but ask the question: 'Does she really love me?' Thankfully, the more logical part of my mind kicked in. 'Of course she does!' I tried yet again to yell back, to defend my wife, but was cut off by my Uncle.

"Children too, huh? Sure they're yours? I hope for their sake they're not. Don't want to be infected by your freakiness, do they?"

"I'm not a freak!" I yelled. Why is this happening now? I don't need the old feelings of doubt and self-disgust to come back. Not now. Not after I've worked so hard to forget my childhood, to stop blaming myself for everything, to settle down and have the family I had once been convinced I didn't deserve. I did not need the memories this man was bringing back me by simply being there. Months, years of convincing myself that I deserved to be happy, to do something for myself for once, were all being washed away by wave upon wave of unwanted memories. The walls I had built up around me, built up by the love I had finally started to except, that kept the doubt creeping in, were beginning to crumble around me - fast. The rubble was crashing down on me, as my uncle gave a cold laugh.

"Yes, you are! You're- you're nothing but a freak! Can you blame us for not wanting you? Who would? No-one! That's who! You're loved, you say? Pity! That's all it is ..." The rubble was building up, higher and higher, surrounding me, closing in. I was being suffocated by my own protection.

"You're wrong!" I shouted again, but it was no use. The words have lost its meaning. The voice in the back of my deep subconscious, the one I had tried so hard to ignore came back to me. 'Is he, though?'

A/N Please review and tell me what you think. I've been meaning to put this up for a while only to change my mind, and change it again, and then... well you get the idea.

P.S huge fan of Ginny, not trying to bash her in any way, they're just like any other couple havin' a bit of a rough patch.